[Transcriber's Note: The original text does not observe the normalconvention of placing quotation marks at the beginnings of paragraphswithin a multiple-paragraph quotation. This idiosyncrasy has beenpreserved in this e-text. 

Archaic spellings have been preserved, but obvious printer errors havebeen corrected. 

In the untranslated Italian passage in Day 3, Story 10, the originalis missing the accents, which have been added using an Italian editionof _Decameron_ (Milan: Mursia, 1977) as a guide. 

John Payne's translation of _The Decameron_ was originally publishedin a private printing for The Villon Society, London, 1886. TheAmerican edition from which this e-text was prepared is undated. ]

_The_

_Decameron_

_of_

_Giovanni Boccaccio_

_Translated by_

_John Payne_

[Illustration]

WALTER J. BLACK, INC. 171 Madison AvenueNEW YORK, N. Y. 

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

_Contents_

PROEM. 

DAY THE FIRST 1

THE FIRST STORY. _Master Ciappelletto dupeth a holy friar with a falseconfession and dieth; and having been in his lifetime the worst ofmen, he is, after his death, reputed a saint and called SaintCiappelletto_ 16

THE SECOND STORY. _Abraham the Jew, at the instigation of Jehannot deChevigné, goeth to the Court of Rome and seeing the depravity of theclergy, returneth to Paris and there becometh a Christian_ 25

THE THIRD STORY. _Melchizedek the Jew, with a story of three rings, escapeth a parlous snare set for him by Saladin_ 28

THE FOURTH STORY. _A monk, having fallen into a sin deserving of verygrievous punishment, adroitly reproaching the same fault to his abbot, quitteth himself of the penalty_ 30

THE FIFTH STORY. _The Marchioness of Monferrato, with a dinner of hensand certain sprightly words, curbeth the extravagant passion of theKing of France_ 33

THE SIXTH STORY. _An honest man, with a chance pleasantry, putteth toshame the perverse hypocrisy of the religious orders_ 35

THE SEVENTH STORY. _Bergamino, with a story of Primasso and the Abbotof Cluny, courteously rebuketh a fit of parsimony newly come to MesserCane della Scala_ 37

THE EIGHTH STORY. _Guglielmo Borsiere with some quaint words rebukeththe niggardliness of Messer Ermino de' Grimaldi_ 40

THE NINTH STORY. _The King of Cyprus, touched to the quick by a Gasconlady, from a mean-spirited prince becometh a man of worth andvaliance_ 42

THE TENTH STORY. _Master Alberto of Bologna civilly putteth a lady tothe blush who thought to have shamed him of being enamoured of her_ 43

DAY THE SECOND 48

THE FIRST STORY. _Martellino feigneth himself a cripple and makethbelieve to wax whole upon the body of St. Arrigo. His imposture beingdiscovered, he is beaten and being after taken [for a thief, ] goeth inperil of being hanged by the neck, but ultimately escapeth_ 49

THE SECOND STORY. _Rinaldo d'Asti, having been robbed, maketh his wayto Castel Guglielmo, where he is hospitably entertained by a widowlady and having made good his loss, returneth to his own house, safeand sound_ 52

THE THIRD STORY. _Three young men squander their substance and becomepoor; but a nephew of theirs, returning home in desperation, fallethin with an abbot and findeth him to be the king's daughter of England, who taketh him to husband and maketh good all his uncles' losses, restoring them to good estate_ 57

THE FOURTH STORY. _Landolfo Ruffolo, grown poor, turneth corsair andbeing taken by the Genoese, is wrecked at sea, but saveth himself upona coffer full of jewels of price and being entertained in Corfu by awoman, returneth home rich_ 63

THE FIFTH STORY. _Andreuccio of Perugia, coming to Naples to buyhorses, is in one night overtaken with three grievous accidents, butescapeth them all and returneth home with a ruby_ 66

THE SIXTH STORY. _Madam Beritola, having lost her two sons, is foundon a desert island with two kids and goeth thence into Lunigiana, where one of her sons, taking service with the lord of the country, lieth with his daughter and is cast into prison. Sicily afterrebelling against King Charles and the youth being recognized by hismother, he espouseth his lord's daughter, and his brother beinglikewise found, they are all three restored to high estate_ 75

THE SEVENTH STORY. _The Soldan of Babylon sendeth a daughter of his tobe married to the King of Algarve, and she, by divers chances, in thespace of four years cometh to the hands of nine men in various places. Ultimately, being restored to her father for a maid, she goeth to theKing of Algarve to wife, as first she did_ 85

THE EIGHTH STORY. _The Count of Antwerp, being falsely accused, goethinto exile and leaveth his two children in different places inEngland, whither, after awhile, returning in disguise and finding themin good case, he taketh service as a horseboy in the service of theKing of France and being approved innocent, is restored to his formerestate_ 100

THE NINTH STORY. _Bernabo of Genoa, duped by Ambrogiuolo, loseth hisgood and commandeth that his innocent wife be put to death. Sheescapeth and serveth the Soldan in a man's habit. Here she lightethupon the deceiver of her husband and bringeth the latter toAlexandria, where, her traducer being punished, she resumeth woman'sapparel and returneth to Genoa with her husband, rich_ 111

THE TENTH STORY. _Paganino of Monaco stealeth away the wife of MesserRicciardo di Chinzica, who, learning where she is, goeth thither andmaking friends with Paganino, demandeth her again of him. The latterconcedeth her to him, an she will; but she refuseth to return with himand Messer Ricciardo dying, she becometh the wife of Paganino_ 120

DAY THE THIRD 127

THE FIRST STORY. _Masetto of Lamporecchio feigneth himself dumb andbecometh gardener to a convent of women, who all flock to lie withhim_ 129

THE SECOND STORY. _A horsekeeper lieth with the wife of King Agilulf, who, becoming aware thereof, without word said, findeth him out andpolleth him; but the polled man polleth all his fellows on like wiseand so escapeth ill hap_ 134

THE THIRD STORY. _Under colour of confession and of exceeding nicenessof conscience, a lady, being enamoured of a young man, bringeth agrave friar, without his misdoubting him thereof, to afford a means ofgiving entire effect to her pleasure_ 137

THE FOURTH STORY. _Dom Felice teacheth Fra Puccio how he may becomebeatified by performing a certain penance of his fashion, which theother doth, and Dom Felice meanwhile leadeth a merry life of it withthe good man's wife_ 143

THE FIFTH STORY. _Ricciardo, surnamed Il Zima, giveth Messer FrancescoVergellesi a palfrey of his and hath therefor his leave to speak withhis wife. She keeping silence, he in her person replieth unto himself, and the effect after ensueth in accordance with his answer_ 147

THE SIXTH STORY. _Ricciardo Minutolo, being enamoured of the wife ofFilippello Fighinolfi and knowing her jealousy of her husband, contriveth, by representing that Filippello was on the ensuing day tobe with his own wife in a bagnio, to bring her to the latter place, where, thinking to be with her husband, she findeth that she hathabidden with Ricciardo_ 152

THE SEVENTH STORY. _Tedaldo Elisei, having fallen out with hismistress, departeth Florence and returning thither, after awhile, in apilgrim's favour, speaketh with the lady and maketh her cognisant ofher error; after which he delivereth her husband, who had beenconvicted of murdering him, from death and reconciling him with hisbrethren, thenceforward discreetly enjoyeth himself with his mistress_157

THE EIGHTH STORY. _Ferondo, having swallowed a certain powder, isentombed for dead and being taken forth of the sepulchre by the abbot, who enjoyeth his wife the while, is put in prison and given to believethat he is in purgatory; after which, being raised up again, hereareth for his own a child begotten of the abbot on his wife_ 169

THE NINTH STORY. _Gillette de Narbonne recovereth the King of Franceof a fistula and demandeth for her husband Bertrand de Roussillon, whomarrieth her against his will and betaketh him for despite toFlorence, where, he paying court to a young lady, Gillette, in theperson of the latter, lieth with him and hath by him two sons;wherefore after, holding her dear, he entertaineth her for his wife_176

THE TENTH STORY. _Alibech, turning hermit, is taught by Rustico, amonk, to put the devil in hell, and being after brought away thence, becometh Neerbale his wife_ 182

DAY THE FOURTH 189

THE FIRST STORY. _Tancred, Prince of Salerno, slayeth his daughter'slover and sendeth her his heart in a bowl of gold; whereupon, pouringpoisoned water over it, she drinketh thereof and dieth_ 194

THE SECOND STORY. _Fra Alberto giveth a lady to believe that the angelGabriel is enamoured of her and in his shape lieth with her sundrytimes; after which, for fear of her kinsmen, he casteth himself forthof her window into the canal and taketh refuge in the house of a poorman, who on the morrow carrieth him, in the guise of a wild man of thewoods, to the Piazza, where, being recognized, he is taken by hisbrethren and put in prison_ 201

THE THIRD STORY. _Three young men love three sisters and flee withthem into Crete, where the eldest sister for jealousy slayeth herlover. The second, yielding herself to the Duke of Crete, saveth hersister from death, whereupon her own lover slayeth her and fleeth withthe eldest sister. Meanwhile the third lover and the youngest sisterare accused of the new murder and being taken, confess it; then, forfear of death, they corrupt their keepers with money and flee toRhodes, where they die in poverty_ 208

THE FOURTH STORY. _Gerbino, against the plighted faith of hisgrandfather, King Guglielmo of Sicily, attacketh a ship of the King ofTunis, to carry off a daughter of his, who being put to death of thoseon board, he slayeth these latter and is after himself beheaded_ 213

THE FIFTH STORY. _Lisabetta's brothers slay her lover, who appearethto her in a dream and showeth her where he is buried, whereupon sheprivily disinterreth his head and setteth it in a pot of basil. Thereover making moan a great while every day, her brothers take itfrom her and she for grief dieth a little thereafterward_ 216

THE SIXTH STORY. _Andrevuola loveth Gabriotto and recounteth to him adream she hath had, whereupon he telleth her one of his own andpresently dieth suddenly in her arms. What while she and a waitingwoman of hers bear him to his own house, they are taken by theofficers of justice and carried before the provost, to whom shediscovereth how the case standeth. The provost would fain force her, but she suffereth it not and her father, coming to hear of the matter, procureth her to be set at liberty, she being found innocent;whereupon, altogether refusing to abide longer in the world, shebecometh a nun_ 220

THE SEVENTH STORY. _Simona loveth Pasquino and they being together ina garden, the latter rubbeth a leaf of sage against his teeth anddieth. She, being taken and thinking to show the judge how her loverdied, rubbeth one of the same leaves against her teeth and dieth onlike wise_ 225

THE EIGHTH STORY. _Girolamo loveth Salvestra and being constrained byhis mother's prayers to go to Paris, returneth and findeth hismistress married; whereupon he entereth her house by stealth and diethby her side; and he being carried to a church, Salvestra dieth besidehim_ 228

THE NINTH STORY. _Sir Guillaume de Roussillon giveth his wife to eatthe heart of Sir Guillaume de Guardestaing by him slain and loved ofher, which she after coming to know, casteth herself from a highcasement to the ground and dying, is buried with her lover_ 232

THE TENTH STORY. _A physician's wife putteth her lover for dead in achest, which two usurers carry off to their own house, gallant andall. The latter, who is but drugged, cometh presently to himself andbeing discovered, is taken for a thief; but the lady's maid avouchethto the seignory that she herself had put him into the chest stolen bythe two usurers, whereby he escapeth the gallows and the thieves areamerced in certain monies_ 235

DAY THE FIFTH 243

THE FIRST STORY. _Cimon, loving, waxeth wise and carrieth off to seaIphigenia his mistress. Being cast into prison at Rhodes, he isdelivered thence by Lysimachus and in concert with him carrieth offIphigenia and Cassandra on their wedding-day, with whom the twain fleeinto Crete, where the two ladies become their wives and whence theyare presently all four recalled home_ 244

THE SECOND STORY. _Costanza loveth Martuccio Gomito and hearing thathe is dead, embarketh for despair alone in a boat, which is carried bythe wind to Susa. Finding her lover alive at Tunis, she discoverethherself to him and he, being great in favour with the king forcounsels given, espouseth her and returneth rich with her to Lipari_252

THE THIRD STORY. _Pietro Boccamazza, fleeing with Agnolella, fallethamong thieves; the girl escapeth through a wood and is led [byfortune] to a castle, whilst Pietro is taken by the thieves, butpresently, escaping from their hands, winneth, after diversadventures, to the castle where his mistress is and espousing her, returneth with her to Rome_ 256

THE FOURTH STORY. _Ricciardo Manardi, being found by Messer Lizio daValbona with his daughter, espouseth her and abideth in peace with herfather_ 261

THE FIFTH STORY. _Guidotto da Cremona leaveth to Giacomino da Pavia adaughter of his and dieth. Giannole di Severino and Minghino diMingole fall in love with the girl at Faenza and come to blows on heraccount. Ultimately she is proved to be Giannole's sister and is givento Minghino to wife_ 265

THE SIXTH STORY. _Gianni di Procida being found with a young lady, whom he loved and who had been given to King Frederick of Sicily, isbound with her to a stake to be burnt; but, being recognized byRuggieri dell' Oria, escapeth and becometh her husband_ 269

THE SEVENTH STORY. _Teodoro, being enamoured of Violante, daughter ofMesser Amerigo his lord, getteth her with child and is condemned to behanged; but, being recognized and delivered by his father, as they areleading him to the gallows, scourging him the while, he takethViolante to wife_ 273

THE EIGHTH STORY. _Nastagio degli Onesti, falling in love with a ladyof the Traversari family, spendeth his substance, without beingbeloved in return, and betaking himself, at the instance of hiskinsfolk, to Chiassi, he there seeth a horseman give chase to a damseland slay her and cause her to be devoured of two dogs. Therewithal hebiddeth his kinsfolk and the lady whom he loveth to a dinner, wherehis mistress seeth the same damsel torn in pieces and fearing a likefate, taketh Nastagio to husband_ 278

THE NINTH STORY. _Federigo degli Alberighi loveth and is not loved. Hewasteth his substance in prodigal hospitality till there is left himbut one sole falcon, which, having nought else, he giveth his mistressto eat, on her coming to his house; and she, learning this, changethher mind and taking him to husband, maketh him rich again_ 282

THE TENTH STORY. _Pietro di Vinciolo goeth to sup abroad, whereuponhis wife letteth fetch her a youth to keep her company, and herhusband returning, unlooked for, she hideth her gallant under ahen-coop. Pietro telleth her how there had been found in the house ofone Arcolano, with whom he was to have supped, a young man brought inby his wife, and she blameth the latter. Presently, an ass, bymischance, setteth foot on the fingers of him who is under the coopand he roareth out, whereupon Pietro runneth thither and espying him, discovereth his wife's unfaith, but ultimately cometh to an accordwith her for his own lewd ends_ 286

DAY THE SIXTH 294

THE FIRST STORY. _A gentleman engageth to Madam Oretta to carry hera-horseback with a story, but, telling it disorderly, is prayed by herto set her down again_ 296

THE SECOND STORY. _Cisti the baker with a word of his fashion makethMesser Geri Spina sensible of an indiscreet request of his_ 297

THE THIRD STORY. _Madam Nonna de' Pulci, with a ready retort to a notaltogether seemly pleasantry, imposeth silence on the Bishop ofFlorence_ 299

THE FOURTH STORY. _Chichibio, cook to Currado Gianfigliazzi, with aready word spoken to save himself, turneth his master's anger intolaughter and escapeth the punishment threatened him by the latter_ 301

THE FIFTH STORY. _Messer Forese da Rabatta and Master Giotto thepainter coming from Mugello, each jestingly rallieth the other on hisscurvy favour_ 303

THE SIXTH STORY. _Michele Scalza proveth to certain young men that thecadgers of Florence are the best gentlemen of the world or the Maremmaand winneth a supper_ 304

THE SEVENTH STORY. _Madam Filippa, being found by her husband with alover of hers and brought to justice, delivereth herself with a promptand pleasant answer and causeth modify the statute_ 306

THE EIGHTH STORY. _Fresco exhorteth his niece not to mirror herself inthe glass if, as she saith, it irketh her to see disagreeable folk_308

THE NINTH STORY. _Guido Cavalcanti with a pithy speech courteouslyflouteth certain Florentine gentlemen who had taken him by surprise_309

THE TENTH STORY. _Fra Cipolla promiseth certain country folk to showthem one of the angel Gabriel's feathers and finding coals in placethereof, avoucheth these latter to be of those which roasted St. Lawrence_ 311

DAY THE SEVENTH 322

THE FIRST STORY. _Gianni Lotteringhi heareth knock at his door bynight and awakeneth his wife, who giveth him to believe that it is aphantom; whereupon they go to exorcise it with a certain orison andthe knocking ceaseth_ 323

THE SECOND STORY. _Peronella hideth a lover of hers in a vat, upon herhusband's unlooked for return, and hearing from the latter that hehath sold the vat, avoucheth herself to have sold it to one who ispresently therewithin, to see if it be sound; whereupon the gallant, jumping out of the vat, causeth the husband scrape it out for him andafter carry it home to his house_ 326

THE THIRD STORY. _Fra Rinaldo lieth with his gossip and being found ofher husband closeted with her in her chamber, they give him to believethat he was in act to conjure worms from his godson_ 329

THE FOURTH STORY. _Tofano one night shutteth his wife out of doors, who, availing not to re-enter by dint of entreaties, feigneth to castherself into a well and casteth therein a great stone. Tofano comethforth of the house and runneth thither, whereupon she slippeth in andlocking him out, bawleth reproaches at him from the window_ 333

THE FIFTH STORY. _A jealous husband, in the guise of a priest, confesseth his wife, who giveth him to believe that she loveth apriest, who cometh to her every night; and whilst the husband secretlykeepeth watch at the door for the latter, the lady bringeth in a loverof hers by the roof and lieth with him_ 336

THE SIXTH STORY. _Madam Isabella, being in company with Leonetto herlover, is visited by one Messer Lambertuccio, of whom she is beloved;her husband returning, [unexpected, ] she sendeth Lambertuccio forth ofthe house, whinger in hand, and the husband after escorteth Leonettohome_ 341

THE SEVENTH STORY. _Lodovico discovereth to Madam Beatrice the love hebeareth her, whereupon she sendeth Egano her husband into the garden, in her own favour, and lieth meanwhile with Lodovico, who, presentlyarising, goeth and cudgelleth Egano in the garden_ 344

THE EIGHTH STORY. _A man waxeth jealous of his wife, who bindeth apiece of packthread to her great toe anights, so she may have noticeof her lover's coming. One night her husband becometh aware of thisdevice and what while he pursueth the lover, the lady putteth anotherwoman to bed in her room. This latter the husband beateth and cuttethoff her hair, then fetcheth his wife's brothers, who, finding hisstory [seemingly] untrue, give him hard words_ 348

THE NINTH STORY. _Lydia, wife of Nicostratus, loveth Pyrrhus, who, sohe may believe it, requireth of her three things, all which she doth. Moreover, she solaceth herself with him in the presence of Nicostratusand maketh the latter believe that that which he hath seen is notreal_ 353

THE TENTH STORY. _Two Siennese love a lady, who is gossip to one ofthem; the latter dieth and returning to his companion, according topremise made him, relateth to him how folk fare in the other world_360

DAY THE EIGHTH 365

THE FIRST STORY. _Gulfardo borroweth of Guasparruolo certain monies, for which he hath agreed with his wife that he shall lie with her, andaccordingly giveth them to her; then, in her presence, he tellethGuasparruolo that he gave them to her, and she confesseth it to betrue_ 365

THE SECOND STORY. _The parish priest of Varlungo lieth with MistressBelcolore and leaveth her a cloak of his in pledge; then, borrowing amortar of her, he sendeth it back to her, demanding in return thecloak left by way of token, which the good woman grudgingly giveth himback_ 367

THE THIRD STORY. _Calandrino, Bruno and Buffalmacco go coasting alongthe Mugnone in search of the heliotrope and Calandrino thinketh tohave found it. Accordingly he returneth home, laden with stones, andhis wife chideth him; whereupon, flying out into a rage, he beatethher and recounteth to his companions that which they know better thanhe_ 371

THE FOURTH STORY. _The rector of Fiesole loveth a widow lady, but isnot loved by her and thinking to lie with her, lieth with aserving-wench of hers, whilst the lady's brothers cause the bishopfind him in this case_ 377

THE FIFTH STORY. _Three young men pull the breeches off a Marcheganjudge in Florence, what while he is on the bench, administeringjustice_ 380

THE SIXTH STORY. _Bruno and Buffalmacco, having stolen a pig fromCalandrino, make him try the ordeal with ginger boluses and sack andgive him (instead of the ginger) two dogballs compounded with aloes, whereby it appeareth that he himself hath had the pig and they makehim pay blackmail, and he would not have them tell his wife_ 383

THE SEVENTH STORY. _A scholar loveth a widow lady, who, beingenamoured of another, causeth him spend one winter's night in the snowawaiting her, and he after contriveth, by his sleight, to have herabide naked, all one mid-July day, on the summit of a tower, exposedto flies and gads and sun_ 387

THE EIGHTH STORY. _Two men consorting together, one lieth with thewife of his comrade, who, becoming aware thereof, doth with her onsuch wise that the other is shut up in a chest, upon which he liethwith his wife, he being inside the while_ 403

THE NINTH STORY. _Master Simone the physician, having been induced byBruno and Buffalmacco to repair to a certain place by night, there tobe made a member of a company, that goeth a-roving, is cast byBuffalmacco into a trench full of ordure and there left_ 406

THE TENTH STORY. _A certain woman of Sicily artfully despoileth amerchant of that which he had brought to Palermo; but he, makingbelieve to have returned thither with much greater plenty ofmerchandise than before, borroweth money of her and leaveth her waterand tow in payment_ 418

DAY THE NINTH 427

THE FIRST STORY. _Madam Francesca, being courted of one RinuccioPalermini and one Alessandro Chiarmontesi and loving neither the onenor the other, adroitly riddeth herself of both by causing one enterfor dead into a sepulchre and the other bring him forth thereof fordead, on such wise that they cannot avail to accomplish the conditionimposed_ 428

THE SECOND STORY. _An abbess, arising in haste and in the dark to findone of her nuns, who had been denounced to her, in bed with her loverand, thinking to cover her head with her coif, donneth instead thereofthe breeches of a priest who is abed with her; the which the accusednun observing and making her aware thereof, she is acquitted and hathleisure to be with her lover_ 432

THE THIRD STORY. _Master Simone, at the instance of Bruno andBuffalmacco and Nello, maketh Calandrino believe that he is withchild; wherefore he giveth them capons and money for medicines andrecovereth without bringing forth_ 435

THE FOURTH STORY. _Cecco Fortarrigo gameth away at Buonconvento allhis good and the monies of Cecco Angiolieri [his master;] moreover, running after the latter, in his shirt, and avouching that he hathrobbed him, he causeth him be taken of the countryfolk; then, donningAngiolieri's clothes and mounting his palfrey, he maketh off andleaveth the other in his shirt_ 438

THE FIFTH STORY. _Calandrino falleth in love with a wench and Brunowriteth him a talisman, wherewith when he toucheth her, she goeth withhim; and his wife finding them together, there betideth him grievoustrouble and annoy_ 441

THE SIXTH STORY. _Two young gentlemen lodge the night with aninnkeeper, whereof one goeth to lie with the host's daughter, whilsthis wife unwittingly coucheth with the other; after which he who laywith the girl getteth him to bed with her father and telleth him all, thinking to bespeak his comrade. Therewithal they come to words, butthe wife, perceiving her mistake, entereth her daughter's bed andthence with certain words appeaseth everything_ 446

THE SEVENTH STORY. _Talano di Molese dreameth that a wolf mangleth allhis wife's neck and face and biddeth her beware thereof; but shepayeth no heed to his warning and it befalleth her even as he haddreamed_ 450

THE EIGHTH STORY. _Biondello cheateth Ciacco of a dinner, whereof theother craftily avengeth himself, procuring him to be shamefullybeaten_ 451

THE NINTH STORY. _Two young men seek counsel of Solomon, one how hemay be loved and the other how he may amend his froward wife, and inanswer he biddeth the one love and the other get him to Goosebridge_454

THE TENTH STORY. _Dom Gianni, at the instance of his gossip Pietro, performeth a conjuration for the purpose of causing the latter's wifeto become a mare; but, whenas he cometh to put on the tail, Pietromarreth the whole conjuration, saying that he will not have a tail_457

DAY THE TENTH 462

THE FIRST STORY. _A knight in the king's service of Spain thinkinghimself ill guerdoned, the king by very certain proof showeth him thatthis is not his fault, but that of his own perverse fortune, and afterlargesseth him magnificently_ 462

THE SECOND STORY. _Ghino di Tacco taketh the Abbot of Cluny and havingcured him of the stomach-complaint, letteth him go; whereupon theAbbot, returning to the court of Rome, reconcileth him with PopeBoniface and maketh him a Prior of the Hospitallers_ 464

THE THIRD STORY. _Mithridanes, envying Nathan his hospitality andgenerosity and going to kill him, falleth in with himself, withoutknowing him, and is by him instructed of the course he shall take toaccomplish his purpose; by means whereof he findeth him, as he himselfhad ordered it, in a coppice and recognizing him, is ashamed andbecometh his friend_ 468

THE FOURTH STORY. _Messer Gentile de' Carisendi, coming from Modona, taketh forth of the sepulchre a lady whom he loveth and who hath beenburied for dead. The lady, restored to life, beareth a male child andMesser Gentile restoreth her and her son to Niccoluccio Caccianimico, her husband_ 472

THE FIFTH STORY. _Madam Dianora requireth of Messer Ansaldo a gardenas fair in January as in May, and he by binding himself [to pay agreat sum of money] to a nigromancer, giveth it to her. Her husbandgranteth her leave to do Messer Ansaldo's pleasure, but he, hearing ofthe former's generosity, absolveth her of her promise, whereupon thenigromancer, in his turn, acquitteth Messer Ansaldo of his bond, without willing aught of his_ 478

THE SIXTH STORY. _King Charles the Old, the Victorious, fallethenamoured of a young girl, but after, ashamed of his fond thought, honourably marrieth both her and her sister_ 481

THE SEVENTH STORY. _King Pedro of Arragon, coming to know the ferventlove borne him by Lisa, comforteth the lovesick maid and presentlymarrieth her to a noble young gentleman; then, kissing her on thebrow, he ever after avoucheth himself her knight_ 485

THE EIGHTH STORY. _Sophronia, thinking to marry Gisippus, becometh thewife of Titus Quintius Fulvus and with him betaketh herself to Rome, whither Gisippus cometh in poor case and conceiving himself slightedof Titus, declareth, so he may die, to have slain a man. Titus, recognizing him, to save him, avoucheth himself to have done the deed, and the true murderer, seeing this, discovereth himself; whereuponthey are all three liberated by Octavianus and Titus, giving Gisippushis sister to wife, hath all his good in common with him_ 491

THE NINTH STORY. _Saladin, in the disguise of a merchant, ishonourably entertained by Messer Torello d'Istria, who, presentlyundertaking the [third] crusade, appointeth his wife a term for hermarrying again. He is taken [by the Saracens] and cometh, by his skillin training hawks, under the notice of the Soldan, who knoweth himagain and discovering himself to him, entreateth him with the utmosthonour. Then, Torello falling sick for languishment, he is by magicalart transported in one night [from Alexandria] to Pavia, where, beingrecognized by his wife at the bride-feast held for her marrying again, he returneth with her to his own house_ 503

THE TENTH STORY. _The Marquess of Saluzzo, constrained by the prayersof his vassals to marry, but determined to do it after his ownfashion, taketh to wife the daughter of a peasant and hath of her twochildren, whom he maketh believe to her to put to death; after which, feigning to be grown weary of her and to have taken another wife, heletteth bring his own daughter home to his house, as she were his newbride, and turneth his wife away in her shift; but, finding herpatient under everything, he fetcheth her home again, dearer thanever, and showing her her children grown great, honoureth and lettethhonour her as marchioness_ 510

CONCLUSION OF THE AUTHOR 525

HERE BEGINNETH THE BOOK CALLED DECAMERON AND SURNAMED PRINCE GALAHALTWHEREIN ARE CONTAINED AN HUNDRED STORIES IN TEN DAYS TOLD BY SEVENLADIES AND THREE YOUNG MEN

PROEM

A kindly thing it is to have compassion of the afflicted and albeit itwell beseemeth every one, yet of those is it more particularlyrequired who have erst had need of comfort and have found it in any, amongst whom, if ever any had need thereof or held it dear or tookpleasure therein aforetimes, certes, I am one of these. For that, having from my first youth unto this present been beyond measureinflamed with a very high and noble passion (higher and nobler, perchance, than might appear, were I to relate it, to sort with my lowestate) albeit by persons of discretion who had intelligence thereof Iwas commended therefor and accounted so much the more worth, nathelessa passing sore travail it was to me to bear it, not, certes, by reasonof the cruelty of the beloved lady, but because of the exceedingardour begotten in my breast of an ill-ordered appetite, for which, for that it suffered me not to stand content at any reasonable bounds, caused me ofttimes feel more chagrin than I had occasion for. In thismy affliction the pleasant discourse of a certain friend of mine andhis admirable consolations afforded me such refreshment that I firmlybelieve of these it came that I died not. But, as it pleased Him who, being Himself infinite, hath for immutable law appointed unto allthings mundane that they shall have an end, my love, --beyond everyother fervent and which nor stress of reasoning nor counsel, no, noryet manifest shame nor peril that might ensue thereof, had availedeither to break or to bend, --of its own motion, in process of time, onsuch wise abated that of itself at this present it hath left me onlythat pleasance which it is used to afford unto whoso adventurethhimself not too far in the navigation of its profounder oceans; byreason whereof, all chagrin being done away, I feel it growndelightsome, whereas it used to be grievous. Yet, albeit the pain hathceased, not, therefore, is the memory fled of the benefits whilomreceived and the kindnesses bestowed on me by those to whom, of thegoodwill they bore me, my troubles were grievous; nor, as I deem, willit ever pass away, save for death. And for that gratitude, to mythinking, is, among the other virtues, especially commendable and itscontrary blameworthy, I have, that I may not appear ungrateful, bethought myself, now that I can call myself free, to endeavour, inthat little which is possible to me, to afford some relief, inrequital of that which I received aforetime, --if not to those whosuccoured me and who, belike, by reason of their good sense or oftheir fortune, have no occasion therefor, --to those, at least, whostand in need thereof. And albeit my support, or rather I should saymy comfort, may be and indeed is of little enough avail to theafflicted, natheless meseemeth it should rather be proffered whereasthe need appeareth greater, as well because it will there do moreservice as for that it will still be there the liefer had. And whowill deny that this [comfort], whatsoever [worth] it be, it behovethmuch more to give unto lovesick ladies than unto men? For that thesewithin their tender bosoms, fearful and shamefast, hold hid the firesof love (which those who have proved know how much more puissance theyhave than those which are manifest), and constrained by the wishes, the pleasures, the commandments of fathers, mothers, brothers andhusbands, abide most time enmewed in the narrow compass of theirchambers and sitting in a manner idle, willing and willing not in onebreath, revolve in themselves various thoughts which it is notpossible should still be merry. By reason whereof if there arise intheir minds any melancholy, bred of ardent desire, needs must it withgrievous annoy abide therein, except it be done away by new discourse;more by token that they are far less strong than men to endure. Withmen in love it happeneth not on this wise, as we may manifestly see. They, if any melancholy or heaviness of thought oppress them, havemany means of easing it or doing it away, for that to them, an theyhave a mind thereto, there lacketh not commodity of going abouthearing and seeing many things, fowling, hunting, fishing, riding, gaming and trafficking; each of which means hath, altogether or inpart, power to draw the mind unto itself and to divert it fromtroublous thought, at least for some space of time, whereafter, oneway or another, either solacement superveneth or else the annoygroweth less. Wherefore, to the end that the unright of Fortune may byme in part be amended, which, where there is the less strength toendure, as we see it in delicate ladies, hath there been the moreniggard of support, I purpose, for the succour and solace of ladies inlove (unto others[1] the needle and the spindle and the reel suffice)to recount an hundred stories or fables or parables or histories orwhatever you like to style them, in ten days' time related by anhonourable company of seven ladies and three young men made in thedays of the late deadly pestilence, together with sundry canzonetssung by the aforesaid ladies for their diversion. In these storieswill be found love-chances, [2] both gladsome and grievous, and otheraccidents of fortune befallen as well in times present as in days ofold, whereof the ladies aforesaid, who shall read them, may at oncetake solace from the delectable things therein shown forth and usefulcounsel, inasmuch as they may learn thereby what is to be eschewed andwhat is on like wise to be ensued, --the which methinketh cannot betidewithout cease of chagrin. If it happen thus (as God grant it may) letthem render thanks therefor to Love, who, by loosing me from hisbonds, hath vouchsafed me the power of applying myself to the serviceof their pleasures. 

[Footnote 1: _i. E. _ those not in love. ]

[Footnote 2: Syn. Adventures (_casi_). ]

_Day the First_

 HERE BEGINNETH THE FIRST DAY OF THE DECAMERON WHEREIN (AFTER DEMONSTRATION MADE BY THE AUTHOR OF THE MANNER IN WHICH IT CAME TO PASS THAT THE PERSONS WHO ARE HEREINAFTER PRESENTED FOREGATHERED FOR THE PURPOSE OF DEVISING TOGETHER) UNDER THE GOVERNANCE OF PAMPINEA IS DISCOURSED OF THAT WHICH IS MOST AGREEABLE UNTO EACH

As often, most gracious ladies, as, taking thought in myself, I mindme how very pitiful you are all by nature, so often do I recognizethat this present work will, to your thinking, have a grievous and aweariful beginning, inasmuch as the dolorous remembrance of the latepestiferous mortality, which it beareth on its forefront, isuniversally irksome to all who saw or otherwise knew it. But I wouldnot therefore have this affright you from reading further, as if inthe reading you were still to fare among sighs and tears. Let thisgrisly beginning be none other to you than is to wayfarers a ruggedand steep mountain, beyond which is situate a most fair and delightfulplain, which latter cometh so much the pleasanter to them as thegreater was the hardship of the ascent and the descent; for, like asdolour occupieth the extreme of gladness, even so are miseriesdetermined by imminent joyance. This brief annoy (I say brief, inasmuch as it is contained in few pages) is straightway succeeded bythe pleasance and delight which I have already promised you and which, belike, were it not aforesaid, might not be looked for from such abeginning. And in truth, could I fairly have availed to bring you tomy desire otherwise than by so rugged a path as this will be I hadgladly done it; but being in a manner constrained thereto, for that, without this reminiscence of our past miseries, it might not be shownwhat was the occasion of the coming about of the things that willhereafter be read, I have brought myself to write them. [3]

[Footnote 3: _i. E. _ the few pages of which he speaks above. ]

I say, then, that the years [of the era] of the fruitful Incarnationof the Son of God had attained to the number of one thousand threehundred and forty-eight, when into the notable city of Florence, fairover every other of Italy, there came the death-dealing pestilence, which, through the operation of the heavenly bodies or of our owniniquitous dealings, being sent down upon mankind for our correctionby the just wrath of God, had some years before appeared in the partsof the East and after having bereft these latter of an innumerablenumber of inhabitants, extending without cease from one place toanother, had now unhappily spread towards the West. And thereagainstno wisdom availing nor human foresight (whereby the city was purged ofmany impurities by officers deputed to that end and it was forbiddenunto any sick person to enter therein and many were the counselsgiven[4] for the preservation of health) nor yet humblesupplications, not once but many times both in ordered processions andon other wise made unto God by devout persons, --about the coming in ofthe Spring of the aforesaid year, it began on horrible and miraculouswise to show forth its dolorous effects. Yet not as it had done in theEast, where, if any bled at the nose, it was a manifest sign ofinevitable death; nay, but in men and women alike there appeared, atthe beginning of the malady, certain swellings, either on the groin orunder the armpits, whereof some waxed of the bigness of a commonapple, others like unto an egg, some more and some less, and these thevulgar named plague-boils. From these two parts the aforesaiddeath-bearing plague-boils proceeded, in brief space, to appear andcome indifferently in every part of the body; wherefrom, after awhile, the fashion of the contagion began to change into black or lividblotches, which showed themselves in many [first] on the arms andabout the thighs and [after spread to] every other part of the person, in some large and sparse and in others small and thick-sown; and likeas the plague-boils had been first (and yet were) a very certain tokenof coming death, even so were these for every one to whom they came. 

[Footnote 4: Syn. Provisions made or means taken (_consigli dati_). Boccaccio constantly uses _consiglio_ in this latter sense. ]

To the cure of these maladies nor counsel[5] of physician nor virtueof any medicine appeared to avail or profit aught; on thecontrary, --whether it was that the nature of the infection suffered itnot or that the ignorance of the physicians (of whom, over and abovethe men of art, the number, both men and women, who had never had anyteaching of medicine, was become exceeding great, ) availed not to knowwhence it arose and consequently took not due measures thereagainst, --notonly did few recover thereof, but well nigh all died within the thirdday from the appearance of the aforesaid signs, this sooner and thatlater, and for the most part without fever or other accident. [6] Andthis pestilence was the more virulent for that, by communication withthose who were sick thereof, it gat hold upon the sound, no otherwisethan fire upon things dry or greasy, whenas they are brought very nearthereunto. Nay, the mischief was yet greater; for that not only didconverse and consortion with the sick give to the sound infection ofcause of common death, but the mere touching of the clothes or ofwhatsoever other thing had been touched or used of the sick appearedof itself to communicate the malady to the toucher. A marvellous thingto hear is that which I have to tell and one which, had it not beenseen of many men's eyes and of mine own, I had scarce dared credit, much less set down in writing, though I had heard it from one worthyof belief. I say, then, that of such efficience was the nature of thepestilence in question in communicating itself from one to another, that, not only did it pass from man to man, but this, which is muchmore, it many times visibly did;--to wit, a thing which had pertainedto a man sick or dead of the aforesaid sickness, being touched by ananimal foreign to the human species, not only infected this latterwith the plague, but in a very brief space of time killed it. Of thismine own eyes (as hath a little before been said) had one day, amongothers, experience on this wise; to wit, that the rags of a poor man, who had died of the plague, being cast out into the public way, twohogs came up to them and having first, after their wont, rooted amainamong them with their snouts, took them in their mouths and tossedthem about their jaws; then, in a little while, after turning roundand round, they both, as if they had taken poison, fell down dead uponthe rags with which they had in an ill hour intermeddled. 

[Footnote 5: Syn. Help, remedy. ]

[Footnote 6: _Accidente_, what a modern physician would call"complication. " "Symptom" does not express the whole meaning of theItalian word. ]

From these things and many others like unto them or yet strangerdivers fears and conceits were begotten in those who abode alive, which well nigh all tended to a very barbarous conclusion, namely, toshun and flee from the sick and all that pertained to them, and thusdoing, each thought to secure immunity for himself. Some there werewho conceived that to live moderately and keep oneself from all excesswas the best defence against such a danger; wherefore, making up theircompany, they lived removed from every other and shut themselves up inthose houses where none had been sick and where living was best; andthere, using very temperately of the most delicate viands and thefinest wines and eschewing all incontinence, they abode with music andsuch other diversions as they might have, never suffering themselvesto speak with any nor choosing to hear any news from without of deathor sick folk. Others, inclining to the contrary opinion, maintainedthat to carouse and make merry and go about singing and frolicking andsatisfy the appetite in everything possible and laugh and scoff atwhatsoever befell was a very certain remedy for such an ill. Thatwhich they said they put in practice as best they might, going aboutday and night, now to this tavern, now to that, drinking without stintor measure; and on this wise they did yet more freely in other folk'shouses, so but they scented there aught that liked or tempted them, asthey might lightly do, for that every one--as he were to live nolonger--had abandoned all care of his possessions, as of himself, wherefore the most part of the houses were become common good andstrangers used them, whenas they happened upon them, like as the veryowner might have done; and with all this bestial preoccupation, theystill shunned the sick to the best of their power. 

In this sore affliction and misery of our city, the reverend authorityof the laws, both human and divine, was all in a manner dissolved andfallen into decay, for [lack of] the ministers and executors thereof, who, like other men, were all either dead or sick or else left sodestitute of followers that they were unable to exercise any office, wherefore every one had license to do whatsoever pleased him. Manyothers held a middle course between the two aforesaid, not straiteningthemselves so exactly in the matter of diet as the first neitherallowing themselves such license in drinking and other debauchery asthe second, but using things in sufficiency, according to theirappetites; nor did they seclude themselves, but went about, carryingin their hands, some flowers, some odoriferous herbs and other somedivers kinds of spiceries, [7] which they set often to their noses, accounting it an excellent thing to fortify the brain with suchodours, more by token that the air seemed all heavy and attainted withthe stench of the dead bodies and that of the sick and of the remediesused. 

[Footnote 7: _i. E. _ aromatic drugs. ]

Some were of a more barbarous, though, peradventure, a surer way ofthinking, avouching that there was no remedy against pestilencesbetter than--no, nor any so good as--to flee before them; wherefore, moved by this reasoning and recking of nought but themselves, verymany, both men and women, abandoned their own city, their own housesand homes, their kinsfolk and possessions, and sought the countryseats of others, or, at the least, their own, as if the wrath of God, being moved to punish the iniquity of mankind, would not proceed to doso wheresoever they might be, but would content itself with afflictingthose only who were found within the walls of their city, or as ifthey were persuaded that no person was to remain therein and that itslast hour was come. And albeit these, who opined thus variously, diednot all, yet neither did they all escape; nay, many of each way ofthinking and in every place sickened of the plague and languished onall sides, well nigh abandoned, having themselves, what while theywere whole, set the example to those who abode in health. 

Indeed, leaving be that townsman avoided townsman and that well nighno neighbour took thought unto other and that kinsfolk seldom or nevervisited one another and held no converse together save from afar, thistribulation had stricken such terror to the hearts of all, men andwomen alike, that brother forsook brother, uncle nephew and sisterbrother and oftentimes wife husband; nay (what is yet moreextraordinary and well nigh incredible) fathers and mothers refused tovisit or tend their very children, as they had not been theirs. Byreason whereof there remained unto those (and the number of them, bothmales and females, was incalculable) who fell sick, none other succourthan that which they owed either to the charity of friends (and ofthese there were few) or the greed of servants, who tended them, allured by high and extravagant wage; albeit, for all this, theselatter were not grown many, and those men and women of meanunderstanding and for the most part unused to such offices, who servedfor well nigh nought but to reach things called for by the sick or tonote when they died; and in the doing of these services many of themperished with their gain. 

Of this abandonment of the sick by neighbours, kinsfolk and friendsand of the scarcity of servants arose an usage before well nighunheard, to wit, that no woman, how fair or lovesome or well-bornsoever she might be, once fallen sick, recked aught of having a man totend her, whatever he might be, or young or old, and without any shamediscovered to him every part of her body, no otherwise than she wouldhave done to a woman, so but the necessity of her sickness requiredit; the which belike, in those who recovered, was the occasion oflesser modesty in time to come. Moreover, there ensued of thisabandonment the death of many who peradventure, had they beensuccoured, would have escaped alive; wherefore, as well for the lackof the opportune services which the sick availed not to have as forthe virulence of the plague, such was the multitude of those who diedin the city by day and by night that it was an astonishment to heartell thereof, much more to see it; and thence, as it were ofnecessity, there sprang up among those who abode alive things contraryto the pristine manners of the townsfolk. 

It was then (even as we yet see it used) a custom that the kinswomenand she-neighbours of the dead should assemble in his house and therecondole with those who more nearly pertained unto him, whilst hisneighbours and many other citizens foregathered with his next of kinbefore his house, whither, according to the dead man's quality, camethe clergy, and he with funeral pomp of chants and candles was borneon the shoulders of his peers to the church chosen by himself beforehis death; which usages, after the virulence of the plague began toincrease, were either altogether or for the most part laid aside, andother and strange customs sprang up in their stead. For that, not onlydid folk die without having a multitude of women about them, but manythere were who departed this life without witness and few indeed werethey to whom the pious plaints and bitter tears of their kinsfolk werevouchsafed; nay, in lieu of these things there obtained, for the mostpart, laughter and jests and gibes and feasting and merrymaking incompany; which usance women, laying aside womanly pitifulness, hadright well learned for their own safety. 

Few, again, were they whose bodies were accompanied to the church bymore than half a score or a dozen of their neighbours, and of these noworshipful and illustrious citizens, but a sort of blood-suckers, sprung from the dregs of the people, who styled themselves_pickmen_[8] and did such offices for hire, shouldered the bier andbore it with hurried steps, not to that church which the dead man hadchosen before his death, but most times to the nearest, behind five orsix[9] priests, with little light[10] and whiles none at all, whichlatter, with the aid of the said pickmen, thrust him into what gravesoever they first found unoccupied, without troubling themselves withtoo long or too formal a service. 

[Footnote 8: _i. E. _ gravediggers (_becchini_). ]

[Footnote 9: Lit. _four_ or six. This is the equivalent Italianidiom. ]

[Footnote 10: _i. E. _ but few tapers. ]

The condition of the common people (and belike, in great part, of themiddle class also) was yet more pitiable to behold, for that these, for the most part retained by hope[11] or poverty in their houses andabiding in their own quarters, sickened by the thousand daily andbeing altogether untended and unsuccoured, died well nigh all withoutrecourse. Many breathed their last in the open street, whilst othermany, for all they died in their houses, made it known to theneighbours that they were dead rather by the stench of their rottingbodies than otherwise; and of these and others who died all about thewhole city was full. For the most part one same usance was observed bythe neighbours, moved more by fear lest the corruption of the deadbodies should imperil themselves than by any charity they had for thedeparted; to wit, that either with their own hands or with the aid ofcertain bearers, whenas they might have any, they brought the bodiesof those who had died forth of their houses and laid them before theirdoors, where, especially in the morning, those who went about mightsee corpses without number; then they fetched biers and some, indefault thereof, they laid upon some board or other. Nor was it onlyone bier that carried two or three corpses, nor did this happen butonce; nay, many might have been counted which contained husband andwife, two or three brothers, father and son or the like. And aninfinite number of times it befell that, two priests going with onecross for some one, three or four biers, borne by bearers, rangedthemselves behind the latter, [12] and whereas the priests thought tohave but one dead man to bury, they had six or eight, and whiles more. Nor therefore were the dead honoured with aught of tears or candles orfuneral train; nay, the thing was come to such a pass that folk reckedno more of men that died than nowadays they would of goats; whereby itvery manifestly appeared that that which the natural course of thingshad not availed, by dint of small and infrequent harms, to teach thewise to endure with patience, the very greatness of their ills hadbrought even the simple to expect and make no account of. Theconsecrated ground sufficing not to the burial of the vast multitudeof corpses aforesaid, which daily and well nigh hourly came carried incrowds to every church, --especially if it were sought to give each hisown place, according to ancient usance, --there were made throughoutthe churchyards, after every other part was full, vast trenches, wherein those who came after were laid by the hundred and being heapedup therein by layers, as goods are stowed aboard ship, were coveredwith a little earth, till such time as they reached the top of thetrench. 

[Footnote 11: _i. E. _ expectation of gain from acting as tenders of thesick, gravediggers, etc. The word _speranza_ is, however, constantlyused by Dante and his follower Boccaccio in the contrary sense of"fear, " and may be so meant in the present instance. ]

[Footnote 12: _i. E. _ the cross. ]

Moreover, --not to go longer searching out and recalling everyparticular of our past miseries, as they befell throughout thecity, --I say that, whilst so sinister a time prevailed in the latter, on no wise therefor was the surrounding country spared, wherein, (letting be the castles, [13] which in their littleness[14] were likeunto the city, ) throughout the scattered villages and in the fields, the poor and miserable husbandmen and their families, without succourof physician or aid of servitor, died, not like men, but well nighlike beasts, by the ways or in their tillages or about the houses, indifferently by day and night. By reason whereof, growing lax likethe townsfolk in their manners and customs, they recked not of anything or business of theirs; nay, all, as if they looked for deaththat very day, studied with all their wit, not to help to maturity thefuture produce of their cattle and their fields and the fruits oftheir own past toils, but to consume those which were ready to hand. Thus it came to pass that the oxen, the asses, the sheep, the goats, the swine, the fowls, nay, the very dogs, so faithful to mankind, being driven forth of their own houses, went straying at theirpleasure about the fields, where the very corn was abandoned, withoutbeing cut, much less gathered in; and many, well nigh like reasonablecreatures, after grazing all day, returned at night, glutted, to theirhouses, without the constraint of any herdsman. 

[Footnote 13: _i. E. _ walled burghs. ]

[Footnote 14: _i. E. _ in miniature. ]

To leave the country and return to the city, what more can be saidsave that such and so great was the cruelty of heaven (and in part, peradventure, that of men) that, between March and the following July, what with the virulence of that pestiferous sickness and the number ofsick folk ill tended or forsaken in their need, through thefearfulness of those who were whole, it is believed for certain thatupward of an hundred thousand human beings perished within the wallsof the city of Florence, which, peradventure, before the advent ofthat death-dealing calamity, had not been accounted to hold so many?Alas, how many great palaces, how many goodly houses, how many noblemansions, once full of families, of lords and of ladies, abode emptyeven to the meanest servant! How many memorable families, how manyample heritages, how many famous fortunes were seen to remain withoutlawful heir! How many valiant men, how many fair ladies, how manysprightly youths, whom, not others only, but Galen, Hippocrates orÆsculapius themselves would have judged most hale, breakfasted in themorning with their kinsfolk, comrades and friends and that same nightsupped with their ancestors in the other world!

I am myself weary of going wandering so long among such miseries;wherefore, purposing henceforth to leave such part thereof as I canfitly, I say that, --our city being at this pass, well nigh void ofinhabitants, --it chanced (as I afterward heard from a person worthy ofcredit) that there foregathered in the venerable church of Santa MariaNovella, one Tuesday morning when there was well nigh none else there, seven young ladies, all knit one to another by friendship orneighbourhood or kinship, who had heard divine service in mourningattire, as sorted with such a season. Not one of them had passed hereight-and-twentieth year nor was less than eighteen years old, andeach was discreet and of noble blood, fair of favour and well-manneredand full of honest sprightliness. The names of these ladies I would inproper terms set out, did not just cause forbid me, to wit, that Iwould not have it possible that, in time to come, any of them shouldtake shame by reason of the things hereinafter related as being toldor hearkened by them, the laws of disport being nowadays somewhatstraitened, which at that time, for the reasons above shown, were ofthe largest, not only for persons of their years, but for those of amuch riper age; nor yet would I give occasion to the envious, who arestill ready to carp at every praiseworthy life, on anywise todisparage the fair fame of these honourable ladies with unseemly talk. Wherefore, so that which each saith may hereafterward be apprehendedwithout confusion, I purpose to denominate them by names altogether orin part sorting with each one's quality. [15] The first of them andher of ripest age I shall call Pampinea, the second Fiammetta, thethird Filomena and the fourth Emilia. To the fifth we will give thename of Lauretta, to the sixth that of Neifile and the last, notwithout cause, we will style Elisa. [16] These, then, not drawn of anyset purpose, but foregathering by chance in a corner of the church, having seated themselves in a ring, after divers sighs, let be thesaying of paternosters and fell to devising with one another many andvarious things of the nature of the time. After awhile, the othersbeing silent, Pampinea proceeded to speak thus:

[Footnote 15: Or character (_qualità_). ]

[Footnote 16: I know of no explanation of these names by thecommentators, who seem, indeed, after the manner of their kind, tohave generally confined themselves to the elaborate illustration andelucidation (or rather, alas! too often, obscuration) of passagesalready perfectly plain, leaving the difficult passages for the mostpart untouched. The following is the best I can make of them. _Pampinea_ appears to be formed from the Greek [Greek: pan], all, and[Greek: pinuô], I advise, admonish or inform, and to mean all-advisingor admonishing, which would agree well enough with the character ofPampinea, who is represented as the eldest and sagest of the femalepersonages of the Decameron and as taking the lead in everything. _Fiammetta_ is the name by which Boccaccio designates his mistress, the Princess Maria of Naples (the lady for whom he cherished "the veryhigh and noble passion" of which he speaks in his Proem), in hisearlier opuscule, the "Elégia di Madonna Fiammetta, " describing, inher name, the torments of separation from the beloved. In this work hespeaks of himself under the name of Pamfilo (Gr. [Greek: pan], all, and [Greek: phileô], I love, _i. E. _ the all-loving or the passionatelover), and it is probable, therefore, that under these names heintended to introduce his royal ladylove and himself in the presentwork. _Filomena_ (Italian form of Philomela, a nightingale, Greek[Greek: philos] loving, and [Greek: melos], melody, song, _i. E. _song-loving) is perhaps so styled for her love of music, and_Emilia's_ character, as it appears in the course of the work, justifies the derivation of her name from the Greek [Greek: aimylios], pleasing, engaging in manners and behaviour, cajoling. _Lauretta_Boccaccio probably intends us to look upon as a learned lady, if, aswe may suppose, her name is a corruption of _laureata_, laurel-crowned; whilst _Neifile's_ name (Greek [Greek: neios] [[Greek:neos]] new, and [Greek: phileô], I love, _i. E. _ novelty-loving) stampsher as being of a somewhat curious disposition, eager "to tell or tohear some new thing. " The name _Elisa_ is not so easily to beexplained as the others; possibly it was intended by the author as areminiscence of Dido, to whom the name (which is by some authoritiesexplained to mean "Godlike, " from a Hebrew root) is said to have beengiven "quòd plurima supra animi muliebris fortitudinem gesserit. " Itdoes not, however, appear that there was in Elisa's character or lifeanything to justify the implied comparison. ]

"Dear my ladies, you may, like myself, have many times heard thatwhoso honestly useth his right doth no one wrong; and it is thenatural right of every one who is born here below to succour, keep anddefend his own life as best he may, and in so far is this allowed thatit hath happened whiles that, for the preservation thereof, men havebeen slain without any fault. If this much be conceded of the laws, which have in view the well-being of all mortals, how much more is itlawful for us and whatsoever other, without offence unto any, to takesuch means as we may for the preservation of our lives? As often as Iconsider our fashions of this morning and those of many other morningspast and bethink me what and what manner discourses are ours, I feel, and you likewise must feel, that each of us is in fear for herself. Nor do I anywise wonder at this; but I wonder exceedingly, consideringthat we all have a woman's wit, that we take no steps to provideourselves against that which each of us justly feareth. We abide here, to my seeming, no otherwise than as if we would or should be witnessof how many dead bodies are brought hither for burial or to hearken ifthe friars of the place, whose number is come well nigh to nought, chant their offices at the due hours or by our apparel to show forthunto whosoever appeareth here the nature and extent of our distresses. If we depart hence, we either see dead bodies or sick persons carriedabout or those, whom for their misdeeds the authority of the publiclaws whilere condemned to exile, overrun the whole place with unseemlyexcesses, as if scoffing at the laws, for that they know the executorsthereof to be either dead or sick; whilst the dregs of our city, fattened with our blood, style themselves _pickmen_ and ruffle iteverywhere in mockery of us, riding and running all about and floutingus with our distresses in ribald songs. We hear nothing here but 'Suchan one is dead' or 'Such an one is at the point of death'; and werethere any to make them, we should hear dolorous lamentations on allsides. And if we return to our houses, I know not if it is with you aswith me, but, for my part, when I find none left therein of a greathousehold, save my serving-maid, I wax fearful and feel every hair ofmy body stand on end; and wherever I go or abide about the house, meseemeth I see the shades of those who are departed and who wear notthose countenances that I was used to see, but terrify me with ahorrid aspect, I know not whence newly come to them. 

By reason of these things I feel myself alike ill at ease here andabroad and at home, more by token that meseemeth none, who hath, as wehave, the power and whither to go, is left here, other than ourselves;or if any such there be, I have many a time both heard and perceivedthat, without making any distinction between things lawful andunlawful, so but appetite move them, whether alone or in company, bothday and night, they do that which affordeth them most delight. Nor isit the laity alone who do thus; nay, even those who are shut in themonasteries, persuading themselves that what befitteth and is lawfulto others alike sortable and unforbidden unto them, [17] have brokenthe laws of obedience and giving themselves to carnal delights, thinking thus to escape, are grown lewd and dissolute. If thus, then, it be, as is manifestly to be seen, what do we here? What look we for?What dream we? Why are we more sluggish and slower to provide for oursafety than all the rest of the townsfolk? Deem we ourselves of lessprice than others, or do we hold our life to be bounden in our bodieswith a stronger chain than is theirs and that therefore we need recknothing of aught that hath power to harm it? We err, we are deceived;what folly is ours, if we think thus! As often as we choose to call tomind the number and quality of the youths and ladies overborne of thiscruel pestilence, we may see a most manifest proof thereof. 

[Footnote 17: This phrase may also be read "persuading themselves thatthat (_i. E. _ their breach of the laws of obedience, etc. ) beseemeththem and is forbidden only to others" (_faccendosi a credere chequello a lor si convenga e non si disdica che all' altre_); but thereading in the text appears more in harmony with the general sense andis indeed indicated by the punctuation of the Giunta Edition of 1527, which I generally follow in case of doubt. ]

Wherefore, in order that we may not, through wilfulness ornonchalance, fall into that wherefrom we may, peradventure, an we butwill, by some means or other escape, I know not if it seem to you asit doth to me, but methinketh it were excellently well done that we, such as we are, depart this city, as many have done before us, andeschewing, as we would death, the dishonourable example of others, betake ourselves quietly to our places in the country, whereof each ofus hath great plenty, and there take such diversion, such delight andsuch pleasance as we may, without anywise overpassing the bounds ofreason. There may we hear the small birds sing, there may we see thehills and plains clad all in green and the fields full of corn waveeven as doth the sea; there may we see trees, a thousand sorts, andthere is the face of heaven more open to view, the which, angeredagainst us though it be, nevertheless denieth not unto us its eternalbeauties, far goodlier to look upon than the empty walls of our city. Moreover, there is the air far fresher[18] and there at this season ismore plenty of that which behoveth unto life and less is the sum ofannoys, for that, albeit the husbandmen die there, even as do thetownsfolk here, the displeasance is there the less, insomuch as housesand inhabitants are rarer than in the city. 

[Footnote 18: Syn. Cooler. ]

Here, on the other hand, if I deem aright, we abandon no one; nay, wemay far rather say with truth that we ourselves are abandoned, seeingthat our kinsfolk, either dying or fleeing from death, have left usalone in this great tribulation, as it were we pertained not untothem. No blame can therefore befall the ensuing of this counsel; nay, dolour and chagrin and belike death may betide us, an we ensue it not. Wherefore, an it please you, methinketh we should do well to take ourmaids and letting follow after us with the necessary gear, sojournto-day in this place and to-morrow in that, taking such pleasance anddiversion as the season may afford, and on this wise abide till suchtime (an we be not earlier overtaken of death) as we shall see whatissue Heaven reserveth unto these things. And I would remind you thatit is no more forbidden unto us honourably to depart than it is untomany others of our sex to abide in dishonour. "

The other ladies, having hearkened to Pampinea, not only commended hercounsel, but, eager to follow it, had already begun to devise moreparticularly among themselves of the manner, as if, arising fromtheir session there, they were to set off out of hand. But Filomena, who was exceeding discreet, said, "Ladies, albeit that which Pampineaallegeth is excellently well said, yet is there no occasion forrunning, as meseemeth you would do. Remember that we are all women andnone of us is child enough not to know how [little] reasonable womenare among themselves and how [ill], without some man's guidance, theyknow how to order themselves. We are fickle, wilful, suspicious, faint-hearted and timorous, for which reasons I misdoubt me sore, anwe take not some other guidance than our own, that our company will befar too soon dissolved and with less honour to ourselves than wereseemly; wherefore we should do well to provide ourselves, ere webegin. "

"Verily, " answered Elisa, "men are the head of women, and withouttheir ordinance seldom cometh any emprise of ours to good end; but howmay we come by these men? There is none of us but knoweth that of herkinsmen the most part are dead and those who abide alive are all gonefleeing that which we seek to flee, in divers companies, some here andsome there, without our knowing where, and to invite strangers wouldnot be seemly, seeing that, if we would endeavour after our welfare, it behoveth us find a means of so ordering ourselves that, wherever wego for diversion and repose, scandal nor annoy may ensue thereof. "

Whilst such discourse was toward between the ladies, behold, thereentered the church three young men, --yet not so young that the age ofthe youngest of them was less than five-and-twenty years, --in whomneither the perversity of the time nor loss of friends and kinsfolk, no, nor fear for themselves had availed to cool, much less to quench, the fire of love. Of these one was called Pamfilo, [19] anotherFilostrato[20] and the third Dioneo, [21] all very agreeable andwell-bred, and they went seeking, for their supreme solace, in such aperturbation of things, to see their mistresses, who, as it chanced, were all three among the seven aforesaid; whilst certain of the otherladies were near kinswomen of one or other of the young men. 

[Footnote 19: See ante, p. 8, note. ]

[Footnote 20: _Filostrato_, Greek [Greek: philos], loving, and [Greek:stratos], army, _met. _ strife, war, _i. E. _ one who loves strife. Thisname appears to be a reminiscence of Boccaccio's poem (_IlFilostrato_, well known through its translation by Chaucer and theSenechal d'Anjou) upon the subject of the loves of Troilus andCressida and to be in this instance used by him as a synonym for anunhappy lover, whom no rebuffs, no treachery can divert from hisill-starred passion. Such a lover may well be said to be in love withstrife, and that the Filostrato of the Decameron sufficiently answersto this description we learn later on from his own lips. ]

[Footnote 21: _Dioneo_, a name probably coined from the Greek [Greek:Diônê], one of the _agnomina_ of Venus (properly her mother's name)and intended to denote the amorous temperament of his personage, towhich, indeed, the erotic character of most of the stories told by himbears sufficient witness. ]

No sooner had their eyes fallen on the ladies than they werethemselves espied of them; whereupon quoth Pampinea, smiling, "See, fortune is favourable to our beginnings and hath thrown in our wayyoung men of worth and discretion, who will gladly be to us bothguides and servitors, an we disdain not to accept of them in thatcapacity. " But Neifile, whose face was grown all vermeil forshamefastness, for that it was she who was beloved of one of the youngmen, said, "For God's sake, Pampinea, look what thou sayest! Iacknowledge most frankly that there can be nought but all good said ofwhich one soever of them and I hold them sufficient unto a muchgreater thing than this, even as I opine that they would bear, notonly ourselves, but far fairer and nobler dames than we, good andhonourable company. But, for that it is a very manifest thing thatthey are enamoured of certain of us who are here, I fear lest, withoutour fault or theirs, scandal and blame ensue thereof, if we carry themwith us. " Quoth Filomena, "That skilleth nought; so but I livehonestly and conscience prick me not of aught, let who will speak tothe contrary; God and the truth will take up arms for me. Wherefore, if they be disposed to come, verily we may say with Pampinea thatfortune is favourable to our going. "

The other ladies, hearing her speak thus absolutely, not only heldtheir peace, but all with one accord agreed that the young men shouldbe called and acquainted with their project and bidden to be pleasedbear them company in their expedition. Accordingly, without morewords, Pampinea, who was knit by kinship to one of them, rising to herfeet, made for the three young men, who stood fast, looking upon them, and saluting them with a cheerful countenance, discovered to themtheir intent and prayed them, on behalf of herself and her companions, that they would be pleased to bear them company in a pure andbrotherly spirit. The young men at the first thought themselvesbantered, but, seeing that the lady spoke in good earnest, they madeanswer joyfully that they were ready, and without losing time aboutthe matter, forthright took order for that which they had to doagainst departure. 

On the following morning, Wednesday to wit, towards break of day, having let orderly make ready all things needful and despatched themin advance whereas they purposed to go, [22] the ladies, with certainof their waiting-women, and the three young men, with as many of theirserving-men, departing Florence, set out upon their way; nor had theygone more than two short miles from the city, when they came to theplace fore-appointed of them, which was situate on a little hill, somewhat withdrawn on every side from the high way and full of variousshrubs and plants, all green of leafage and pleasant to behold. On thesummit of this hill was a palace, with a goodly and great courtyard inits midst and galleries[23] and saloons and bedchambers, each initself most fair and adorned and notable with jocund paintings, withlawns and grassplots round about and wonder-goodly gardens and wellsof very cold water and cellars full of wines of price, things more aptunto curious drinkers than unto sober and modest ladies. The newcomers, to their no little pleasure, found the place all swept and thebeds made in the chambers and every thing full of such flowers asmight be had at that season and strewn with rushes. 

[Footnote 22: _e prima mandato là dove_, etc. This passage is obscureand may be read to mean "and having first despatched [a messenger] (orsent [word]) whereas, " etc. I think, however, that _mandato_ is acopyist's error for _mandata_, in which case the meaning would be asin the text. ]

[Footnote 23: Or balconies (_loggie_). ]

As soon as they had seated themselves, Dioneo, who was the merriestspringald in the world and full of quips and cranks, said, "Ladies, your wit, rather than our foresight, hath guided us hither, and I knownot what you purpose to do with your cares; as for my own, I left themwithin the city gates, whenas I issued thence with you awhile agone;wherefore, do you either address yourselves to make merry and laughand sing together with me (in so far, I mean, as pertaineth to yourdignity) or give me leave to go back for my cares and abide in theafflicted city. " Whereto Pampinea, no otherwise than as if in likemanner she had banished all her own cares, answered blithely, "Dioneo, thou sayst well; it behoveth us live merrily, nor hath any otheroccasion caused us flee from yonder miseries. But, for that thingswhich are without measure may not long endure, I, who began thediscourse wherethrough this so goodly company came to be made, takingthought for the continuance of our gladness, hold it of necessity thatwe appoint some one to be principal among us, whom we may honour andobey as chief and whose especial care it shall be to dispose us tolive joyously. And in order that each in turn may prove the burden ofsolicitude, together with the pleasure of headship; and that, thechief being thus drawn, in turn, from one and the other sex, there maybe no cause for jealousy, as might happen, were any excluded from thesovranty, I say that unto each be attributed the burden and the honourfor one day. Let who is to be our first chief be at the election of usall. For who shall follow, be it he or she whom it shall please thegovernor of the day to appoint, whenas the hour of vespers drawethnear, and let each in turn, at his or her discretion, order anddispose of the place and manner wherein we are to live, for such timeas his or her seignory shall endure. "

Pampinea's words pleased mightily, and with one voice they elected herchief of the first day; whereupon Filomena, running nimbly to alaurel-tree--for that she had many a time heard speak of the honourdue to the leaves of this plant and how worship-worth they made whosowas deservedly crowned withal--and plucking divers sprays therefrom, made her thereof a goodly and honourable wreath, which, being set uponher head, was thenceforth, what while their company lasted, a manifestsign unto every other of the royal office and seignory. 

Pampinea, being made queen, commanded that every one should be silent;then, calling the serving-men of the three young gentlemen and her ownand the other ladies' women, who were four in number, before herselfand all being silent, she spoke thus: "In order that I may set you afirst example, by which, proceeding from good to better, our companymay live and last in order and pleasance and without reproach so longas it is agreeable to us, I constitute, firstly, Parmeno, Dioneo'sservant, my seneschal and commit unto him the care and ordinance ofall our household and [especially] that which pertaineth to theservice of the saloon. Sirisco, Pamfilo's servant, I will shall beour purveyor and treasurer and ensue the commandments of Parmeno. Tindaro shall look to the service of Filostrato and the other twogentlemen in their bed chambers, what time the others, being occupiedabout their respective offices, cannot attend thereto. Misia, mywoman, and Filomena's Licisca shall still abide in the kitchen andthere diligently prepare such viands as shall be appointed them ofParmeno. Lauretta's Chimera and Fiammetta's Stratilia it is ourpleasure shall occupy themselves with the ordinance of the ladies'chambers and the cleanliness of the places where we shall abide; andwe will and command all and several, as they hold our favour dear, tohave a care that, whithersoever they go or whencesoever they returnand whatsoever they hear or see, they bring us from without no newsother than joyous. " These orders summarily given and commended of all, Pampinea, rising blithely to her feet, said, "Here be gardens, here bemeadows, here be store of other delectable places, wherein let each goa-pleasuring at will; and when tierce[24] soundeth, let all be here, so we may eat in the cool. "

[Footnote 24: _i. E. _ Nine o'clock a. M. Boccaccio's habit of measuringtime by the canonical hours has been a sore stumbling-block to theordinary English and French translator, who is generally terribly atsea as to his meaning, inclining to render _tierce_ three, _sexte_ sixo'clock and _none_ noon and making shots of the same wild kind at theother hours. The monasterial rule (which before the generalintroduction of clocks was commonly followed by the mediæval public inthe computation of time) divided the twenty-four hours of the day andnight into seven parts (six of three hours each and one of six), theinception of which was denoted by the sound of the bells that summonedthe clergy to the performance of the seven canonical offices _i. E. __Matins_ at 3 a. M. , _Prime_ at 6 a. M. , _Tierce_ at 9 a. M. , _Sexte_ orNoonsong at noon, _None_ at 3 p. M. , _Vespers_ or Evensong at 6 p. M. And _Complines_ or Nightsong at 9 p. M. , and at the same time servedthe laity as a clock. ]

The merry company, being thus dismissed by the new queen, wentstraying with slow steps, young men and fair ladies together, about agarden, devising blithely and diverting themselves with weaving goodlygarlands of various leaves and carolling amorously. After they hadabidden there such time as had been appointed them of the queen, theyreturned to the house, where they found that Parmeno had made adiligent beginning with his office, for that, entering a saloon on theground floor, they saw there the tables laid with the whitest ofcloths and beakers that seemed of silver and everything covered withthe flowers of the broom; whereupon, having washed their hands, theyall, by command of the queen, seated themselves according to Parmeno'sordinance. Then came viands delicately drest and choicest wines wereproffered and the three serving-men, without more, quietly tended thetables. All, being gladdened by these things, for that they were fairand orderly done, ate joyously and with store of merry talk, and thetables being cleared away, [25] the queen bade bring instruments ofmusic, for that all the ladies knew how to dance, as also the youngmen, and some of them could both play and sing excellent well. Accordingly, by her commandment, Dioneo took a lute and Fiammetta aviol and began softly to sound a dance; whereupon the queen and theother ladies, together with the other two young men, having sent theserving-men to eat, struck up a round and began with a slow pace todance a brawl; which ended, they fell to singing quaint and merryditties. On this wise they abode till it seemed to the queen time togo to sleep, [26] and she accordingly dismissed them all; whereupon theyoung men retired to their chambers, which were withdrawn from theladies' lodging, and finding them with the beds well made and as fullof flowers as the saloon, put off their clothes and betook themselvesto rest, whilst the ladies, on their part, did likewise. 

[Footnote 25: The table of Boccaccio's time was a mere board upontrestles, which when not in actual use, was stowed away, for room'ssake, against the wall. ]

[Footnote 26: _i. E. _ to take the siesta or midday nap common in hotcountries. ]

None[27] had not long sounded when the queen, arising, made all theother ladies arise, and on like wise the three young men, allegingovermuch sleep to be harmful by day; and so they betook themselves toa little meadow, where the grass grew green and high nor there had thesun power on any side. There, feeling the waftings of a gentle breeze, they all, as their queen willed it, seated themselves in a ring on thegreen grass; while she bespoke them thus, "As ye see, the sun is highand the heat great, nor is aught heard save the crickets yonder amongthe olives; wherefore it were doubtless folly to go anywhither at thispresent. Here is the sojourn fair and cool, and here, as you see, arechess and tables, [28] and each can divert himself as is most to hismind. But, an my counsel be followed in this, we shall pass away thissultry part of the day, not in gaming, --wherein the mind of one of theplayers must of necessity be troubled, without any great pleasure ofthe other or of those who look on, --but in telling stories, which, onetelling, may afford diversion to all the company who hearken; norshall we have made an end of telling each his story but the sun willhave declined and the heat be abated, and we can then go a-pleasuringwhereas it may be most agreeable to us. Wherefore, if this that I sayplease you, (for I am disposed to follow your pleasure therein, ) letus do it; and if it please you not, let each until the hour of vespersdo what most liketh him. " Ladies and men alike all approved thestory-telling, whereupon, "Then, " said the queen, "since this pleasethyou, I will that this first day each be free to tell of such mattersas are most to his liking. " Then, turning to Pamfilo, who sat on herright hand, she smilingly bade him give beginning to the story-tellingwith one of his; and he, hearing the commandment, forthright beganthus, whilst all gave ear to him. 

[Footnote 27: _i. E. _ three o'clock p. M. ]

[Footnote 28: _i. E. _ backgammon. ]

THE FIRST STORY

[Day the First]

 MASTER CIAPPELLETTO DUPETH A HOLY FRIAR WITH A FALSE CONFESSION AND DIETH; AND HAVING BEEN IN HIS LIFETIME THE WORST OF MEN, HE IS, AFTER HIS DEATH, REPUTED A SAINT AND CALLED SAINT CIAPPELLETTO. 

"It is a seemly thing, dearest ladies, that whatsoever a man doth, hegive it beginning from the holy and admirable name of Him who is themaker of all things. Wherefore, it behoving me, as the first, to givecommencement to our story-telling, I purpose to begin with one of Hismarvels, to the end that, this being heard, our hope in Him, as in athing immutable, may be confirmed and His name be ever praised of us. It is manifest that, like as things temporal are all transitory andmortal, even so both within and without are they full of annoy andanguish and travail and subject to infinite perils, against which itis indubitable that we, who live enmingled therein and who are indeedpart and parcel thereof, might avail neither to endure nor to defendourselves, except God's especial grace lent us strength and foresight;which latter, it is not to be believed, descendeth unto us and upon usby any merit of our own, but of the proper motion of His own benignityand the efficacy of the prayers of those who were mortals even as weare and having diligently ensued His commandments, what while theywere on life, are now with Him become eternal and blessed and untowhom we, --belike not daring to address ourselves unto the properpresence of so august a judge, --proffer our petitions of the thingswhich we deem needful unto ourselves, as unto advocates[29] informedby experience of our frailty. And this more we discern in Him, full asHe is of compassionate liberality towards us, that, whereas itchanceth whiles (the keenness of mortal eyes availing not in any wiseto penetrate the secrets of the Divine intent), that we peradventure, beguiled by report, make such an one our advocate unto Hismajesty, who is outcast from His presence with an eternalbanishment, --nevertheless He, from whom nothing is hidden, havingregard rather to the purity of the suppliant's intent than to hisignorance or to the reprobate estate of him whose intercession beinvoketh, giveth ear unto those who pray unto the latter, as if hewere in very deed blessed in His aspect. The which will manifestlyappear from the story which I purpose to relate; I say manifestly, ensuing, not the judgment of God, but that of men. 

[Footnote 29: Or procurators. ]

It is told, then, that Musciatto Franzesi, [30] being from a very richand considerable merchant in France become a knight and it behovinghim thereupon go into Tuscany with Messire Charles Sansterre, [31]brother to the king of France, [32] who had been required and biddenthither by Pope Boniface, [33] found his affairs in one part andanother sore embroiled, (as those of merchants most times are, ) andwas unable lightly or promptly to disentangle them; wherefore hebethought himself to commit them unto divers persons and made shiftfor all, save only he abode in doubt whom he might leave sufficient tothe recovery of the credits he had given to certain Burgundians. Thecause of his doubt was that he knew the Burgundians to be litigious, quarrelsome fellows, ill-conditioned and disloyal, and could not callone to mind, in whom he might put any trust, curst enough to cope withtheir perversity. After long consideration of the matter, there cameto his memory a certain Master Ciapperello da Prato, who came often tohis house in Paris and whom, for that he was little of person andmighty nice in his dress, the French, knowing not what Cepparello[34]meant and thinking it be the same with Cappello, to wit, in theirvernacular, Chaplet, called him, not Cappello, but Ciappelletto, [35]and accordingly as Ciappelletto he was known everywhere, whilst fewknew him for Master Ciapperello. 

[Footnote 30: A Florentine merchant settled in France; he had greatinfluence over Philippe le Bel and made use of the royal favour toenrich himself by means of monopolies granted at the expense of hiscompatriots. ]

[Footnote 31: Charles, Comte de Valois et d'Alençon. ]

[Footnote 32: Philippe le Bel, A. D. 1268-1314. ]

[Footnote 33: The Eighth. ]

[Footnote 34: Sic. _Cepparello_ means a log or stump. Ciapperello isapparently a dialectic variant of the same word. ]

[Footnote 35: Diminutive of Cappello. This passage is obscure and mostlikely corrupt. Boccaccio probably meant to write "hat" instead of"chaplet" (_ghirlanda_), as the meaning of _cappello_, chaplet(diminutive of Old English _chapel_, a hat, ) being the meaning of_ciappelletto_ (properly _cappelletto_). ]

Now this said Ciappelletto was of this manner life, that, being ascrivener, he thought very great shame whenas any of his instrumentwas found (and indeed he drew few such) other than false; whilst ofthe latter[36] he would have drawn as many as might be required of himand these with a better will by way of gift than any other for a greatwage. False witness he bore with especial delight, required or notrequired, and the greatest regard being in those times paid to oathsin France, as he recked nothing of forswearing himself, he knavishlygained all the suits concerning which he was called upon to tell thetruth upon his faith. He took inordinate pleasure and was mightydiligent in stirring up troubles and enmities and scandals betweenfriends and kinsfolk and whomsoever else, and the greater themischiefs he saw ensue thereof, the more he rejoiced. If bidden tomanslaughter or whatsoever other naughty deed, he went about it with awill, without ever saying nay thereto; and many a time of his properchoice he had been known to wound men and do them to death with hisown hand. He was a terrible blasphemer of God and the saints, and thatfor every trifle, being the most choleric man alive. To church he wentnever and all the sacraments thereof he flouted in abominable terms, as things of no account; whilst, on the other hand, he was still fainto haunt and use taverns and other lewd places. Of women he was asfond as dogs of the stick; but in the contrary he delighted more thanany filthy fellow alive. He robbed and pillaged with as muchconscience as a godly man would make oblation to God; he was a veryglutton and a great wine bibber, insomuch that bytimes it wrought himshameful mischief, and to boot, he was a notorious gamester and acaster of cogged dice. But why should I enlarge in so many words? Hewas belike the worst man that ever was born. [37] His wickedness hadlong been upheld by the power and interest of Messer Musciatto, whohad many a time safeguarded him as well from private persons, to whomhe often did a mischief, as from the law, against which he was aperpetual offender. 

[Footnote 36: _i. E. _ false instruments. ]

[Footnote 37: A "twopence-coloured" sketch of an impossible villain, drawn with a crudeness unusual in Boccaccio. ]

This Master Ciappelletto then, coming to Musciatto's mind, the latter, who was very well acquainted with his way of life, bethought himselfthat he should be such an one as the perversity of the Burgundiansrequired and accordingly, sending for him, he bespoke him thus:'Master Ciappelletto, I am, as thou knowest, about altogether towithdraw hence, and having to do, amongst others, with certainBurgundians, men full of guile, I know none whom I may leave torecover my due from them more fitting than thyself, more by token thatthou dost nothing at this present; wherefore, an thou wilt undertakethis, I will e'en procure thee the favour of the Court and give theesuch part as shall be meet of that which thou shalt recover. '

Don Ciappelletto, who was then out of employ and ill provided with thegoods of the world, seeing him who had long been his stay and hisrefuge about to depart thence, lost no time in deliberation, but, asof necessity constrained, replied that he would well. They being cometo an accord, Musciatto departed and Ciappelletto, having gotten hispatron's procuration and letters commendatory from the king, betookhimself into Burgundy, where well nigh none knew him, and there, contrary to his nature, began courteously and blandly to seek to getin his payments and do that wherefor he was come thither, as ifreserving choler and violence for a last resort. Dealing thus andlodging in the house of two Florentines, brothers, who there lent atusance and who entertained him with great honour for the love ofMesser Musciatto, it chanced that he fell sick, whereupon the twobrothers promptly fetched physicians and servants to tend him andfurnished him with all that behoved unto the recovery of his health. But every succour was in vain, for that, by the physicians' report, the good man, who was now old and had lived disorderly, grew dailyworse, as one who had a mortal sickness; wherefore the two brotherswere sore concerned and one day, being pretty near the chamber wherehe lay sick, they began to take counsel together, saying one to theother, 'How shall we do with yonder fellow? We have a sorry bargain onour hands of his affair, for that to send him forth of our house, thussick, were a sore reproach to us and a manifest sign of little wit onour part, if the folk, who have seen us first receive him and afterlet tend and medicine him with such solicitude, should now see himsuddenly put out of our house, sick unto death as he is, without itbeing possible for him to have done aught that should displease us. Onthe other hand, he hath been so wicked a man that he will neverconsent to confess or take any sacrament of the church; and he dyingwithout confession, no church will receive his body; nay, he will becast into a ditch, like a dog. Again, even if he do confess, his sinsare so many and so horrible that the like will come of it, for thatthere is nor priest nor friar who can or will absolve him thereof;wherefore, being unshriven, he will still be cast into the ditches. Should it happen thus, the people of the city, as well on account ofour trade, which appeareth to them most iniquitous and of which theymissay all day, as of their itch to plunder us, seeing this, will riseup in riot and cry out, "These Lombard dogs, whom the church refusethto receive, are to be suffered here no longer";--and they will run toour houses and despoil us not only of our good, but may be of ourlives, to boot; wherefore in any case it will go ill with us, ifyonder fellow die. '

Master Ciappelletto, who, as we have said, lay near the place wherethe two brothers were in discourse, being quick of hearing, as is mosttimes the case with the sick, heard what they said of him and callingthem to him, bespoke them thus: 'I will not have you anywise misdoubtof me nor fear to take any hurt by me. I have heard what you say of meand am well assured that it would happen even as you say, shouldmatters pass as you expect; but it shall go otherwise. I have in mylifetime done God the Lord so many an affront that it will makeneither more nor less, an I do Him yet another at the point of death;wherefore do you make shift to bring me the holiest and worthiestfriar you may avail to have, if any such there be, [38] and leave therest to me, for that I will assuredly order your affairs and mine ownon such wise that all shall go well and you shall have good cause tobe satisfied. '

[Footnote 38: _i. E. _ if there be such a thing as a holy and worthyfriar. ]

The two brothers, albeit they conceived no great hope of this, nevertheless betook themselves to a brotherhood of monks and demandedsome holy and learned man to hear the confession of a Lombard who laysick in their house. There was given them a venerable brother of holyand good life and a past master in Holy Writ, a very reverend man, forwhom all the townsfolk had a very great and special regard, and theycarried him to their house; where, coming to the chamber where MasterCiappelletto lay and seating himself by his side, he began firsttenderly to comfort him and after asked him how long it was since hehad confessed last; whereto Master Ciappelletto, who had neverconfessed in his life, answered, 'Father, it hath been my usance toconfess every week once at the least and often more; it is true that, since I fell sick, to wit, these eight days past, I have notconfessed, such is the annoy that my sickness hath given me. ' Quoththe friar, 'My son, thou hast done well and so must thou dohenceforward. I see, since thou confessest so often, that I shall beat little pains either of hearing or questioning. ' 'Sir, ' answeredMaster Ciappelletto, 'say not so; I have never confessed so much norso often but I would still fain make a general confession of all mysins that I could call to mind from the day of my birth to that of myconfession; wherefore I pray you, good my father, question me aspunctually of everything, nay, everything, as if I had neverconfessed; and consider me not because I am sick, for that I had farliefer displease this my flesh than, in consulting its ease, do aughtthat might be the perdition of my soul, which my Saviour redeemed withHis precious blood. '

These words much pleased the holy man and seemed to him to argue awell-disposed mind; wherefore, after he had much commended MasterCiappelletto for that his usance, he asked him if he had ever sinnedby way of lust with any woman. 'Father, ' replied Master Ciappelletto, sighing, 'on this point I am ashamed to tell you the truth, fearing tosin by way of vainglory. ' Quoth the friar, 'Speak in all security, fornever did one sin by telling the truth, whether in confession orotherwise. ' 'Then, ' said Master Ciappelletto, 'since you certify me ofthis, I will tell you; I am yet a virgin, even as I came forth of mymother's body. ' 'O blessed be thou of God!' cried the monk. 'How wellhast thou done! And doing thus, thou hast the more deserved, inasmuchas, an thou wouldst, thou hadst more leisure to do the contrary thanwe and whatsoever others are limited by any rule. '

After this he asked him if he had ever offended against God in the sinof gluttony; whereto Master Ciappelletto answered, sighing, Ay had he, and that many a time; for that, albeit, over and above the Lentenfasts that are yearly observed of the devout, he had been wont to faston bread and water three days at the least in every week, --he hadoftentimes (and especially whenas he had endured any fatigue, eitherpraying or going a-pilgrimage) drunken the water with as much appetiteand as keen a relish as great drinkers do wine. And many a time he hadlonged to have such homely salads of potherbs as women make when theygo into the country; and whiles eating had given him more pleasurethan himseemed it should do to one who fasteth for devotion, as didhe. 'My son, ' said the friar, 'these sins are natural and very slightand I would not therefore have thee burden thy conscience withal morethan behoveth. It happeneth to every man, how devout soever he be, that, after long fasting, meat seemeth good to him, and after travail, drink. '

'Alack, father mine, ' rejoined Ciappelletto, 'tell me not this tocomfort me; you must know I know that things done for the service ofGod should be done sincerely and with an ungrudging mind; and whosodoth otherwise sinneth. ' Quoth the friar, exceeding well pleased, 'Iam content that thou shouldst thus apprehend it and thy pure and goodconscience therein pleaseth me exceedingly. But, tell me, hast thousinned by way of avarice, desiring more than befitted or withholdingthat which it behoved thee not to withhold?' 'Father mine, ' repliedCiappelletto, 'I would not have you look to my being in the house ofthese usurers; I have nought to do here; nay, I came hither toadmonish and chasten them and turn them from this their abominable wayof gain; and methinketh I should have made shift to do so, had not Godthus visited me. But you must know that I was left a rich man by myfather, of whose good, when he was dead, I bestowed the most part inalms, and after, to sustain my life and that I might be able tosuccour Christ's poor, I have done my little traffickings, and inthese I have desired to gain; but still with God's poor have I sharedthat which I gained, converting my own half to my occasion and givingthem the other, and in this so well hath my Creator prospered me thatmy affairs have still gone from good to better. '

'Well hast thou done, ' said the friar; 'but hast thou often beenangered?' 'Oh, ' cried Master Ciappelletto, 'that I must tell you Ihave very often been! And who could keep himself therefrom, seeing mendo unseemly things all day long, keeping not the commandments of Godneither fearing His judgment? Many times a day I had liefer been deadthan alive, seeing young men follow after vanities and hearing themcurse and forswear themselves, haunting the taverns, visiting not thechurches and ensuing rather the ways of the world than that of God. ''My son, ' said the friar, 'this is a righteous anger, nor for my partmight I enjoin thee any penance therefor. But hath anger at any timeavailed to move thee to do any manslaughter or to bespeak any oneunseemly or do any other unright?' 'Alack, sir, ' answered the sickman, 'you, who seem to me a man of God, how can you say such words?Had I ever had the least thought of doing any one of the thingswhereof you speak, think you I believe that God would so long haveforborne me? These be the doings of outlaws and men of nought, whereofI never saw any but I said still, "Go, may God amend thee!"'

Then said the friar, 'Now tell me, my son (blessed be thou of God), hast thou never borne false witness against any or missaid of another, or taken others' good, without leave of him to whom it pertained?''Ay, indeed, sir, ' replied Master Ciappelletto; 'I have missaid ofothers; for that I had a neighbour aforetime, who, with the greatestunright in the world, did nought but beat his wife, insomuch that Ionce spoke ill of him to her kinsfolk, so great was the compassionthat overcame me for the poor woman, whom he used as God alone cantell, whenassoever he had drunken overmuch. ' Quoth the friar, 'Thoutellest me thou hast been a merchant. Hast thou never cheated any one, as merchants do whiles!' 'I' faith, yes, sir, ' answered MasterCiappelletto; 'but I know not whom, except it were a certain man, whoonce brought me monies which he owed me for cloth I had sold him andwhich I threw into a chest, without counting. A good month after, Ifound that they were four farthings more than they should have been;wherefore, not seeing him again and having kept them by me a fullyear, that I might restore them to him, I gave them away in alms. 'Quoth the friar, 'This was a small matter, and thou didst well to dealwith it as thou didst. '

Then he questioned him of many other things, of all which he answeredafter the same fashion, and the holy father offering to proceed toabsolution, Master Ciappelletto said, 'Sir, I have yet sundry sinsthat I have not told you. ' The friar asked him what they were, and heanswered, 'I mind me that one Saturday, after none, I caused myservant sweep out the house and had not that reverence for the Lord'sholy day which it behoved me have. ' 'Oh, ' said the friar, 'that is alight matter, my son. ' 'Nay, ' rejoined Master Ciappelletto, 'call itnot a light matter, for that the Lord's Day is greatly to be honoured, seeing that on such a day our Lord rose from the dead. ' Then said thefriar, 'Well, hast thou done aught else?' 'Ay, sir, ' answered MasterCiappelletto; 'once, unthinking what I did, I spat in the church ofGod. ' Thereupon the friar fell a-smiling, and said, 'My son, that isno thing to be recked of; we who are of the clergy, we spit there allday long. ' 'And you do very ill, ' rejoined Master Ciappelletto; 'forthat there is nought which it so straitly behoveth to keep clean asthe holy temple wherein is rendered sacrifice to God. '

Brief, he told him great plenty of such like things and presently fella-sighing and after weeping sore, as he knew full well to do, whenashe would. Quoth the holy friar, 'What aileth thee, my son?' 'Alas, sir, ' replied Master Ciappelletto, 'I have one sin left, whereof Inever yet confessed me, such shame have I to tell it; and every time Icall it to mind, I weep, even as you see, and meseemeth very certainthat God will never pardon it me. ' 'Go to, son, ' rejoined the friar;'what is this thou sayest? If all the sins that were ever wrought orare yet to be wrought of all mankind, what while the world endureth, were all in one man and he repented him thereof and were contritetherefor, as I see thee, such is the mercy and loving-kindness of Godthat, upon confession, He would freely pardon them to him. Whereforedo thou tell it in all assurance. ' Quoth Master Ciappelletto, stillweeping sore, 'Alack, father mine, mine is too great a sin, and I canscarce believe that it will ever be forgiven me of God, except yourprayers strive for me. ' Then said the friar, 'Tell it me in allassurance, for I promise thee to pray God for thee. '

Master Ciappelletto, however, still wept and said nought; but, afterhe had thus held the friar a great while in suspense, he heaved a deepsigh and said, 'Father mine, since you promise me to pray God for me, I will e'en tell it you. Know, then, that, when I was little, I oncecursed my mother. ' So saying, he fell again to weeping sore. 'O myson, ' quoth the friar, 'seemeth this to thee so heinous a sin? Why, men blaspheme God all day long and He freely pardoneth whoso repentethhim of having blasphemed Him; and deemest thou not He will pardon theethis? Weep not, but comfort thyself; for, certes, wert thou one ofthose who set Him on the cross, He would pardon thee, in favour ofsuch contrition as I see in thee. ' 'Alack, father mine, what say you?'replied Ciappelletto. 'My kind mother, who bore me nine months in herbody, day and night, and carried me on her neck an hundred times andmore, I did passing ill to curse her and it was an exceeding greatsin; and except you pray God for me, it will not be forgiven me. '

The friar, then, seeing that Master Ciappelletto had no more to say, gave him absolution and bestowed on him his benison, holding him avery holy man and devoutly believing all that he had told him to betrue. And who would not have believed it, hearing a man at the pointof death speak thus? Then, after all this, he said to him, 'MasterCiappelletto, with God's help you will speedily be whole; but, shouldit come to pass that God call your blessed and well-disposed soul toHimself, would it please you that your body be buried in our convent?''Ay, would it, sir, ' replied Master Ciappelletto. 'Nay, I would fainno be buried otherwhere, since you have promised to pray God for me;more by token that I have ever had a special regard for your order. Wherefore I pray you that whenas you return to your lodging, you mustcause bring me that most veritable body of Christ, which youconsecrate a-mornings upon the altar, for that, with your leave, Ipurpose (all unworthy as I am) to take it and after, holy and extremeunction, to the intent that, if I have lived as a sinner, I may at theleast die like a Christian. ' The good friar replied that it pleasedhim much and that he said well and promised to see it presentlybrought him; and so was it done. 

Meanwhile, the two brothers, misdoubting them sore lest MasterCiappelletto should play them false, had posted themselves behind awainscot, that divided the chamber where he lay from another, andlistening, easily heard and apprehended that which he said to thefriar and had whiles so great a mind to laugh, hearing the thingswhich he confessed to having done, that they were like to burst andsaid, one to other, 'What manner of man is this, whom neither old agenor sickness nor fear of death, whereunto he seeth himself near, noryet of God, before whose judgment-seat he looketh to be ere long, haveavailed to turn from his wickedness nor hinder him from choosing todie as he hath lived?' However, seeing that he had so spoken that heshould be admitted to burial in a church, they recked nought of therest. 

Master Ciappelletto presently took the sacrament and, growing rapidlyworse, received extreme unction, and a little after evensong of theday he had made his fine confession, he died; whereupon the twobrothers, having, of his proper monies, taken order for his honourableburial, sent to the convent to acquaint the friars therewith, biddingthem come thither that night to hold vigil, according to usance, andfetch away the body in the morning, and meanwhile made ready all thatwas needful thereunto. 

The holy friar, who had shriven him, hearing that he had departed thislife, betook himself to the prior of the convent and, letting ring tochapter, gave out to the brethren therein assembled that MasterCiappelletto had been a holy man, according to that which he hadgathered from his confession, and persuaded them to receive his bodywith the utmost reverence and devotion, in the hope that God shouldshow forth many miracles through him. To this the prior and brethrencredulously consented and that same evening, coming all whereas MasterCiappelletto lay dead, they held high and solemn vigil over him and onthe morrow, clad all in albs and copes, book in hand and crossesbefore them, they went, chanting the while, for his body and broughtit with the utmost pomp and solemnity to their church, followed bywell nigh all the people of the city, men and women. 

As soon as they had set the body down in the church, the holy friar, who had confessed him, mounted the pulpit and fell a-preachingmarvellous things of the dead man and of his life, his fasts, hisvirginity, his simplicity and innocence and sanctity, recounting, amongst other things, that which he had confessed to him as hisgreatest sin and how he had hardly availed to persuade him that Godwould forgive it him; thence passing on to reprove the folk whohearkened, 'And you, accursed that you are, ' quoth he, 'for every waifof straw that stirreth between your feet, you blaspheme God and theVirgin and all the host of heaven. ' Moreover, he told them many otherthings of his loyalty and purity of heart; brief, with his speech, whereto entire faith was yielded of the people of the city, he soestablished the dead man in the reverent consideration of all who werepresent that, no sooner was the service at an end, than they all withthe utmost eagerness flocked to kiss his hands and feet and theclothes were torn off his back, he holding himself blessed who mightavail to have never so little thereof; and needs must they leave himthus all that day, so he might be seen and visited of all. 

The following night he was honourably buried in a marble tomb in oneof the chapels of the church and on the morrow the folk beganincontinent to come and burn candles and offer up prayers and makevows to him and hang images of wax[39] at his shrine, according to thepromise made. Nay, on such wise waxed the frame of his sanctity andmen's devotion to him that there was scarce any who, being inadversity, would vow himself to another saint than him; and theystyled and yet style him Saint Ciappelletto and avouch that Godthrough him hath wrought many miracles and yet worketh, them every dayfor whoso devoutly commendeth himself unto him. 

[Footnote 39: _i. E. _ ex voto. ]

Thus, then, lived and died Master Cepperello[40] da Prato and became asaint, as you have heard; nor would I deny it to be possible that heis beatified in God's presence, for that, albeit his life was wickedand perverse, he may at his last extremity have shown such contritionthat peradventure God had mercy on him and received him into Hiskingdom; but, for that this is hidden from us, I reason according tothat which, is apparent and say that he should rather be in the handsof the devil in perdition than in Paradise. And if so it be, we mayknow from this how great is God's loving-kindness towards us, which, having regard not to our error, but to the purity of our faith, whenaswe thus make an enemy (deeming him a friend) of His our intermediary, giveth ear unto us, even as if we had recourse unto one truly holy, asintercessor for His favour. Wherefore, to the end that by His grace wemay be preserved safe and sound in this present adversity and in thisso joyous company, let us, magnifying His name, in which we have begunour diversion, and holding Him in reverence, commend ourselves to Himin our necessities, well assured of being heard. " And with this he wassilent. 

[Footnote 40: It will be noted that this is Boccaccio's third variantof his hero's name (the others being Ciapperello and Cepparello) andthe edition of 1527 furnishes us with a fourth and a fifth form _i. E. _Ciepparello and Ciepperello. ]

THE SECOND STORY

[Day the First]

 ABRAHAM THE JEW, AT THE INSTIGATION OF JEHANNOT DE CHEVIGNÉ, GOETH TO THE COURT OF ROME AND SEEING THE DEPRAVITY OF THE CLERGY, RETURNETH TO PARIS AND THERE BECOMETH A CHRISTIAN

Pamfilo's story was in part laughed at and altogether commended by theladies, and it being come to its end, after being diligentlyhearkened, the queen bade Neifile, who sat next him, ensue theordinance of the commenced diversion by telling one[41] of herfashion. Neifile, who was distinguished no less by courteous mannersthan by beauty, answered blithely that she would well and began onthis wise: "Pamfilo hath shown us in his story that God's benignnessregardeth not our errors, when they proceed from that which is beyondour ken; and I, in mine, purpose to show you how this samebenignness, --patiently suffering the defaults of those who, beingespecially bounden both with words and deeds to bear true witnessthereof[42] yet practise the contrary, --exhibiteth unto us aninfallible proof of itself, to the intent that we may, with the moreconstancy of mind, ensue that which we believe. 

[Footnote 41: _i. E. _ a story. ]

[Footnote 42: _i. E. _ of God's benignness. ]

As I have heard tell, gracious ladies, there was once in Paris a greatmerchant and a very loyal and upright man, whose name was Jehannot deChevigné and who was of great traffic in silks and stuffs. He hadparticular friendship for a very rich Jew called Abraham, who was alsoa merchant and a very honest and trusty man, and seeing the latter'sworth and loyalty, it began to irk him sore that the soul of so worthyand discreet and good a man should go to perdition for default offaith; wherefore he fell to beseeching him on friendly wise leave theerrors of the Jewish faith and turn to the Christian verity, which hemight see still wax and prosper, as being holy and good, whereas hisown faith, on the contrary, was manifestly on the wane and dwindlingto nought. The Jew made answer that he held no faith holy or good saveonly the Jewish, that in this latter he was born and therein meant tolive and die, nor should aught ever make him remove therefrom. 

Jehannot for all that desisted not from him, but some days afterreturned to the attack with similar words, showing him, on rude enoughwise (for that merchants for the most part can no better), for whatreasons our religion is better than the Jewish; and albeit the Jew wasa past master in their law, nevertheless, whether it was the greatfriendship he bore Jehannot that moved him or peradventure wordswrought it that the Holy Ghost put into the good simple man's mouth, the latter's arguments began greatly to please him; but yet, persisting in his own belief, he would not suffer himself to beconverted. Like as he abode obstinate, even so Jehannot never gaveover importuning him, till at last the Jew, overcome by such continualinsistence, said, 'Look you, Jehannot, thou wouldst have me become aChristian and I am disposed to do it; insomuch, indeed, that I mean, in the first place, to go to Rome and there see him who, thou sayest, is God's Vicar upon earth and consider his manners and fashions andlikewise those of his chief brethren. [43] If these appear to me suchthat I may, by them, as well as by your words, apprehend that yourfaith is better than mine, even as thou hast studied to show me, Iwill do as I have said; and if it be not so, I will remain a Jew as Iam. '

[Footnote 43: Lit. Cardinal brethren (_fratelli cardinali_). ]

When Jehannot heard this, he was beyond measure chagrined and said inhimself, 'I have lost my pains, which meseemed I had right wellbestowed, thinking to have converted this man; for that, an he go tothe court of Rome and see the lewd and wicked life of the clergy, notonly will he never become a Christian, but, were he already aChristian, he would infallibly turn Jew again. ' Then, turning toAbraham, he said to him, 'Alack, my friend, why wilt thou undertakethis travail and so great a charge as it will be to thee to go fromhere to Rome? More by token that, both by sea and by land, the road isfull of perils for a rich man such as thou art. Thinkest thou not tofind here who shall give thee baptism? Or, if peradventure thou haveany doubts concerning the faith which I have propounded to thee, whereare there greater doctors and men more learned in the matter than arehere or better able to resolve thee of that which thou wilt know orask? Wherefore, to my thinking, this thy going is superfluous. Bethinkthee that the prelates there are even such as those thou mayst haveseen here, and indeed so much the better as they are nearer unto theChief Pastor. Wherefore, an thou wilt be counselled by me, thou wiltreserve this travail unto another time against some jubilee or other, whereunto it may be I will bear thee company. ' To this the Jew madeanswer, 'I doubt not, Jehannot, but it is as thou tellest me; but, tosum up many words in one, I am altogether determined, an thou wouldsthave me do that whereof thou hast so instantly besought me, to gothither; else will I never do aught thereof. ' Jehannot, seeing hisdetermination, said, 'Go and good luck go with thee!' And inwardlyassured that he would never become a Christian, when once he shouldhave seen the court of Rome, but availing[44] nothing in the matter, he desisted. 

[Footnote 44: Lit. Losing (_perdendo_), but this is probably somecopyist's mistake for _podendo_, the old form of _potendo_, availing. ]

The Jew mounted to horse and as quickliest he might betook himself tothe court of Rome, he was honourably entertained of his brethren, andthere abiding, without telling any the reason of his coming, he begandiligently to enquire into the manners and fashions of the Pope andCardinals and other prelates and of all the members of his court, andwhat with that which he himself noted, being a mighty quick-wittedman, and that which he gathered from others, he found all, from thehighest to the lowest, most shamefully given to the sin of lust, andthat not only in the way of nature, but after the Sodomitical fashion, without any restraint of remorse or shamefastness, insomuch that theinterest of courtezans and catamites was of no small avail there inobtaining any considerable thing. 

Moreover, he manifestly perceived them to be universally gluttons, wine-bibbers, drunkards and slaves to their bellies, brute-beastfashion, more than to aught else after lust. And looking farther, hesaw them all covetous and greedy after money, insomuch that human, nay, Christian blood, no less than things sacred, whatsoever theymight be, whether pertaining to the sacrifices of the altar or to thebenefices of the church, they sold and bought indifferently for aprice, making a greater traffic and having more brokers thereof thanfolk at Paris of silks and stuffs or what not else. Manifest simonythey had christened 'procuration' and gluttony 'sustentation, ' as ifGod apprehended not, --let be the meaning of words but, --the intentionof depraved minds and would suffer Himself, after the fashion of men, to be duped by the names of things. All this, together with much elsewhich must be left unsaid, was supremely displeasing to the Jew, whowas a sober and modest man, and himseeming he had seen enough, hedetermined to return to Paris and did so. 

As soon as Jehannot knew of his return, he betook himself to him, hoping nothing less than that he should become a Christian, and theygreeted each other with the utmost joy. Then, after Abraham had restedsome days, Jehannot asked him how himseemed of the Holy Father and ofthe cardinals and others of his court. Whereto the Jew promptlyanswered, 'Meseemeth, God give them ill one and all! And I say thisfor that, if I was able to observe aright, no piety, no devoutness, nogood work or example of life or otherwhat did I see there in any whowas a churchman; nay, but lust, covetise, gluttony and the like andworse (if worse can be) meseemed to be there in such favour with allthat I hold it for a forgingplace of things diabolical rather thandivine. And as far as I can judge, meseemeth your chief pastor andconsequently all the others endeavour with all diligence and all theirwit and every art to bring to nought and banish from the world theChristian religion, whereas they should be its foundation and support. And for that I see that this whereafter they strive cometh not topass, but that your religion continually increaseth and waxeth stillbrighter and more glorious, meseemeth I manifestly discern that theHoly Spirit is verily the foundation and support thereof, as of thatwhich is true and holy over any other. Wherefore, whereas, aforetime Iabode obdurate and insensible to thine exhortations and would not bepersuaded to embrace thy faith, I now tell thee frankly that fornothing in the world would I forbear to become a Christian. Let us, then, to church and there have me baptized, according to the rite andordinance of your holy faith. '

Jehannot, who looked for a directly contrary conclusion to this, wasthe joyfullest man that might be, when he heard him speak thus, andrepairing with him to our Lady's Church of Paris, required the clergythere to give Abraham baptism. They, hearing that the Jew himselfdemanded it, straightway proceeded to baptize him, whilst Jehannotraised him from the sacred font[45] and named him Giovanni. Afterthis, he had him thoroughly lessoned by men of great worth andlearning in the tenets of our holy faith, which he speedilyapprehended and thenceforward was a good man and a worthy and one of adevout life. "

[Footnote 45: _i. E. _ stood sponsor for him. ]

THE THIRD STORY

[Day the First]

 MELCHIZEDEK THE JEW, WITH A STORY OF THREE RINGS, ESCAPETH A PARLOUS SNARE SET FOR HIM BY SALADIN

Neifile having made an end of her story, which was commended of all, Filomena, by the queen's good pleasure, proceeded to speak thus: "Thestory told by Neifile bringeth to my mind a parlous case the oncebetided a Jew; and for that, it having already been excellent wellspoken both of God and of the verity of our faith, it should nothenceforth be forbidden us to descend to the doings of mankind and theevents that have befallen them, I will now proceed to relate to youthe case aforesaid, which having heard, you will peradventure becomemore wary in answering the questions that may be put to you. You mustknow, lovesome[46] companions[47] mine, that, like as folly ofttimesdraweth folk forth of happy estate and casteth them into the utmostmisery, even so doth good sense extricate the wise man from thegreatest perils and place him in assurance and tranquillity. How trueit is that folly bringeth many an one from fair estate unto misery isseen by multitude of examples, with the recounting whereof we have nopresent concern, considering that a thousand instances thereof doevery day manifestly appear to us; but that good sense is a cause ofsolacement I will, as I promised, briefly show you by a little story. 

[Footnote 46: Lit. Amorous (_amorose_), but Boccaccio frequently uses_amoroso_, _vago_, and other adjectives, which are now understood inan active or transitive sense only, in their ancient passive orintransitive sense of lovesome, desirable, etc. ]

[Footnote 47: _Compagne_, _i. E. _ she-companions. Filomena isaddressing the female part of the company. ]

Saladin, --whose valour was such that not only from a man of littleaccount it made him Soldan of Babylon, but gained him many victoriesover kings Saracen and Christian, --having in divers wars and in theexercise of his extraordinary munificences expended his whole treasureand having an urgent occasion for a good sum of money nor seeingwhence he might avail to have it as promptly as it behoved him, calledto mind a rich Jew, by name Melchizedek, who lent at usance inAlexandria, and bethought himself that this latter had the wherewithalto oblige him, and he would; but he was so miserly that he would neverhave done it of his freewill and Saladin was loath to use force withhim; wherefore, need constraining him, he set his every wit awork tofind a means how the Jew might be brought to serve him in this andpresently concluded to do him a violence coloured by some show ofreason. 

Accordingly he sent for Melchizedek and receiving him familiarly, seated him by himself, then said to him, 'Honest man, I haveunderstood from divers persons that thou art a very learned man anddeeply versed in matters of divinity; wherefore I would fain know ofthee whether of the three Laws thou reputest the true, the Jewish, theSaracen or the Christian. ' The Jew, who was in truth a man of learningand understanding, perceived but too well that Saladin looked toentrap him in words, so he might fasten a quarrel on him, andbethought himself that he could not praise any of the three more thanthe others without giving him the occasion he sought. Accordingly, sharpening his wits, as became one who felt himself in need of ananswer by which he might not be taken at a vantage, there speedilyoccurred to him that which it behoved him reply and he said, 'My lord, the question that you propound to me is a nice one and to acquaint youwith that which I think of the matter, it behoveth me tell you alittle story, which you shall hear. 

An I mistake not, I mind me to have many a time heard tell that therewas once a great man and a rich, who among other very precious jewelsin his treasury, had a very goodly and costly ring, whereunto beingminded, for its worth and beauty, to do honour and wishing to leave itin perpetuity to his descendants, he declared that whichsoever of hissons should, at his death, be found in possession thereof, by hisbequest unto him, should be recognized as his heir and be held of allthe others in honour and reverence as chief and head. He to whom thering was left by him held a like course with his own descendants anddid even as his father had done. In brief the ring passed from hand tohand, through many generations, and came at last into the possessionof a man who had three goodly and virtuous sons, all very obedient totheir father wherefore he loved them all three alike. The young men, knowing the usance of the ring, each for himself, desiring to be themost honoured among his folk, as best he might, besought his father, who was now an old man, to leave him the ring, whenas he came to die. The worthy man, who loved them all alike and knew not himself how tochoose to which he had liefer leave the ring, bethought himself, having promised it to each, to seek to satisfy all three and privilylet make by a good craftsman other two rings, which were so like untothe first that he himself scarce knew which was the true. When he cameto die, he secretly gave each one of his sons his ring, wherefore eachof them, seeking after their father's death, to occupy the inheritanceand the honour and denying it to the others, produced his ring, inwitness of his right, and the three rings being found so like unto oneanother that the true might not be known, the question which was thefather's very heir abode pending and yet pendeth. And so say I to you, my lord, of the three Laws to the three peoples given of God theFather, whereof you question me; each people deemeth itself to havehis inheritance, His true Law and His commandments; but of which invery deed hath them, even as of the rings, the question yet pendeth. '

Saladin perceived that the Jew had excellently well contrived toescape the snare which he had spread before his feet; wherefore heconcluded to discover to him his need and see if he were willing toserve him; and so accordingly he did, confessing to him that which hehad it in mind to do, had he not answered him on such discreet wise. The Jew freely furnished him with all that he required, and the Soldanafter satisfied him in full; moreover, he gave him very great giftsand still had him to friend and maintained him about his own person inhigh and honourable estate. "

THE FOURTH STORY

[Day the First]

 A MONK, HAVING FALLEN INTO A SIN DESERVING OF VERY GRIEVOUS PUNISHMENT, ADROITLY REPROACHING THE SAME FAULT TO HIS ABBOT, QUITTETH HIMSELF OF THE PENALTY

Filomena, having despatched her story, was now silent, whereuponDioneo, who sat next her, knowing already, by the ordinance begun, that it fell to his turn to tell, proceeded, without awaiting farthercommandment from the queen, to speak on this wise: "Lovesome ladies, if I have rightly apprehended the intention of you all, we are here todivert ourselves with story-telling; wherefore, so but it be not donecontrary to this our purpose, I hold it lawful unto each (even as ourqueen told us a while agone) to tell such story as he deemeth mayafford most entertainment. Accordingly having heard how, by the goodcounsels of Jehannot de Chevigné, Abraham had his soul saved and howMelchizedek, by his good sense, defended his riches from Saladin'sambushes, I purpose, without looking for reprehension from you, briefly to relate with what address a monk delivered his body from avery grievous punishment. 

There was in Lunigiana, a country not very far hence, a monasterywhilere more abounding in sanctity and monks than it is nowadays, andtherein, among others, was a young monk, whose vigour and lustinessneither fasts nor vigils availed to mortify. It chanced one day, towards noontide, when all the other monks slept, that, as he went allalone round about the convent, [48] which stood in a very solitaryplace, he espied a very well-favoured lass, belike some husbandman'sdaughter of the country, who went about the fields culling certainherbs, and no sooner had he set eyes on her than he was violentlyassailed by carnal appetite. Wherefore, accosting her, he entered intoparley with her and so led on from one thing to another that he cameto an accord with her and brought her to his cell, unperceived ofany; but whilst, carried away by overmuch ardour, he disported himselfwith her less cautiously than was prudent, it chanced that the abbotarose from sleep and softly passing by the monk's cell, heard theracket that the twain made together; whereupon he came stealthily upto the door to listen, that he might the better recognize the voices, and manifestly perceiving that there was a woman in the cell, was atfirst minded to cause open to him, but after bethought himself to holdanother course in the matter and, returning to his chamber, awaitedthe monk's coming forth. 

[Footnote 48: Lit. His church (_sua chiesa_); but the context seems toindicate that the monastery itself is meant. ]

The latter, all taken up as he was with the wench and his exceedingpleasure and delight in her company, was none the less on his guardand himseeming he heard some scuffling of feet in the dormitory, heset his eye to a crevice and plainly saw the abbot stand hearkeningunto him; whereby he understood but too well that the latter must havegotten wind of the wench's presence in his cell and knowing that sorepunishment would ensue to him thereof, he was beyond measurechagrined. However, without discovering aught of his concern to thegirl, he hastily revolved many things in himself, seeking to find somemeans of escape, and presently hit upon a rare device, which wentstraight to the mark he aimed at. Accordingly, making a show ofthinking he had abidden long enough with the damsel, he said to her, 'I must go cast about for a means how thou mayest win forth hence, without being seen; wherefore do thou abide quietly until my return. '

Then, going forth and locking the cell door on her, he betook himselfstraight to the abbot's chamber and presenting him with the key, according as each monk did, whenas he went abroad, said to him, with agood countenance, 'Sir, I was unable to make an end this morning ofbringing off all the faggots I had cut; wherefore with your leave Iwill presently go to the wood and fetch them away. ' The abbot, deemingthe monk unaware that he had been seen of him, was glad of such anopportunity to inform himself more fully of the offence committed byhim and accordingly took the key and gave him the leave he sought. Then, as soon as he saw him gone, he fell to considering which heshould rather do, whether open his cell in the presence of all theother monks and cause them to see his default, so they might afterhave no occasion to murmur against himself, whenas he should punishthe offender, or seek first to learn from the girl herself how thething had passed; and bethinking himself that she might perchance bethe wife or daughter of such a man that he would be loath to have doneher the shame of showing her to all the monks, he determined first tosee her and after come to a conclusion; wherefore, betaking himself tothe cell, he opened it and, entering, shut the door after him. 

The girl, seeing the abbot enter, was all aghast and fell a-weepingfor fear of shame; but my lord abbot, casting his eyes upon her andseeing her young and handsome, old as he was, suddenly felt the pricksof the flesh no less importunate than his young monk had done and fella-saying in himself, 'Marry, why should I not take somewhat ofpleasure, whenas I may, more by token that displeasance and annoy arestill at hand, whenever I have a mind to them? This is a handsomewench and is here unknown of any in the world. If I can bring her todo my pleasure, I know not why I should not do it. Who will know it?No one will ever know it and a sin that's hidden is half forgiven. Maybe this chance will never occur again. I hold it great sense toavail ourselves of a good, whenas God the Lord sendeth us thereof. '

So saying and having altogether changed purpose from that wherewith hecame, he drew near to the girl and began gently to comfort her, praying her not to weep, and passing from one word to another, heended by discovering to her his desire. The girl, who was neither ironnor adamant, readily enough lent herself to the pleasure of the abbot, who, after he had clipped and kissed her again and again, mounted uponthe monk's pallet and having belike regard to the grave burden of hisdignity and the girl's tender age and fearful of irking her forovermuch heaviness, bestrode not her breast, but set her upon his ownand so a great while disported himself with her. 

Meanwhile, the monk, who had only made believe to go to the wood andhad hidden himself in the dormitory, was altogether reassured, whenashe saw the abbot enter his cell alone, doubting not but his deviceshould have effect, and when he saw him lock the door from within, heheld it for certain. Accordingly, coming forth of his hiding-place, hestealthily betook himself to a crevice, through which he both heardand saw all that the abbot did and said. When it seemed to the latterthat he had tarried long enough with the damsel, he locked her in thecell and returned to his own chamber, whence, after awhile, he heardthe monk stirring and deeming him returned from the wood, thought torebuke him severely and cast him into prison, so himself might alonepossess the prey he had gotten; wherefore, sending for him, he verygrievously rebuked him and with a stern countenance and commanded thathe should be put in prison. 

The monk very readily answered, 'Sir, I have not yet pertained longenough to the order of St. Benedict to have been able to learn everyparticular thereof, and you had not yet shown me that monks shouldmake of women a means of mortification, [49] as of fasts and vigils;but, now that you have shown it me, I promise you, so you will pardonme this default, never again to offend therein, but still to do as Ihave seen you do. ' The abbot, who was a quick-witted man, readilyunderstood that the monk not only knew more than himself, but had seenwhat he did; wherefore, his conscience pricking him for his owndefault, he was ashamed to inflict on the monk a punishment which hehimself had merited even as he. Accordingly, pardoning him andcharging him keep silence of that which he had seen, they privily putthe girl out of doors and it is believed that they caused her returnthither more than once thereafterward. "

[Footnote 49: Lit. A pressure or oppression (_priemere_, hod. _premere_, to press or oppress, indicative used as a noun). The monkof course refers to the posture in which he had seen the abbot have todo with the girl, pretending to believe that he placed her on his ownbreast (instead of mounting on hers) out of a sentiment of humilityand a desire to mortify his flesh _ipsâ in voluptate_. ]

THE FIFTH STORY

[Day the First]

 THE MARCHIONESS OF MONFERRATO, WITH A DINNER OF HENS AND CERTAIN SPRIGHTLY WORDS, CURBETH THE EXTRAVAGANT PASSION OF THE KING OF FRANCE

The story told by Dioneo at first pricked the hearts of the listeningladies with somewhat of shamefastness, whereof a modest rednessappearing in their faces gave token; but after, looking one at otherand being scarce able to keep their countenance, they listened, laughing in their sleeves. The end thereof being come, after they hadgently chidden him, giving him to understand that such tales were notfit to be told among ladies, the queen, turning to Fiammetta, who satnext him on the grass, bade her follow on the ordinance. Accordingly, she began with a good grace and a cheerful countenance, "It hathoccurred to my mind, fair my ladies, --at once because it pleaseth methat we have entered upon showing by stories how great is the efficacyof prompt and goodly answers and because, like as in men it is greatgood sense to seek still to love a lady of higher lineage thanthemselves, [50] so in women it is great discretion to know how to keepthemselves from being taken with the love of men of greater conditionthan they, --to set forth to you, in the story which it falleth to meto tell, how both with deeds and words a noble lady guarded herselfagainst this and diverted another therefrom. 

[Footnote 50: An evident allusion to Boccaccio's passion for thePrincess Maria, _i. E. _ Fiammetta herself. ]

The Marquis of Monferrato, a man of high worth and gonfalonier[51] ofthe church, had passed beyond seas on the occasion of a generalcrusade undertaken by the Christians, arms in hand, and it being oneday discoursed of his merit at the court of King Phillippe leBorgne, [52] who was then making ready to depart France upon the samecrusade, it was avouched by a gentleman present that there was notunder the stars a couple to match with the marquis and his lady, forthat, even as he was renowned among knights for every virtue, so wasshe the fairest and noblest of all the ladies in the world. Thesewords took such hold upon the mind of the King of France that, withouthaving seen the marchioness, he fell of a sudden ardently in love withher and determined to take ship for the crusade, on which he was togo, no otherwhere than at Genoa, in order that, journeying thither byland, he might have an honourable occasion of visiting themarchioness, doubting not but that, the marquis being absent, he mightavail to give effect to his desire. 

[Footnote 51: Or standard-bearer. ]

[Footnote 52: _i. E. _ the One-eyed (syn. Le myope, the short-sighted, the Italian word [_Il Bornio_] having both meanings), _i. E. _ PhilipII. Of France, better known as Philip Augustus. ]

As he had bethought himself, so he put his thought into execution;for, having sent forward all his power, he set out, attended only bysome few gentlemen, and coming within a day's journey of themarquis's domains, despatched a vauntcourier to bid the lady expecthim the following morning to dinner. The marchioness, who was welladvised and discreet, replied blithely that in this he did her thegreatest of favours and that he would be welcome and after bethoughtherself what this might mean that such a king should come to visit herin her husband's absence, nor was she deceived in the conclusion towhich she came, to wit, that the report of her beauty drew himthither. Nevertheless, like a brave lady as she was, she determined toreceive him with honour and summoning to her counsels sundry gentlemenof those who remained there, with their help, she let provide foreverything needful. The ordinance of the repast and of the viands shereserved to herself alone and having forthright caused collect as manyhens as were in the country, she bade her cooks dress various dishesof these alone for the royal table. 

The king came at the appointed time and was received by the lady withgreat honour and rejoicing. When he beheld her, she seemed to him fairand noble and well-bred beyond that which he had conceived from thecourtier's words, whereat he marvelled exceedingly and commended heramain, waxing so much the hotter in his desire as he found the ladyoverpassing his foregone conceit of her. After he had taken somewhatof rest in chambers adorned to the utmost with all that pertaineth tothe entertainment of such a king, the dinner hour being come, the kingand the marchioness seated themselves at one table, whilst the rest, according to their quality, were honourably entertained at others. Theking, being served with many dishes in succession, as well as withwines of the best and costliest, and to boot gazing with delight thewhile upon the lovely marchioness, was mightily pleased with hisentertainment; but, after awhile, as the viands followed one uponanother, he began somewhat to marvel, perceiving that, for all thediversity of the dishes, they were nevertheless of nought other thanhens, and this although he knew the part where he was to be such asshould abound in game of various kinds and although he had, byadvising the lady in advance of his coming, given her time to senda-hunting. However, much as he might marvel at this, he chose not totake occasion of engaging her in parley thereof, otherwise than in thematter of her hens, and accordingly, turning to her with a merry air, 'Madam, ' quoth he, 'are hens only born in these parts, without ever acock?' The marchioness, who understood the king's question excellentwell, herseeming God had vouchsafed her, according to her wish, anopportune occasion of discovering her mind, turned to him and answeredboldly, 'Nay, my lord; but women, albeit in apparel and dignities theymay differ somewhat from others, are natheless all of the same fashionhere as elsewhere. '

The King, hearing this, right well apprehended the meaning of thebanquet of hens and the virtue hidden in her speech and perceived thatwords would be wasted upon such a lady and that violence was out ofthe question; wherefore, even as he had ill-advisedly taken fire forher, so now it behoved him sagely, for his own honour's sake, stiflehis ill-conceived passion. Accordingly, without making any more wordswith her, for fear of her replies, he dined, out of all hope; and themeal ended, thanking her for the honourable entertainment he hadreceived from her and commending her to God, he set out for Genoa, soby his prompt departure he might make amends for his unseemly visit. "

THE SIXTH STORY

[Day the First]

 AN HONEST MAN, WITH A CHANCE PLEASANTRY, PUTTETH TO SHAME THE PERVERSE HYPOCRISY OF THE RELIGIOUS ORDERS

Emilia, who sat next after Fiammetta, --the courage of the marchionessand the quaint rebuke administered by her to the King of France havingbeen commended of all the ladies, --began, by the queen's pleasure, boldly to speak as follows: "I also, I will not keep silence of abiting reproof given by an honest layman to a covetous monk with aspeech no less laughable than commendable. 

There was, then, dear lasses, no great while agone, in our city, aMinor friar and inquisitor of heretical pravity, who, for all hestudied hard to appear a devout and tender lover of the Christianreligion, as do they all, was no less diligent in enquiring of who hada well-filled purse than of whom he might find wanting in the thingsof the Faith. Thanks to this his diligence, he lit by chance upon agood simple man, richer, by far in coin than in wit, who, of no lackof religion, but speaking thoughtlessly and belike overheated withwine or excess of mirth, chanced one day to say to a company of hisfriends that he had a wine so good that Christ himself might drinkthereof. This being reported to the inquisitor and he understandingthat the man's means were large and his purse well filled, ran in aviolent hurry _cum gladiis et fustibus_[53] to clap up a rightgrievous suit against him, looking not for an amendment of misbeliefin the defendant, but for the filling of his own hand with florins toensue thereof (as indeed it did, ) and causing him to be cited, askedhim if that which had been alleged against him were true. 

[Footnote 53: _i. E. _ with sword and whips, a technical term ofecclesiastical procedure, about equivalent to our "with the strong armof the law. "]

The good man replied that it was and told him how it chanced;whereupon quoth the most holy inquisitor, who was a devotee of St. John Goldenbeard, [54] 'Then hast thou made Christ a wine-bibber andcurious in wines of choice, as if he were Cinciglione[55] or what notother of your drunken sots and tavern-haunters; and now thou speakestlowly and wouldst feign this to be a very light matter! It is not asthou deemest; thou hast merited the fire therefor, an we were mindedto deal with thee as we ought. ' With these and many other words hebespoke him, with as menacing a countenance as if the poor wretch hadbeen Epicurus denying the immortality of the soul, and in brief soterrified him that the good simple soul, by means of certainintermediaries, let grease his palm with a good dose of St. JohnGoldenmouth's ointment[56] (the which is a sovereign remedy for thepestilential covetise of the clergy and especially of the MinorBrethren, who dare not touch money), so he should deal mercifully withhim. 

[Footnote 54: _i. E. _ a lover of money. ]

[Footnote 55: A notorious drinker of the time. ]

[Footnote 56: _i. E. _ money. ]

This unguent, being of great virtue (albeit Galen speaketh not thereofin any part of his Medicines), wrought to such purpose that the firedenounced against him was by favour commuted into [the wearing, by wayof penance, of] a cross, and to make the finer banner, as he were togo a crusading beyond seas, the inquisitor imposed it him yellow uponblack. Moreover, whenas he had gotten the money, he detained him abouthimself some days, enjoining him, by way of penance, hear a mass everymorning at Santa Croce and present himself before him at dinner-time, and after that he might do what most pleased him the rest of the day;all which he diligently performed. 

One morning, amongst others, it chanced that at the Mass he heard aGospel, wherein these words were chanted, 'For every one ye shallreceive an hundred and shall possess eternal life. '[57] This he laidfast up in his memory and according to the commandment given him, presented him at the eating hour before the inquisitor, whom he foundat dinner. The friar asked him if he had heard mass that morning, whereto he promptly answered, 'Ay have I, sir. ' Quoth the inquisitor, 'Heardest thou aught therein whereof thou doubtest or would question?''Certes, ' replied the good man, 'I doubt not of aught that I heard, but do firmly believe all to be true. I did indeed hear somethingwhich caused and yet causeth me have the greatest compassion of youand your brother friars, bethinking me of the ill case wherein youwill find yourselves over yonder in the next life. ' 'And what was itthat moved thee to such compassion of us?' asked the inquisitor. 'Sir, ' answered the other, 'it was that verse of the Evangel, whichsaith, "For every one ye shall receive an hundred. " 'That is true, 'rejoined the inquisitor; 'but why did these words move thee thus?''Sir, ' replied the good man, 'I will tell you. Since I have been usedto resort hither, I have seen give out every day to a multitude ofpoor folk now one and now two vast great cauldrons of broth, which hadbeen taken away from before yourself and the other brethren of thisconvent, as superfluous; wherefore, if for each one of these cauldronsof broth there be rendered you an hundred in the world to come, youwill have so much thereof that you will assuredly all be drownedtherein. '

[Footnote 57: "And every one that hath forsaken houses or brethren orsisters or father or mother or wife or children or lands for my name'ssake shall receive an hundredfold and shall inherit everlastinglife. "--Matthew xix. 29. Boccaccio has garbled the passage for thesake of his point. ]

All who were at the inquisitor's table fell a-laughing; but thelatter, feeling the hit at the broth-swilling[58] hypocrisy of himselfand his brethren, was mightily incensed, and but that he had gottenblame for that which he had already done, he would have saddled himwith another prosecution, for that with a laughable speech he hadrebuked him and his brother good-for-noughts; wherefore, of hisdespite, he bade him thenceforward do what most pleased him and notcome before him again. "

[Footnote 58: Syn. Gluttonous (_brodajuola_). ]

THE SEVENTH STORY

[Day the First]

 BERGAMINO, WITH A STORY OF PRIMASSO AND THE ABBOT OF CLUNY, COURTEOUSLY REBUKETH A FIT OF PARSIMONY NEWLY COME TO MESSER CANE DELLA SCALA

Emilia's pleasantness and her story moved the queen and all the restto laugh and applaud the rare conceit of this new-fangled crusader. Then, after the laughter had subsided and all were silent again, Filostrato, whose turn it was to tell, began to speak on this wise:"It is a fine thing, noble ladies, to hit a mark that never stirreth;but it is well-nigh miraculous if, when some unwonted thing appearethof a sudden, it be forthright stricken of an archer. The lewd andfilthy life of the clergy, in many things as it were a constant markfor malice, giveth without much difficulty occasion to all who have amind to speak of, to gird at and rebuke it; wherefore, albeit theworthy man, who pierced the inquisitor to the quick touching thehypocritical charity of the friars, who give to the poor that which itshould behove them cast to the swine or throw away, did well, I holdhim much more to be commended of whom, the foregoing tale moving methereto, I am to speak and who with a quaint story rebuked Messer Canedella Scala, a magnificent nobleman, of a sudden and unaccustomedniggardliness newly appeared in him, figuring, in the person ofanother, that which he purposed to say to him concerning themselves;the which was on this wise. 

As very manifest renown proclaimeth well nigh throughout the wholeworld, Messer Cane della Scala, to whom in many things fortune wasfavourable, was one of the most notable and most magnificent gentlementhat have been known in Italy since the days of the Emperor Frederickthe Second. Being minded to make a notable and wonder-goodlyentertainment in Verona, whereunto many folk should have come fromdivers parts and especially men of art[59] of all kinds, he of asudden (whatever might have been the cause) withdrew therefrom andhaving in a measure requited those who were come thither, dismissedthem all, save only one, Bergamino by name, a man ready of speech andaccomplished beyond the credence of whoso had not heard him, who, having received neither largesse nor dismissal, abode behind, in thehope that his stay might prove to his future advantage. But MesserCane had taken it into his mind that what thing soever he might givehim were far worse bestowed than if it had been thrown into the fire, nor of this did he bespeak him or let tell him aught. 

[Footnote 59: _i. E. _ gleemen, minstrels, story-tellers, jugglers andthe like, lit. Men of court (_uomini di corte_). ]

Bergamino, after some days, finding himself neither called upon norrequired unto aught that pertained to his craft and wasting hissubstance, to boot, in the hostelry with his horses and his servants, began to be sore concerned, but waited yet, himseeming he would not dowell to depart. Now he had brought with him three goodly and richsuits of apparel, which had been given him of other noblemen, that hemight make a brave appearance at the festival, and his host pressingfor payment, he gave one thereof to him. After this, tarrying yetlonger, it behoved him give the host the second suit, an he wouldabide longer with him, and withal he began to live upon the third, resolved to abide in expectation so long as this should last and thendepart. Whilst he thus fed upon the third suit, he chanced one day, Messer Cane being at dinner, to present himself before him with arueful countenance, and Messer Cane, seeing this, more by way ofrallying him than of intent to divert himself with any of his speech, said to him, 'What aileth thee, Bergamino, to stand thus disconsolate?Tell us somewhat. '[60] Whereupon Bergamino, without a moment'shesitation, forthright, as if he had long considered it, related thefollowing story to the purpose of his own affairs. 

[Footnote 60: _Dinne alcuna cosa. _ If we take the affix _ne_ (thereof, of it), in its other meaning (as dative of _noi_, we), of "to us, "this phrase will read "Tell somewhat thereof, " _i. E. _ of the cause ofthy melancholy. ]

'My lord, ' said he, 'you must know that Primasso was a very learnedgrammarian[61] and a skilful and ready verse-maker above all others, which things rendered him so notable and so famous that, albeit hemight not everywhere be known by sight, there was well nigh none whoknew him not by name and by report. It chanced that, finding himselfonce at Paris in poor case, as indeed he abode most times, for thatworth is[62] little prized of those who can most, [63] he heard speakof the Abbot of Cluny, who is believed to be, barring the Pope, therichest prelate of his revenues that the Church of God possesseth, andof him he heard tell marvellous and magnificent things, in that hestill held open house nor were meat and drink ever denied to any whowent whereas he might be, so but he sought it what time the Abbot wasat meat. Primasso, hearing this and being one who delighted in lookingupon men of worth and nobility, determined to go see the magnificenceof this Abbot and enquired how near he then abode to Paris. It wasanswered him that he was then at a place of his maybe half a dozenmiles thence; wherefore Primasso thought to be there at dinner-time, by starting in the morning betimes. 

[Footnote 61: _i. E. _ Latinist. ]

[Footnote 62: Lit. Was (_era_); but as Boccaccio puts "can"(_possono_) in the present tense we must either read _è_ and _possono_or _era_ and _potevano_. The first reading seems the more probable. ]

[Footnote 63: _i. E. _ have most power or means of requiting it. ]

Accordingly, he enquired the way, but, finding none bound thither, hefeared lest he might go astray by mischance and happen on a part wherethere might be no victual so readily to be found; wherefore, in orderthat, if this should betide, he might not suffer for lack of food, hebethought himself to carry with him three cakes of bread, judging thatwater (albeit it was little to his taste) he should find everywhere. The bread he put in his bosom and setting out, was fortunate enough toreach the Abbot's residence before the eating-hour. He entered andwent spying all about and seeing the great multitude of tables set andthe mighty preparations making in the kitchen and what not elseprovided against dinner, said in himself, "Of a truth this Abbot is asmagnificent as folk say. " After he had abidden awhile intent uponthese things, the Abbot's seneschal, eating-time being come, badebring water for the hands; which being done, he seated each man attable, and it chanced that Primasso was set right over against thedoor of the chamber, whence the Abbot should come forth into theeating-hall. 

Now it was the usance in that house that neither wine nor bread noraught else of meat or drink should ever be set on the tables, exceptthe Abbot were first came to sit at his own table. Accordingly, theseneschal, having set the tables, let tell the Abbot that, whenas itpleased him, the meat was ready. The Abbot let open the chamber-door, that he might pass into the saloon, and looking before him as he came, as chance would have it, the first who met his eyes was Primasso, whowas very ill accoutred and whom he knew not by sight. When he saw him, incontinent there came into his mind an ill thought and one that hadnever yet been there, and he said in himself, "See to whom I give mysubstance to eat!" Then, turning back, he bade shut the chamber-doorand enquired of those who were about him if any knew yonder losel whosat at table over against his chamber-door; but all answered no. 

Meanwhile Primasso, who had a mind to eat, having come a journey andbeing unused to fast, waited awhile and seeing that the Abbot camenot, pulled out of his bosom one of the three cakes of bread he hadbrought with him and fell to eating. The Abbot, after he had waitedawhile, bade one of his serving-men look if Primasso were gone, andthe man answered, "No, my lord; nay, he eateth bread, which it seemethhe hath brought with him. " Quoth the Abbot, "Well, let him eat of hisown, an he have thereof; for of ours he shall not eat to-day. " Now hewould fain have had Primasso depart of his own motion, himseeming itwere not well done to turn him away; but the latter, having eaten onecake of bread and the Abbot coming not, began upon the second; thewhich was likewise reported to the Abbot, who had caused look if hewere gone. 

At last, the Abbot still tarrying, Primasso, having eaten the secondcake, began upon the third, and this again was reported to the Abbot, who fell a-pondering in himself and saying, "Alack, what new maggot isthis that is come into my head to-day? What avarice! What despite! Andfor whom? This many a year have I given my substance to eat towhosoever had a mind thereto, without regarding if he were gentle orsimple, poor or rich, merchant or huckster, and have seen it with mineown eyes squandered by a multitude of ribald knaves; nor ever yet camethere to my mind the thought that hath entered into me for yonder man. Of a surety avarice cannot have assailed me for a man of littleaccount; needs must this who seemeth to me a losel be some greatmatter, since my soul hath thus repugned to do him honour. "

So saying, he desired to know who he was and finding that it wasPrimasso, whom he had long known by report for a man of merit, comethither to see with his own eyes that which he had heard of hismagnificence, was ashamed and eager to make him amends, studied inmany ways to do him honour. Moreover, after eating, he caused clothehim sumptuously, as befitted his quality, and giving him money and apalfrey, left it to his own choice to go or stay; whereupon Primasso, well pleased with his entertainment, rendered him the best thanks inhis power and returned on horseback to Paris, whence he had set outafoot. 

Messer Cane, who was a gentleman of understanding, right wellapprehended Bergamino's meaning, without further exposition, and saidto him, smiling, 'Bergamino, thou hast very aptly set forth to me thywrongs and merit and my niggardliness, as well as that which thouwouldst have of me; and in good sooth, never, save now on thineaccount, have I been assailed of parsimony; but I will drive it awaywith that same stick which thou thyself hast shown me. ' Then, lettingpay Bergamino's host and clothing himself most sumptuously in a suitof his own apparel, he gave him money and a palfrey and committed tohis choice for the nonce to go or stay. "

THE EIGHTH STORY

[Day the First]

 GUGLIELMO BORSIERE WITH SOME QUAINT WORDS REBUKETH THE NIGGARDLINESS OF MESSER ERMINO DE' GRIMALDI

Next Filostrato sat Lauretta, who, after she had heard Bergamino'saddress commended, perceiving that it behoved her tell somewhat, began, without awaiting any commandment, blithely to speak thus: "Theforegoing story, dear companions, [64] bringeth me in mind to tell howan honest minstrel on like wise and not without fruit rebuked thecovetise of a very rich merchant, the which, albeit in effect itresembleth the last story, should not therefore be less agreeable toyou, considering that good came thereof in the end. 

[Footnote 64: Fem. ]

There was, then, in Genoa, a good while agone, a gentleman calledMesser Ermino de' Grimaldi, who (according to general belief) faroverpassed in wealth of lands and monies the riches of whatsoeverother richest citizen was then known in Italy; and like as he excelledall other Italians in wealth, even so in avarice and sordidness heoutwent beyond compare every other miser and curmudgeon in the world;for not only did he keep a strait purse in the matter of hospitality, but, contrary to the general usance of the Genoese, who are wont todress sumptuously, he suffered the greatest privations in thingsnecessary to his own person, no less than in meat and in drink, ratherthan be at any expense; by reason whereof the surname de' Grimaldi hadfallen away from him and he was deservedly called of all only MesserErmino Avarizia. 

It chanced that, whilst, by dint of spending not, he multiplied hiswealth, there came to Genoa a worthy minstrel, [65] both well-bred andwell-spoken, by name Guglielmo Borsiere, a man no whit like those[66]of the present day, who (to the no small reproach of the corrupt andblameworthy usances of those[67] who nowadays would fain be called andreputed gentlefolk and seigniors) are rather to be styled asses, reared in all the beastliness and depravity of the basest of mankind, than [minstrels, bred] in the courts [of kings and princes]. In thosetimes it used to be a minstrel's office and his wont to expend hispains in negotiating treaties of peace, where feuds or despites hadbefallen between noblemen, or transacting marriages, alliances andfriendships, in solacing the minds of the weary and diverting courtswith quaint and pleasant sayings, ay, and with sharp reproofs, father-like, rebuking the misdeeds of the froward, --and this forslight enough reward; but nowadays they study to spend their time inhawking evil reports from one to another, in sowing discord, inspeaking naughtiness and obscenity and (what is worse) doing them inall men's presence, in imputing evil doings, lewdnesses and knaveries, true or false, one to other, and in prompting men of condition withtreacherous allurements to base and shameful actions; and he is mostcherished and honoured and most munificently entertained and rewardedof the sorry unmannerly noblemen of our time who saith and doth themost abominable words and deeds; a sore and shameful reproach to thepresent age and a very manifest proof that the virtues have departedthis lower world and left us wretched mortals to wallow in the sloughof the vices. 

[Footnote 65: _Uomo di corte. _ This word has been another grievousstumbling block to the French and English translators of Boccaccio, who render it literally "courtier. " The reader need hardly be remindedthat the minstrel of the middle ages was commonly jester, gleeman andstory-teller all in one and in these several capacities was allowedthe utmost license of speech. He was generally attached to the courtof some king or sovereign prince, but, in default of some suchpermanent appointment, passed his time in visiting the courts andmansions of princes and men of wealth and liberty, where his talentswere likely to be appreciated and rewarded; hence the name _uomo dicorte_, "man of court" (not "courtier, " which is _cortigiano_). ]

[Footnote 66: _i. E. _ those minstrels. ]

[Footnote 67: _i. E. _ the noblemen their patrons. ]

But to return to my story, from which a just indignation hath carriedme somewhat farther astray than I purposed, --I say that the aforesaidGuglielmo was honoured by all the gentlemen of Genoa and gladly seenof them, and having sojourned some days in the city and hearing manytales of Messer Ermino's avarice and sordidness, he desired to seehim. Messer Ermino having already heard how worthy a man was thisGuglielmo Borsiere and having yet, all miser as he was, some tinctureof gentle breeding, received him with very amicable words and blitheaspect and entered with him into many and various discourses. Devisingthus, he carried him, together with other Genoese who were in hiscompany, into a fine new house of his which he had lately built andafter having shown it all to him, said, 'Pray, Messer Guglielmo, youwho have seen and heard many things, can you tell me of something thatwas never yet seen, which I may have depictured in the saloon of thismy house?' Guglielmo, hearing this his preposterous question, answered, 'Sir, I doubt me I cannot undertake to tell you of aughtthat was never yet seen, except it were sneezings or the like; but, anit like you, I will tell you of somewhat which me thinketh you neveryet beheld. ' Quoth Messer Ermino, not looking for such an answer as hegot, 'I pray you tell me what it is. ' Whereto Guglielmo promptlyreplied, 'Cause Liberality to be here depictured. '

When Messer Ermino heard this speech, there took him incontinent sucha shame that it availed in a manner to change his dispositionaltogether to the contrary of that which it had been and he said, 'Messer Guglielmo, I will have it here depictured after such a fashionthat neither you nor any other shall ever again have cause to tell methat I have never seen nor known it. ' And from that time forth (suchwas the virtue of Guglielmo's words) he was the most liberal and themost courteous gentleman of his day in Genoa and he who mosthospitably entreated both strangers and citizens. "

THE NINTH STORY

[Day the First]

 THE KING OF CYPRUS, TOUCHED TO THE QUICK BY A GASCON LADY, FROM A MEAN-SPIRITED PRINCE BECOMETH A MAN OF WORTH AND VALIANCE

The Queen's last commandment rested with Elisa, who, without awaitingit, began all blithely, "Young ladies, it hath often chanced that whatall manner reproofs and many pains[68] bestowed upon a man have notavailed to bring about in him hath been effected by a word more oftenspoken at hazard than of purpose aforethought. This is very well shownin the story related by Lauretta and I, in my turn, purpose to proveto you the same thing by means of another and a very short one; forthat, since good things may still serve, they should be received witha mind attent, whoever be the sayer thereof. 

[Footnote 68: Syn. Penalties, punishments (_pene_). ]

I say, then, that in the days of the first King of Cyprus, after theconquest of the Holy Land by Godefroi de Bouillon, it chanced that agentlewoman of Gascony went on a pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulchre andreturning thence, came to Cyprus, where she was shamefully abused ofcertain lewd fellows; whereof having complained, without getting anysatisfaction, she thought to appeal to the King for redress, but wastold that she would lose her pains, for that he was of so abject acomposition and so little of worth that, far from justifying others oftheir wrongs, he endured with shameful pusillanimity innumerableaffronts offered to himself, insomuch that whose had any grudge[against him] was wont to vent his despite by doing him some shame orinsult. 

The lady, hearing this and despairing of redress, bethought herself, by way of some small solacement of her chagrin, to seek to rebuke theking's pusillanimity; wherefore, presenting herself in tears beforehim, she said to him, 'My lord, I come not into thy presence for anyredress that I expect of the wrong that hath been done me; but insatisfaction thereof, I prithee teach me how thou dost to suffer thoseaffronts which I understand are offered unto thyself, so haply I maylearn of thee patiently to endure mine own, the which God knoweth, anI might, I would gladly bestow on thee, since thou art so excellent asupporter thereof. '

The King, who till then had been sluggish and supine, awoke as if fromsleep and beginning with the wrong done to the lady, which he cruellyavenged, thenceforth became a very rigorous prosecutor of all whocommitted aught against the honour of his crown. "

THE TENTH STORY

[Day the First]

 MASTER ALBERTO OF BOLOGNA CIVILLY PUTTETH A LADY TO THE BLUSH WHO THOUGHT TO HAVE SHAMED HIM OF BEING ENAMOURED OF HER

Elisa being now silent, the last burden of the story-telling restedwith the queen, who, with womanly grace beginning to speak, said, "Noble damsels, like as in the lucid nights the stars are the ornamentof the sky and as in Spring-time the flowers of the green meadows, even so are commendable manners and pleasing discourse adorned bywitty sallies, which latter, for that they are brief, are yet morebeseeming to women than to men, inasmuch as much and long speech, whenas it may be dispensed with, is straitlier forbidden unto womenthan to men, albeit nowadays there are few or no women left whounderstand a sprightly saying or, if they understand it, know how toanswer it, to the general shame be it said of ourselves and of allwomen alive. For that virtue, [69] which was erst in the minds of thewomen of times past, those of our day have diverted to the adornmentof the body, and she on whose back are to be seen the most motleygarments and the most gaudily laced and garded and garnished with thegreatest plenty of fringes and purflings and broidery deemeth herselfworthy to be held of far more account than her fellows and to behonoured above them, considering not that, were it a question of whoshould load her back and shoulders with bravery, an ass would carrymuch more thereof than any of them nor would therefore be honoured formore than an ass. 

[Footnote 69: _Virtù_, in the old Roman sense of strength, vigour, energy. ]

I blush to avow it, for that I cannot say aught against other womenbut I say it against myself; these women that are so laced and purfledand painted and parti-coloured abide either mute and senseless, likemarble statues, or, an they be questioned, answer after such a fashionthat it were far better to have kept silence. And they would have youbelieve that their unableness to converse among ladies and men ofparts proceedeth from purity of mind, and to their witlessness theygive the name of modesty, as if forsooth no woman were modest but shewho talketh with her chamberwoman or her laundress or her bake-wench;the which had Nature willed, as they would have it believed, she hadassuredly limited unto them their prattle on other wise. It is truethat in this, as in other things, it behoveth to have regard to timeand place and with whom one talketh; for that it chanceth bytimes thatwomen or men, thinking with some pleasantry or other to put another tothe blush and not having well measured their own powers with those ofthe latter, find that confusion, which they thought to cast uponanother, recoil upon themselves. Wherefore, so you may know how tokeep yourselves and that, to boot, you may not serve as a text for theproverb which is current everywhere, to wit, that women in everythingstill take the worst, I would have you learn a lesson from the last ofto-day's stories, which falleth to me to tell, to the intent that, even as you are by nobility of mind distinguished from other women, solikewise you may show yourselves no less removed from them byexcellence of manners. 

It is not many years since there lived (and belike yet liveth) atBologna a very great and famous physician, known by manifest renown towell nigh all the world. His name was Master Alberto and such was thevivacity of his spirit that, albeit he was an old man of hard uponseventy years of age and well nigh all natural heat had departed hisbody, he scrupled not to expose himself to the flames of love; forthat, having seen at an entertainment a very beautiful widow lady, called, as some say, Madam Malgherida[70] de' Ghisolieri, and beingvastly taken with her, he received into his mature bosom, no otherwisethan if he had been a young gallant, the amorous fire, insomuch thathimseemed he rested not well by night, except the day foregone he hadlooked upon the delicate and lovesome countenance of the fair lady. Wherefore he fell to passing continually before her house, now afootand now on horseback, as the occasion served him, insomuch that sheand many other ladies got wind of the cause of his constant passingsto and fro and oftentimes made merry among themselves to see a manthus ripe of years and wit in love, as if they deemed that that mostpleasant passion of love took root and flourished only in the sillyminds of the young and not otherwhere. 

[Footnote 70: Old form of Margherita. ]

What while he continued to pass back and forth, it chanced one holidaythat, the lady being seated with many others before her door andespying Master Alberto making towards them from afar, they one andall took counsel together to entertain him and do him honour and afterto rally him on that his passion. Accordingly, they all rose toreceive him and inviting him [to enter, ] carried him into a shadycourtyard, whither they let bring the choicest of wines and sweetmeatsand presently enquired of him, in very civil and pleasant terms, howit might be that he was fallen enamoured of that fair lady, knowingher to be loved of many handsome, young and sprightly gentlemen. Thephysician, finding himself thus courteously attacked, put on a blithecountenance and answered, 'Madam, that I love should be no marvel toany understanding person, and especially that I love yourself, forthat you deserve it; and albeit old men are by operation of naturebereft of the vigour that behoveth unto amorous exercises, yet not forall that are they bereft of the will nor of the wit to apprehend thatwhich is worthy to be loved; nay, this latter is naturally the bettervalued of them, inasmuch as they have more knowledge and experiencethan the young. As for the hope that moveth me, who am an old man, tolove you who are courted of many young gallants, it is on this wise: Ihave been many a time where I have seen ladies lunch and eat lupinsand leeks. Now, although in the leek no part is good, yet is thehead[71] thereof less hurtful and more agreeable to the taste; but youladies, moved by a perverse appetite, commonly hold the head in yourhand and munch the leaves, which are not only naught, but of an illsavour. How know I, madam, but you do the like in the election of yourlovers? In which case, I should be the one chosen of you and theothers would be turned away. '

[Footnote 71: _i. E. _ the base or eatable part of the stem. ]

The gentlewoman and her companions were somewhat abashed and said, 'Doctor, you have right well and courteously chastised ourpresumptuous emprise; algates, your love is dear to me, as should bethat of a man of worth and learning; wherefore, you may in allassurance command me, as your creature, of your every pleasure, savingonly mine honour. ' The physician, rising with his companions, thankedthe lady and taking leave of her with laughter and merriment, departedthence. Thus the lady, looking not whom she rallied and thinking todiscomfit another, was herself discomfited; wherefrom, an you be wise, you will diligently guard yourselves. "

 * * * * *

The sun had begun to decline towards the evening, and the heat was ingreat part abated, when the stories of the young ladies and of thethree young men came to an end; whereupon quoth the queenblithesomely, "Henceforth, dear companions, there remaineth noughtmore to do in the matter of my governance for the present day, save togive you a new queen, who shall, according to her judgment, order herlife and ours, for that[72] which is to come, unto honest pleasance. And albeit the day may be held to endure from now until nightfall, yet, --for that whoso taketh not somewhat of time in advance cannot, meseemeth, so well provide for the future and in order that what thenew queen shall deem needful for the morrow may be prepared, --methinkeththe ensuing days should commence at this hour. Wherefore, in reverenceof Him unto whom all things live and for our own solacement, Filomena, a right discreet damsel, shall, as queen, govern our kingdom for thecoming day. " So saying, she rose to her feet and putting off thelaurel-wreath, set it reverently on the head of Filomena, whom firstherself and after all the other ladies and the young men likewisesaluted as queen, cheerfully submitting themselves to her governance. 

[Footnote 72: _i. E. _ that day. ]

Filomena blushed somewhat to find herself invested with the queendom, but, calling to mind the words a little before spoken byPampinea, [73]--in order that she might not appear witless, she resumedher assurance and in the first place confirmed all the offices givenby Pampinea; then, having declared that they should abide whereas theywere, she appointed that which was to do against the ensuing morning, as well as for that night's supper, and after proceeded to speak thus:

[Footnote 73: See ante, p. 8. ]

"Dearest companions, albeit Pampinea, more of her courtesy than forany worth of mine, hath made me queen of you all, I am not thereforedisposed to follow my judgment alone in the manner of our living, butyours together with mine; and that you may know that which meseemethis to do and consequently at your pleasure add thereto or abatethereof, I purpose briefly to declare it to you. 

If I have well noted the course this day held by Pampinea, meseemeth Ihave found it alike praiseworthy and delectable; wherefore till suchtime as, for overlong continuance or other reason, it grow irksome tous, I judge it not to be changed. Order, then, being taken for [thecontinuance of] that which we have already begun to do, we will, arising hence, go awhile a-pleasuring, and whenas the sun shall be forgoing under, we will sup in the cool of the evening, and after sundrycanzonets and other pastimes, we shall do well to betake ourselves tosleep. To-morrow, rising in the cool of the morning, we will on likewise go somewhither a-pleasuring, as shall be most agreeable to everyone; and as we have done to-day, we will at the due hour come back toeat; after which we will dance and when we arise from sleep, as to-daywe have done, we will return hither to our story-telling, whereinmeseemeth a very great measure to consist alike of pleasance and ofprofit. Moreover, that which Pampinea had indeed no opportunity ofdoing, by reason of her late election to the governance, I purpose nowto enter upon, to wit, to limit within some bound that whereof we areto tell and to declare it[74] to you beforehand, so each of you mayhave leisure to think of some goodly story to relate upon the themeproposed, the which, an it please you, shall be on this wise; namely, seeing that since the beginning of the world men have been and willbe, until the end thereof, bandied about by various shifts of fortune, each shall be holden to tell OF THOSE WHO AFTER BEING BAFFLED BYDIVERS CHANCES HAVE WON AT LAST TO A JOYFUL ISSUE BEYOND THEIR HOPE. "

[Footnote 74: _i. E. _ the terms of the limitation aforesaid. ]

Ladies and men alike all commended this ordinance and declaredthemselves ready to ensue it. Only Dioneo, the others all beingsilent, said, "Madam, as all the rest have said, so say I, to wit thatthe ordinance given by you is exceeding pleasant and commendable; butof especial favour I crave you a boon, which I would have confirmed tome for such time as our company shall endure, to wit, that I may notbe constrained by this your law to tell a story upon the given theme, an it like me not, but shall be free to tell that which shall mostplease me. And that none may think I seek this favour as one who hathnot stories, in hand, from this time forth I am content to be stillthe last to tell. "

The queen, --who knew him for a merry man and a gamesome and was wellassured that he asked this but that he might cheer the company withsome laughable story, whenas they should be weary of discoursing, --withthe others' consent, cheerfully accorded him the favour he sought. Then, arising from session, with slow steps they took their waytowards a rill of very clear water, that ran down from a little hill, amid great rocks and green herbage, into a valley overshaded with manytrees and there, going about in the water, bare-armed and shoeless, they fell to taking various diversions among themselves, tillsupper-time drew near, when they returned to the palace and theresupped merrily. Supper ended, the queen called for instruments ofmusic and bade Lauretta lead up a dance, whilst Emilia sang a song, tothe accompaniment of Dioneo's lute. Accordingly, Lauretta promptly setup a dance and led it off, whilst Emilia amorously warbled thefollowing song:

 I burn for mine own charms with such a fire, Methinketh that I ne'er Of other love shall reck or have desire. 

 Whene'er I mirror me, I see therein[75] That good which still contenteth heart and spright; Nor fortune new nor thought of old can win To dispossess me of such dear delight. What other object, then, could fill my sight, Enough of pleasance e'er To kindle in my breast a new desire?

 This good flees not, what time soe'er I'm fain Afresh to view it for my solacement; Nay, at my pleasure, ever and again With such a grace it doth itself present Speech cannot tell it nor its full intent Be known of mortal e'er, Except indeed he burn with like desire. 

 And I, grown more enamoured every hour, The straitlier fixed mine eyes upon it be, Give all myself and yield me to its power, E'en tasting now of that it promised me, And greater joyance yet I hope to see, Of such a strain as ne'er Was proven here below of love-desire. 

[Footnote 75: _i. E. _ in the mirrored presentment of her own beauty. ]

Lauretta having thus made an end of her ballad, [76]--in the burden ofwhich all had blithely joined, albeit the words thereof gave some muchmatter for thought, --divers other rounds were danced and a part of theshort night being now spent, it pleased the queen to give an end tothe first day; wherefore, letting kindle the flambeaux, she commandedthat all should betake themselves to rest until the ensuing morning, and all, accordingly, returning to their several chambers, did so. 

[Footnote 76: _Ballatella_, lit. Little dancing song or song made tobe sung as an accompaniment to a dance (from _ballare_, to dance). This is the origin of our word ballad. ]

HERE ENDETH THE FIRST DAYOF THE DECAMERON

_Day the Second_

 HERE BEGINNETH THE SECOND DAY OF THE DECAMERON WHEREIN UNDER THE GOVERNANCE OF FILOMENA IS DISCOURSED OF THOSE WHO AFTER BEING BAFFLED BY DIVERS CHANCES HAVE WON AT LAST TO A JOYFUL ISSUE BEYOND THEIR HOPE

The sun had already everywhere brought on the new day with its lightand the birds, carolling blithely among the green branches, borewitness thereof unto the ear with their merry songs, when the ladiesand the three young men, arising all, entered the gardens and pressingthe dewy grass with slow step, went wandering hither and thither, weaving goodly garlands and disporting themselves, a great while. Andlike as they had done the day foregone, even so did they at present;to wit, having eaten in the cool and danced awhile, they betook themto repose and arising thence after none, came all, by command of theirqueen, into the fresh meadows, where they seated themselves roundabout her. Then she, who was fair of favour and exceeding pleasant ofaspect, having sat awhile, crowned with her laurel wreath, and lookedall her company in the face, bade Neifile give beginning to the day'sstories by telling one of her fashion; whereupon the latter, withoutmaking any excuse, blithely began to speak thus:

THE FIRST STORY

[Day the Second]

 MARTELLINO FEIGNETH HIMSELF A CRIPPLE AND MAKETH BELIEVE TO WAX WHOLE UPON THE BODY OF ST. ARRIGO. HIS IMPOSTURE BEING DISCOVERED, HE IS BEATEN AND BEING AFTER TAKEN [FOR A THIEF, ] GOETH IN PERIL OF BEING HANGED BY THE NECK, BUT ULTIMATELY ESCAPETH

"It chanceth oft, dearest ladies, that he who studieth to befoolothers, and especially in things reverend, findeth himself withnothing for his pains but flouts and whiles cometh not off scathless. Wherefore, that I may obey the queen's commandment and give beginningto the appointed theme with a story of mine, I purpose to relate toyou that which, first misfortunately and after happily, beyond hisevery thought, betided a townsman of ours. 

No great while agone there was at Treviso a German called Arrigo, who, being a poor man, served whoso required him to carry burdens for hire;and withal he was held of all a man of very holy and good life. Wherefore, be it true or untrue, when he died, it befell, according tothat which the Trevisans avouch, that, in the hour of his death, thebells of the great church of Treviso began to ring, without beingpulled of any. The people of the city, accounting this a miracle, proclaimed this Arrigo a saint and running all to the house where helay, bore his body, for that of a saint, to the Cathedral, whitherthey fell to bringing the halt, the impotent and the blind and othersafflicted with whatsoever defect or infirmity, as if they should allbe made whole by the touch of the body. 

In the midst of this great turmoil and concourse of folk, it chancedthat there arrived at Treviso three of our townsmen, whereof one wascalled Stecchi, another Martellino and the third Marchese, men whovisited the courts of princes and lords and diverted the beholders bytravestying themselves and counterfeiting whatsoever other man withrare motions and grimaces. Never having been there before and seeingall the folk run, they marvelled and hearing the cause, were for goingto see what was toward; wherefore they laid up their baggage at an innand Marchese said, 'We would fain go look upon this saint; but, for mypart, I see not how we may avail to win thither, for that I understandthe Cathedral place is full of German and other men-at-arms, whom thelord of this city hath stationed there, so no riot may betide; more bytoken that they say the church is so full of folk that well nigh noneelse might enter there. ' 'Let not that hinder you, ' quoth Martellino, who was all agog to see the show; 'I warrant you I will find a meansof winning to the holy body. ' 'How so?' asked Marchese, and Martellinoanswered, 'I will tell thee. I will counterfeit myself a cripple andthou on one side and Stecchi on the other shall go upholding me, as itwere I could not walk of myself, making as if you would fain bring meto the saint, so he may heal me. There will be none but, seeing us, will make way for us and let us pass. '

The device pleased Marchese and Stecchi and they went forth of the innwithout delay, all three. Whenas they came to a solitary place, Martellino writhed his hands and fingers and arms and legs and eke hismouth and eyes and all his visnomy on such wise that it was afrightful thing to look upon, nor was there any saw him but would haveavouched him to be verily all fordone and palsied of his person. Marchese and Stecchi, taking him up, counterfeited as he was, madestraight for the church, with a show of the utmost compunction, humblybeseeching all who came in their way for the love of God to make roomfor them, the which was lightly yielded them. Brief, every one gazingon them and crying well nigh all, 'Make way! Make way!' they camewhereas Saint Arrigo's body lay and Martellino was forthright taken upby certain gentlemen who stood around and laid upon the body, so hemight thereby regain the benefit of health. Martellino, having lainawhile, whilst all the folk were on the stretch to see what shouldcome of him, began, as right well he knew how, to make a show ofopening first one finger, then a hand and after putting forth an armand so at last coming to stretch himself out altogether. Which whenthe people saw, they set up such an outcry in praise of Saint Arrigoas would have drowned the very thunder. 

Now, as chance would have it, there was therenigh a certainFlorentine, who knew Martellino very well, but had not recognized him, counterfeited as he was, whenas he was brought thither. However, whenhe saw him grown straight again, he knew him and straightway fella-laughing and saying, 'God confound him! Who that saw him come hadnot deemed him palsied in good earnest?' His words were overheard ofsundry Trevisans, who asked him incontinent, 'How! Was he notpalsied?' 'God forbid!' answered the Florentine. 'He hath ever been asstraight as any one of us; but he knoweth better than any man in theworld how to play off tricks of this kind and counterfeit what shapesoever he will. '

When the others heard this, there needed nothing farther; but theypushed forward by main force and fell a-crying out and saying, 'Seizeyonder traitor and scoffer at God and His saints, who, being whole ofhis body, hath come hither, in the guise of a cripple, to make mock ofus and of our saint!' So saying, they laid hold of Martellino andpulled him down from the place where he lay. Then, taking him by thehair of his head and tearing all the clothes off his back, they fellupon him with cuffs and kicks; nor himseemed was there a man in theplace but ran to do likewise. Martellino roared out, 'Mercy, for God'ssake!' and fended himself as best he might, but to no avail; for thecrowd redoubled upon him momently. Stecchi and Marchese, seeing this, began to say one to the other that things stood ill, but, fearing forthemselves, dared not come to his aid; nay, they cried out with therest to put him to death, bethinking them the while how they mightavail to fetch him out of the hands of the people, who would certainlyhave slain him, but for a means promptly taken by Marchese; to wit, all the officers of the Seignory being without the church, he betookhimself as quickliest he might, to him who commanded for the Provostand said, 'Help, for God's sake! There is a lewd fellow within whohath cut my purse, with a good hundred gold florins. I pray you takehim, so I may have mine own again. '

Hearing this, a round dozen of sergeants ran straightway whereas thewretched Martellino was being carded without a comb and having withthe greatest pains in the world broken through the crowd, dragged himout of the people's hands, all bruised and tumbled as he was, andhaled him off to the palace, whither many followed him who heldthemselves affronted of him and hearing that he had been taken for acutpurse and themseeming they had no better occasion[77] of doing himan ill turn, [78] began each on like wise to say that he had cut hispurse. The Provost's judge, who was a crabbed, ill-conditioned fellow, hearing this, forthright took him apart and began to examine him ofthe matter; but Martellino answered jestingly, as if he made light ofhis arrest; whereat the judge, incensed, caused truss him up and givehim two or three good bouts of the strappado, with intent to make himconfess that which they laid to his charge, so he might after have himstrung up by the neck. 

[Footnote 77: Or pretext (_titolo_). ]

[Footnote 78: Or "having him punished, " lit. "causing give him illluck" (_fargli dar la mala ventura_). This passage, like so manyothers of the Decameron, is ambiguous and may also be read"themseeming none other had a juster title to do him an ill turn. "]

When he was let down again, the judge asked him once more if that weretrue which the folk avouched against him, and Martellino, seeing thatit availed him not to deny, answered, 'My lord, I am ready to confessthe truth to you; but first make each who accuseth me say when andwhere I cut his purse, and I will tell you what I did and what not. 'Quoth the judge, 'I will well, ' and calling some of his accusers, putthe question to them; whereupon one said that he had cut his purseeight, another six and a third four days agone, whilst some said thatvery day. Martellino, hearing this, said, 'My lord, these all lie intheir throats and I can give you this proof that I tell you the truth, inasmuch as would God it were as sure that I had never come hither asit is that I was never in this place till a few hours agone; and assoon as I arrived, I went, of my ill fortune, to see yonder holy bodyin the church, where I was carded as you may see; and that this I sayis true, the Prince's officer who keepeth the register of strangerscan certify you, he and his book, as also can my host. If, therefore, you find it as I tell you, I beseech you torture me not neither put meto death at the instance of these wicked, men. '

Whilst things were at this pass, Marchese and Stecchi, hearing thatthe judge of the Provostry was proceeding rigorously againstMartellino and had already given him the strappado, were sore affearedand said in themselves, 'We have gone the wrong way to work; we havebrought him forth of the frying-pan and cast him into the fire. 'Wherefore they went with all diligence in quest of their host andhaving found him, related to him how the case stood. He laughed andcarried them to one Sandro Agolanti, who abode in Treviso and hadgreat interest with the Prince, and telling him everything in order, joined with them in beseeching him to occupy himself with Martellino'saffairs. Sandro, after many a laugh, repaired to the Prince andprevailed upon him to send for Martellino. 

The Prince's messengers found Martellino still in his shirt before thejudge, all confounded and sore adread, for that the judge would hearnothing in his excuse; nay, having, by chance, some spite against thepeople of Florence, he was altogether determined to hang him by theneck and would on no wise render him up to the Prince till such timeas he was constrained thereto in his despite. Martellino, beingbrought before the lord of the city and having told him everything inorder, besought him, by way of special favour, to let him go about hisbusiness, for that, until he should be in Florence again, it wouldstill seem to him he had the rope about his neck. The Prince laughedheartily at his mischance and let give each of the three a suit ofapparel, wherewith they returned home safe and sound, having, beyondall their hope, escaped so great a peril. "

THE SECOND STORY

[Day the Second]

 RINALDO D'ASTI, HAVING BEEN ROBBED, MAKETH HIS WAY TO CASTEL GUGLIELMO, WHERE HE IS HOSPITABLY ENTERTAINED BY A WIDOW LADY AND HAVING MADE GOOD HIS LOSS, RETURNETH TO HIS OWN HOUSE, SAFE AND SOUND

The ladies laughed immoderately at Martellino's misfortunes narratedby Neifile, as did also the young men and especially Filostrato, whom, for that he sat next Neifile, the queen bade follow her instory-telling. Accordingly he began without delay, "Fair ladies, needsmust I tell you a story[79] of things Catholic, [80] in part mingledwith misadventures and love-matters, which belike will not be otherthan profitable to hear, especially to those who are wayfarers in theperilous lands of love, wherein whoso hath not said St. Julian hisPaternoster is oftentimes ill lodged, for all he have a good bed. 

[Footnote 79: Lit. A story striveth in (draweth) me to be told or totell itself (_a raccontarsi mi tira una novella_). ]

[Footnote 80: _i. E. _ religious matters (_cose cattoliche_). ]

In the days, then, of the Marquis Azzo of Ferrara, there came amerchant called Rinaldo d'Asti to Bologna on his occasions, whichhaving despatched and returning homeward, it chanced that, as heissued forth of Ferrara and rode towards Verona, he fell in withcertain folk who seemed merchants, but were in truth highwaymen andmen of lewd life and condition, with whom he unwarily joined companyand entered into discourse. They, seeing him to be a merchant andjudging him to have monies about him, took counsel together to robhim, at the first opportunity that should offer; wherefore, that hemight take no suspicion, they went devising with him, like decentpeaceable folk, of things honest and seemly and of loyalty, orderingthemselves toward him, in so far as they knew and could, with respectand complaisance, so that he deemed himself in great luck to have metwith them, for that he was alone with a serving-man of his onhorseback. 

Thus faring on and passing from one thing to another, as it chancethin discourse, they presently fell to talking of the orisons that menoffer up to God, and one of the highwaymen, who were three in number, said to Rinaldo, 'And you, fair sir, what orison do you use to say ona journey?' Whereto he answered, 'Sooth to say, I am but a plain manand little versed in these matters and have few orisons in hand; Ilive after the old fashion and let a couple of shillings pass forfour-and-twenty pence. [81] Nevertheless, I have still been wont, whenon a journey, to say of a morning, what time I come forth of the inn, a Pater and an Ave for the soul of St. Julian's father and mother, after which I pray God and the saint to grant me a good lodging forthe ensuing night. Many a time in my day have I, in the course of myjourneyings, been in great perils, from all of which I have escapedand have still found myself at night, to boot, in a place of safetyand well lodged. Wherefore I firmly believe that St. Julian, in whosehonour I say it, hath gotten me this favour of God; nor meseemethshould I fare well by day nor come to good harbourage at night, exceptI had said it in the morning. ' 'And did you say it[82] this morning?'asked he who had put the question to him. 'Ay did I, ' answeredRinaldo; whereupon quoth the other in himself, knowing well how thething was to go, 'May it stand thee in stead![83] For, an no hindrancebetide us, methinketh thou art e'en like to lodge ill. ' Then, toRinaldo, 'I likewise, ' quoth he, 'have travelled much and have neversaid this orison, albeit I have heard it greatly commended, nor everhath it befallen me to lodge other than well; and this evening maybeyou shall chance to see which will lodge the better, you who have saidit or I who have not. True, I use, instead thereof, the _Dirupisti_ orthe _Intemerata_ or the _De Profundis_, the which, according to thatwhich a grandmother of mine used to tell me, are of singular virtue. '

[Footnote 81: _i. E. _ take things by the first intention, withoutseeking to refine upon them, or, in English popular phrase, "I do notpretend to see farther through a stone wall than my neighbours. "]

[Footnote 82: _i. E. _ the aforesaid orison. ]

[Footnote 83: Or "'Twill have been opportunely done of thee. "]

Discoursing thus of various matters and faring on their way, on thelook out the while for time and place apt unto their knavish purpose, they came, late in the day, to a place a little beyond CastelGuglielmo, where, at the fording of a river, the three rogues, seeingthe hour advanced and the spot solitary and close shut in, fell uponRinaldo and robbed him of money, clothes and horse. Then, leaving himafoot and in his shirt, they departed, saying, 'Go see if thy St. Julian will give thee a good lodging this night, even as ours[84] willassuredly do for us. ' And passing the stream, they went their ways. Rinaldo's servant, seeing him attacked, like a cowardly knave as hewas, did nought to help him, but turning his horse's head, never drewbridle till he came to Castel Guglielmo and entering the town, took uphis lodging there, without giving himself farther concern. 

[Footnote 84: _i. E. _ our patron saint. ]

Rinaldo, left in his shirt and barefoot, it being very cold andsnowing hard, knew not what to do and seeing the night already athand, looked about him, trembling and chattering the while with histeeth, if there were any shelter to be seen therenigh, where he mightpass the night, so he should not perish of cold; but, seeing none, forthat a little before there had been war in those parts and everythinghad been burnt, set off at a run, spurred by the cold, towards CastelGuglielmo, knowing not withal if his servant were fled thither orotherwise and thinking that, so he might but avail to enter therein, God would send him some relief. But darkness overtook him near a milefrom the town, wherefore he arrived there so late that, the gatesbeing shut and the draw-bridges raised, he could get no admission. Thereupon, despairing and disconsolate, he looked about, weeping, fora place where he might shelter, so at the least it should not snowupon him, and chancing to espy a house that projected somewhat beyondthe walls of the town, he determined to go bide thereunder till day. Accordingly, betaking himself thither, he found there a door, albeitit was shut, and gathering at foot thereof somewhat of straw that wastherenigh, he laid himself down there, tristful and woebegone, complaining sore to St. Julian and saying that this was not of thefaith he had in him. 

However, the saint had not lost sight of him and was not long inproviding him with a good lodging. There was in the town a widow lady, as fair of favour as any woman living, whom the Marquis Azzo loved ashis life and there kept at his disposition, and she abode in that samehouse, beneath the projection whereof Rinaldo had taken shelter. Now, as chance would have it, the Marquis had come to the town that day, thinking to lie the night with her, and had privily let make ready inher house a bath and a sumptuous supper. Everything being ready andnought awaited by the lady but the coming of the Marquis, it chancedthat there came a serving-man to the gate, who brought him news, whichobliged him to take horse forthright; wherefore, sending to tell hismistress not to expect him, he departed in haste. The lady, somewhatdisconsolate at this, knowing not what to do, determined to enter thebath prepared for the Marquis and after sup and go to bed. 

Accordingly she entered the bath, which was near the door, againstwhich the wretched merchant was crouched without the city-wall;wherefore she, being therein, heard the weeping and trembling kept upby Rinaldo, who seemed as he were grown a stork, [85] and calling hermaid, said to her, 'Go up and look over the wall who is at thepostern-foot and what he doth there. ' The maid went thither and aidedby the clearness of the air, saw Rinaldo in his shirt and barefoot, sitting there, as hath been said, and trembling sore; whereupon sheasked him who he was. He told her, as briefliest he might, who he wasand how and why he was there, trembling the while on such wise that hecould scarce form the words, and after fell to beseeching herpiteously not to leave him there all night to perish of cold, [but tosuccour him, ] an it might be. The maid was moved to pity of him andreturning to her mistress, told her all. The lady, on like wise takingcompassion on him and remembering that she had the key of the dooraforesaid, which served whiles for the privy entrances of the Marquis, said, 'Go softly and open to him; here is this supper and none to eatit and we have commodity enough for his lodging. '

[Footnote 85: _i. E. _ whose teeth chattered as it were the clapping ofa stork's beak. ]

The maid, having greatly commended her mistress for this her humanity, went and opening to Rinaldo, brought him in; whereupon the lady, seeing him well nigh palsied with cold, said to him, 'Quick, good man, enter this bath, which is yet warm. ' Rinaldo, without awaiting fartherinvitation, gladly obeyed and was so recomforted with the warmth ofthe bath that himseemed he was come back from death to life. The ladylet fetch him a suit of clothes that had pertained to her husband, then lately dead, which when he had donned, they seemed made to hismeasure, and whilst awaiting what she should command him, he fell tothanking God and St. Julian for that they had delivered him from thescurvy night he had in prospect and had, as he deemed, brought him togood harbourage. 

Presently, the lady, being somewhat rested, [86] let make a great firein her dining-hall and betaking herself thither, asked how it was withthe poor man; whereto the maid answered, 'Madam, he hath clad himselfand is a handsome man and appeareth a person of good condition andvery well-mannered. ' Quoth the lady, 'Go, call him and bid him come tothe fire and sup, for I know he is fasting. ' Accordingly, Rinaldoentered the hall and seeing the gentlewoman, who appeared to him alady of quality, saluted her respectfully and rendered her the bestthanks in his power for the kindness done him. The lady, having seenand heard him and finding him even as her maid had said, received himgraciously and making him sit familiarly with her by the fire, questioned him of the chance that had brought him thither; whereuponhe related everything to her in order. Now she had heard somewhat ofthis at the time of his servant's coming into the town, wherefore shegave entire belief to all he said and told him, in turn, what she knewof his servant and how he might lightly find him again on the morrow. Then, the table being laid, Rinaldo, at the lady's instance, washedhis hands and sat down with her to supper. Now he was tall of hisperson and comely and pleasant of favour and very engaging andagreeable of manners and a man in the prime of life; wherefore thelady had several times cast her eyes on him and found him much to herliking, and her desires being already aroused for the Marquis, who wasto have come to lie with her, she had taken a mind to him. Accordingly, after supper, whenas they were risen from table, she tookcounsel with her maid whether herseemed she would do well, the Marquishaving left her in the lurch, to use the good which fortune had senther. The maid, seeing her mistress's drift, encouraged her as best shemight to ensue it; whereupon the lady, returning to the fireside, where she had left Rinaldo alone, fell to gazing amorously upon himand said to him, 'How now, Rinaldo, why bide you thus melancholy?Think you you cannot be requited the loss of a horse and of some smallmatter of clothes? Take comfort and be of good cheer; you are in yourown house. Nay, I will e'en tell you more, that, seeing you with thoseclothes on your back, which were my late husband's, and meseeming youwere himself, there hath taken me belike an hundred times to-night alonging to embrace you and kiss you: and but that I feared todisplease you, I had certainly done it. '

[Footnote 86: _i. E. _ after her bath. ]

Rinaldo, who was no simpleton, hearing these words and seeing thelady's eyes sparkle, advanced towards her with open arms, saying, 'Madam, considering that I owe it to you to say that I am now aliveand having regard to that from which you delivered me, it were greatunmannerliness in me, did I not study to do everything that may beagreeable to you; wherefore do you embrace me and kiss me to yourheart's content, and I will kiss and clip you more than willingly. 'There needed no more words. The lady, who was all afire with amorouslonging, straightway threw herself into his arms and after she hadstrained him desirefully to her bosom and bussed him a thousand timesand had of him been kissed as often, they went off to her chamber, andthere without delay betaking themselves to bed, they fully and many atime, before the day should come, satisfied their desires one of theother. Whenas the day began to appear, they arose, --it being herpleasure, so the thing might not be suspected of any, --and she, havinggiven him some sorry clothes and a purse full of money and shown himhow he should go about to enter the town and find his servant, put himforth at the postern whereby he had entered, praying him keep thematter secret. 

As soon as it was broad day and the gates were opened, he entered thetown, feigning to come from afar, and found his servant. Therewithalhe donned the clothes that were in the saddle-bags and was about tomount the man's horse and depart, when, as by a miracle, it befellthat the three highwaymen, who had robbed him overnight, having been alittle after taken for some other misdeed of them committed, werebrought into the town and on their confession, his horse and clothesand money were restored to him, nor did he lose aught save a pair ofgarters, with which the robbers knew not what they had done. Rinaldoaccordingly gave thanks to God and St. Julian and taking horse, returned home, safe and sound, leaving the three rogues to go kick onthe morrow against the wind. "[87]

[Footnote 87: _i. E. _ to be hanged or, in the equivalent English idiom, to dance upon nothing. ]

THE THIRD STORY

[Day the Second]

 THREE YOUNG MEN SQUANDER THEIR SUBSTANCE AND BECOME POOR; BUT A NEPHEW OF THEIRS, RETURNING HOME IN DESPERATION, FALLETH IN WITH AN ABBOT AND FINDETH HIM TO BE THE KING'S DAUGHTER OF ENGLAND, WHO TAKETH HIM TO HUSBAND AND MAKETH GOOD ALL HIS UNCLES' LOSSES, RESTORING THEM TO GOOD ESTATE

The adventures of Rinaldo d'Asti were hearkened with admiration andhis devoutness commended by the ladies, who returned thanks to God andSt. Julian for that they had succoured him in his utmost need. Nor yet(though this was said half aside) was the lady reputed foolish, whohad known how to take the good God had sent her in her own house. But, whilst they discoursed, laughing in their sleeves, of the pleasantnight she had had, Pampinea, seeing herself beside Filostrato anddeeming, as indeed it befell, that the next turn would rest with her, began to collect her thoughts and take counsel with herself what sheshould say; after which, having received the queen's commandment, sheproceeded to speak thus, no less resolutely than blithely, "Nobleladies, the more it is discoursed of the doings of Fortune, the more, to whoso is fain to consider her dealings aright, remaineth to be saidthereof; and at this none should marvel, an he consider advisedly thatall the things, which we foolishly style ours, are in her hands andare consequently, according to her hidden ordinance, transmuted by herwithout cease from one to another and back again, without any methodknown unto us. Wherefore, albeit this truth is conclusivelydemonstrated in everything and all day long and hath already beenshown forth in divers of the foregoing stories, nevertheless, since itis our queen's pleasure that we discourse upon this theme, I will, notbelike without profit for the listeners, add to the stories aforesaidone of my own, which methinketh should please. 

There was once in our city a gentleman, by name Messer Tedaldo, who, as some will have it, was of the Lamberti family, albeit others avouchthat he was of the Agolanti, arguing more, belike, from the craftafter followed by his sons, [88] which was like unto that which theAgolanti have ever practised and yet practise, than from aught else. But, leaving be of which of these two houses he was, I say that hewas, in his time, a very rich gentleman and had three sons, whereofthe eldest was named Lamberto, the second Tedaldo and the thirdAgolante, all handsome and sprightly youths, the eldest of whom hadnot reached his eighteenth year when it befell that the aforesaidMesser Tedaldo died very rich and left all his possessions, bothmoveable and immoveable, to them, as his legitimate heirs. The youngmen, seeing themselves left very rich both in lands and monies, beganto spend without check or reserve or other governance than that oftheir own pleasure, keeping a vast household and many and goodlyhorses and dogs and hawks, still holding open house and givinglargesse and making tilts and tournaments and doing not only thatwhich pertaineth unto men of condition, but all, to boot, that itoccurred to their youthful appetite to will. 

[Footnote 88: _i. E. _ usury? See post. One of the commentatorsridiculously suggests that they were needlemakers, from _ago_, aneedle. ]

They had not long led this manner of life before the treasure left bytheir father melted away and their revenues alone sufficing not untotheir current expenses, they proceeded to sell and mortgage theirestates, and selling one to-day and another to-morrow, they foundthemselves well nigh to nought, without perceiving it, and povertyopened their eyes, which wealth had kept closed. Whereupon Lamberto, one day, calling the other two, reminded them how great had been theirfather's magnificence and how great their own and setting before themwhat wealth had been theirs and the poverty to which they were comethrough their inordinate expenditure, exhorted them, as best he knew, ere their distress should become more apparent, to sell what littlewas left them and get them gone, together with himself. They did as hecounselled them and departing Florence, without leavetaking orceremony, stayed not till they came to England, where, taking a littlehouse in London and spending very little, they addressed themselveswith the utmost diligence to lend money at usance. In this fortune wasso favourable to them that in a few years they amassed a vast sum ofmoney, wherewith, returning to Florence, one after another, theybought back great part of their estates and purchased others to bootand took unto themselves wives. 

Nevertheless, they still continued to lend money in England and sentthither, to look to their affairs, a young man, a nephew of theirs, Alessandro by name, whilst themselves all three at Florence, for allthey were become fathers of families, forgetting to what a passinordinate expenditure had aforetime brought them, began to spend moreextravagantly than ever and were high in credit with all themerchants, who trusted them for any sum of money, however great. Themonies remitted them by Alessandro, who had fallen to lending to thebarons upon their castles and other their possessions, which broughthim great profit, helped them for some years to support theseexpenses; but, presently, what while the three brothers spent thusfreely and lacking money, borrowed, still reckoning with all assuranceupon England, it chanced that, contrary to all expectation, therebroke out war in England between the king and his son, through whichthe whole island was divided into two parties, some holding with theone and some with the other; and by reason thereof all the barons'castles were taken from Alessandro nor was there any other source ofrevenue that answered him aught. Hoping that from day to day peaceshould be made between father and son and consequently everythingrestored to him, both interest and capital, Alessandro departed notthe island and the three brothers in Florence no wise abated theirextravagant expenditure, borrowing more and more every day. But, when, after several years, no effect was seen to follow upon theirexpectation, the three brothers not only lost their credit, but, theircreditors seeking to be paid their due, they were suddenly arrestedand their possessions sufficing not unto payment, they abode inprison for the residue, whilst their wives and little ones betookthemselves, some into the country, some hither and some thither, invery ill plight, unknowing what to expect but misery for the rest oftheir lives. 

Meanwhile, Alessandro, after waiting several years in England forpeace, seeing that it came not and himseeming that not only was histarrying there in vain, but that he went in danger of his life, determined to return to Italy. Accordingly, he set out all alone andas chance would have it, coming out of Bruges, he saw an abbot ofwhite friars likewise issuing thence, accompanied by many monks andwith a numerous household and a great baggage-train in his van. Afterhim came two old knights, kinsmen of the King, whom Alessandroaccosted as acquaintances and was gladly admitted into their company. As he journeyed with them, he asked them softly who were the monksthat rode in front with so great a train and whither they were bound;and one of them answered, 'He who rideth yonder is a young gentlemanof our kindred, who hath been newly elected abbot of one of the mostconsiderable abbeys of England, and for that he is younger than issuffered by the laws for such a dignity, we go with him to Rome toobtain of the Holy Father that he dispense him of his defect ofovermuch youthfulness and confirm him in the dignity aforesaid; butthis must not be spoken of with any. '

The new abbot, faring on thus, now in advance of his retinue and nowin their rear, as daily we see it happen with noblemen on a journey, chanced by the way to see near him Alessandro, who was a young manexceedingly goodly of person and favour, well-bred, agreeable and fairof fashion as any might be, and who at first sight pleased himmarvellously, as nought had ever done, and calling him to his side, fell a-discoursing pleasantly with him, asking him who he was andwhence he came and whither he was bound; whereupon Alessandro franklydiscovered to him his whole case and satisfied his questions, offeringhimself to his service in what little he might. The abbot, hearing hisgoodly and well-ordered speech, took more particular note of hismanners and inwardly judging him to be a man of gentle breeding, forall his business had been mean, grew yet more enamoured of hispleasantness and full of compassion for his mishaps, comforted him onvery friendly wise, bidding him be of good hope, for that, an he werea man of worth, God would yet replace him in that estate whencefortune had cast him down, nay, in a yet higher. Moreover, he prayedhim, since he was bound for Tuscany, that it would please him bear himcompany, inasmuch as himself was likewise on the way thitherward;whereupon Alessandro returned him thanks for his encouragement anddeclared himself ready to his every commandment. 

The abbot, in whose breast new feelings had been aroused by the sightof Alessandro, continuing his journey, it chanced that, after somedays, they came to a village not overwell furnished with hostelries, and the abbot having a mind to pass the night there, Alessandro causedhim alight at the house of an innkeeper, who was his familiaracquaintance, and let prepare him his sleeping-chamber in the leastincommodious place of the house; and being now, like an expert man ashe was, grown well nigh a master of the household to the abbot, helodged all his company, as best he might, about the village, some hereand some there. After the abbot had supped, the night being now welladvanced and every one gone to bed, Alessandro asked the host where hehimself could lie; whereto he answered, 'In truth, I know not; thouseest that every place is full and I and my household must needs sleepupon the benches. Algates, in the abbot's chamber there be certaingrain-sacks, whereto I can bring thee and spread thee thereon somesmall matter of bed, and there, an it please thee, thou shalt lie thisnight, as best thou mayst. ' Quoth Alessandro, 'How shall I go into theabbot's chamber, seeing thou knowest it is little and of itsstraitness none of his monks might lie there? Had I bethought me ofthis, ere the curtains were drawn, I would have let his monks lie onthe grain-sacks and have lodged myself where they sleep. ' 'Nay, 'answered the host, 'the case standeth thus;[89] but, an thou wilt, thou mayst lie whereas I tell thee with all the ease in the world. Theabbot is asleep and his curtains are drawn; I will quickly lay thee apallet-bed there, and do thou sleep on it. ' Alessandro, seeing thatthis might be done without giving the abbot any annoy, consentedthereto and settled himself on the grain-sacks as softliest he might. 

[Footnote 89: _i. E. _ the thing is done and cannot be undone; there isno help for it. ]

The abbot, who slept not, nay, whose thoughts were ardently occupiedwith his new desires, heard what passed between Alessandro and thehost and noted where the former laid himself to sleep, and wellpleased with this, began to say in himself, 'God hath sent an occasionunto my desires; an I take it not, it may be long ere the like recurto me. ' Accordingly, being altogether resolved to take the opportunityand himseeming all was quiet in the inn, he called to Alessandro in alow voice and bade him come couch with him. Alessandro, after manyexcuses, put off his clothes and laid himself beside the abbot, whoput his hand on his breast and fell to touching him no otherwise thanamorous damsels use to do with their lovers; whereat Alessandromarvelled exceedingly and misdoubted him the abbot was moved byunnatural love to handle him on that wise; but the latter promptlydivined his suspicions, whether of presumption or through some gestureof his, and smiled; then, suddenly putting off a shirt that he wore, he took Alessandro's hand and laying it on his own breast, said, 'Alessandro, put away thy foolish thought and searching here, knowthat which I conceal. '

Alessandro accordingly put his hand to the abbot's bosom and foundthere two little breasts, round and firm and delicate, no otherwisethan as they were of ivory, whereby perceiving that the supposedprelate was a woman, without awaiting farther bidding, he straightwaytook her in his arms and would have kissed her; but she said to him, 'Ere thou draw nearer to me, hearken to that which I have to say tothee. As thou mayst see, I am a woman and not a man, and having lefthome a maid, I was on my way to the Pope, that he might marry me. Beit thy good fortune or my mishap, no sooner did I see thee the otherday than love so fired me for thee, that never yet was woman who soloved man. Wherefore, I am resolved to take thee, before any other, tohusband; but, an thou wilt not have me to wife, begone henceforthright and return to thy place. '

Alessandro, albeit he knew her not, having regard to her company andretinue, judged her to be of necessity noble and rich and saw that shewas very fair; wherefore, without overlong thought, he replied that, if this pleased her, it was mighty agreeable to him. Accordingly, sitting up with him in bed, she put a ring into his hand and made himespouse her[90] before a picture wherein our Lord was portrayed, afterwhich they embraced each other and solaced themselves with amorousdalliance, to the exceeding pleasure of both parties, for so much asremained of the night. 

[Footnote 90: _i. E. _ make her a solemn promise of marriage, formallyplight her his troth. The ceremony of betrothal was formerly (andstill is in certain countries) the most essential part of the marriagerite. ]

When the day came, after they had taken order together concerningtheir affairs, Alessandro arose and departed the chamber by the way hehad entered, without any knowing where he had passed the night. Then, glad beyond measure, he took to the road again with the abbot and hiscompany and came after many days to Rome. There they abode some days, after which the abbot, with the two knights and Alessandro and nomore, went in to the Pope and having done him due reverence, bespokehim thus, 'Holy Father, as you should know better than any other, whoso is minded to live well and honestly should, inasmuch as he may, eschew every occasion that may lead him to do otherwise; the whichthat I, who would fain live honestly, may throughly do, having fledprivily with a great part of the treasures of the King of England myfather, (who would have given me to wife to the King of Scotland, avery old prince, I being, as you see, a young maid), I set out, habited as you see me, to come hither, so your Holiness might marryme. Nor was it so much the age of the King of Scotland that made meflee as the fear, if I were married to him, lest I should, for thefrailty of my youth, be led to do aught that might be contrary to theDivine laws and the honour of the royal blood of my father. As I came, thus disposed, God, who alone knoweth aright that which behoveth untoevery one, set before mine eyes (as I believe, of His mercy) him whomit pleased Him should be my husband, to wit, this young man, ' showingAlessandro, 'whom you see here beside me and whose fashions and desertare worthy of however great a lady, although belike the nobility ofhis blood is not so illustrious as the blood-royal. Him, then, have Itaken and him I desire, nor will I ever have any other than he, however it may seem to my father or to other folk. Thus, the principaloccasion of my coming is done away; but it pleased me to make an endof my journey, at once that I might visit the holy and reverentialplaces, whereof this city is full, and your Holiness and that throughyou I might make manifest, in your presence and consequently in thatof the rest of mankind, the marriage contracted between Alessandroand myself in the presence of God alone. Wherefore I humbly pray youthat this which hath pleased God and me may find favour with you andthat you will vouchsafe us your benison, in order that with this, aswith more assurance of His approof whose Vicar you are, we may liveand ultimately die together. '

Alessandro marvelled to hear that the damsel was the King's daughterof England and was inwardly filled with exceeding great gladness; butthe two knights marvelled yet more and were so incensed, that, hadthey been otherwhere than in the Pope's presence, they had doneAlessandro a mischief and belike the lady also. The Pope also, on hispart, marvelled exceedingly both at the habit of the lady and at herchoice; but, seeing that there was no going back on that which wasdone, he consented to satisfy her of her prayer. Accordingly, havingfirst appeased the two knights, whom he knew to be angered, and madethem well at one again with the lady and Alessandro, he took order forthat which was to do, and the day appointed by him being come, beforeall the cardinals and many other men of great worship, come, at hisbidding, to a magnificent bride-feast prepared by him, he produced thelady, royally apparelled, who showed so fair and so agreeable that shewas worthily commended of all, and on like wise Alessandro splendidlyattired, in bearing and appearance no whit like a youth who had lentat usury, but rather one of royal blood, and now much honoured of thetwo knights. There he caused solemnly celebrate the marriage afreshand after goodly and magnificent nuptials made, he dismissed them withhis benison. 

It pleased Alessandro, and likewise the lady, departing Rome, tobetake themselves to Florence, whither report had already carried thenews. There they were received by the townsfolk with the utmost honourand the lady caused liberate the three brothers, having first paidevery man [his due]. Moreover, she reinstated them and their ladies intheir possessions and with every one's goodwill, because of this, sheand her husband departed Florence, carrying Agolante with them, andcoming to Paris, were honourably entertained by the King. Thence thetwo knights passed into England and so wrought with the King that thelatter restored to his daughter his good graces and with exceedinggreat rejoicing received her and his son-in-law, whom he a littleafter made a knight with the utmost honour and gave him the Earldom ofCornwall. In this capacity he approved himself a man of such parts andmade shift to do on such wise that he reconciled the son with hisfather, whereof there ensued great good to the island, and thereby hegained the love and favour of all the people of the country. 

Moreover, Agolante thoroughly recovered all that was there due to himand his brethren and returned to Florence, rich beyond measure, havingfirst been knighted by Count Alessandro. The latter lived long andgloriously with his lady, and according as some avouch, what with hiswit and valour and the aid of his father-in-law, he after conqueredScotland and was crowned King thereof. "

THE FOURTH STORY

[Day the Second]

 LANDOLFO RUFFOLO, GROWN POOR, TURNETH CORSAIR AND BEING TAKEN BY THE GENOESE, IS WRECKED AT SEA, BUT SAVETH HIMSELF UPON A COFFER FULL OF JEWELS OF PRICE AND BEING ENTERTAINED IN CORFU BY A WOMAN, RETURNETH HOME RICH

Lauretta, who sat next Pampinea, seeing her come to the gloriousending of her story, began, without awaiting more, to speak on thiswise: "Most gracious ladies, there can, to my judgment, be seen nogreater feat of fortune than when we behold one raised from the lowestmisery to royal estate, even as Pampinea's story hath shown it to havebetided her Alessandro. And for that from this time forth whosoeverrelateth of the appointed matter must of necessity speak within theselimits, [91] I shall think no shame to tell a story, which, albeit itcompriseth in itself yet greater distresses hath not withal sosplendid an issue. I know well, indeed, that, having regard unto that, my story will be hearkened with less diligence; but, as I can nootherwise, I shall be excused. 

[Footnote 91: _i. E. _ cannot hope to tell a story presenting moreextraordinary shifts from one to the other extreme of human fortunethan that of Pampinea. ]

The sea-coast from Reggio to Gaeta is commonly believed to be wellnigh the most delightful part of Italy, and therein, pretty nearSalerno, is a hillside overlooking the sea, which the countryfolk callAmalfi Side, full of little towns and gardens and springs and of menas rich and stirring in the matter of trade as any in the world. Amongthe said cities is one called Ravello and therein, albeit nowadaysthere are rich men there, there was aforetime one, Landolfo Ruffolo byname, who was exceeding rich and who, his wealth sufficing him not, came nigh, in seeking to double it, to lose it all and himself withal. This man, then, having, after the usance of merchants, laid his plans, bought a great ship and freighting it all of his own monies withdivers merchandise, repaired therewith to Cyprus. There he foundsundry other ships come with the same kind and quality of merchandiseas he had brought, by reason of which not only was he constrained tomake great good cheap of his own venture, but it behoved him, an hewould dispose of his goods, well nigh to throw them away, whereby hewas brought near unto ruin. 

Sore chagrined at this mischance and knowing not what to do, seeinghimself thus from a very rich man in brief space grown in a mannerpoor, he determined either to die or repair his losses by pillage, sohe might not return thither poor, whence he had departed rich. Accordingly, having found a purchaser for his great ship, with theprice thereof and that which he had gotten of his wares, he bought alittle vessel, light and apt for cruising and arming and garnishing itexcellent well with everything needful unto such a service, addressedhimself to make his purchase of other men's goods and especially ofthose of the Turks. In this trade fortune was far kinder to him thanshe had been in that of a merchant, for that, in some year's space, he plundered and took so many Turkish vessels that he found he had notonly gotten him his own again that he had lost in trade, but had morethan doubled his former substance. Whereupon, schooled by the chagrinof his former loss and deeming he had enough, he persuaded himself, rather than risk a second mischance, to rest content with that whichhe had, without seeking more. Accordingly he resolved to returntherewith to his own country and being fearful of trade, concerned nothimself to employ his money otherwise, but, thrusting his oars intothe water, set out homeward in that same little vessel wherewith hehad gained it. 

He had already reached the Archipelago when there arose one evening aviolent south-east wind, which was not only contrary to his course, but raised so great a sea that his little vessel could not endure it;wherefore he took refuge in a bight of the sea, made by a littleisland, and there abode sheltered from the wind and purposing there toawait better weather. He had not lain there long when two greatGenoese carracks, coming from Constantinople, made their way withgreat difficulty into the little harbour, to avoid that from whichhimself had fled. The newcomers espied the little ship and hearingthat it pertained to Landolfo, whom they already knew by report to bevery rich, blocked against it the way by which it might depart andaddressed themselves, like men by nature rapacious and greedy ofgain, [92] to make prize of it. Accordingly, they landed part of theirmen well harnessed and armed with crossbows and posted them on suchwise that none might come down from the bark, an he would not be shot;whilst the rest, warping themselves in with small boats and aided bythe current, laid Landolfo's little ship aboard and took it out ofhand, crew and all, without missing a man. Landolfo they carriedaboard one of the carracks, leaving him but a sorry doublet; then, taking everything out of the ship, they scuttled her. 

[Footnote 92: The Genoese have the reputation in Italy of beingthieves by nature. ]

On the morrow, the wind having shifted, the carracks made sailwestward and fared on their voyage prosperously all that day; buttowards evening there arose a tempestuous wind which made the wavesrun mountains high and parted the two carracks one from the other. Moreover, from stress of wind it befell that that wherein was thewretched and unfortunate Landolfo smote with great violence upon ashoal over against the island of Cephalonia and parting amidships, broke all in sunder no otherwise than a glass dashed against a wall. The sea was in a moment all full of bales of merchandise and chestsand planks, that floated on the surface, as is wont to happen in suchcases, and the poor wretches on board, swimming, those who knew how, albeit it was a very dark night and the sea was exceeding great andswollen, fell to laying hold of such things as came within theirreach. Among the rest the unfortunate Landolfo, albeit many a timethat day he had called for death, (choosing rather to die than returnhome poor as he found himself, ) seeing it near at hand, was fearfulthereof and like the others, laid hold of a plank that came to hishand, so haply, an he put off drowning awhile, God might send himsome means of escape. 

Bestriding this, he kept himself afloat as best he might, drivenhither and thither of the sea and the wind, till daylight, when helooked about him and saw nothing but clouds and sea and a chestfloating on the waves, which bytimes, to his sore affright, drew nighunto him, for that he feared lest peradventure it should dash againsthim on such wise as to do him a mischief; wherefore, as often as itcame near him, he put it away from him as best he might with his hand, albeit he had little strength thereof. But presently there issued asudden flaw of wind out of the air and falling on the sea, smote uponthe chest and drove it with such violence against Landolfo's plankthat the latter was overset and he himself perforce went under water. However, he struck out and rising to the surface, aided more by fearthan by strength, saw the plank far removed from him, wherefore, fearing he might be unable to reach it again, he made for the chest, which was pretty near him, and laying himself flat with his breast onthe lid thereof, guided it with his arms as best he might. [93]

[Footnote 93: It seems doubtful whether _la reggeva diritta_ shouldnot rather be rendered "kept it upright. " Boccaccio has a knack, verytrying to the translator, of constantly using words in an obscure orstrained sense. ]

On this wise, tossed about by the sea now hither and now thither, without eating, as one indeed who had not the wherewithal, butdrinking more than he could have wished, he abode all that day and theensuing night, unknowing where he was and descrying nought but sea;but, on the following day, whether it was God's pleasure or stress ofwind that wrought it, he came, grown well nigh a sponge and clingingfast with both hands to the marges of the chest, even as we see thosedo who are like to drown, to the coast of the island of Corfu, where apoor woman chanced to be scouring her pots and pans and making thembright with sand and salt water. Seeing Landolfo draw near anddiscerning in him no [human] shape, she drew back, affrighted andcrying out. He could not speak and scarce saw, wherefore he saidnothing; but presently, the sea carrying him landward, the womandescried the shape of the chest and looking straitlier, perceivedfirst the arms outspread upon it and then the face and guessed it forthat which it was. 

Accordingly, moved with compassion, she entered somedele into the sea, which was now calm, and seizing Landolfo by the hair, dragged himashore, chest and all. There having with difficulty unclasped hishands from the chest, she set the latter on the head of a youngdaughter of hers, who was with her, and carried him off, as he were alittle child, to her hut, where she put him in a bagnio and so chafedand bathed him with warm water that the strayed heat returned to him, together with somewhat of his lost strength. Then, taking him up outof the bath, whenas it seemed good to her, she comforted him withsomewhat of good wine and confections and tended him some days, asbest she might, till he had recovered his strength and knew where hewas, when she judged it time to restore him his chest, which she hadkept safe for him, and to tell him that he might now prosecute hisfortune. 

Landolfo, who had no recollection of the chest, yet took it, when thegood woman presented it to him, thinking it could not be so littleworth but that it might defray his expenses for some days, but, finding it very light, was sore abated of his hopes. Nevertheless, what while his hostess was abroad, he broke it open, to see what itcontained, and found therein store of precious stones, both set andunset. He had some knowledge of these matters and seeing them, knewthem to be of great value; wherefore he praised God, who had not yetforsaken him, and was altogether comforted. However, as one who had inbrief space been twice cruelly baffled by fortune, fearing a thirdmisadventure, he bethought himself that it behoved him use greatwariness and he would bring those things home; wherefore, wrappingthem, as best he might, in some rags, he told the good woman that hehad no more occasion for the chest, but that, an it pleased her, sheshould give him a bag and take the chest herself. This she willinglydid and he, having rendered her the best thanks in his power for thekindness received from her, shouldered his bag and going aboard abark, passed over to Brindisi and thence made his way, along thecoast, to Trani. 

Here he found certain townsmen of his, who were drapers and clad himfor the love of God, [94] after he had related to them all hisadventures, except that of the chest; nay more, they lent him a horseand sent him, under escort, to Ravello, whither he said he would fainreturn. There, deeming himself in safety and thanking God who hadconducted him thither, he opened his bag and examining everything morediligently than he had yet done, found he had so many and such stonesthat, supposing he sold them at a fair price or even less, he wastwice as rich again as when he departed thence. Then, finding means todispose of his jewels, he sent a good sum of money to Corfu to thegood woman who had brought him forth of the sea, in requital of theservice received, and the like to Trani to those who had reclothedhim. The rest he kept for himself and lived in honour and worship tothe end of his days, without seeking to trade any more. "

[Footnote 94: _i. E. _ for nothing. ]

THE FIFTH STORY

[Day the Second]

 ANDREUCCIO OF PERUGIA, COMING TO NAPLES TO BUY HORSES, IS IN ONE NIGHT OVERTAKEN WITH THREE GRIEVOUS ACCIDENTS, BUT ESCAPETH THEM ALL AND RETURNETH HOME WITH A RUBY

"The stones found by Landolfo, " began Fiammetta, to whose turn it cameto tell, "have brought to my mind a story scarce less full of perilousscapes than that related by Lauretta, but differing therefrom inasmuchas the adventures comprised in the latter befell in the course ofbelike several years and these of which I have to tell in the spaceof a single night, as you shall hear. 

There was once in Perugia, as I have heard tell aforetime, a youngman, a horse-courser, by name Andreuccio di Pietro, [95] who, hearingthat horses were good cheap at Naples, put five hundred gold florinsin his purse and betook himself thither with other merchants, havingnever before been away from home. He arrived there one Sunday evening, towards vespers, and having taken counsel with his host, sallied forthnext morning to the market, where he saw great plenty of horses. Manyof them pleased him and he cheapened one and another, but could notcome to an accord concerning any. Meanwhile, to show that he was forbuying, he now and again, like a raw unwary clown as he was, pulledout the purse of florins he had with him, in the presence of those whocame and went. As he was thus engaged, with his purse displayed, itchanced that a Sicilian damsel, who was very handsome, but disposedfor a small matter to do any man's pleasure, passed near him, withouthis seeing her, and catching sight of the purse, said straightway inherself, 'Who would fare better than I, if yonder money were mine!'And passed on. 

[Footnote 95: _i. E. _ son of Pietro, as they still say in Lancashireand other northern provinces, "Tom o' Dick" for "Thomas, son ofRichard, " etc. ]

Now there was with her an old woman, likewise a Sicilian, who, seeingAndreuccio, let her companion pass on and running to him, embraced himaffectionately, which when the damsel saw, she stepped aside to waitfor her, without saying aught. Andreuccio, turning to the old womanand recognizing her, gave her a hearty greeting and she, havingpromised to visit him at his inn, took leave, without holding overlongparley there, whilst he fell again to chaffering, but bought nothingthat morning. The damsel, who had noted first Andreuccio's purse andafter her old woman's acquaintance with him, began cautiously toenquire of the latter, by way of casting about for a means of comingat the whole or part of the money, who and whence he was and what hedid there and how she came to know him. The old woman told her everyparticular of Andreuccio's affairs well nigh as fully as he himselfcould have done, having long abidden with his father, first in Sicilyand after at Perugia, and acquainted her, to boot, where he lodged andwherefore he was come thither. 

The damsel, being thus fully informed both of his name and parentage, thereby with subtle craft laid her plans for giving effect to herdesire and returning home, set the old woman awork for the rest of theday, so she might not avail to return to Andreuccio. Then, calling amaid of hers, whom she had right well lessoned unto such offices, shedespatched her, towards evensong, to the inn where Andreuccio lodged. As chance would have it, she found him alone at the door and enquiredat him of himself. He answered that he was the man she sought, whereupon she drew him aside and said to him, 'Sir, an it please you, a gentlewoman of this city would fain speak with you. ' Andreuccio, hearing this, considered himself from head to foot and himseeming hewas a handsome varlet of his person, he concluded (as if there wereno other well-looking young fellow to be found in Naples, ) that thelady in question must have fallen in love with him. Accordingly, heanswered without further deliberation that he was ready and asked thegirl when and where the lady would speak with him; whereto sheanswered, 'Sir, whenas it pleaseth you to come, she awaiteth you inher house'; and Andreuccio forthwith rejoined, without saying aught tothe people of the inn, 'Go thou on before; I will come after thee. '

Thereupon the girl carried him to the house of her mistress, who dweltin a street called Malpertugio, [96] the very name whereof denoteth howreputable a quarter it is. But he, unknowing neither suspecting aughtthereof and thinking to go to most honourable place and to a lady ofquality, entered the house without hesitation, --preceded by theserving-maid, who called her mistress and said, 'Here isAndreuccio, '--and mounting the stair, saw the damsel come to thestairhead to receive him. Now she was yet in the prime of youth, tallof person, with a very fair face and very handsomely dressed andadorned. As he drew near her, she came down three steps to meet himwith open arms and clasping him round the neck, abode awhile withoutspeaking, as if hindered by excess of tenderness; then kissed him onthe forehead, weeping, and said, in a somewhat broken voice, 'O myAndreuccio, thou art indeed welcome. '

[Footnote 96: _i. E. _ ill hole. ]

He was amazed at such tender caresses and answered, all confounded, 'Madam, you are well met. ' Thereupon, taking him by the hand, shecarried him up into her saloon and thence, without saying another wordto him, she brought him into her chamber, which was all redolent ofroses and orange flowers and other perfumes. Here he saw a very finebed, hung round with curtains, and store of dresses upon the pegs andother very goodly and rich gear, after the usance of those parts; byreason whereof, like a freshman as he was, he firmly believed her tobe no less than a great lady. She made him sit with her on a chestthat stood at the foot of the bed and bespoke him thus, 'Andreuccio, Iam very certain thou marvellest at these caresses that I bestow onthee and at my tears, as he may well do who knoweth me not and hathmaybe never heard speak of me; but I have that to tell thee which islike to amaze thee yet more, namely, that I am thy sister; and I tellthee that, since God hath vouchsafed me to look upon one of mybrothers, (though fain would I see you all, ) before my death, henceforth I shall not die disconsolate; and as perchance thou hasnever heard of this, I will tell it thee. 

Pietro, my father and thine, as I doubt not thou knowest, abode longin Palermo and there for his good humour and pleasant composition wasand yet is greatly beloved of those who knew him; but, among all hislovers, my mother, who was a lady of gentle birth and then a widow, was she who most affected him, insomuch that, laying aside the fear ofher father and brethren, as well as the care of her own honour, shebecame so private with him that I was born thereof and grew up as thouseest me. Presently, having occasion to depart Palermo and return toPerugia, he left me a little maid with my mother nor ever after, forall that I could hear, remembered him of me or her; whereof, were henot my father, I should blame him sore, having regard to theingratitude shown by him to my mother (to say nothing of the love itbehoved him bear me, as his daughter, born of no serving-wench norwoman of mean extraction) who had, moved by very faithful love, without anywise knowing who he might be, committed into his hands herpossessions and herself no less. But what [skilleth it]? Things illdone and long time passed are easier blamed than mended; algates, soit was. 

He left me a little child in Palermo, where being grown well nigh as Iam now, my mother, who was a rich lady, gave me to wife to a worthygentleman of Girgenti, who, for her love and mine, came to abide atPalermo and there, being a great Guelph, [97] he entered into treatywith our King Charles, [98] which, being discovered by KingFrederick, [99] ere effect could be given to it, was the occasion ofour being enforced to flee from Sicily, whenas I looked to be thegreatest lady was ever in the island; wherefore, taking such fewthings as we might (I say few, in respect of the many we had) andleaving our lands and palaces, we took refuge in this city, where wefound King Charles so mindful of our services that he hath in partmade good to us the losses we had sustained for him, bestowing on usboth lands and houses, and still maketh my husband, thy kinsman thatis, a goodly provision, as thou shalt hereafter see. On this wise comeI in this city, where, Godamercy and no thanks to thee, sweet mybrother, I now behold thee. ' So saying, she embraced him over againand kissed him on the forehead, still weeping for tenderness. 

[Footnote 97: _i. E. _ a member of the Guelph party, as against theGhibellines or partisans of the Pope. ]

[Footnote 98: Charles d'Anjou, afterwards King of Sicily. ]

[Footnote 99: _i. E. _ Frederick II. Of Germany. ]

Andreuccio, hearing this fable so orderly, so artfully delivered bythe damsel, without ever stammering or faltering for a word, andremembering it to be true that his father had been in Palermo, knowing, moreover, by himself the fashions of young men and howlightly they fall in love in their youth and seeing the affectionatetears and embraces and the chaste kisses that she lavished on him, held all she told him for more than true; wherefore, as soon as shewas silent, he answered her, saying, 'Madam, it should seem to you novery great matter if I marvel, for that in truth, whether it be thatmy father, for whatsoever reason, never spoke of your mother nor ofyourself, or that if he did, it came not to my notice, I had no moreknowledge of you than if you had never been, and so much the dearer isit to me to find you my sister here, as I am alone in this city andthe less expected this. Indeed, I know no man of so high a conditionthat you should not be dear to him, to say nothing of myself, who ambut a petty trader. But I pray you make me clear of one thing; howknew you that I was here?' Whereto she made answer, 'A poor woman, whomuch frequenteth me, gave me this morning to know of thy coming, forthat, as she telleth me, she abode long with our father both atPalermo and at Perugia; and but that meseemed it was a more reputablething that thou shouldst visit me in my own house than I thee in thatof another, I had come to thee this great while agone. ' After this, she proceeded to enquire more particularly of all his kinsfolk byname, and he answered her of all, giving the more credence, by reasonof this, to that which it the less behoved him to believe. 

The talk being long and the heat great, she called for Greek wine andconfections and let give Andreuccio to drink, after which he wouldhave taken leave, for that it was supper-time; but she would on nowise suffer it and making a show of being sore vexed, embraced him andsaid, 'Ah, woe is me! I see but too clearly how little dear I am tothee! Who would believe that thou couldst be with a sister of thine, whom thou hast never yet seen and in whose house thou shouldst havelighted down, whenas thou earnest hither, and offer to leave her, togo sup at the inn? Indeed, thou shalt sup with me, and albeit myhusband is abroad, which grieveth me mightily, I shall know well howto do thee some little honour, such as a woman may. ' To whichAndreuccio, unknowing what else he should say, answered, 'I hold youas dear as a sister should be held; but, an I go not, I shall beexpected to supper all the evening and shall do an unmannerliness. ''Praised be God!' cried she. 'One would think I had no one in thehouse to send to tell them not to expect thee; albeit thou wouldst domuch greater courtesy and indeed but thy duty an thou sentest to bidthy companions come hither to supper; and after, am thou must e'enbegone, you might all go away together. '

Andreuccio replied that he had no desire for his companions thatevening; but that, since it was agreeable to her, she might do herpleasure of him. Accordingly, she made a show of sending to the inn tosay that he was not to be expected to supper, and after much otherdiscourse, they sat down to supper and were sumptuously served withvarious meats, whilst she adroitly contrived to prolong the repasttill it was dark night. Then, when they rose from table and Andreucciowould have taken his leave, she declared that she would on no wisesuffer this, for that Naples was no place to go about in by nightespecially for a stranger, and that, whenas she sent to the inn to saythat he was not to be expected to supper, she had at the same timegiven notice that he would lie abroad. Andreuccio, believing this andtaking pleasure in being with her, beguiled as he was by falsecredence, abode where he was, and after supper they held much and longdiscourse, not without reason, [100] till a part of the night was past, when she withdrew with her women into another room, leaving Andreuccioin her own chamber, with a little lad to wait upon him, if he shouldlack aught. 

[Footnote 100: The reason was that she wished to keep him in play tilllate into the night, when all the folk should be asleep and she mightthe lightlier deal with him. ]

The heat being great, Andreuccio, as soon as he found himself alone, stripped to his doublet and putting off his hosen, laid them at thebedhead; after which, natural use soliciting him to rid himself of theovermuch burden of his stomach, he asked the boy where this might bedone, who showed him a door in one corner of the room and said, 'Go inthere. ' Accordingly he opened the door and passing through in allassurance, chanced to set foot on a plank, which, being broken loosefrom the joist at the opposite end, [flew up] and down they went, plank and man together. God so favoured him that he did himself nohurt in the fall, albeit he fell from some height; but he was allbemired with the ordure whereof the place was full; and in order thatyou may the better apprehend both that which hath been said and thatwhich ensueth, I will show you how the place lay. There were in anarrow alley, such as we often see between two houses, a pair ofrafters laid from one house to another, and thereon sundry boardsnailed and the place of session set up; of which boards that whichgave way with Andreuccio was one. 

Finding himself, then, at the bottom of the alley and sore chagrinedat the mishap, he fell a-bawling for the boy; but the latter, as soonas he heard him fall, had run to tell his mistress, who hastened tohis chamber and searching hurriedly if his clothes were there, foundthem and with them the money, which, in his mistrust, he stillfoolishly carried about him. Having now gotten that for which, feigning herself of Palermo and sister to a Perugian, she had set hersnare, she took no more reck of him, but hastened to shut the doorwhereby he had gone out when he fell. 

Andreuccio, getting no answer from the boy, proceeded to callloudlier, but to no purpose; whereupon, his suspicions being nowaroused, he began too late to smoke the cheat. Accordingly, hescrambled over a low wall that shut off the alley from the street, andletting himself down into the road, went up to the door of the house, which he knew very well, and there called long and loud and shook andbeat upon it amain, but all in vain. Wherefore, bewailing himself, asone who was now fully aware of his mischance, 'Ah, woe is me!' criedhe. 'In how little time have I lost five hundred florins and asister!' Then, after many other words, he fell again to battering thedoor and crying out and this he did so long and so lustily that manyof the neighbours, being awakened and unable to brook the annoy, aroseand one of the courtezan's waiting-women, coming to the window, apparently all sleepy-eyed, said peevishly, 'Who knocketh belowthere?'

'What?' cried Andreuccio. 'Dost thou not know me? I am Andreuccio, brother to Madam Fiordaliso. ' Whereto quoth she, 'Good man, an thouhave drunken overmuch, go sleep and come back to-morrow morning. Iknow no Andreuccio nor what be these idle tales thou tellest. Begonein peace and let us sleep, so it please thee. ' 'How?' repliedAndreuccio. 'Thou knowest not what I mean? Certes, thou knowest; but, if Sicilian kinships be of such a fashion that they are forgotten inso short a time, at least give me back my clothes and I will begonewith all my heart. ' 'Good man, ' rejoined she, as if laughing, 'methinketh thou dreamest'; and to say this and to draw in her headand shut the window were one and the same thing. Whereat Andreuccio, now fully certified of his loss, was like for chagrin to turn hisexceeding anger into madness and bethought himself to seek to recoverby violence that which he might not have again with words; wherefore, taking up a great stone, he began anew to batter the door morefuriously than ever. 

At this many of the neighbours, who had already been awakened and hadarisen, deeming him some pestilent fellow who had trumped up thisstory to spite the woman of the house and provoked at the knocking hekept up, came to the windows and began to say, no otherwise than asall the dogs of a quarter bark after a strange dog, ''Tis a villainousshame to come at this hour to decent women's houses and tell thesecock-and-bull stories. For God's sake, good man, please you begone inpeace and let us sleep. An thou have aught to mell with her, come backto-morrow and spare us this annoy to-night. ' Taking assurance, perchance, by these words, there came to the window one who was withinthe house, a bully of the gentlewoman's, whom Andreuccio had as yetneither heard nor seen, and said, in a terrible big rough voice, 'Whois below there?'

Andreuccio, hearing this, raised his eyes and saw at the window onewho, by what little he could make out, himseemed should be a verymasterful fellow, with a bushy black beard on his face, and who yawnedand rubbed his eyes, as he had arisen from bed or deep sleep;whereupon, not without fear, he answered, 'I am a brother of the ladyof the house. ' The other waited not for him to make an end of hisreply, but said, more fiercely than before, 'I know not what hinderethme from coming down and cudgelling thee what while I see thee stir, for a pestilent drunken ass as thou must be, who will not let us sleepthis night. ' Then, drawing back into the house, he shut the window;whereupon certain of the neighbours, who were better acquainted withthe fellow's quality, said softly to Andreuccio, 'For God's sake, goodman, begone in peace and abide not there to-night to be slain; getthee gone for thine own good. '

Andreuccio, terrified at the fellow's voice and aspect and moved bythe exhortations of the neighbours, who seemed to him to speak out ofcharity, set out to return to his inn, in the direction of the quarterwhence he had followed the maid, without knowing whither to go, despairing of his money and woebegone as ever man was. Being loathsometo himself, for the stench that came from him, and thinking to repairto the sea to wash himself, he turned to the left and followed astreet called Ruga Catalana, [101] that led towards the upper part ofthe city. Presently, he espied two men coming towards him with alantern and fearing they might be officers of the watch or otherill-disposed folk, he stealthily took refuge, to avoid them, in ahovel, that he saw hard by. But they, as of malice aforethought, madestraight for the same place and entering in, began to examine certainirons which one of them laid from off his shoulder, discoursingvarious things thereof the while. 

[Footnote 101: _i. E. _ Catalan Street. ]

Presently, 'What meaneth this?' quoth one. 'I smell the worst stenchmeseemeth I ever smelt. ' So saying, he raised the lantern and seeingthe wretched Andreuccio, enquired, in amazement. 'Who is there?'Andreuccio made no answer, but they came up to him with the light andasked him what he did there in such a pickle; whereupon he related tothem all that had befallen him, and they, conceiving where this mighthave happened, said, one to the other, 'Verily, this must have beenin the house of Scarabone Buttafuocco. ' Then, turning to him, 'Goodman, ' quoth one, 'albeit thou hast lost thy money, thou hast muchreason to praise God that this mischance betided thee, so that thoufellest nor couldst after avail to enter the house again; for, hadstthou not fallen, thou mayst be assured that, when once thou wastfallen asleep, thou hadst been knocked on the head and hadst lost thylife as well as thy money. But what booteth it now to repine? Thoumayst as well look to have the stars out of the sky as to recover afarthing of thy money; nay, thou art like to be murdered, shouldyonder fellow hear that thou makest any words thereof. ' Then theyconsulted together awhile and presently said to him, 'Look you, we aremoved to pity for thee; wherefore, an thou wilt join with us insomewhat we go about to do, it seemeth to us certain that there willfall to thee for thy share much more than the value of that which thouhast lost. ' Whereupon Andreuccio, in his desperation, answered that hewas ready. 

Now there had been that day buried an archbishop of Naples, by nameMesser Filippo Minutolo, and he had been interred in his richestornaments and with a ruby on his finger worth more than five hundredflorins of gold. Him they were minded to despoil and this their intentthey discovered to Andreuccio, who, more covetous than well-advised, set out with them for the cathedral. As they went, Andreuccio stillstinking amain, one of the thieves said, 'Can we not find means forthis fellow to wash himself a little, be it where it may, so he maynot stink so terribly?' 'Ay can we, ' answered the other. 'We are herenear a well, where there useth to be a rope and pulley and a greatbucket; let us go thither and we will wash him in a trice. 'Accordingly they made for the well in question and found the ropethere, but the bucket had been taken away; wherefore they took counseltogether to tie him to the rope and let him down into the well, so hemight wash himself there, charging him shake the rope as soon as hewas clean, and they would pull him up. 

Hardly had they let him down when, as chance would have it, certain ofthe watch, being athirst for the heat and with running after somerogue or another, came to the well to drink, and the two rogues, setting eyes on them, made off incontinent, before the officers sawthem. Presently, Andreuccio, having washed himself at the bottom ofthe well, shook the rope, and the thirsty officers, laying by theirtargets and arms and surcoats, began to haul upon the rope, thinkingthe bucket full of water at the other end. As soon as Andreuccio foundhimself near the top, he let go the rope and laid hold of the margewith both hands; which when the officers saw, overcome with suddenaffright, they dropped the rope, without saying a word, and took totheir heels as quickliest they might. At this Andreuccio marvelledsore, and but that he had fast hold of the marge, would have fallen tothe bottom, to his no little hurt or maybe death. However, he made hisway out and finding the arms, which he knew were none of hiscompanions' bringing, he was yet more amazed; but, knowing not what tomake of it and misdoubting [some snare], he determined to begonewithout touching aught and accordingly made off he knew not whither, bewailing his ill-luck. 

As he went, he met his two comrades, who came to draw him forth of thewell; and when they saw him, they marvelled exceedingly and asked himwho had drawn him up. Andreuccio replied that he knew not and toldthem orderly how it had happened and what he had found by thewellside, whereupon the others, perceiving how the case stood, toldhim, laughing, why they had fled and who these were that had pulledhim up. Then, without farther parley, it being now middle night, theyrepaired to the cathedral and making their way thereinto lightlyenough, went straight to the archbishop's tomb, which was of marbleand very large. With their irons they raised the lid, which was veryheavy, and propped it up so as a man might enter; which being done, quoth one, 'Who shall go in?' 'Not I, ' answered the other. 'Nor I, 'rejoined his fellow; 'let Andreuccio enter. ' 'That will I not, ' saidthe latter; whereupon the two rogues turned upon him and said, 'How!Thou wilt not? Cock's faith, an thou enter not, we will clout theeover the costard with one of these iron bars till thou fall dead. '

Andreuccio, affrighted, crept into the tomb, saying in himself thewhile, 'These fellows will have me go in here so they may cheat me, for that, when I shall have given them everything, they will begoneabout their business, whilst I am labouring to win out of the tomb, and I shall abide empty-handed. ' Accordingly, he determined to makesure of his share beforehand; wherefore, as soon as he came to thebottom, calling to mind the precious ring whereof he had heard themspeak, he drew it from the archbishop's finger and set it on his own. Then he passed them the crozier and mitre and gloves and stripping thedead man to his shirt, gave them everything, saying that there wasnothing more. The others declared that the ring must be there and badehim seek everywhere; but he replied that he found it not and making ashow of seeking it, kept them in play awhile. At last, the two rogues, who were no less wily than himself, bidding him seek well the while, took occasion to pull away the prop that held up the lid and made off, leaving him shut in the tomb. 

What became of Andreuccio, when he found himself in this plight, youmay all imagine for yourselves. He strove again and again to heave upthe lid with his head and shoulders, but only wearied himself in vain;wherefore, overcome with chagrin and despair, he fell down in a swoonupon the archbishop's dead body; and whoso saw him there had hardlyknown which was the deader, the prelate or he. Presently, coming tohimself, he fell into a passion of weeping, seeing he must therewithout fail come to one of two ends, to wit, either he must, if nonecame thither to open the tomb again, die of hunger and stench, amongthe worms of the dead body, or, if any came and found him there, hewould certainly be hanged for a thief. 

As he abode in this mind, exceeding woebegone, he heard folk stirringin the Church and many persons speaking and presently perceived thatthey came to do that which he and his comrades had already done;whereat fear redoubled upon him. But, after the newcomers had forcedopen the tomb and propped up the lid, they fell into dispute of whoshould go in, and none was willing to do it. However, after longparley, a priest said, 'What fear ye? Think you he will eat you? Thedead eat not men. I will go in myself. ' So saying, he set his breastto the marge of the tomb and turning his head outward, put in hislegs, thinking to let himself drop. Andreuccio, seeing this, startedup and catching the priest by one of his legs, made a show of offeringto pull him down into the tomb. The other, feeling this, gave aterrible screech and flung precipitately out of the tomb; whereuponall the others fled in terror, as they were pursued by an hundredthousand devils, leaving the tomb open. 

Andreuccio, seeing this, scrambled hastily out of the tomb, rejoicedbeyond all hope, and made off out of the church by the way he hadentered in. The day now drawing near, he fared on at a venture, withthe ring on his finger, till he came to the sea-shore and thence madehis way back to his inn, where he found his comrades and the host, whohad been in concern for him all that night. He told them what hadbetided him and themseemed, by the host's counsel, that he were bestdepart Naples incontinent. Accordingly, he set out forthright andreturned to Perugia, having invested his money in a ring, whereas hecame to buy horses. "

THE SIXTH STORY

[Day the Second]

 MADAM BERITOLA, HAVING LOST HER TWO SONS, IS FOUND ON A DESERT ISLAND WITH TWO KIDS AND GOETH THENCE INTO LUNIGIANA, WHERE ONE OF HER SONS, TAKING SERVICE WITH THE LORD OF THE COUNTRY, LIETH WITH HIS DAUGHTER AND IS CAST INTO PRISON. SICILY AFTER REBELLING AGAINST KING CHARLES AND THE YOUTH BEING RECOGNIZED BY HIS MOTHER, HE ESPOUSETH HIS LORD'S DAUGHTER, AND HIS BROTHER BEING LIKEWISE FOUND, THEY ARE ALL THREE RESTORED TO HIGH ESTATE

Ladies and young men alike laughed heartily at Andreuccio'sadventures, as related by Fiammetta, and Emilia, seeing the storyended, began, by the queen's commandment, to speak thus: "Grievousthings and woeful are the various shifts of Fortune, whereof, --forthat, whenassoever it is discoursed of them, it is an awakenment forour minds, which lightly fall asleep under her blandishments, --methinkethit should never be irksome either to the happy or the unhappy to heartell, inasmuch as it rendereth the former wary and consoleth thelatter. Wherefore, albeit great things have already been recountedupon this subject, I purpose to tell you thereanent a story no lesstrue than pitiful, whereof, for all it had a joyful ending, so greatand so longsome was the bitterness that I can scarce believe it tohave been assuaged by any subsequent gladness. 

You must know, dearest ladies, that, after the death of the EmperorFrederick the Second, Manfred was crowned King of Sicily, in very highestate with whom was a gentleman of Naples called Arrighetto Capece, who had to wife a fair and noble lady, also of Naples, by name MadamBeritola Caracciola. The said Arrighetto, who had the governance ofthe island in his hands, hearing that King Charles the First[102] hadovercome and slain Manfred at Benevento and that all the realm hadrevolted to him and having scant assurance of the short-lived fidelityof the Sicilians, prepared for flight, misliking to become a subjectof his lord's enemy; but, his intent being known of the Sicilians, heand many other friends and servants of King Manfred were suddenly madeprisoners and delivered to King Charles, together with possession ofthe island. 

[Footnote 102: Charles d'Anjou. ]

Madam Beritola, in this grievous change of affairs, knowing not whatwas come of Arrighetto and sore adread of that which had befallen, abandoned all her possessions for fear of shame and poor and pregnantas she was, embarked, with a son of hers and maybe eight years of age, Giusfredi by name, in a little boat and fled to Lipari, where she gavebirth to another male child, whom she named Scacciato, [103] andgetting her a nurse, took ship with all three to return to herkinsfolk at Naples. But it befell otherwise than as she purposed; forthat the ship, which should have gone to Naples, was carried by stressof wind to the island of Ponza, [104] where they entered a little bightof the sea and there awaited an occasion for continuing their voyage. Madam Beritola, going up, like the rest, into the island and finding aremote and solitary place, addressed herself to make moan for herArrighetto, all alone there. 

[Footnote 103: _i. E. _ the Banished or the Expelled One. ]

[Footnote 104: An island in the Gulf of Gaeta, about 70 miles fromNaples. It is now inhabited, but appears in Boccaccio's time to havebeen desert. ]

This being her daily usance, it chanced one day that, as she wasoccupied in bewailing herself, there came up a pirate galley, unobserved of any, sailor or other, and taking them all at unawares, made off with her prize. Madam Beritola, having made an end of herdiurnal lamentation, returned to the sea-shore, as she was used to do, to visit her children, but found none there; whereat she firstmarvelled and after, suddenly misdoubting her of that which hadhappened, cast her eyes out to sea and saw the galley at no greatdistance, towing the little ship after it; whereby she knew but toowell that she had lost her children, as well as her husband, andseeing herself there poor and desolate and forsaken, unknowing whereshe should ever again find any of them, she fell down aswoon upon thestrand, calling upon her husband and her children. There was nonethere to recall her distracted spirits with cold water or otherremedy, wherefore they might at their leisure go wandering whither itpleased them; but, after awhile, the lost senses returning to herwretched body, in company with tears and lamentations, she called longupon her children and went a great while seeking them in every cavern. At last, finding all her labour in vain and seeing the night comingon, she began, hoping and knowing not what, to be careful for herselfand departing the sea-shore, returned to the cavern where she was wontto weep and bemoan herself. 

She passed the night in great fear and inexpressible dolour and thenew day being come and the hour of tierce past, she was fain, constrained by hunger, for that she had not supped overnight, tobrowse upon herbs; and having fed as best she might, she gave herself, weeping, to various thoughts of her future life. Pondering thus, shesaw a she-goat enter a cavern hard by and presently issue thence andbetake herself into the wood; whereupon she arose and entering whereasthe goat had come forth, found there two little kidlings, born belikethat same day, which seemed to her the quaintest and prettiest thingsin the world. Her milk being yet undried from her recent delivery, shetenderly took up the kids and set them to her breast. They refused notthe service, but sucked her as if she had been their dam andthenceforth made no distinction between the one and the other. Wherefore, herseeming she had found some company in that desert place, and growing no less familiar with the old goat than with her littleones, she resigned herself to live and die there and abode eating ofherbs and drinking water and weeping as often as she remembered her ofher husband and children and of her past life. 

The gentle lady, thus grown a wild creature, abiding on this wise, itbefell, after some months, that there came on like wise to the placewhither she had aforetime been driven by stress of weather, a littlevessel from Pisa and there abode some days. On broad this bark was agentleman named Currado [of the family] of the Marquises of Malespina, who, with his wife, a lady of worth and piety, was on his return homefrom a pilgrimage to all the holy places that be in the kingdom ofApulia. To pass away the time, Currado set out one day, with his ladyand certain of his servants and his dogs, to go about the island, andnot far from Madam Beritola's place of harbourage, the dogs startedthe two kids, which were now grown pretty big, as they went grazing. The latter, chased by the dogs, fled to no other place but into thecavern where was Madam Beritola, who, seeing this, started to her feetand catching up a staff, beat off the dogs. Currado and his wife, whocame after them, seeing the lady, who was grown swart and lean andhairy, marvelled, and she yet more at them. But after Currado had, ather instance, called off his dogs, they prevailed with her, by dint ofmuch entreaty, to tell them who she was and what she did there;whereupon she fully discovered to them her whole condition and allthat had befallen her, together with her firm resolution [to abidealone in the island]. 

Currado, who had know Arrighetto Capece very well, hearing this, weptfor pity, and did his utmost to divert her with words from sobarbarous a purpose, offering to carry her back to her own house or tokeep her with himself, holding her in such honour as his sister, untilGod should send her happier fortune. The lady not yielding to theseproffers, Currado left his wife with her, bidding the latter causebring thither to eat and clothe the lady, who was all in rags, withsome of her own apparel, and charging her contrive, by whatsoevermeans, to bring her away with her. Accordingly, the gentle lady, beingleft with Madam Beritola, after condoling with her amain of hermisfortunes, sent for raiment and victual and prevailed on her, withall the pains in the world, to don the one and eat the other. 

Ultimately, after many prayers, Madam Beritola protesting that shewould never consent to go whereas she might be known, she persuadedher to go with her into Lunigiana, together with the two kids andtheir dam, which latter were meantime returned and had greeted herwith the utmost fondness, to the no small wonderment of thegentlewoman. Accordingly, as soon as fair weather was come, MadamBeritola embarked with Currado and his lady in their vessel, carryingwith her the two kids and the she-goat (on whose account, her namebeing everywhere unknown, she was styled Cavriuola[105]) and settingsail with a fair wind, came speedily to the mouth of the Magra, [106]where they landed and went up to Currado's castle. There MadamBeritola abode, in a widow's habit, about the person of Currado'slady, as one of her waiting-women, humble, modest and obedient, stillcherishing her kids and letting nourish them. 

[Footnote 105: _i. E. _ wild she-goat. ]

[Footnote 106: A river falling into the Gulf of Genoa between Carraraand Spezzia. ]

Meanwhile, the corsairs, who had taken the ship wherein Madam Beritolacame to Ponza, but had left herself, as being unseen of them, betookthemselves with all the other folk to Genoa, where, the booty comingto be shared among the owners of the galley, it chanced that the nurseand the two children fell, amongst other things, to the lot of acertain Messer Guasparrino d'Oria, [107] who sent them all three to hismansion, to be there employed as slaves about the service of thehouse. The nurse, afflicted beyond measure at the loss of her mistressand at the wretched condition where into she found herself and the twochildren fallen, wept long and sore; but, for that, albeit a poorwoman, she was discreet and well-advised, when she saw that tearsavailed nothing and that she was become a slave together with them, she first comforted herself as best she might and after, consideringwhither they were come, she bethought herself that, should the twochildren be known, they might lightly chance to suffer hindrance;wherefore, hoping withal that, sooner or later fortune might changeand they, an they lived, regain their lost estate, she resolved todiscover to no one who they were, until she should see occasiontherefor, and told all who asked her thereof that they were her sons. The elder she named, not Giusfredi, but Giannotto di Procida (the nameof the younger she cared not to change), and explained to him, withthe utmost diligence, why she had changed his name, showing him inwhat peril he might be, an he were known. This she set out to him notonce, but many and many a time, and the boy, who was quick of wit, punctually obeyed the enjoinment of his discreet nurse. 

[Footnote 107: More familiar to modern ears as Doria. ]

Accordingly, the two boys and their nurse abode patiently in MesserGuasparrino's house several years, ill-clad and worse shod andemployed about the meanest offices. But Giannotto, who was now sixteenyears of age, and had more spirit than pertained to a slave, scorningthe baseness of a menial condition, embarked on board certain galleysbound for Alexandria and taking leave of Messer Guasparrino's service, journeyed to divers parts, without any wise availing to advancehimself. At last some three or four years after his departure fromGenoa, being grown a handsome youth and tall of his person and hearingthat his father, whom he thought dead, was yet alive, but was kept byKing Charles in prison and duresse, he went wandering at a venture, well nigh despairing of fortune, till he came to Lunigiana and there, as chance would have it, took service with Currado Malespina, whom heserved with great aptitude and acceptance. And albeit he now and againsaw his mother, who was with Currado's lady, he never recognized hernor she him, so much had time changed the one and the other from thatwhich they were used to be, whenas they last set eyes on each other. 

Giannotto being, then, in Currado's service, it befell that a daughterof the latter, by name Spina, being left the widow of one Niccolo daGrignano, returned to her father's house and being very fair andagreeable and a girl of little more than sixteen years of age, chancedto cast eyes on Giannotto and he on her, and they became passionatelyenamoured of each other. Their love was not long without effect andlasted several months ere any was ware thereof. Wherefore, takingovermuch assurance, they began to order themselves with lessdiscretion than behoveth unto matters of this kind, and one day, asthey went, the young lady and Giannotto together, through a fair andthickset wood, they pushed on among the trees, leaving the rest of thecompany behind. Presently, themseeming they had far foregone theothers, they laid themselves down to rest in a pleasant place, full ofgrass and flowers and shut in with trees, and there fell to takingamorous delight one of the other. 

In this occupation, the greatness of their delight making the timeseem brief to them, albeit they had been there a great while, theywere surprised, first by the girl's mother and after by Currado, who, chagrined beyond measure at this sight, without saying aught of thecause, had them both seized by three of his serving-men and carried inbonds to a castle of his and went off, boiling with rage and despiteand resolved to put them both to a shameful death. The girl's mother, although sore incensed and holding her daughter worthy of the severestpunishment for her default, having by certain words of Curradoapprehended his intent towards the culprits and unable to brook this, hastened after her enraged husband and began to beseech him that itwould please him not run madly to make himself in his old age themurderer of his own daughter and to soil his hands with the blood ofone of his servants, but to find other means of satisfying his wrath, such as to clap them in prison and there let them pine and bewail thefault committed. With these and many other words the pious lady sowrought upon him that she turned his mind from putting them to deathand he bade imprison them, each in a place apart, where they should bewell guarded and kept with scant victual and much unease, till suchtime as he should determine farther of them. As he bade, so was itdone, and what their life was in duresse and continual tears and infasts longer than might have behoved unto them, each may picture tohimself. 

What while Giannotto and Spina abode in this doleful case and hadtherein already abidden a year's space, unremembered of Currado, itcame to pass that King Pedro of Arragon, by the procurement of MesserGian di Procida, raised the island of Sicily against King Charles andtook it from him, whereat Currado, being a Ghibelline, [108] rejoicedexceedingly, Giannotto, hearing of this from one of those who had himin guard, heaved a great sigh and said, 'Ah, woe is me! These fourteenyears have I gone ranging beggarlike about the world, looking fornought other than this, which, now that it is come, so I may neveragain hope for weal, hath found me in a prison whence I have no hopeever to come forth, save dead. ' 'How so?' asked the gaoler. 'What doththat concern thee which great kings do to one another? What hast thouto do in Sicily?' Quoth Giannotto, 'My heart is like to burst when Iremember me of that which my father erst had to do there, whom, albeitI was but a little child, when I fled thence, yet do I mind me to havebeen lord thereof, in the lifetime of King Manfred. ' 'And who was thyfather?' asked the gaoler. 'My father's name, ' answered Giannotto, 'Imay now safely make known, since I find myself in the peril whereof Iwas in fear, an I discovered it. He was and is yet, an he live, calledArrighetto Capece, and my name is, not Giannotto, but Giusfredi, and Idoubt not a jot, an I were quit of this prison, but I might yet, byreturning to Sicily, have very high place there. '

[Footnote 108: The Ghibellines were the supporters of the Papalfaction against the Guelphs or adherents of the Emperor Frederick II. Of Germany. The cardinal struggle between the two factions took placeover the succession to the throne of Naples and Sicily, to which thePope appointed Charles of Anjou, who overcame and killed the reigningsovereign Manfred, but was himself, through the machinations of theGhibellines, expelled from Sicily by the celebrated popular risingknown as the Sicilian Vespers. ]

The honest man, without asking farther, reported Giannotto's words, asfirst he had occasion, to Currado, who, hearing this, --albeit hefeigned to the gaoler to make light of it, --betook himself to MadamBeritola and courteously asked her if she had had by Arrighetto a sonnamed Giusfredi. The lady answered, weeping, that, if the elder of hertwo sons were alive, he would so be called and would be two-and-twentyyears old. Currado, hearing this, concluded that this must be he andbethought himself that, were it so, he might at once do a great mercyand take away his own and his daughter's shame by giving her toGiannotto to wife; wherefore, sending privily for the latter, heparticularly examined him touching all his past life and finding, byvery manifest tokens, that he was indeed Giusfredi, son of ArrighettoCapece, he said to him, 'Giannotto, thou knowest what and how great isthe wrong thou hast done me in the person of my daughter, whereas, Ihaving ever well and friendly entreated thee, it behoved thee, as aservant should, still to study and do for my honour and interest; andmany there be who, hadst thou used them like as thou hast used me, would have put thee to a shameful death, the which my clemency brookednot. Now, if it be as thou tellest me, to wit, that thou art the sonof a man of condition and of a noble lady, I purpose, an thou thyselfbe willing, to put an end to thy tribulations and relieving thee fromthe misery and duresse wherein thou abidest, to reinstate at oncethine honour and mine own in their due stead. As thou knowest, Spina, whom thou hast, though after a fashion misbeseeming both thyself andher, taken with love-liking, is a widow and her dowry is both greatand good; as for her manners and her father and mother, thou knowestthem, and of thy present state I say nothing. Wherefore, an thou will, I purpose that, whereas she hath unlawfully been thy mistress, sheshall now lawfully become thy wife and that thou shalt abide here withme and with her, as my very son, so long as it shall please thee. '

Now prison had mortified Giannotto's flesh, but had nothing abated thegenerous spirit, which he derived from his noble birth, nor yet theentire affection he bore his mistress; and albeit he ardently desiredthat which Currado proffered him and saw himself in the latter'spower, yet no whit did he dissemble of that which the greatness of hissoul prompted him to say; wherefore he answered, 'Currado, neitherlust of lordship nor greed of gain nor other cause whatever hath evermade me lay snares, traitor-wise, for thy life or thy good. I lovedand love thy daughter and still shall love her, for that I hold herworthy of my love, and if I dealt with her less than honourably, inthe opinion of the vulgar, my sin was one which still goeth hand inhand with youth and which an you would do away, it behoveth you firstdo away with youth. Moreover, it is an offence which, would the oldbut remember them of having been young and measure the defaults ofothers by their own and their own by those of others, would show lessgrievous than thou and many others make it; and as a friend, and notas an enemy, I committed it. This that thou profferest me I have stilldesired and had I thought it should be vouchsafed me, I had long sincesought it; and so much the dearer will it now be to me, as my hopethereof was less. If, then, thou have not that intent which thy wordsdenote, feed me not with vain hope; but restore me to prison and theretorment me as thou wilt, for, so long as I love Spina, even so, forthe love of her, shall I still love thee, whatsoever thou dost withme, and have thee in reverence. '

Currado, hearing this, marvelled and held him great of soul and hislove fervent and tendered him therefore the dearer; wherefore, risingto his feet, he embraced him and kissed him and without more delaybade privily bring Spina thither. Accordingly, the lady--who was grownlean and pale and weakly in prison and showed well nigh another thanshe was wont to be, as on like wise Giannotto another man--being come, the two lovers in Currado's presence with one consent contractedmarriage according to our usance. Then, after some days, during whichhe had let furnish the newly-married pair with all that was necessaryor agreeable to them, he deemed it time to gladden their mothers withthe good news and accordingly calling his lady and Cavriuola, he saidto the latter, 'What would you say, madam, an I should cause you haveagain your elder son as the husband of one of my daughters?' Wheretoshe answered, 'Of that I can say to you no otherwhat than that, couldI be more beholden to you than I am, I should be so much the more soas you would have restored to me that which is dearer to me than mineown self; and restoring it to me on such wise as you say, you would insome measure re-awaken in me my lost hope. ' With this, she held herpeace, weeping, and Currado said to his lady, 'And thou, mistress, howwouldst thou take it, were I to present thee with such a son-in-law?'The lady replied, 'Even a common churl, so he pleased you, wouldplease me, let alone one of these, [109] who are men of gentle birth. ''Then, ' said Currado, 'I hope, ere many days, to make you happy womenin this. '

[Footnote 109: _i. E. _ Beritola's sons. ]

Accordingly, seeing the two young folk now restored to their formercheer, he clad them sumptuously and said to Giusfredi, 'Were it notdear to thee, over and above thy present joyance, an thou sawest thymother here?' Whereto he answered, 'I dare not flatter myself that thechagrin of her unhappy chances can have left her so long alive; but, were it indeed so, it were dear to me above all, more by token thatmethinketh I might yet, by her counsel, avail to recover great part ofmy estate in Sicily. ' Thereupon Currado sent for both the ladies, whocame and made much of the newly-wedded wife, no little wondering whathappy inspiration it could have been that prompted Currado to suchexceeding complaisance as he had shown in joining Giannotto with herin marriage. Madam Beritola, by reason of the words she had heard fromCurrado, began to consider Giannotto and some remembrance of theboyish lineaments of her son's countenance being by occult virtueawakened in her, without awaiting farther explanation, she ran, open-armed, to cast herself upon his neck, nor did overaboundingemotion and maternal joy suffer her to say a word; nay, they so lockedup all her senses that she fell into her son's arms, as if dead. 

The latter, albeit he was sore amazed, remembering to have many timesbefore seen her in that same castle and never recognized her, nevertheless knew incontinent the maternal odour and blaming himselffor his past heedlessness, received her, weeping, in his arms andkissed her tenderly. After awhile, Madam Beritola, beingaffectionately tended by Currado's lady and Spina and plied both withcold water and other remedies, recalled her strayed senses andembracing her son anew, full of maternal tenderness, with many tearsand many tender words, kissed him a thousand times, whilst he allreverently beheld and entreated her. After these joyful and honourablegreetings had been thrice or four times repeated, to the no smallcontentment of the bystanders, and they had related unto each otherall that had befallen them, Currado now, to the exceeding satisfactionof all, signified to his friends the new alliance made by him and gaveordinance for a goodly and magnificent entertainment. 

Then said Giusfredi to him, 'Currado, you have made me glad of manythings and have long honourably entertained my mother; and now, thatno whit may remain undone of that which it is in your power to do, Ipray you gladden my mother and bride-feast and myself with thepresence of my brother, whom Messer Guasparrino d'Oria holdeth inservitude in his house and whom, as I have already told you, he tookwith me in one of his cruises. Moreover, I would have you send intoSicily one who shall thoroughly inform himself of the state andcondition of the country and study to learn what is come ofArrighetto, my father, an he be alive or dead, and if he be alive, inwhat estate; of all which having fully certified himself, let himreturn to us. ' Giusfredi's request was pleasing to Currado, andwithout any delay he despatched very discreet persons both to Genoaand to Sicily. 

He who went to Genoa there sought out Messer Guasparrino and instantlybesought him, on Currado's part, to send him Scacciato and his nurse, orderly recounting to him all his lord's dealings with Giusfredi andhis mother. Messer Guasparrino marvelled exceedingly to hear this andsaid, 'True is it I would do all I may to pleasure Currado, and Ihave, indeed, these fourteen years had in my house the boy thouseekest and one his mother, both of whom I will gladly send him; butdo thou bid him, on my part, beware of lending overmuch credence tothe fables of Giannotto, who nowadays styleth himself Giusfredi, forthat he is a far greater knave than he deemeth. ' So saying, he causedhonourably entertain the gentleman and sending privily for the nurse, questioned her shrewdly touching the matter. Now she had heard of theSicilian revolt and understood Arrighetto to be alive, wherefore, casting off her former fears, she told him everything in order andshowed him the reasons that had moved her to do as she had done. 

Messer Guasparrino, finding her tale to accord perfectly with that ofCurrado's messenger, began to give credit to the latter's words andhaving by one means and another, like a very astute man as he was, made enquiry of the matter and happening hourly upon things that gavehim more and more assurance of the fact, took shame to himself of hismean usage of the lad, in amends whereof, knowing what Arrighetto hadbeen and was, he gave him to wife a fair young daughter of his, elevenyears of age, with a great dowry. Then, after making a greatbride-feast thereon, he embarked with the boy and girl and Currado'smessenger and the nurse in a well-armed galliot and betook himself toLerici, where he was received by Currado and went up, with all hiscompany, to one of the latter's castles, not far removed thence, wherethere was a great banquet toward. 

The mother's joy at seeing her son again and that of the two brothersin each other and of all three in the faithful nurse, the honour doneof all to Messer Guasparrino and his daughter and of him to all andthe rejoicing of all together with Currado and his lady and childrenand friends, no words might avail to express; wherefore, ladies, Ileave it to you to imagine. Thereunto, [110] that it might be complete, it pleased God the Most High, a most abundant giver, whenas Hebeginneth, to add the glad news of the life and well-being ofArrighetto Capece; for that, the feast being at its height and theguests, both ladies and men, yet at table for the first service, therecame he who had been sent into Sicily and amongst other things, reported of Arrighetto that he, being kept in captivity by KingCharles, whenas the revolt against the latter broke out in the land, the folk ran in a fury to the prison and slaying his guards, deliveredhimself and as a capital enemy of King Charles, made him their captainand followed him to expel and slay the French: wherefore he was becomein especial favour with King Pedro, [111] who had reinstated him in allhis honours and possessions, and was now in great good case. Themessenger added that he had received himself with the utmost honourand had rejoiced with inexpressible joy in the recovery of his wifeand son, of whom he had heard nothing since his capture; moreover, hehad sent a brigantine for them, with divers gentlemen aboard, who cameafter him. 

[Footnote 110: _i. E. _ to which general joy. ]

[Footnote 111: Pedro of Arragon, son-in-law of Manfred, who, inconsequence of the Sicilian Vespers, succeeded Charles d'Anjou as Kingof Sicily. ]

The messenger was received and hearkened with great gladness andrejoicing, whilst Currado, with certain of his friends, set outincontinent to meet the gentlemen who came for Madam Beritola andGiusfredi and welcoming them joyously, introduced them into hisbanquet, which was not yet half ended. There both the lady andGiusfredi, no less than all the others, beheld them with such joyancethat never was heard the like; and the gentlemen, ere they sat down tomeat, saluted Currado and his lady on the part of Arrighetto, thankingthem, as best they knew and might, for the honour done both to hiswife and his son and offering himself to their pleasure, [112] in allthat lay in his power. Then, turning to Messer Guasparrino, whosekindness was unlooked for, they avouched themselves most certain that, whenas that which he had done for Scacciato should be known ofArrighetto, the like thanks and yet greater would be rendered him. 

[Footnote 112: Or (in modern phrase) putting himself at theirdisposition. ]

Thereafter they banqueted right joyously with the new-made bridegroomsat the bride-feast of the two newly-wedded wives; nor that day alonedid Currado entertain his son-in-law and other his kinsmen andfriends, but many others. As soon as the rejoicings were somewhatabated, it appearing to Madam Beritola and to Giusfredi and the othersthat it was time to depart, they took leave with many tears of Curradoand his lady and Messer Guasparrino and embarked on board thebrigantine, carrying Spina with them; then, setting sail with a fairwind, they came speedily to Sicily, where all alike, both sons anddaughters-in-law, were received by Arrighetto in Palermo with suchrejoicing as might never be told; and there it is believed that theyall lived happily a great while after, in love and thankfulness to Godthe Most High, as mindful of the benefits received. "

THE SEVENTH STORY

[Day the Second]

 THE SOLDAN OF BABYLON SENDETH A DAUGHTER OF HIS TO BE MARRIED TO THE KING OF ALGARVE, AND SHE, BY DIVERS CHANCES, IN THE SPACE OF FOUR YEARS COMETH TO THE HANDS OF NINE MEN IN VARIOUS PLACES. ULTIMATELY, BEING RESTORED TO HER FATHER FOR A MAID, SHE GOETH TO THE KING OF ALGARVE TO WIFE, AS FIRST SHE DID

Had Emilia's story been much longer protracted, it is like thecompassion had by the young ladies on the misfortunes of MadamBeritola would have brought them to tears; but, an end being now madethereof, it pleased the queen that Pamfilo should follow on with hisstory, and accordingly he, who was very obedient, began thus, "Uneath, charming ladies, is it for us to know that which is meet for us, forthat, as may oftentimes have been seen, many, imagining that, werethey but rich, they might avail to live without care and secure, havenot only with prayers sought riches of God, but have diligentlystudied to acquire them, grudging no toil and no peril in the quest, and who, --whereas, before they became enriched, they loved theirlives, --once having gotten their desire, have found folk to slay them, for greed of so ample an inheritance. Others of low estate, having, through a thousand perilous battles and the blood of their brethrenand their friends, mounted to the summit of kingdoms, thinking in theroyal estate to enjoy supreme felicity, without the innumerable caresand alarms whereof they see and feel it full, have learned, at thecost of their lives, that poison is drunken at royal tables in cups ofgold. Many there be who have with most ardent appetite desired bodilystrength and beauty and divers personal adornments and perceived notthat they had desired ill till they found these very gifts a cause tothem of death or dolorous life. In fine, not to speak particularly ofall the objects of human desire, I dare say that there is not onewhich can, with entire assurance, be chosen by mortal men as securefrom the vicissitudes of fortune; wherefore, an we would do aright, needs must we resign ourselves to take and possess that which isappointed us of Him who alone knoweth that which behoveth unto us andis able to give it to us. But for that, whereas men sin in desiringvarious things, you, gracious ladies, sin, above all, in one, to wit, in wishing to be fair, --insomuch that, not content with the charmsvouchsafed you by nature, you still with marvellous art study toaugment them, --it pleaseth me to recount to you how ill-fortunedlyfair was a Saracen lady, whom it befell, for her beauty, to be in somefour years' space nine times wedded anew. 

It is now a pretty while since there was a certain Soldan ofBabylon, [113] by name Berminedab, to whom in his day many thingshappened in accordance with his pleasure. [114] Amongst many otherchildren, both male and female, he had a daughter called Alatiel, who, by report of all who saw her, was the fairest woman to be seen in theworld in those days, and having, in a great defeat he had inflictedupon a vast multitude of Arabs who were come upon him, beenwonder-well seconded by the King of Algarve, [115] had, at his request, given her to him to wife, of especial favour; wherefore, embarking heraboard a ship well armed and equipped, with an honourable company ofmen and ladies and store of rich and sumptuous gear and furniture, hedespatched her to him, commending her to God. 

[Footnote 113: _i. E. _ Egypt, Cairo was known in the middle ages by thename of "Babylon of Egypt. " It need hardly be noted that the Babylonof the Bible was the city of that name on the Euphrates, the ancientcapital of Chaldæa (Irak Babili). The names Beminedab and Alatiel arepurely imaginary. ]

[Footnote 114: _i. E. _ to his wish, to whom fortune was mostlyfavourable in his enterprises. ]

[Footnote 115: _Il Garbo_, Arabic El Gherb or Gharb, [Arabic: algharb], the West, a name given by the Arabs to several parts of theMuslim empire, but by which Boccaccio apparently means Algarve, thesouthernmost province of Portugal and the last part of that kingdom tosuccumb to the wave of Christian reconquest, it having remained in thehands of the Muslims till the second half of the thirteenth century. This supposition is confirmed by the course taken by Alatiel's ship, which would naturally pass Sardinia and the Balearic Islands on itsway from Alexandria to Portugal. ]

The sailors, seeing the weather favourable, gave their sails to thewind and departing the port of Alexandria, fared on prosperously manydays, and having now passed Sardinia, deemed themselves near the endof their voyage, when there arose one day of a sudden divers contrarywinds, which, being each beyond measure boisterous, so harassed theship, wherein was the lady, and the sailors, that the latter more thanonce gave themselves over for lost. However, like valiant men, usingevery art and means in their power, they rode it out two days, thoughbuffeted by a terrible sea; but, at nightfall of the third day, thetempest abating not, nay, waxing momently, they felt the ship open, being then not far off Majorca, but knowing not where they wereneither availing to apprehend it either by nautical reckoning or bysight, for that the sky was altogether obscured by clouds and darknight; wherefore, seeing no other way of escape and having eachhimself in mind and not others, they lowered a shallop into the water, into which the officers cast themselves, choosing rather to trustthemselves thereto than to the leaking ship. The rest of the men inthe ship crowded after them into the boat, albeit those who had firstembarked therein opposed it, knife in hand, --and thinking thus to fleefrom death, ran straight into it, for that the boat, availing not, forthe intemperance of the weather, to hold so many, foundered and theyperished one and all. 

As for the ship, being driven by a furious wind and running veryswiftly, albeit it was now well nigh water-logged, (none being left onboard save the princess and her women, who all, overcome by thetempestuous sea and by fear, lay about the decks as they were dead, )it stranded upon a beach of the island of Majorca and such and sogreat was the shock that it well nigh buried itself in the sand somestone's cast from the shore, where it abode the night, beaten by thewaves, nor might the wind avail to stir it more. Broad day came andthe tempest somewhat abating, the princess, who was half dead, raisedher head and weak as she was, fell to calling now one, now another ofher household, but to no purpose, for that those she called were toofar distant. Finding herself unanswered of any and seeing no one, shemarvelled exceedingly and began to be sore afraid; then, rising up, asbest she might, she saw the ladies who were in her company and theother women lying all about and trying now one and now another, foundfew who gave any signs of life, the most of them being dead what withsore travail of the stomach and what with affright; wherefore fearredoubled upon her. 

Nevertheless, necessity constraining her, for that she saw herselfalone there and had neither knowledge nor inkling where she was, sheso goaded those who were yet alive that she made them arise andfinding them unknowing whither the men were gone and seeing the shipstranded and full of water, she fell to weeping piteously, togetherwith them. It was noon ere they saw any about the shore or elsewhere, whom they might move to pity and succour them; but about that hourthere passed by a gentleman, by name Pericone da Visalgo, returning bychance from a place of his, with sundry of his servants on horseback. He saw the ship and forthright conceiving what it was, bade one of theservants board it without delay and tell him what he found there. Theman, though with difficulty, made his way on board and found the younglady, with what little company she had, crouched, all adread, underthe heel of the bowsprit. When they saw him, they besought him, weeping, of mercy again and again; but, perceiving that he understoodthem not nor they him, they made shift to make known to him theirmisadventure by signs. 

The servant having examined everything as best he might, reported toPericone that which was on board; whereupon the latter promptly causedto bring the ladies ashore, together with the most precious thingsthat were in the ship and might be gotten, and carried them off to acastle of his, where, the women being refreshed with food and rest, heperceived, from the richness of her apparel, that the lady whom he hadfound must needs be some great gentlewoman, and of this he wasspeedily certified by the honour that he saw the others do her and heralone; and although she was pale and sore disordered of her person, for the fatigues of the voyage, her features seemed to him exceedingfair; wherefore he forthright took counsel with himself, an she had nohusband, to seek to have her to wife, and if he might not have her inmarriage, to make shift to have her favours. 

He was a man of commanding presence and exceeding robust and havingfor some days let tend the lady excellently well and she being therebyaltogether restored, he saw her lovely past all conception and wasgrieved beyond measure that he could not understand her nor she himand so he might not learn who she was. Nevertheless, beinginordinately inflamed by her charms, he studied, with pleasing andamorous gestures, to engage her to do his pleasure without contention;but to no avail; she altogether rejected his advances and so much themore waxed Pericone's ardour. The lady, seeing this and having nowabidden there some days, perceived, by the usances of the folk, thatshe was among Christians and in a country where, even if she could, ithad little profited her to make herself known and foresaw that, in theend, either perforce or for love, needs must she resign herself to doPericone's pleasure, but resolved nevertheless by dint of magnanimityto override the wretchedness of her fortune; wherefore she commandedher women, of whom but three were left her, that they should neverdiscover to any who she was, except they found themselves whereas theymight look for manifest furtherance in the regaining of their liberty, and urgently exhorted them, moreover, to preserve their chastity, avouching herself determined that none, save her husband, should everenjoy her. They commended her for this and promised to observe hercommandment to the best of their power. 

Meanwhile Pericone, waxing daily more inflamed, insomuch as he saw thething desired so near and yet so straitly denied, and seeing that hisblandishments availed him nothing, resolved to employ craft andartifice, reserving force unto the last. Wherefore, having observedbytimes that wine was pleasing to the lady, as being unused to drinkthereof, for that her law forbade it, he bethought himself that hemight avail to take her with this, as with a minister of enus. Accordingly, feigning to reck no more of that whereof she showedherself so chary, he made one night by way of special festival agoodly supper, whereto he bade the lady, and therein, the repast beinggladdened with many things, he took order with him who served her thathe should give her to drink of various wines mingled. The cupbearerdid his bidding punctually and she, being nowise on her guard againstthis and allured by the pleasantness of the drink, took more thereofthan consisted with her modesty; whereupon, forgetting all her pasttroubles, she waxed merry and seeing some women dance after thefashion of Majorca, herself danced in the Alexandrian manner. 

Pericone, seeing this, deemed himself on the high road to that whichhe desired and continuing the supper with great plenty of meats andwines, protracted it far into the night. Ultimately, the guests havingdeparted, he entered with the lady alone into her chamber, where she, more heated with wine than restrained by modesty, without any reserveof shamefastness, undid herself in his presence, as he had been one ofher women, and betook herself to bed. Pericone was not slow to followher, but, putting out all the lights, promptly hid himself beside herand catching her in his arms, proceeded, without any gainsayal on herpart, amorously to solace himself with her; which when once she hadfelt, --having never theretofore known with what manner horn menbutt, --as if repenting her of not having yielded to Pericone'ssolicitations, thenceforth, without waiting to be bidden to suchagreeable nights, she oftentimes invited herself thereto, not bywords, which she knew not how to make understood, but by deeds. 

But, in the midst of this great pleasance of Pericone and herself, fortune, not content with having reduced her from a king's bride to bethe mistress of a country gentleman, had foreordained unto her a morebarbarous alliance. Pericone had a brother by name Marato, five-and-twenty years of age and fair and fresh as a rose, who saw herand she pleased him mightily. Himseemed, moreover, according to thatwhich he could apprehend from her gestures, that he was very well seenof her and conceiving that nought hindered him of that which he cravedof her save the strait watch kept on her by Pericone, he fell into abarbarous thought, whereon the nefarious effect followed withoutdelay. 

There was then, by chance, in the harbour of the city a vessel ladenwith merchandise and bound for Chiarenza[116] in Roumelia; whereof twoyoung Genoese were masters, who had already hoisted sail to depart assoon as the wind should be fair. Marato, having agreed with them, tookorder how he should on the ensuing night be received aboard their shipwith the lady; and this done, as soon as it was dark, having inwardlydetermined what he should do, he secretly betook himself, with certainof his trustiest friends, whom he had enlisted for the purpose, to thehouse of Pericone, who nowise mistrusted him. There he hid himself, according to the ordinance appointed between them, and after a part ofthe night had passed, he admitted his companions and repaired withthem to the chamber where Pericone lay with the lady. Having openedthe door, they slew Pericone, as he slept, and took the lady, who wasnow awake and in tears, threatening her with death, if she made anyoutcry; after which they made off, unobserved, with great part ofPericone's most precious things and betook themselves in haste to thesea-shore, where Marato and the lady embarked without delay on boardthe ship, whilst his companions returned whence they came. 

[Footnote 116: The modern Klarentza in the north-west of the Morea, which latter province formed part of Roumelia under the Turkishdomination. ]

The sailors, having a fair wind and a fresh, made sail and set out ontheir voyage, whilst the princess sore and bitterly bewailed both herformer and that her second misadventure; but Marato, with that SaintWaxeth-in-hand, which God hath given us [men, ] proceeded to comforther after such a fashion that she soon grew familiar with him andforgetting Pericone, began to feel at her ease, when fortune, as ifnot content with the past tribulations wherewith it had visited her, prepared her a new affliction; for that, she being, as we have alreadymore than once said, exceeding fair of favour and of very engagingmanners, the two young men, the masters of the ship, became sopassionately enamoured of her that, forgetting all else, they studiedonly to serve and pleasure her, being still on their guard lest Maratoshould get wind of the cause. Each becoming aware of the other'spassion, they privily took counsel together thereof, and agreed tojoin in getting the lady for themselves and enjoy her in common, as iflove should suffer this, as do merchandise and gain. 

Seeing her straitly guarded by Marato and being thereby hindered oftheir purpose, one day, as the ship fared on at full speed under sailand Marato stood at the poop, looking out on the sea and nowise on hisguard against them, they went of one accord and laying hold of himsuddenly from behind, cast him into the sea, nor was it till they hadsailed more than a mile farther that any perceived Marato to befallen overboard. Alatiel, hearing this and seeing no possible way ofrecovering him, began anew to make moan for herself; whereupon the twolovers came incontinent to her succour and with soft words and verygood promises, whereof she understood but little, studied to sootheand console the lady, who lamented not so much her lost husband as herown ill fortune. After holding much discourse with her at one time andanother, themseeming after awhile they had well nigh comforted her, they came to words with one another which should first take her to liewith him. Each would fain be the first and being unable to come to anyaccord upon this, they first with words began a sore and hot disputeand thereby kindled into rage, they clapped hands to their knives andfalling furiously on one another, before those on board could partthem, dealt each other several blows, whereof one incontinent felldead, whilst the other abode on life, though grievously wounded inmany places. 

This new mishap was sore unpleasing to the lady, who saw herselfalone, without aid or counsel of any, and feared lest the anger of thetwo masters' kinsfolk and friends should revert upon herself; but theprayers of the wounded man and their speedy arrival at Chiarenzadelivered her from danger of death. There she went ashore with thewounded man and took up her abode with him in an inn, where the reportof her great beauty soon spread through the city and came to the earsof the Prince of the Morea, who was then at Chiarenza and was fain tosee her. Having gotten sight of her and himseeming she was fairer thanreport gave out, he straightway became so sore enamoured of her thathe could think of nothing else and hearing how she came thither, doubted not to be able to get her for himself. As he cast about for ameans of effecting his purpose, the wounded man's kinsfolk got wind ofhis desire and without awaiting more, sent her to him forthright, which was mighty agreeable to the prince and to the lady also, forthat herseemed she was quit of a great peril. The prince, seeing hergraced, over and above her beauty, with royal manners and unableotherwise to learn who she was, concluded her to be some noble lady, wherefore he redoubled in his love for her and holding her inexceeding honour, entreated her not as a mistress, but as his verywife. 

The lady, accordingly, having regard to her past troubles andherseeming she was well enough bestowed, was altogether comforted andwaxing blithe again, her beauties flourished on such wise that itseemed all Roumelia could talk of nothing else. The report of herloveliness reaching the Duke of Athens, who was young and handsome anddoughty of his person and a friend and kinsman of the prince, he wastaken with a desire to see her and making a show of paying him avisit, as he was wont bytimes to do, repaired, with a fair andworshipful company, to Chiarenza, where he was honourably received andsumptuously entertained. Some days after, the two kinsmen coming todiscourse together of the lady's charms, the duke asked if she wereindeed so admirable a creature as was reported; to which the princeanswered, 'Much more so; but thereof I will have not my words, butthine own eyes certify thee. ' Accordingly, at the duke'ssolicitation, they betook themselves together to the princess'slodging, who, having had notice of their coming, received them verycourteously and with a cheerful favour, and they seated her betweenthem, but might not have the pleasure of conversing with her, for thatshe understood little or nothing of their language; wherefore eachcontented himself with gazing upon her, as upon a marvel, andespecially the duke, who could scarce bring himself to believe thatshe was a mortal creature and thinking to satisfy his desire with hersight, heedless of the amorous poison he drank in at his eyes, beholding her, he miserably ensnared himself, becoming most ardentlyenamoured of her. 

After he had departed her presence with the prince and had leisure tobethink himself, he esteemed his kinsman happy beyond all others inhaving so fair a creature at his pleasure, and after many and variousthoughts, his unruly passion weighing more with him than his honour, he resolved, come thereof what might, to do his utmost endeavour todespoil the prince of that felicity and bless himself therewith. Accordingly, being minded to make a quick despatch of the matter andsetting aside all reason and all equity, he turned his every thoughtto the devising of means for the attainment of his wishes, and oneday, in accordance with the nefarious ordinance taken by him with aprivy chamberlain of the prince's, by name Ciuriaci, he let make readyin secret his horses and baggage for a sudden departure. 

The night come, he was, with a companion, both armed, stealthilyintroduced by the aforesaid Ciuriaci into the prince's chamber and sawthe latter (the lady being asleep) standing, all naked for the greatheat, at a window overlooking the sea-shore, to take a little breezethat came from that quarter; whereupon, having beforehand informed hiscompanion of that which he had to do, he went softly up to the windowand striking the prince with a knife, stabbed him, through and throughthe small of his back; then, taking him up in haste, he cast him forthof the window. The palace stood over against the sea and was verylofty and the window in question looked upon certain houses that hadbeen undermined by the beating of the waves and where seldom or neverany came; wherefore it happened, as the duke had foreseen, that thefall of the prince's body was not nor might be heard of any. Theduke's companion, seeing this done, pulled out a halter he had broughtwith him to that end and making a show of caressing Ciuriaci, cast itadroitly about his neck and drew it so that he could make no outcry;then, the duke coming up, they strangled him and cast him whereas theyhad cast the prince. 

This done and they being manifestly certified that they had beenunheard of the lady or of any other, the duke took a light in his handand carrying it to the bedside, softly uncovered the princess, whoslept fast. He considered her from head to foot and mightily commendedher; for, if she was to his liking, being clothed, she pleased him, naked, beyond all compare. Wherefore, fired with hotter desire andunawed by his new-committed crime, he couched himself by her side, with hands yet bloody, and lay with her, all sleepy-eyed as she wasand thinking him to be the prince. After he had abidden with herawhile in the utmost pleasure, he arose and summoning certain of hiscompanions, caused take up the lady on such wise that she could makeno outcry and carry her forth by a privy door, whereat he had entered;then, setting her on horseback, he took to the road with all his men, as softliest he might, and returned to his own dominions. However (forthat he had a wife) he carried the lady, who was the most distressfulof women, not to Athens, but to a very goodly place he had by the sea, a little without the city, and there entertained her in secret, causing honourably furnish her with all that was needful. 

The prince's courtiers on the morrow awaited his rising till none, when, hearing nothing, they opened the chamber-doors, which were butclosed, and finding no one, concluded that he was gone somewhitherprivily, to pass some days there at his ease with his fair lady, andgave themselves no farther concern. Things being thus, it chanced nextday that an idiot, entering the ruins where lay the bodies of theprince and Ciuriaci, dragged the latter forth by the halter and wenthaling him after him. The body was, with no little wonderment, recognized by many, who, coaxing the idiot to bring them to the placewhence he had dragged it, there, to the exceeding grief of the wholecity, found the prince's corpse and gave it honourable burial. Then, enquiring for the authors of so heinous a crime and finding that theDuke of Athens was no longer there, but had departed by stealth, theyconcluded, even as was the case, that it must be he who had done thisand carried off the lady; whereupon they straightway substituted abrother of the dead man to their prince and incited him with all theirmight to vengeance. The new prince, being presently certified byvarious other circumstances that it was as they had surmised, summonedhis friends and kinsmen and servants from divers parts and promptlylevying a great and goodly and powerful army, set out to make war uponthe Duke of Athens. 

The latter, hearing of this, on like wise mustered all his forces forhis own defence, and to his aid came many lords, amongst whom theEmperor of Constantinople sent Constantine his son and Manual hisnephew, with a great and goodly following. The two princes werehonourably received by the duke and yet more so by the duchess, forthat she was their sister, [117] and matters drawing thus daily nearerunto war, taking her occasion, she sent for them both one day to herchamber and there, with tears galore and many words, related to themthe whole story, acquainting them with the causes of the war. Moreover, she discovered to them the affront done her by the duke inthe matter of the woman whom it was believed he privily entertained, and complaining sore thereof, besought them to apply to the mattersuch remedy as best they might, for the honour of the duke and her ownsolacement. 

[Footnote 117: _i. E. _ sister to the one and cousin to the other. ]

The young men already knew all the facts as it had been; wherefore, without enquiring farther, they comforted the duchess, as best theymight, and filled her with good hope. Then, having learned from herwhere the lady abode, they took their leave and having a mind to seethe latter, for that they had oftentimes heard her commended formarvellous beauty, they besought the duke to show her to them. He, unmindful of that which had befallen the Prince of the Morea forhaving shown her to himself, promised to do this and accordingly nextmorning, having let prepare a magnificent collation in a very goodlygarden that pertained to the lady's place of abode, he carried themand a few others thither to eat with her. Constantine, sitting withAlatiel, fell a-gazing upon her, full of wonderment, avouching inhimself that he had never seen aught so lovely and that certes theduke must needs be held excused, ay, and whatsoever other, to have sofair a creature, should do treason or other foul thing, and looking onher again and again and each time admiring her more, it betided him nootherwise than it had betided the duke; wherefore, taking his leave, enamoured of her, he abandoned all thought of the war and occupiedhimself with considering how he might take her from the duke, carefully concealing his passion the while from every one. 

Whilst he yet burnt in this fire, the time came to go out against thenew prince, who now drew near to the duke's territories; wherefore thelatter and Constantine and all the others, sallied forth of Athensaccording to the given ordinance and betook themselves to the defenceof certain frontiers, so the prince might not avail to advancefarther. When they had lain there some days, Constantine having hismind and thought still intent upon the lady and conceiving that, nowthe duke was no longer near her, he might very well avail toaccomplish his pleasure, feigned himself sore indisposed of hisperson, to have an occasion of returning to Athens; wherefore, withthe duke's leave, committing his whole power to Manuel, he returned toAthens to his sister, and there, after some days, putting her upontalk of the affront which herseemed she suffered from the duke byreason of the lady whom he entertained, he told her that, an it likedher, he would soon ease her thereof by causing take the lady fromwhereas she was and carry her off. The duchess, conceiving that he didthis of regard for herself and not for love of the lady, answered thatit liked her exceeding well so but it might be done on such wise thatthe duke should never know that she had been party thereto, whichConstantine fully promised her, and thereupon she consented that heshould do as seemed best to him. 

Constantine, accordingly, let secretly equip a light vessel and sentit one evening to the neighbourhood of the garden where the ladyabode; then, having taught certain of his men who were on board whatthey had to do, he repaired with others to the lady's pavilion, wherehe was cheerfully received by those in her service and indeed by thelady herself, who, at his instance, betook herself with him to thegarden, attended by her servitors and his companions. There, making ashe would speak with her on the duke's part, he went with her alonetowards a gate, which gave upon the sea and had already been opened byone of his men, and calling the bark thither with the given signal, hecaused suddenly seize the lady and carry her aboard; then, turning toher people, he said to them, 'Let none stir or utter a word, an hewould not die; for that I purpose not to rob the duke of his wench, but to do away the affront which he putteth upon my sister. '

To this none dared make answer; whereupon Constantine, embarking withhis people and seating himself by the side of the weeping lady, badethrust the oars into the water and make off. Accordingly, they put outto sea and not hieing, but flying, [118] came, after a little afterdaybreak on the morrow, to Egina, where they landed and took rest, whilst Constantine solaced himself awhile with the lady, who bemoanedher ill-fated beauty. Thence, going aboard the bark again, they madetheir way, in a few days, to Chios, where it pleased Constantine totake up his sojourn, as in a place of safety, for fear of his father'sresentment and lest the stolen lady should be taken from him. Therethe fair lady bewailed her ill fate some days, but, being presentlycomforted by Constantine, she began, as she had done otherwhiles, totake her pleasure of that which fortune had foreordained to her. 

[Footnote 118: _Non vogando, ma volando. _]

Things being at this pass, Osbech, King of the Turks, who abode incontinual war with the Emperor, came by chance to Smyrna, wherehearing how Constantine abode in Chios, without any precaution, leading a wanton life with a mistress of his, whom he had stolen away, he repaired thither one night with some light-armed ships and enteringthe city by stealth with some of his people, took many in their beds, ere they knew of the enemy's coming. Some, who, taking the alert, hadrun to arms, he slew and having burnt the whole place, carried thebooty and captives on board the ships and returned to Smyrna. Whenthey arrived there, Osbech, who was a young man, passing his prisonersin review, found the fair lady among them and knowing her for her whohad been taken with Constantine asleep in bed, was mightily rejoicedat sight of her. Accordingly, he made her his wife without delay, andcelebrating the nuptials forthright, lay with her some months in alljoyance. 

Meanwhile, the Emperor, who had, before these things came to pass, been in treaty with Bassano, King of Cappadocia, to the end that heshould come down upon Osbech from one side with his power, whilsthimself assailed him on the other, but had not yet been able to cometo a full accord with him, for that he was unwilling to grant certainthings which Bassano demanded and which he deemed unreasonable, hearing what had betided his son and chagrined beyond measure thereat, without hesitating farther, did that which the King of Cappadociaasked and pressed him as most he might to fall upon Osbech, whilsthimself made ready to come down upon him from another quarter. Osbech, hearing this, assembled his army, ere he should be straitened betweentwo such puissant princes, and marched against Bassano, leaving hisfair lady at Smyrna, in charge of a trusty servant and friend of his. After some time he encountered the King of Cappadocia and giving himbattle, was slain in the mellay and his army discomfited anddispersed; whereupon Bassano advanced in triumph towards Smyrna, unopposed, and all the folk submitted to him by the way, as to aconqueror. 

Meanwhile, Osbech's servant, Antiochus by name, in whose charge thelady had been left, seeing her so fair, forgot his plighted faith tohis friend and master and became enamoured of her, for all he was aman in years. Urged by love and knowing her tongue (the which wasmighty agreeable to her, as well as it might be to one whom it hadbehoved for some years live as she were deaf and dumb, for that sheunderstood none neither was understanded of any) he began, in a fewdays, to be so familiar with her that, ere long, having no regard totheir lord and master who was absent in the field, they passed fromfriendly commerce to amorous privacy, taking marvellous pleasure oneof the other between the sheets. When they heard that Osbech wasdefeated and slain and that Bassano came carrying all before him, theytook counsel together not to await him there and laying hands on greatpart of the things of most price that were there pertaining to Osbech, gat them privily to Rhodes, where they had not long abidden ereAntiochus sickened unto death. 

As chance would have it, there was then in lodging with him a merchantof Cyprus, who was much loved of him and his fast friend, andAntiochus, feeling himself draw to his end, bethought himself to leavehim both his possessions and his beloved lady; wherefore, being nownigh upon death, he called them both to him and bespoke them thus, 'Ifeel myself, without a doubt, passing away, which grieveth me, forthat never had I such delight in life as I presently have. Of onething, indeed, I die most content, in that, since I must e'en die, Isee myself die in the arms of those twain whom I love over all othersthat be in the world, to wit, in thine, dearest friend, and in thoseof this lady, whom I have loved more than mine own self, since first Iknew her. True, it grieveth me to feel that, when I am dead, she willabide here a stranger, without aid or counsel; and it were yet moregrievous to me, did I not know thee here, who wilt, I trust, have thatsame care of her, for the love of me, which thou wouldst have had ofmyself. Wherefore, I entreat thee, as most I may, if it come to passthat I die, that thou take my goods and her into thy charge and dowith them and her that which thou deemest may be for the solacement ofmy soul. And thou, dearest lady, I prithee forget me not after mydeath, so I may vaunt me, in the other world, of being beloved herebelow of the fairest lady ever nature formed; of which two things anyou will give me entire assurance, I shall depart without misgivingand comforted. '

The merchant his friend and the lady, hearing these words, wept, andwhen he had made an end of his speech, they comforted him and promisedhim upon their troth to do that which he asked, if it came to passthat he died. He tarried not long, but presently departed this lifeand was honourably interred of them. A few days after, the merchanthaving despatched all his business in Rhodes and purposing to returnto Cyprus on board a Catalan carrack that was there, asked the fairlady what she had a mind to do, for that it behoved him return toCyprus. She answered that, an it pleased him, she would gladly go withhim, hoping for Antiochus his love to be of him entreated and regardedas a sister. The merchant replied that he was content to do her everypleasure, and the better to defend her from any affront that might beoffered her, ere they came to Cyprus, he avouched that she was hiswife. Accordingly, they embarked on board the ship and were given alittle cabin on the poop, where, that the fact might not belie hiswords, he lay with her in one very small bed. Whereby there came aboutthat which was not intended of the one or the other of them atdeparting Rhodes, to wit, that--darkness and commodity and the heat ofthe bed, matters of no small potency, inciting them, --drawn by equalappetite and forgetting both the friendship and the love of Antiochusdead, they fell to dallying with each other and before they reachedBaffa, whence the Cypriot came, they had clapped up an alliancetogether. 

At Baffa she abode some time with the merchant till, as chance wouldhave it, there came thither, for his occasions, a gentleman by nameAntigonus, great of years and greater yet of wit, but little ofwealth, for that, intermeddling in the affairs of the King of Cyprus, fortune had in many things been contrary to him. Chancing one day topass by the house where the fair lady dwelt with the merchant, who wasthen gone with his merchandise into Armenia, he espied her at a windowand seeing her very beautiful, fell to gazing fixedly upon her andpresently began to recollect that he must have seen her otherwhere, but where he could on no wise call to mind. As for the lady, who hadlong been the sport of fortune, but the term of whose ills was nowdrawing near, she no sooner set eyes on Antigonus than she rememberedto have seen him at Alexandria in no mean station in her father'sservice; wherefore, conceiving a sudden hope of yet by his aidregaining her royal estate, and knowing her merchant to be abroad, shelet call him to her as quickliest she might and asked him, blushing, an he were not, as she supposed, Antigonus of Famagosta. He answeredthat he was and added, 'Madam, meseemeth I know you, but on no wisecan I remember me where I have seen you; wherefore I pray you, an itmislike you not, put me in mind who you are. '

The lady hearing that it was indeed he, to his great amazement, casther arms about his neck, weeping sore, and presently asked him if hehad never seen her in Alexandria. Antigonus, hearing this, incontinentknew her for the Soldan's daughter Alatiel, who was thought to haveperished at sea, and would fain have paid her the homage due to herquality; but she would on no wise suffer it and besought him to sitwith her awhile. Accordingly, seating himself beside her, he asked herrespectfully how and when and whence she came thither, seeing that itwas had for certain, through all the land of Egypt, that she had beendrowned at sea years agone. 'Would God, ' replied she, 'it had been so, rather than that I should have had the life I have had; and I doubtnot but my father would wish the like, if ever he came to know it. '

So saying, she fell anew to weeping wonder-sore; whereupon quothAntigonus to her, 'Madam, despair not ere it behove you; but, an itplease you, relate to me your adventures and what manner of life yourshath been; it may be the matter hath gone on such wise that, withGod's aid, we may avail to find an effectual remedy. ' 'Antigonus, 'answered the fair lady, 'when I beheld thee, meseemed I saw my father, and moved by that love and tenderness, which I am bounden to bear him, I discovered myself to thee, having it in my power to conceal myselffrom thee, and few persons could it have befallen me to look upon inwhom I could have been so well-pleased as I am to have seen and knownthee before any other; wherefore that which in my ill fortune I havestill kept hidden, to thee, as to a father, I will discover. If, afterthou hast heard it, thou see any means of restoring me to my pristineestate, prithee use it; but, if thou see none, I beseech thee nevertell any that thou hast seen me or heard aught of me. '

This said, she recounted to him, still weeping, that which hadbefallen her from the time of her shipwreck on Majorca up to thatmoment; whereupon he fell a-weeping for pity and after consideringawhile, 'Madam, ' said he, 'since in your misfortunes it hath beenhidden who you are, I will, without fail, restore you, dearer thanever, to your father and after to the King of Algarve to wife. ' Beingquestioned of her of the means, he showed her orderly that which wasto do, and lest any hindrance should betide through delay, hepresently returned to Famagosta and going in to the king, said to him, 'My lord, an it like you, you have it in your power at once to doyourself exceeding honour and me, who am poor through you, a greatservice, at no great cost of yours. ' The king asked how and Antigonusreplied, 'There is come to Baffa the Soldan's fair young daughter, whohath so long been reputed drowned and who, to save her honour, hathlong suffered very great unease and is presently in poor case andwould fain return to her father. An it pleased you send her to himunder my guard, it would be much to your honour and to my weal, nor doI believe that such a service would ever be forgotten of the Soldan. '

The king, moved by a royal generosity of mind, answered forthrightthat he would well and sending for Alatiel, brought her with allhonour and worship to Famagosta, where she was received by himself andthe queen with inexpressible rejoicing and entertained withmagnificent hospitality. Being presently questioned of the king andqueen of her adventures, she answered according to the instructionsgiven her by Antigonus and related everything;[119] and a few daysafter, at her request, the king sent her, under the governance ofAntigonus, with a goodly and worshipful company of men and women, backto the Soldan, of whom let none ask if she was received withrejoicing, as also was Antigonus and all her company. 

[Footnote 119: Sic (_contò tutto_); but this is an oversight of theauthor's, as it is evident from what follows that she did _not_ relateeverything. ]

As soon as she was somewhat rested, the Soldan desired to know how itchanced that she was yet alive and where she had so long abidden, without having ever let him know aught of her condition; whereupon thelady, who had kept Antigonus his instructions perfectly in mind, bespoke him thus, 'Father mine, belike the twentieth day after mydeparture from you, our ship, having sprung a leak in a terriblestorm, struck in the night upon certain coasts yonder in theWest, [120] near a place called Aguamorta, and what became of the menwho were aboard I know not nor could ever learn; this much only do Iremember that, the day come and I arisen as it were from death tolife, the shattered vessel was espied of the country people, who ranfrom all the parts around to plunder it. I and two of my women werefirst set ashore and the latter were incontinent seized by certain ofthe young men, who fled with them, one this way and the other that, and what came of them I never knew. 

[Footnote 120: Lit. Ponant (_Ponente_), _i. E. _ the Western coasts ofthe Mediterranean, as opposed to the Eastern or Levant. ]

As for myself, I was taken, despite my resistance, by two young men, and haled along by the hair, weeping sore the while; but, as theycrossed over a road, to enter a great wood, there passed by four menon horseback, whom when my ravishers saw, they loosed me forthwith andtook to flight. The new comers, who seemed to me persons of greatauthority, seeing this, ran where I was and asked me many questions;whereto I answered much, but neither understood nor was understandedof them. However, after long consultation they set me on one of theirhorses and carried me to a convent of women vowed to religion, according to their law, where, whatever they said, I was of all theladies kindly received and still entreated with honour, and there withgreat devotion I joined them in serving Saint Waxeth-in-Deepdene, asaint for whom the women of that country have a vast regard. 

After I had abidden with them awhile and learned somewhat of theirlanguage, they questioned me of who I was and fearing, an I told thetruth, to be expelled from amongst them, as an enemy of their faith, Ianswered that I was the daughter of a great gentleman of Cyprus, whowas sending me to be married in Crete, when, as ill-luck would haveit, we had run thither and suffered shipwreck. Moreover, many a timeand in many things I observed their customs, for fear of worse, andbeing asked by the chief of the ladies, her whom they call abbess, ifI wished to return thence to Cyprus, I answered that I desired nothingso much; but she, tender of my honour, would never consent to trust meto any person who was bound for Cyprus, till some two months agone, when there came thither certain gentlemen of France with their ladies. One of the latter being a kinswoman of the abbess and she hearing thatthey were bound for Jerusalem, to visit the Sepulchre where He whomthey hold God was buried, after He had been slain by the Jews, shecommended me to their care and besought them to deliver me to myfather in Cyprus. 

With what honour these gentlemen entreated me and how cheerfully theyreceived me together with their ladies, it were a long story to tell;suffice it to say that we took ship and came, after some days, toBaffa, where finding myself arrived and knowing none in the place, Iknew not what to say to the gentlemen, who would fain have deliveredme to my father, according to that which had been enjoined them of thereverend lady; but God, taking pity belike on my affliction, broughtme Antigonus upon the beach what time we disembarked at Baffa, whom Istraightway hailed and in our tongue, so as not to be understood ofthe gentlemen and their ladies, bade him receive me as a daughter. Hepromptly apprehended me and receiving me with a great show of joy, entertained the gentlemen and their ladies with such honour as hispoverty permitted and carried me to the King of Cyprus, who receivedme with such hospitality and hath sent me back to you [with suchcourtesy] as might never be told of me. If aught remain to be said, let Antigonus, who hath ofttimes heard from me these adventures, recount it. '

Accordingly Antigonus, turning to the Soldan, said, 'My lord, even asshe hath many a time told me and as the gentlemen and ladies, withwhom she came, said to me, so hath she recounted unto you. Only onepart hath she forborne to tell you, the which methinketh she leftunsaid for that it beseemeth her not to tell it, to wit, how much thegentlemen and ladies, with whom she came, said of the chaste andmodest life which she led with the religious ladies and of her virtueand commendable manners and the tears and lamentations of hercompanions, both men and women, when, having restored her to me, theytook leave of her. Of which things were I fain to tell in full thatwhich they said to me, not only this present day, but the ensuingnight would not suffice unto us; be it enough to say only that(according to that which their words attested and that also which Ihave been able to see thereof, ) you may vaunt yourself of having thefairest daughter and the chastest and most virtuous of any prince thatnowadays weareth a crown. '

The Soldan was beyond measure rejoiced at these things and besoughtGod again and again to vouchsafe him of His grace the power ofworthily requiting all who had succoured his daughter and especiallythe King of Cyprus, by whom she had been sent back to him with honour. After some days, having caused prepare great gifts for Antigonus, hegave him leave to return to Cyprus and rendered, both by letters andby special ambassadors, the utmost thanks to the king for that whichhe had done with his daughter. Then desiring that that which was begunshould have effect, to wit, that she should be the wife of the King ofAlgarve, he acquainted the latter with the whole matter and wrote tohim to boot, that, an it pleased him have her, he should send for her. The King of Algarve was mightily rejoiced at this news and sending forher in state, received her joyfully; and she, who had lain with eightmen belike ten thousand times, was put to bed to him for a maid andmaking him believe that she was so, lived happily with him as hisqueen awhile after; wherefore it was said, 'Lips for kissing forfeitno favour; nay, they renew as the moon doth ever. '"

THE EIGHTH STORY

[Day the Second]

 THE COUNT OF ANTWERP, BEING FALSELY ACCUSED, GOETH INTO EXILE AND LEAVETH HIS TWO CHILDREN IN DIFFERENT PLACES IN ENGLAND, WHITHER, AFTER AWHILE, RETURNING IN DISGUISE AND FINDING THEM IN GOOD CASE, HE TAKETH SERVICE AS A HORSEBOY IN THE SERVICE OF THE KING OF FRANCE AND BEING APPROVED INNOCENT, IS RESTORED TO HIS FORMER ESTATE

The ladies sighed amain over the fortunes of the fair Saracen; but whoknoweth what gave rise to those sighs? Maybe there were some of themwho sighed no less for envy of such frequent nuptials than for pity ofAlatiel. But, leaving that be for the present, after they had laughedat Pamfilo's last words, the queen, seeing his story ended, turned toElisa and bade her follow on with one of hers. Elisa cheerfully obeyedand began as follows: "A most ample field is that wherein we go to-daya-ranging, nor is there any of us but could lightly enough run, notone, but half a score courses there, so abounding hath Fortune made itin her strange and grievous chances; wherefore, to come to tell of oneof these latter, which are innumerable, I say that:

When the Roman Empire was transferred from the French to theGermans, [121] there arose between the one and the other nation anexceeding great enmity and a grievous and continual war, by reasonwhereof, as well for the defence of their own country as for theoffence of that of others, the King of France and a son of his, withall the power of their realm and of such friends and kinsfolk as theycould command, levied a mighty army to go forth upon the foe; and erethey proceeded thereunto, --not to leave the realm withoutgovernance, --knowing Gautier, Count of Antwerp, [122] for a noble anddiscreet gentleman and their very faithful friend and servant, and forthat (albeit he was well versed in the art of war) he seemed to themmore apt unto things delicate than unto martial toils, they left himvicar general in their stead over all the governance of the realm ofFrance and went on their way. Gautier accordingly addressed himselfwith both order and discretion to the office committed unto him, stillconferring of everything with the queen and her daughter-in-law, whom, for all they were left under his custody and jurisdiction, he honourednone the less as his liege ladies and mistresses. 

[Footnote 121: _i. E. _ A. D. 912, when, upon the death of Louis III, thelast prince of the Carlovingian race, Conrad, Duke of Franconia, waselected Emperor and the Empire, which had till then been hereditary inthe descendants of Charlemagne, became elective and remainedthenceforth in German hands. ]

[Footnote 122: _Anguersa_, the old form of _Anversa_, Antwerp. Allversions that I have seen call Gautier Comte d'_Angers_ or _Angiers_, the translators, who forgot or were unaware that Antwerp, as part ofFlanders, was then a fief of the French crown, apparently taking itfor granted that the mention of the latter city was in error andsubstituting the name of the ancient capital of Anjou on their ownresponsibility. ]

Now this Gautier was exceedingly goodly of his body, being maybeforty years old and as agreeable and well-mannered a gentleman asmight be; and withal, he was the sprightliest and daintiest cavalierknown in those days and he who went most adorned of his person. Hiscountess was dead, leaving him two little children, a boy and a girl, without more, and it befell that, the King of France and his son beingat the war aforesaid and Gautier using much at the court of theaforesaid ladies and speaking often with them of the affairs of thekingdom, the wife of the king's son cast her eyes on him andconsidering his person and his manners with very great affection, wassecretly fired with a fervent love for him. Feeling herself young andlusty and knowing him wifeless, she doubted not but her desire mightlightly be accomplished unto her and thinking nought hindered herthereof but shamefastness, she bethought herself altogether to putthat away and discover to him her passion. Accordingly, being one dayalone and it seeming to her time, she sent for him into her chamber, as though she would discourse with him of other matters. 

The count, whose thought was far from that of the lady, betook himselfto her without any delay and at her bidding, seated himself by herside on a couch; then, they being alone together, he twice asked herthe occasion for which she had caused him come thither; but she madehim no reply. At last, urged by love and grown all vermeil for shame, well nigh in tears and all trembling, with broken speech she thusbegan to say: 'Dearest and sweet friend and my lord, you may easily asa man of understanding apprehend how great is the frailty both of menand of women, and that more, for divers reasons, in one than inanother; wherefore, at the hands of a just judge, the same sin indiverse kinds of qualities of persons should not in equity receive onesame punishment. And who is there will deny that a poor man or a poorwoman, whom it behoveth gain with their toil that which is needful fortheir livelihood, would, an they were stricken with Love's smart andfollowed after him, be far more blameworthy than a lady who is richand idle and to whom nothing is lacking that can flatter her desires?Certes, I believe, no one. For which reason methinketh the thingsaforesaid [to wit, wealth and leisure and luxurious living] shouldfurnish forth a very great measure of excuse on behalf of her whopossesseth them, if, peradventure, she suffer herself lapse intoloving, and the having made choice of a lover of worth and discretionshould stand for the rest, [123] if she who loveth hath done that. These circumstances being both, to my seeming, in myself (besideseveral others which should move me to love, such as my youth and theabsence of my husband), it behoveth now that they rise up in my behalffor the defence of my ardent love in your sight, wherein if they availthat which they should avail in the eyes of men of understanding, Ipray you afford me counsel and succour in that which I shall ask ofyou. True is it, that availing not, for the absence of my husband, towithstand the pricks of the flesh nor the might of love-liking, thewhich are of such potency that they have erst many a time overcome andyet all days long overcome the strongest men, to say nothing of weakwomen, --and enjoying the commodities and the leisures wherein you seeme, I have suffered myself lapse into ensuing Love his pleasures andbecoming enamoured; the which, --albeit, were it known, I acknowledgeit would not be seemly, yet, --being and abiding hidden, I hold[124]well nigh nothing unseemly; more by token that Love hath been insomuchgracious to me that not only hath he not bereft me of due discernmentin the choice of a lover, but hath lent me great plenty thereof[125]to that end, showing me yourself worthy to be loved of a lady such asI, --you whom, if my fancy beguile me not, I hold the goodliest, themost agreeable, the sprightliest and the most accomplished cavalierthat may be found in all the realm of France; and even as I may saythat I find myself without a husband, so likewise are you without awife. Wherefore, I pray you, by the great love which I bear you, thatyou deny me not your love in return, but have compassion on my youth, the which, in very deed, consumeth for you, as ice before the fire. '

[Footnote 123: _i. E. _ of her excuse. ]

[Footnote 124: Lit. Thou holdest (or judges); but _giudichi_ in thetext is apparently a mistake for _giudico_. ]

[Footnote 125: _i. E. _ of discernment. ]

With these words her tears welled up in such abundance that, albeitshe would fain have proffered him yet other prayers, she had no powerto speak farther, but, bowing her face, as if overcome, she letherself fall, weeping, her head on the count's bosom. The latter, whowas a very loyal gentleman, began with the gravest reproofs to rebukeso fond a passion and to repel the princess, who would fain have castherself on his neck, avouching to her with oaths that he had liefer betorn limb from limb than consent unto such an offence against hislord's honour, whether in himself or in another. The lady, hearingthis, forthright forgot her love and kindling into a furious rage, said, 'Felon knight that you are, shall I be this wise flouted by youof my desire? Now God forbid, since you would have me die, but I haveyou put to death or driven from the world!' So saying, she set herhands to her tresses and altogether disordered and tore them; then, rending her raiment at the breast, she fell to crying aloud andsaying, 'Help! Help! The Count of Antwerp would do me violence. ' Thecount, seeing this, misdoubting far more the courtiers' envy than hisown conscience and fearful lest, by reason of this same envy, morecredence should be given to the lady's malice than to his owninnocence, started up and departing the chamber and the palace asquickliest he might, fled to his own house, where, without takingother counsel, he set his children on horseback and mounting himselfto horse, made off with them, as most he might, towards Calais. 

Meanwhile, many ran to the princess's clamour and seeing her in thatplight and hearing [her account of] the cause of her outcry, not onlygave credence to her words, but added[126] that the count's gallantbearing and debonair address had long been used by him to win to thatend. Accordingly, they ran in a fury to his houses to arrest him, butfinding him not, first plundered them all and after razed them to thefoundations. The news, in its perverted shape, came presently to thearmy to the king and his son, who, sore incensed, doomed Gautier andhis descendants to perpetual banishment, promising very great guerdonsto whoso should deliver him to them alive or dead. 

[Footnote 126: Sic (_aggiunsero_); but _semble_ should mean "believed, in addition. "]

The count, woeful for that by his flight he had, innocent as he was, approved himself guilty, having, without making himself known or beingrecognized, reached Calais with his children, passed hastily over intoEngland and betook himself in mean apparel to London, wherein ere heentered, with many words he lessoned his two little children, andespecially in two things; first, that they should brook with patiencethe poor estate, whereunto, without their fault, fortune had broughtthem, together with himself, --and after, that with all wariness theyshould keep themselves from ever discovering unto any whence or whosechildren they were, as they held life dear. The boy, Louis by name, who was some nine and the girl, who was called Violante and was someseven years old, both, as far as their tender age comported, very wellapprehended their father's lessons and showed it thereafter by deed. That this might be the better done, [127] he deemed it well to changetheir names; wherefore he named the boy Perrot and the girl Jeannetteand all three, entering London, meanly clad, addressed themselves togo about asking alms, like as we see yonder French vagabonds do. 

[Footnote 127: _i. E. _ That the secret might be the better kept. ]

They being on this account one morning at a church door, it chancedthat a certain great lady, the wife of one of the king's marshals ofEngland, coming forth of the church, saw the count and his two littleones asking alms and questioned him whence he was and if the childrenwere his, to which he replied that he was from Picardy and that, byreason of the misfeasance of a rakehelly elder son of his, it hadbehoved him depart the country with these two, who were his. The lady, who was pitiful, cast her eyes on the girl and being much taken withher, for that she was handsome, well-mannered and engaging, said, 'Honest man, an thou be content to leave thy daughter with me, I willwillingly take her, for that she hath a good favour, and if she provean honest woman, I will in due time marry her on such wise that sheshall fare well. ' This offer was very pleasing to the count, whopromptly answered, 'Yes, ' and with tears gave up the girl to the lady, urgently commending her to her care. 

Having thus disposed of his daughter, well knowing to whom, heresolved to abide there no longer and accordingly, begging his wayacross the island, came, not without sore fatigue, as one who wasunused to go afoot, into Wales. Here dwelt another of the king'smarshals, who held great state and entertained a numerous household, and to his court both the count and his son whiles much resorted toget food. Certain sons of the said marshal and other gentlemen'schildren being there engaged in such boyish exercises as running andleaping, Perrot began to mingle with them and to do as dextrously asany of the rest, or more so, each feat that was practised among them. The marshal, chancing whiles to see this and being much taken withthe manners and fashion of the boy, asked who he was and was told thathe was the son of a poor man who came there bytimes for alms;whereupon he caused require him of the count, and the latter, whoindeed besought God of nought else, freely resigned the boy to him, grievous as it was to him to be parted from him. Having thus providedhis son and daughter, he determined to abide no longer in England andpassing over into Ireland, made his way, as best he might, toStamford, where he took service with a knight belonging to an earl ofthe country, doing all such things as pertain unto a lackey or ahorseboy, and there, without being known of any, he abode a greatwhile in unease and travail galore. 

Meanwhile Violante, called Jeannette, went waxing with the gentlewomanin London in years and person and beauty and was in such favour bothwith the lady and her husband and with every other of the house andwhoso else knew her, that it was a marvellous thing to see; nor wasthere any who noted her manners and fashions but avouched her worthyof every greatest good and honour. Wherefore the noble lady who hadreceived her from her father, without having ever availed to learn whohe was, otherwise than as she had heard from himself, was purposed tomarry her honourably according to that condition whereof she deemedher. But God, who is a just observer of folk's deserts, knowing her tobe of noble birth and to bear, without fault, the penalty of another'ssin, ordained otherwise, and fain must we believe that He of Hisbenignity permitted that which came to pass to the end that the gentledamsel might not fall into the hands of a man of low estate. 

The noble lady with whom Jeannette dwelt had of her husband one onlyson, whom both she and his father loved with an exceeding love, bothfor that he was their child and that he deserved it by reason of hisworth and virtues. He, being some six years older than Jeannette andseeing her exceeding fair and graceful, became so sore enamoured ofher that he saw nought beyond her; yet, for that he deemed her to beof mean extraction, not only dared he not demand her of his father andmother to wife, but, fearing to be blamed for having set himself tolove unworthily, he held his love, as most he might, hidden; whereforeit tormented him far more than if he had discovered it; and thus itcame to pass that, for excess of chagrin, he fell sick and thatgrievously. Divers physicians were called in to medicine him, who, having noted one and another symptom of his case and beingnevertheless unable to discover what ailed him, all with one accorddespaired of his recovery; whereat the young man's father and mothersuffered dolour and melancholy so great that greater might not bebrooked, and many a time, with piteous prayers, they questioned him ofthe cause of his malady, whereto or sighs he gave for answer orreplied that he felt himself all wasting away. 

It chanced one day that, what while a doctor, young enough, butexceedingly deeply versed in science, sat by him and held him by thearm in that part where leaches use to seek the pulse, Jeannette, who, of regard for his mother, tended him solicitously, entered, on someoccasion or another, the chamber where the young man lay. When thelatter saw her, without word said or gesture made, he felt the amorousardour redouble in his heart, wherefore his pulse began to beatstronglier than of wont; the which the leach incontinent noted andmarvelling, abode still to see how long this should last. As soon asJeannette left the chamber, the beating abated, wherefore it seemed tothe physician he had gotten impartment of the cause of the young man'sailment, and after waiting awhile, he let call Jeannette to him, as hewould question her of somewhat, still holding the sick man by the arm. She came to him incontinent and no sooner did she enter than thebeating of the youth's pulse returned and she being gone again, ceased. Thereupon, it seeming to the physician that he had full enoughassurance, he rose and taking the young man's father and mother apart, said to them, 'The healing of your son is not in the succour ofphysicians, but abideth in the hands of Jeannette, whom, as I have bysure signs manifestly recognized, the young man ardently loveth, albeit, for all I can see, she is unaware thereof. You know now whatyou have to do, if his life be dear to you. '

The gentleman and his lady, hearing this, were well pleased, inasmuchas some means was found for his recoverance, albeit it irked them sorethat the means in question should be that whereof they misdoubtedthem, to wit, that they should give Jeannette to their son to wife. Accordingly, the physician being gone, they went into the sick man andthe lady bespoke him thus: 'Son mine, I could never have believed thatthou wouldst keep from me any desire of thine, especially seeingthyself pine away for lack thereof; for that thou shouldst have beenand shouldst be assured that there is nought I can for thycontentment, were it even less than seemly, which I would not do asfor myself. But, since thou hast e'en done this, God the Lord hathbeen more pitiful over thee than thou thyself and that thou mayst notdie of this sickness, hath shown me the cause of thine ill, which isno otherwhat than excess of love for some damsel or other, whoever shemay be; and this, indeed, thou needest not have thought shame todiscover, for that thine age requireth it, and wert thou notenamoured, I should hold thee of very little account. Wherefore, myson, dissemble not with me, but in all security discover to me thineevery desire and put away from thee the melancholy and thethought-taking which be upon thee and from which proceedeth this thysickness and take comfort and be assured that there is nothing of thatwhich thou mayst impose on me for thy satisfaction but I will do it tothe best of my power, as she who loveth thee more than her life. Banish shamefastness and fearfulness and tell me if I can do aught tofurther thy passion; and if thou find me not diligent therein or if Ibring it not to effect for thee, account me the cruellest mother thatever bore son. '

The young man, hearing his mother's words, was at first abashed, butpresently, bethinking himself that none was better able than she tosatisfy his wishes, he put away shamefastness and said thus to her:'Madam, nothing hath wrought so effectually with me to keep my lovehidden as my having noted of most folk that, once they are grown inyears, they choose not to remember them of having themselves beenyoung. But, since in this I find you reasonable, not only will I notdeny that to be true which you say you have observed, but I will, toboot, discover to you of whom [I am enamoured], on condition that youwill, to the best of your power, give effect to your promise; and thusmay you have me whole again. ' Whereto the lady (trusting overmuch inthat which was not to come to pass for her on such wise as she deemedin herself) answered freely that he might in all assurance discover toher his every desire, for that she would without any delay addressherself to contrive that he should have his pleasure. 'Madam, ' thensaid the youth, 'the exceeding beauty and commendable fashions of ourJeannette and my unableness to make her even sensible, still less tomove her to pity, of my love and the having never dared to discover itunto any have brought me whereas you see me; and if that which youhave promised me come not, one way or another, to pass, you may beassured that my life will be brief. '

The lady, to whom it appeared more a time for comfort than forreproof, said, smilingly, 'Alack, my son, hast thou then for thissuffered thyself to languish thus? Take comfort and leave me do, oncethou shalt be recovered. ' The youth, full of good hope, in a veryshort time showed signs of great amendment, whereas the lady, beingmuch rejoiced, began to cast about how she might perform that whichshe had promised him. Accordingly, calling Jeannette to her one day, she asked her very civilly, as by way of a jest, if she had a lover;whereupon she waxed all red and answered, 'Madam, it concerneth notneither were it seemly in a poor damsel like myself, banished fromhouse and home and abiding in others' service, to think of love. 'Quoth the lady, 'An you have no lover, we mean to give you one, inwhom you may rejoice and live merry and have more delight of yourbeauty, for it behoveth not that so handsome a girl as you are abidewithout a lover. ' To this Jeannette made answer, 'Madam, you took mefrom my father's poverty and have reared me as a daughter, whereforeit behoveth me to do your every pleasure; but in this I will nowisecomply with you, and therein methinketh I do well. If it please yougive me a husband, him do I purpose to love, but none other; for that, since of the inheritance of my ancestors nought is left me save onlyhonour, this latter I mean to keep and preserve as long as life shallendure to me. '

This speech seemed to the lady very contrary to that whereto shethought to come for the keeping of her promise to her son, --albeit, like a discreet woman as she was, she inwardly much commended thedamsel therefor, --and she said, 'How now, Jeannette? If our lord theking, who is a young cavalier, as thou art a very fair damsel, wouldfain have some easance of thy love, wouldst thou deny it to him?'Whereto she answered forthright, 'The king might do me violence, butof my consent he should never avail to have aught of me save what washonourable. ' The lady, seeing how she was minded, left parleying withher and bethought herself to put her to the proof; wherefore she toldher son that, whenas he should be recovered, she would contrive toget her alone with him in a chamber, so he might make shift to havehis pleasure of her, saying that it appeared to her unseemly that sheshould, procuress-wise, plead for her son and solicit her own maid. 

With this the young man was nowise content and presently waxedgrievously worse, which when his mother saw, she opened her mind toJeannette, but, finding her more constant than ever, recounted whatshe had done to her husband, and he and she resolved of one accord, grievous though it seemed to them, to give her to him to wife, choosing rather to have their son alive with a wife unsorted to hisquality than dead without any; and so, after much parley, they did;whereat Jeannette was exceeding content and with a devout heartrendered thanks to God, who had not forgotten her; but for all thatshe never avouched herself other than the daughter of a Picard. As forthe young man, he presently recovered and celebrating his nuptials, the gladdest man alive, proceeded to lead a merry life with his bride. 

Meanwhile, Perrot, who had been left in Wales with the King ofEngland's marshal, waxed likewise in favour with his lord and grew upvery goodly of his person and doughty as any man in the island, insomuch that neither in tourneying nor jousting nor in any other actof arms was there any in the land who could cope with him; whereforehe was everywhere known and famous under the name of Perrot thePicard. And even as God had not forgotten his sister, so on like wiseHe showed that He had him also in mind; for that a pestilentialsickness, being come into those parts, carried off well nigh half thepeople thereof, besides that most part of those who survived fled forfear into other lands; wherefore the whole country appeared desert. Inthis mortality, the marshal his lord and his lady and only son, together with many others, brothers and nephews and kinsmen, all died, nor was any left of all his house save a daughter, just husband-ripe, and Perrot, with sundry other serving folk. The pestilence beingsomewhat abated, the young lady, with the approof and by the counselof some few gentlemen of the country[128] left alive, took Perrot, forthat he was a man of worth and prowess, to husband and made him lordof all that had fallen to her by inheritance; nor was it long ere theKing of England, hearing the marshal to be dead and knowing the worthof Perrot the Picard, substituted him in the dead man's room and madehim his marshal. This, in brief, is what came of the two innocentchildren of the Count of Antwerp, left by him for lost. 

[Footnote 128: _Paesani_, lit. , countrymen; but Boccaccio evidentlyuses the word in the sense of "vassals. "]

Eighteen years were now passed since the count's flight from Paris, when, as he abode in Ireland, having suffered many things in a verysorry way of life, there took him a desire to learn, as he might, whatwas come of his children. Wherefore, seeing himself altogether changedof favour from that which he was wont to be and feeling himself, forlong exercise, grown more robust of his person than he had been whenyoung and abiding in ease and idlesse, he took leave of him with whomhe had so long abidden and came, poor and ill enough in case, toEngland. Thence he betook himself whereas he had left Perrot and foundhim a marshal and a great lord and saw him robust and goodly ofperson; the which was mighty pleasing unto him, but he would not makehimself known to him till he should have learned how it was withJeannette. Accordingly, he set out and stayed not till he came toLondon, where, cautiously enquiring of the lady with whom he had lefthis daughter and of her condition, he found Jeannette married to herson, which greatly rejoiced him and he counted all his past adversitya little thing, since he had found his children again alive and ingood case. 

Then, desirous of seeing Jeannette, he began beggarwise, to haunt theneighbourhood of her house, where one day Jamy Lamiens, (for so wasJeannette's husband called, ) espying him and having compassion on him, for that he saw him old and poor, bade one of his servants bring himin and give him to eat for the love of God, which the man readily did. Now Jeannette had had several children by Jamy, whereof the eldest wasno more than eight years old, and they were the handsomest andsprightliest children in the world. When they saw the count eat, theycame one and all about him and began to caress him, as if, moved bysome occult virtue, they divined him to be their grandfather. He, knowing them for his grandchildren, fell to fondling and making muchof them, wherefore the children would not leave him, albeit he who hadcharge of their governance called them. Jeannette, hearing this, issued forth of a chamber therenigh and coming whereas the count was, chid them amain and threatened to beat them, an they did not whattheir governor willed. The children began to weep and say that theywould fain abide with that honest man, who loved them better thantheir governor, whereat both the lady and the count laughed. Now thelatter had risen, nowise as a father, but as a poor man, to do honourto his daughter, as to a mistress, and seeing her, felt a marvellouspleasure at his heart. But she nor then nor after knew him any whit, for that he was beyond measure changed from what he was used to be, being grown old and hoar and bearded and lean and swart, and appearedaltogether another man than the count. 

The lady then, seeing that the children were unwilling to leave himand wept, when she would have them go away, bade their governor letthem be awhile and the children thus being with the good man, itchanced that Jamy's father returned and heard from their governor whathad passed, whereupon quoth the marshal, who held Jeannette indespite, 'Let them be, God give them ill-luck! They do but hark backto that whence they sprang. They come by their mother of a vagabondand therefore it is no wonder if they are fain to herd withvagabonds. ' The count heard these words and was mightily chagrinedthereat; nevertheless, he shrugged his shoulders and put up with theaffront, even as he had put up with many others. Jamy, hearing how thechildren had welcomed the honest man, to wit, the count, albeit itmisliked him, nevertheless so loved them that, rather than see themweep, he commanded that, if the good man chose to abide there in anycapacity, he should be received into his service. The count answeredthat he would gladly abide there, but he knew not to do aught otherthan tend horses, whereto he had been used all his lifetime. A horsewas accordingly assigned to him and when he had cared for it, hebusied himself with making sport for the children. 

Whilst fortune handled the Count of Antwerp and his children on suchwise as hath been set out, it befell that the King of France, aftermany truces made with the Germans, died and his son, whose wife wasshe through whom the count had been banished, was crowned in hisplace; and no sooner was the current truce expired than he again begana very fierce war. To his aid the King of England, as a new-madekinsman, despatched much people, under the commandment of Perrot hismarshal and Jamy Lamiens, son of the other marshal, and with them wentthe good man, to wit, the count, who, without being recognized of any, abode a pretty while with the army in the guise of a horseboy, andthere, like a man of mettle as he was, wrought good galore, more thanwas required of him, both with counsels and with deeds. 

During the war, it came to pass that the Queen of France fellgrievously sick and feeling herself nigh unto death, contrite for allher sins, confessed herself unto the Archbishop of Rouen, who was heldof all a very holy and good man. Amongst her other sins, she relatedto him that which the Count of Antwerp had most wrongfully sufferedthrough her; nor was she content to tell it to him alone, nay, butbefore many other men of worth she recounted all as it had passed, beseeching them so to do with the king that the count, an he were onlife, or, if not, one of his children, should be restored to hisestate; after which she lingered not long, but, departing this life, was honourably buried. Her confession, being reported to the king, moved him, after he had heaved divers sighs of regret for the wrongdone to the nobleman, to let cry throughout all the army and in manyother parts, that whoso should give him news of the Count of Antwerpor of either of his children should for each be wonder-well guerdonedof him, for that he held him, upon the queen's confession, innocent ofthat for which he had gone into exile and was minded to restore him tohis first estate and more. 

The count, in his guise of a horseboy, hearing this and being assuredthat it was the truth, [129] betook himself forthright to Jamy Lamiensand prayed him go with him to Perrot, for that he had a mind todiscover to them that which the king went seeking. All three beingthen met together, quoth the count to Perrot, who had it already inmind to discover himself, 'Perrot, Jamy here hath thy sister to wifenor ever had any dowry with her; wherefore, that thy sister may not goundowered, I purpose that he and none other shall, by making theeknown as the son of the Count of Antwerp, have this great reward thatthe king promiseth for thee and for Violante, thy sister and his wife, and myself, who am the Count of Antwerp and your father. ' Perrot, hearing this and looking steadfastly upon him, presently knew him andcast himself, weeping, at his feet and embraced him, saying, 'Fathermine, you are dearly welcome. ' Jamy, hearing first what the countsaid and after seeing what Perrot did, was overcome at once with suchwonderment and such gladness that he scarce knew what he should do. However, after awhile, giving credence to the former's speech and soreashamed for the injurious words he had whiles used to thehostler-count, he let himself fall, weeping, at his feet and humblybesought him pardon of every past affront, the which the count, havingraised him to his feet, graciously accorded him. 

[Footnote 129: _i. E. _ that it was not a snare. ]

Then, after they had all three discoursed awhile of each one's variousadventures and wept and rejoiced together amain, Perrot and Jamy wouldhave reclad the count, who would on nowise suffer it, but willed thatJamy, having first assured himself of the promised guerdon, should, the more to shame the king, present him to the latter in that his thenplight and in his groom's habit. Accordingly, Jamy, followed by thecount and Perrot, presented himself before the king, and offered, provided he would guerdon him according to the proclamation made, toproduce to him the count and his children. The king promptly let bringfor all three a guerdon marvellous in Jamy's eyes and commanded thathe should be free to carry it off, whenas he should in very deedproduce the count and his children, as he promised. Jamy, then, turning himself about and putting forward the count his horseboy andPerrot, said, 'My lord, here be the father and the son; the daughter, who is my wife and who is not here, with God's aid you shall soonsee. '

The king, hearing this, looked at the count and albeit he was sorechanged from that which he was used to be, yet, after he had awhileconsidered him, he knew him and well nigh with tears in his eyesraised him--for that he was on his knees before him--to his feet andkissed and embraced him. Perrot, also, he graciously received andcommanded that the count should incontinent be furnished anew withclothes and servants and horses and harness, according as his qualityrequired, which was straightway done. Moreover, he entreated Jamy withexceeding honour and would fain know every particular of his[130] pastadventures. Then, Jamy being about to receive the magnificent guerdonsappointed him for having discovered the count and his children, theformer said to him, 'Take these of the munificence of our lord theking and remember to tell thy father that thy children, hisgrandchildren and mine, are not by their mother born of a vagabond. 'Jamy, accordingly, took the gifts and sent for his wife and mother toParis, whither came also Perrot's wife; and there they allforegathered in the utmost joyance with the count, whom the king hadreinstated in all his good and made greater than he ever was. Thenall, with Gautier's leave, returned to their several homes and heuntil his death abode in Paris more worshipfully than ever. "

[Footnote 130: _Quære_, the Count's?]

THE NINTH STORY

[Day the Second]

 BERNABO OF GENOA, DUPED BY AMBROGIUOLO, LOSETH HIS GOOD AND COMMANDETH THAT HIS INNOCENT WIFE BE PUT TO DEATH. SHE ESCAPETH AND SERVETH THE SOLDAN IN A MAN'S HABIT. HERE SHE LIGHTETH UPON THE DECEIVER OF HER HUSBAND AND BRINGETH THE LATTER TO ALEXANDRIA, WHERE, HER TRADUCER BEING PUNISHED, SHE RESUMETH WOMAN'S APPAREL AND RETURNETH TO GENOA WITH HER HUSBAND, RICH

Elisa having furnished her due with her pitiful story, Filomena thequeen, who was tall and goodly of person and smiling and agreeable ofaspect beyond any other of her sex, collecting herself, said, "Needsmust the covenant with Dioneo be observed, wherefore, there remainingnone other to tell than he and I, I will tell my story first, and he, for that he asked it as a favour, shall be the last to speak. " Sosaying, she began thus, "There is a proverb oftentimes cited among thecommon folk to the effect that the deceiver abideth[131] at the feetof the deceived; the which meseemeth may by no reasoning be shown tobe true, an it approve not itself by actual occurrences. Wherefore, whilst ensuing the appointed theme, it hath occurred to me, dearestladies, to show you, at the same time, that this is true, even as itis said; nor should it mislike you to hear it, so you may know how tokeep yourselves from deceivers. 

[Footnote 131: _Rimane. _ The verb _rimanere_ is constantly used by theold Italian writers in the sense of "to become, " so that the proverbcited in the text may be read "The deceiver becometh (_i. E. _ findethhimself in the end) at the feet (_i. E. _ at the mercy) of the persondeceived. "]

There were once at Paris in an inn certain very considerable Italianmerchants, who were come thither, according to their usance, some onone occasion and some on another, and having one evening among otherssupped all together merrily, they fell to devising of divers matters, and passing from one discourse to another, they came at last to speakof their wives, whom they had left at home, and one said jestingly, 'Iknow not how mine doth; but this I know well, that, whenas therecometh to my hand here any lass that pleaseth me, I leave on one sidethe love I bear my wife and take of the other such pleasure as I may. ''And I, ' quoth another, 'do likewise, for that if I believe that mywife pusheth her fortunes [in my absence, ] she doth it, and if Ibelieve it not, still she doth it; wherefore tit for tat be it; an assstill getteth as good as he giveth. '[132] A third, following on, camewell nigh to the same conclusion, and in brief all seemed agreed uponthis point, that the wives they left behind had no mind to lose timein their husbands' absence. One only, who hight Bernabo Lomellini ofGenoa, maintained the contrary, avouching that he, by special grace ofGod, had a lady to wife who was belike the most accomplished woman ofall Italy in all those qualities which a lady, nay, even (in greatpart) in those which a knight or an esquire, should have; for that shewas fair of favour and yet in her first youth and adroit and robust ofher person; nor was there aught that pertaineth unto a woman, such asworks of broidery in silk and the like, but she did it better than anyother of her sex. Moreover, said he, there was no sewer, or in otherwords, no serving-man, alive who served better or more deftly at anobleman's table than did she, for that she was very well bred andexceeding wise and discreet. He after went on to extol her as knowingbetter how to ride a horse and fly a hawk, to read and write and casta reckoning than if she were a merchant; and thence, after many othercommendations, coming to that whereof it had been discoursed amongthem, he avouched with an oath that there could be found no honesternor chaster woman than she; wherefore he firmly believed that, shouldhe abide half a score years, or even always, from home, she wouldnever incline to the least levity with another man. Among themerchants who discoursed thus was a young man called Ambrogiuolo ofPiacenza, who fell to making the greatest mock in the world of thislast commendation bestowed by Bernabo upon his wife and asked himscoffingly if the emperor had granted him that privilege over andabove all other men. Bernabo, some little nettled, replied that notthe emperor, but God, who could somewhat more than the emperor, hadvouchsafed him the favour in question. Whereupon quoth Ambrogiuolo, 'Bernabo, I doubt not a whit but that thou thinkest to say sooth; butmeseemeth thou hast paid little regard to the nature of things; forthat, hadst thou taken heed thereunto, I deem thee not so dull of witbut thou wouldst have noted therein certain matters which had madethee speak more circumspectly on this subject. And that thou mayst notthink that we, who have spoken much at large of our wives, believethat we have wives other or otherwise made than thine, but mayst seethat we spoke thus, moved by natural perception, I will e'en reasonwith thee a little on this matter. I have always understood man to bethe noblest animal created of God among mortals, and after him, woman;but man, as is commonly believed and as is seen by works, is the moreperfect and having more perfection, must without fail have more offirmness and constancy, for that women universally are morechangeable; the reason whereof might be shown by many naturalarguments, which for the present I purpose to leave be. If then man beof more stability and yet cannot keep himself, let alone fromcomplying with a woman who soliciteth him, but even from desiring onewho pleaseth him, nay more, from doing what he can, so he may avail tobe with her, --and if this betide him not once a month, but a thousandtimes a day, --what canst thou expect a woman, naturally unstable, toavail against the prayers, the blandishments, the gifts and a thousandother means which an adroit man, who loveth her, will use? Thinkestthou she can hold out? Certes, how much soever thou mayst affirm it, I believe not that thou believest it; and thou thyself sayst that thywife is a woman and that she is of flesh and blood, as are otherwomen. If this be so, those same desires must be hers and the samepowers that are in other women to resist these natural appetites;wherefore, however honest she be, it is possible she may do that whichother women do; and nothing that is possible she be so peremptorilydenied nor the contrary thereof affirmed with such rigour as thoudost. ' To which Bernabo made answer, saying, 'I am a merchant, and nota philosopher, and as a merchant I will answer; and I say that Iacknowledge that what thou sayst may happen to foolish women in whomthere is no shame; but those who are discreet are so careful of theirhonour that for the guarding thereof they become stronger than men, who reck not of this; and of those thus fashioned is my wife. ''Indeed, ' rejoined Ambrogiuolo, 'if, for every time they occupythemselves with toys of this kind, there sprouted from their foreheadsa horn to bear witness of that which they have done, there be few, Ibelieve, who would incline thereto; but, far from the horn sprouting, there appeareth neither trace nor token thereof in those who arediscreet, and shame and soil of honour consist not but in thingsdiscovered; wherefore, whenas they may secretly, they do it, or, ifthey forebear, it is for stupidity. And have thou this for certainthat she alone is chaste, who hath either never been solicited of anyor who, having herself solicited, hath not been hearkened. Andalthough I know by natural and true reasons that it is e'en as I say, yet should I not speak thereof with so full an assurance, had I notmany a time and with many women made essay thereof. And this I tellthee, that, were I near this most sanctified wife of thine, I warrantme I would in brief space of time bring her to that which I havealready gotten of other women. ' Whereupon quoth Bernabo, 'Disputingwith words might be prolonged without end; thou wouldst say and Ishould say, and in the end it would all amount to nothing. But, sincethou wilt have it that all women are so compliant and that thineaddress is such, I am content, so I may certify thee of my wife'shonesty, to have my head cut off, and thou canst anywise avail tobring her to do thy pleasure in aught of the kind; and if thou failthereof, I will have thee lose no otherwhat than a thousand goldflorins. ' 'Bernabo, ' replied Ambrogiuolo, who was now grown heatedover the dispute, 'I know not what I should do with thy blood, if Iwon the wager; but, an thou have a mind to see proof of that which Ihave advanced, do thou stake five thousand gold florins of thy monies, which should be less dear to thee than thy head, against a thousand ofmine, and whereas thou settest no limit [of time, ] I will e'en bindmyself to go to Genoa and within three months from the day of mydeparture hence to have done my will of thy wife and to bring backwith me, in proof thereof, sundry of her most precious things and suchand so many tokens that thou shalt thyself confess it to be truth, soverily thou wilt pledge me thy faith not to come to Genoa within thatterm nor write her aught of the matter. ' Bernabo said that it likedhim well and albeit the other merchants endeavoured to hinder theaffair, foreseeing that sore mischief might come thereof, the twomerchants' minds were so inflamed that, in despite of the rest, theybound themselves one to other by express writings under their hands. This done, Bernabo abode behind, whilst Ambrogiuolo, as quickliest hemight, betook himself to Genoa. There he abode some days and informinghimself with the utmost precaution of the name of the street where thelady dwelt and of her manner of life, understood of her that and morethan that which he had heard of her from Bernabo, wherefore himseemedhe was come on a fool's errand. However, he presently clapped up anacquaintance with a poor woman, who was much about the house and whosegreat well-wisher the lady was, and availing not to induce her toaught else, he debauched her with money and prevailed with her tobring him, in a chest wroughten after a fashion of his own, not onlyinto the house, but into the gentlewoman's very bedchamber, where, according to the ordinance given her of him, the good woman commendedit to her care for some days, as if she had a mind to go somewhither. The chest, then being left in the chamber and the night come, Ambrogiuolo, what time he judged the lady to be asleep, opened thechest with certain engines of his and came softly out into thechamber, where there was a light burning, with whose aid he proceededto observe the ordinance of the place, the paintings and every othernotable thing that was therein and fixed them in his memory. Then, drawing near the bed and perceiving that the lady and a little girl, who was with her, were fast asleep, he softly altogether uncovered theformer and found that she was as fair, naked, as clad, but saw no signabout her that he might carry away, save one, to wit, a mole which shehad under the left pap and about which were sundry little hairs as redas gold. This noted he covered her softly up again, albeit, seeing herso fair, he was tempted to adventure his life and lay himself by herside; however, for that he had heard her to be so obdurate anduncomplying in matters of this kind, he hazarded not himself, but, abiding at his leisure in the chamber the most part of the night, tookfrom one of her coffers a purse and a night-rail, together with sundryrings and girdles, and laying them all in his chest, returned thitherhimself and shut himself up therein as before; and on this wise he didtwo nights, without the lady being ware of aught. On the third day thegood woman came back for the chest, according to the given ordinance, and carried it off whence she had taken it, whereupon Ambrogiuolo cameout and having rewarded her according to promise, returned, asquickliest he might, with the things aforesaid, to Paris, where hearrived before the term appointed. There he summoned the merchants whohad been present at the dispute and the laying of the wager anddeclared, in Bernabo's presence, that he had won the wager laidbetween them, for that he had accomplished that whereof he had vauntedhimself; and to prove this to be true, he first described the fashionof the chamber and the paintings thereof and after showed the thingshe had brought with him thence, avouching that he had them of herself. Bernabo confessed the chamber to be as he had said and owned, moreover, that he recognized the things in question as being in truthhis wife's; but said that he might have learned from one of theservants of the house the fashion of the chamber and have gotten thethings in like manner; wherefore, an he had nought else to say, himseemed not that this should suffice to prove him to have won. Whereupon quoth Ambrogiuolo, 'In sooth this should suffice, but, sincethou wilt have me say more, I will say it. I tell thee that MadamGinevra thy wife hath under her left pap a pretty big mole, aboutwhich are maybe half a dozen little hairs as red as gold. ' WhenBernabo heard this, it was as if he had gotten a knife-thrust in theheart, such anguish did he feel, and though he had said not a word, his countenance, being all changed, gave very manifest token that whatAmbrogiuolo said was true. Then, after awhile, 'Gentlemen, ' quoth he, 'that which Ambrogiuolo saith is true; wherefore, he having won, lethim come whenassoever it pleaseth him and he shall be paid. 'Accordingly, on the ensuing day Ambrogiuolo was paid in full andBernabo, departing Paris, betook himself to Genoa with fell intentagainst the lady. When he drew near the city, he would not entertherein, but lighted down a good score miles away at a country houseof his and despatched one of his servants, in whom he much trusted, toGenoa with two horses and letters under his hand, advising his wifethat he had returned and bidding her come to him; and he privilycharged the man, whenas he should be with the lady in such place asshould seem best to him, to put her to death without pity and returnto him. The servant accordingly repaired to Genoa and delivering theletters and doing his errand, was received with great rejoicing by thelady, who on the morrow took horse with him and set out for theircountry house. As they fared on together, discoursing of one thing andanother, they came to a very deep and lonely valley, beset with highrocks and trees, which seeming to the servant a place wherein hemight, with assurance for himself, do his lord's commandment, hepulled out his knife and taking the lady by the arm, said, 'Madam, commend your soul to God, for needs must you die, without faringfarther. ' The lady, seeing the knife and hearing these words, was alldismayed and said, 'Mercy, for God's sake! Ere thou slay me, tell mewherein I have offended thee, that thou wouldst put me to death. ''Madam, ' answered the man, 'me you have nowise offended; but whereinyou have offended your husband I know not, save that he hath commandedme slay you by the way, without having any pity upon you, threateningme, an I did it not, to have me hanged by the neck. You know well howmuch I am beholden to him and how I may not gainsay him in aught thathe may impose upon me; God knoweth it irketh me for you, but I can nootherwise. ' Whereupon quoth the lady, weeping, 'Alack, for God's sake, consent not to become the murderer of one who hath never wronged thee, to serve another! God who knoweth all knoweth that I never did aughtfor which I should receive such a recompense from my husband. But letthat be; thou mayst, an thou wilt, at once content God and thy masterand me, on this wise; to wit, that thou take these my clothes and giveme but thy doublet and a hood and with the former return to my lordand thine and tell him that thou hast slain me; and I swear to thee, by that life which thou wilt have bestowed on me, that I will removehence and get me gone into a country whence never shall any news of mewin either to him or to thee or into these parts. ' The servant, whowas loath to slay her, was lightly moved to compassion; wherefore hetook her clothes and give her a sorry doublet of his and a hood, leaving her sundry monies she had with her. Then praying her departthe country, he left her in the valley and afoot and betook himself tohis master, to whom he avouched that not only was his commandmentaccomplished, but that he had left the lady's dead body among a packof wolves, and Bernabo presently returned to Genoa, where the thingbecoming known, he was much blamed. As for the lady, she abode aloneand disconsolate till nightfall, when she disguised herself as mostshe might and repaired to a village hard by, where, having gotten froman old woman that which she needed, she fitted the doublet to hershape and shortening it, made a pair of linen breeches of her shift;then, having cut her hair and altogether transformed herself in theguise of a sailor, she betook herself to the sea-shore, where, aschance would have it, she found a Catalan gentleman, by name SenorEncararch, who had landed at Alba from a ship he had in the offing, torefresh himself at a spring there. With him she entered into parleyand engaging with him as a servant, embarked on board the ship, underthe name of Sicurano da Finale. There, being furnished by thegentleman with better clothes, she proceeded to serve him so well andso aptly that she became in the utmost favour with him. No great whileafter it befell that the Catalan made a voyage to Alexandria with alading of his and carrying thither certain peregrine falcons for theSoldan, presented them to him. The Soldan, having once and againentertained him at meat and noting with approof the fashions ofSicurano, who still went serving him, begged him[133] of his master, who yielded him to him, although it irked him to do it, and Sicurano, in a little while, by his good behaviour, gained the love and favourof the Soldan, even as he had gained that of the Catalan. Wherefore, in process of time, it befell that, --the time coming for a greatassemblage, in the guise of a fair, of merchants, both Christian andSaracen, which was wont at a certain season of the year to be held inAcre, a town under the seignory of the Soldan, and to which, in orderthat the merchants and their merchandise might rest secure, the latterwas still used to despatch, besides other his officers, some one ofhis chief men, with troops, to look to the guard, --he bethoughthimself to send Sicurano, who was by this well versed in the languageof the country, on this service; and so he did. Sicurano accordinglycame to Acre as governor and captain of the guard of the merchants andtheir merchandise and there well and diligently doing that whichpertained to his office and going round looking about him, saw manymerchants there, Sicilians and Pisans and Genoese and Venetians andother Italians, with whom he was fain to make acquaintance, inremembrance of his country. It befell, one time amongst others, that, having lighted down at the shop of certain Venetian merchants, heespied among other trinkets, a purse and a girdle, which hestraightway knew for having been his and marvelled thereat; but, without making any sign, he carelessly asked to whom they pertainedand if they were for sale. Now Ambrogiuolo of Piacenza was comethither with much merchandise on board a Venetian ship and hearing thecaptain of the guard ask whose the trinkets were, came forward andsaid, laughing, 'Sir, the things are mine and I do not sell them; but, if they please you, I will gladly give them to you. ' Sicurano, seeinghim laugh, misdoubted he had recognized him by some gesture of his;but yet, keeping a steady countenance, he said, 'Belike thou laughestto see me, a soldier, go questioning of these women's toys?' 'Sir, 'answered Ambrogiuolo, 'I laugh not at that; nay, but at the way I cameby them. ' 'Marry, then, ' said Sicurano, 'an it be not unspeakable, tell me how thou gottest them, so God give thee good luck. ' QuothAmbrogiuolo, 'Sir, a gentlewoman of Genoa, hight Madam Ginevra, wifeof Bernabo Lomellini, gave me these things, with certain others, onenight that I lay with her, and prayed me keep them for the love ofher. Now I laugh for that I mind me of the simplicity of Bernabo, whowas fool enough to lay five thousand florins to one that I would notbring his wife to do my pleasure; the which I did and won the wager;whereupon he, who should rather have punished himself for hisstupidity than her for doing that which all women do, returned fromParis to Genoa and there, by what I have since heard, caused her putto death. ' Sicurano, hearing this, understood forthwith what was thecause of Bernabo's anger against his wife[134] and manifestlyperceiving this fellow to have been the occasion of all her ills, determined not to let him go unpunished therefor. Accordingly hefeigned to be greatly diverted with the story and artfully clapped upa strait acquaintance with him, insomuch that, the fair being ended, Ambrogiuolo, at his instance, accompanied him, with all his good, toAlexandria. Here Sicurano let build him a warehouse and lodged in hishands store of his own monies; and Ambrogiuolo, foreseeing greatadvantage to himself, willingly took up his abode there. Meanwhile, Sicurano, careful to make Bernabo clear of his[135] innocence, restednot till, by means of certain great Genoese merchants who were then inAlexandria, he had, on some plausible occasion of his[136] owndevising, caused him come thither, where finding him in poor enoughcase, he had him privily entertained by a friend of his[137] againstit should seem to him[138] time to do that which he purposed. Now hehad already made Ambrogiuolo recount his story before the Soldan forthe latter's diversion; but seeing Bernabo there and thinking therewas no need to use farther delay in the matter, he took occasion toprocure the Soldan to have Ambrogiuolo and Bernabo brought before himand in the latter's presence, to extort from the former, by dint ofseverity, an it might not easily be done [by other means, ] the truthof that whereof he vaunted himself concerning Bernabo's wife. Accordingly, they both being come, the Soldan, in the presence ofmany, with a stern countenance commanded Ambrogiuolo to tell the truthhow he had won of Bernabo the five thousand gold florins; and Sicuranohimself, in whom he most trusted, with a yet angrier aspect, threatened him with the most grievous torments, an he told it not;whereupon Ambrogiuolo, affrighted on one side and another and in ameasure constrained, in the presence of Bernabo and many others, plainly related everything, even as it passed, expecting no worsepunishment therefor than the restitution of the five thousand goldflorins and of the stolen trinkets. He having spoken, Sicurano, as hewere the Soldan's minister in the matter, turned to Bernabo and saidto him, 'And thou, what didst thou to thy lady for this lie?' WheretoBernabo replied, 'Overcome with wrath for the loss of my money andwith resentment for the shame which meseemed I had gotten from mywife, I caused a servant of mine put her to death, and according tothat which he reported to me, she was straightway devoured by amultitude of wolves, ' These things said in the presence of the Soldanand all heard and apprehended of him, albeit he knew not yet to whatend Sicurano, who had sought and ordered this, would fain come, thelatter said to him, 'My lord, you may very clearly see how much reasonyonder poor lady had to vaunt herself of her gallant and her husband, for that the former at once bereaved her of honour, marring her fairfame with lies, and despoiled her husband, whilst the latter morecredulous of others' falsehoods than of the truth which he might bylong experience have known, caused her to be slain and eaten ofwolves; and moreover, such is the goodwill and the love borne her bythe one and the other that, having long abidden with her, neither ofthem knoweth her. But that you may the better apprehend that whicheach of these hath deserved, I will, --so but you vouchsafe me, ofspecial favour to punish the deceiver and pardon the dupe, --e'en causeher come hither into your and their presence. ' The Soldan, disposed inthe matter altogether to comply with Sicurano's wishes, answered thathe would well and bade him produce the lady; whereat Bernabo marvelledexceedingly, for that he firmly believed her to be dead, whilstAmbrogiuolo, now divining his danger, began to be in fear of worsethan paying of monies and knew not whether more to hope or to fearfrom the coming of the lady, but awaited her appearance with theutmost amazement. The Soldan, then, having accorded Sicurano his wish, the latter threw himself, weeping, on his knees before him and puttingoff, as it were at one and the same time, his manly voice andmasculine demeanour, said, 'My lord, I am the wretched misfortunateGinevra, who have these six years gone wandering in man's disguiseabout the world, having been foully and wickedly aspersed by thistraitor Ambrogiuolo and given by yonder cruel and unjust man to oneof his servants to be slain and eaten of wolves. ' Then, tearing openthe fore part of her clothes and showing her breast, she discoveredherself to the Soldan and all else who were present and after, turningto Ambrogiuolo, indignantly demanded of him when he had ever lain withher, according as he had aforetime boasted; but he, now knowing herand fallen well nigh dumb for shame, said nothing. The Soldan, who hadalways held her a man, seeing and hearing this, fell into such awonderment that he more than once misdoubted that which he saw andheard to be rather a dream than true. However, after his amazement hadabated, apprehending the truth of the matter, he lauded to the utmostthe life and fashions of Ginevra, till then called Sicurano, andextolled her constancy and virtue; and letting bring her verysumptuous woman's apparel and women to attend her, he pardonedBernabo, in accordance with her request, the death he had merited, whilst the latter, recognizing her, cast himself at her feet, weepingand craving forgiveness, which she, ill worthy as he was thereof, graciously accorded him and raising him to his feet, embraced himtenderly, as her husband. Then the Soldan commanded that Ambrogiuoloshould incontinent be bound to a stake and smeared with honey andexposed to the sun in some high place of the city, nor should ever beloosed thence till such time as he should fall of himself; and so wasit done. After this he commanded that all that had belonged to himshould be given to the lady, the which was not so little but that itoutvalued ten thousand doubloons. Moreover, he let make a very goodlybanquet, wherein he entertained Bernabo with honour, as MadamGinevra's husband, and herself as a very valiant lady and gave her, injewels and vessels of gold and silver and monies, that which amountedto better[139] than other ten thousand doubloons. Then, the banquetover, he caused equip them a ship and gave them leave to return attheir pleasure to Genoa, whither accordingly they returned with greatjoyance and exceeding rich; and there they were received with theutmost honour, especially Madam Ginevra, who was of all believed to bedead and who, while she lived, was still reputed of great worth andvirtue. As for Ambrogiuolo, being that same day bounded to the stakeand anointed with honey, he was, to his exceeding torment, not onlyslain, but devoured, of the flies and wasps and gadflies, wherewiththat country aboundeth, even to the bones, which latter, waxed whiteand hanging by the sinews, being left unremoved, long bore witness ofhis villainy to all who saw them. And on this wise did the deceiverabide at the feet of the deceived. "

[Footnote 132: Lit. Whatsoever an ass giveth against a wall, such hereceiveth (_Quale asino da in parete, tal riceve_). I cannot find anysatisfactory explanation of this proverbial saying, which may berendered in two ways, according as _quale_ and _tale_ are taken asrelative to a thing or a person. The probable reference seems to be tothe circumstance of an ass making water against a wall, so that hisurine returns to him. ]

[Footnote 133: From this point until the final discovery of her truesex, the heroine is spoken of in the masculine gender, as became herassumed name and habit. ]

[Footnote 134: Here Boccaccio uses the feminine pronoun, immediatelyafterward resuming the masculine form in speaking of Sicurano. ]

[Footnote 135: _i. E. _ her. ]

[Footnote 136: _i. E. _ her. ]

[Footnote 137: _i. E. _ hers. ]

[Footnote 138: _i. E. _ her. ]

[Footnote 139: Sic (_meglio_). ]

THE TENTH STORY

[Day the Second]

 PAGANINO OF MONACO STEALETH AWAY THE WIFE OF MESSER RICCIARDO DI CHINZICA, WHO, LEARNING WHERE SHE IS, GOETH THITHER AND MAKING FRIENDS WITH PAGANINO, DEMANDETH HER AGAIN OF HIM. THE LATTER CONCEDETH HER TO HIM, AN SHE WILL; BUT SHE REFUSETH TO RETURN WITH HIM AND MESSER RICCIARDO DYING, SHE BECOMETH THE WIFE OF PAGANINO

Each of the honourable company highly commended for goodly the storytold by their queen, especially Dioneo, with whom alone for thatpresent day it now rested to tell, and who, after many praisesbestowed upon the preceding tale, said, "Fair ladies, one part of thequeen's story hath caused me change counsel of telling you one thatwas in my mind, and determine to tell you another, --and that is thestupidity of Bernabo (albeit good betided him thereof) and of allothers who give themselves to believe that which he made a show ofbelieving and who, to wit, whilst going about the world, divertingthemselves now with this woman and now with that, imagine that theladies left at home abide with their hands in their girdles, as if weknew not, we who are born and reared among the latter, unto what theyare fain. In telling you this story, I shall at once show you howgreat is the folly of these folk and how greater yet is that of thosewho, deeming themselves more potent than nature herself, think by dintof sophistical inventions[140] to avail unto that which is beyondtheir power and study to bring others to that which they themselvesare, whenas the complexion of those on whom they practise brooketh itnot. 

[Footnote 140: Lit. Fabulous demonstrations (_dimostrazionifavolose_), casuistical arguments, founded upon premises of their owninvention. ]

There was, then, in Pisa a judge, by name Messer Ricciardo diChinzica, more gifted with wit than with bodily strength, who, thinking belike to satisfy a wife by the same means which served himto despatch his studies and being very rich, sought with no littlediligence to have a fair and young lady to wife; whereas, had he butknown to counsel himself as he counselled others, he should haveshunned both the one and the other. The thing came to pass accordingto his wish, for Messer Lotto Gualandi gave him to wife a daughter ofhis, Bartolomea by name, one of the fairest and handsomest youngladies of Pisa, albeit there be few there that are not very lizards tolook upon. The judge accordingly brought her home with the utmost pompand having held a magnificent wedding, made shift the first night tohand her one venue for the consummation of the marriage, but camewithin an ace of making a stalemate of it, whereafter, lean and dryand scant of wind as he was, it behoved him on the morrow bringhimself back to life with malmsey and restorative confections andother remedies. Thenceforward, being now a better judge of his ownpowers than he was, he fell to teaching his wife a calendar fit forchildren learning to read and belike made aforetime at Ravenna, [141]for that, according to what he feigned to her, there was no day in theyear but was sacred not to one saint only, but to many, in reverenceof whom he showed by divers reasons that man and wife should abstainfrom carnal conversation; and to these be added, to boot, fast daysand Emberdays and the vigils of the Apostles and of a thousand othersaints and Fridays and Saturdays and Lord's Day and all Lent andcertain seasons of the moon and store of other exceptions, conceivingbelike that it behoved to keep holiday with women in bed like as hedid bytimes whilst pleading in the courts of civil law. This fashion(to the no small chagrin of the lady, whom he handled maybe once amonth, and hardly that) he followed a great while, still keepingstrait watch over her, lest peradventure some other should teach herto know working-days, even as he had taught her holidays. Thingsstanding thus, it chanced that, the heat being great and MesserRicciardo having a mind to go a-pleasuring to a very fair country-seathe had, near Monte Nero, and there abide some days to take the air, hebetook himself thither, carrying with him his fair lady. Theresojourning, to give her some diversion, he caused one day fish andthey went out to sea in two boats, he in one with the fishermen, andshe in another with other ladies. The sport luring them on, theydrifted some miles out to sea, well nigh without perceiving it, andwhilst they were intent upon their diversion, there came up of asudden a galliot belonging to Paganino da Mare, a famous corsair ofthose days. The latter, espying the boats, made for them, nor couldthey flee so fast but he overtook that in which were the women andseeing therein the judge's fair lady, he carried her aboard thegalliot, in full sight of Messer Ricciardo, who was now come to land, and made off without recking of aught else. When my lord judge, whowas so jealous that he misdoubted of the very air, saw this, itbooteth not to ask if he was chagrined; and in vain, both at Pisa andotherwhere, did he complain of the villainy of the corsairs, for thathe knew not who had taken his wife from him nor whither he had carriedher. As for Paganino, finding her so fair, he deemed himself in luckand having no wife, resolved to keep her for himself. Accordingly, seeing her weeping sore, he studied to comfort her with soft wordstill nightfall, when, his calendar having dropped from his girdle andsaints' days and holidays gone clean out of his head, he fell tocomforting her with deeds, himseeming that words had availed little byday; and after such a fashion did he console her that, ere they cameto Monaco, the judge and his ordinances had altogether escaped hermind and she began to lead the merriest of lives with Paganino. Thelatter carried her to Monaco and there, over and above theconsolations with which he plied her night and day, he entreated herhonourably as his wife. After awhile it came to Messer Ricciardo'sears where his wife was and he, being possessed with the most ardentdesire to have her again and bethinking himself that none other mightthoroughly suffice to do what was needful to that end, resolved to gothither himself, determined to spend any quantity of money for herransom. Accordingly he set out by sea and coming to Monaco, there bothsaw and was seen of the lady, who told it to Paganino that sameevening and acquainted him with her intent. Next morning MesserRicciardo, seeing Paganino, accosted him and quickly clapped up agreat familiarity and friendship with him, whilst the other feignednot to know him and waited to see at what he aimed. Accordingly, whenas it seemed to him time, Messer Ricciardo discovered to him, asbest and most civilly he knew, the occasion of his coming and prayedhim take what he pleased and restore him the lady. To which Paganinomade answer with a cheerful countenance, 'Sir, you are welcome, and toanswer you briefly, I say thus; it is true I have a young lady in myhouse, if she be your wife or another's I know not, for that I knowyou not nor indeed her, save in so much as she hath abidden awhilewith me. If you be, as you say, her husband, I will, since you seem tome a civil gentleman, carry you to her and I am assured that she willknow you right well. If she say it is as you avouch and be willing togo with you, you shall, for the sake of your civility, give me whatyou yourself will to her ransom; but, an it be not so, you would doill to seek to take her from me, for that I am a young man and canentertain a woman as well as another, and especially such an one asshe, who is the most pleasing I ever saw. ' Quoth Messer Ricciardo, 'For certain she is my wife, an thou bring me where she is, thou shaltsoon see it; for she will incontinent throw herself on my neck;wherefore I ask no better than that it be as thou proposest. ' 'Then, 'said Paganino, 'let us be going. ' Accordingly they betook themselvesto the corsair's house, where he brought the judge into a saloon ofhis and let call the lady, who issued forth of a chamber, all dressedand tired, and came whereas they were, but accosted Messer Ricciardono otherwise than as she would any other stranger who might have comehome with Paganino. The judge, who looked to have been received by herwith the utmost joy, marvelled sore at this and fell a-saying inhimself, 'Belike the chagrin and long grief I have suffered, since Ilost her, have so changed me that she knoweth me not. ' Wherefore hesaid to her, 'Wife, it hath cost me dear to carry thee a-fishing, forthat never was grief felt like that which I have suffered since I lostthee, and now meseemeth thou knowest me not, so distantly dost thougreet me. Seest thou not that I am thine own Messer Ricciardo, comehither to pay that which this gentleman, in whose house we are, shallrequire to thy ransom and to carry thee away? And he, of his favour, restoreth thee to me for what I will. ' The lady turned to him andsaid, smiling somewhat, 'Speak you to me, sir? Look you mistake menot, for, for my part, I mind me not ever to have seen you. ' QuothRicciardo, 'Look what thou sayest; consider me well; an thou wilt butrecollect thyself, thou wilt see that I am thine own Ricciardo diChinzica. ' 'Sir, ' answered the lady, 'you will pardon me; belike it isnot so seemly a thing as you imagine for me to look much on you. Nevertheless I have seen enough of you to know that I never before seteyes on you. ' Ricciardo, concluding that she did this for fear ofPaganino and chose not to confess to knowing him in the latter'spresence, besought him of his favour that he might speak with her in aroom alone. Paganino replied that he would well, so but he would notkiss her against her will, and bade the lady go with him into achamber and there hear what he had to say and answer him as it shouldplease her. Accordingly the lady and Messer Ricciardo went into a roomapart and as soon as they were seated, the latter began to say, 'Alack, heart of my body, sweet my soul and my hope, knowest thou notthy Ricciardo, who loveth thee more than himself? How can this be? AmI so changed? Prithee, fair mine eye, do but look on me a little. ' Thelady began to laugh and without letting him say more, replied, 'Youmay be assured that I am not so scatterbrained but that I know wellenough you are Messer Ricciardo di Chinzica, my husband; but, whattime I was with you, you showed that you knew me very ill, for thatyou should have had the sense to see that I was young and lusty andgamesome and should consequently have known that which behoveth untoyoung ladies, over and above clothes and meat, albeit forshamefastness they name it not; the which how you performed, you know. If the study of the laws was more agreeable to you than your wife, youshould not have taken her, albeit it never appeared to me that youwere a judge; nay, you seemed to me rather a common crier of saints'days and sacraments and fasts and vigils, so well you knew them. And Itell you this, that, had you suffered the husbandmen who till yourlands keep as many holidays as you allowed him who had the tilling ofmy poor little field, you would never have reaped the least grain ofcorn. However, as God, having compassion on my youth, hath willed it, I have happened on yonder man, with whom I abide in this chamber, wherein it is unknown what manner of thing is a holiday (I speak ofthose holidays which you, more assiduous in the service of God than inthat of the ladies, did so diligently celebrate) nor ever yet enteredin at this door Saturday nor Friday nor vigil nor Emberday nor Lent, that is so long; nay, here swink we day and night and thump our wool;and this very night after matinsong, I know right well how the thingwent, once he was up. Wherefore I mean to abide with him and work;whilst I am young, and leave saints' days and jubilees and fasts formy keeping when I am old; so get you gone about your business asquickliest you may, good luck go with you, and keep as many holidaysas you please, without me. ' Messer Ricciardo, hearing these words, wasdistressed beyond endurance and said, whenas he saw she had made anend of speaking. 'Alack, sweet my soul, what is this thou sayest? Hastthou no regard for thy kinsfolk's honour and thine own? Wilt thourather abide here for this man's whore and in mortal sin than at Pisaas my wife? He, when he is weary of thee, will turn thee away to thineown exceeding reproach, whilst I will still hold thee dear and still(e'en though I willed it not) thou shalt be mistress of my house. Wiltthou for the sake of a lewd and disorderly appetite, forsake thinehonour and me, who love thee more than my life? For God's sake, dearmy hope, speak no more thus, but consent to come with me; henceforth, since I know thy desire, I will enforce myself [to content it;]wherefore, sweet my treasure, change counsel and come away with me, who have never known weal since thou wast taken from me. ' Wheretoanswered the lady, 'I have no mind that any, now that it availeth not, should be more tender of my honour than I myself; would my kinsfolkhad had regard thereto, whenas they gave me to you! But, as they hadthen no care for my honour, I am under no present concern to becareful of theirs; and if I am herein _mortar_[142] sin, I shall abidethough it be in pestle[142] sin. And let me tell you that heremeseemeth I am Paganino's wife, whereas at Pisa meseemed I was yourwhore, seeing that there, by season of the moon and quadratures ofgeometry, needs must be planets concur to couple betwixt you and me, whereas here Paganino holdeth me all night in his arms and strainethme and biteth me, and how he serveth me, let God tell you for me. Yousay forsooth you will enforce yourself; to what? To do it in threecasts and cause it stand by dint of cudgelling? I warrant me you aregrown a doughty cavalier since I saw you last! Begone and enforceyourself to live, for methinketh indeed you do but sojourn here belowupon sufferance, so peaked and scant o' wind you show to me. And yetmore I tell you, that, should he leave me (albeit meseemeth he isnowise inclined thereto, so I choose to stay, ) I purpose not thereforever to return to you, of whom squeeze you as I might, there were nomaking a porringer of sauce; for that I abode with you once to mygrievous hurt and loss, wherefore in such a case I should seek myvantage elsewhere. Nay, once again I tell you, here be neither saints'days nor vigils; wherefore here I mean to abide; so get you gone inGod's name as quickliest you may, or I will cry out that you wouldfain force me. ' Messer Ricciardo, seeing himself in ill case and nowrecognizing his folly in taking a young wife, whenas he was himselfforspent, went forth the chamber tristful and woebegone, and bespokePaganino with many words, that skilled not a jot. Ultimately, leavingthe lady, he returned to Pisa, without having accomplished aught, andthere for chagrin fell into such dotage that, as he went about Pisa, to whoso greeted him or asked him of anywhat, he answered nought but'The ill hole[143] will have no holidays;'[144] and there, no greatwhile after, he died. Paganino, hearing this and knowing the love thelady bore himself, espoused her to his lawful wife and thereafter, without ever observing saints' day or vigil or keeping Lent, theywrought what while their legs would carry them and led a jolly life ofit. Wherefore, dear my ladies, meseemeth Bernabo, in his dispute withAmbrogiuolo, rode the she-goat down the steep. "[145]

[Footnote 141: According to one of the commentators of the Decameron, there are as many churches at Ravenna as days in the year and each dayis there celebrated as that of some saint or other. ]

[Footnote 142: A trifling jingle upon the similarity in sound of thewords _mortale_ (mortal), _mortaio_ (mortar), _pestello_ (pestle), and_pestilente_ (pestilential). The same word-play occurs at least oncemore in the Decameron. ]

[Footnote 143: _Il mal foro_, a woman's commodity (Florio). ]

[Footnote 144: _i. E. _ _Cunnus nonvult feriari. _ Some commentatorspropose to read _il mal furo_, the ill thief, supposing Ricciardo toallude to Paganino, but this seems far-fetched. ]

[Footnote 145: _i. E. Semble_ ran headlong to destruction. Thecommentators explain this proverbial expression by saying that ashe-goat is in any case a hazardous mount, and _a fortiori_ whenridden down a precipice; but this seems a somewhat "sporting" kind ofinterpretation. ]

 * * * * *

This story gave such occasion for laughter to all the company thatthere was none whose jaws ached not therefor, and all the ladiesavouched with one accord that Dioneo spoke sooth and that Bernabo hadbeen an ass. But, after the story was ended and the laughter abated, the queen, observing that the hour was now late and that all had toldand seeing that the end of her seignory was come, according to theordinance commenced, took the wreath from her own head and set it onthat of Neifile, saying, with a blithe aspect, "Henceforth, companiondear, be thine the governance of this little people"; and reseatedherself. Neifile blushed a little at the honour received and became incountenance like as showeth a new-blown rose of April or of May in thebreaking of the day, with lovesome eyes some little downcast, sparkling no otherwise than the morning-star. But, after the courteousmurmur of the bystanders, whereby they gladsomely approved theirgoodwill towards the new-made queen, had abated and she had takenheart again, she seated herself somewhat higher than of wont and said, "Since I am to be your queen, I will, departing not from the mannerholden of those who have foregone me and whose governance you have byyour obedience commended, make manifest to you in few words myopinion, which, an it be approved by your counsel, we will ensue. To-morrow, as you know, is Friday and the next day is Saturday, dayswhich, by reason of the viands that are used therein, [146] aresomewhat irksome to most folk, more by token that Friday, consideringthat He who died for our life on that day suffered passion, is worthyof reverence; wherefore I hold it a just thing and a seemly that, inhonour of the Divinity, we apply ourselves rather to orisons than tostory-telling. As for Saturday, it is the usance of ladies on that dayto wash their heads and do away all dust and all uncleanlinessbefallen them for the labours of the past week; and many, likewise, use, in reverence of the Virgin Mother of the Son of God, to fast andrest from all manner of work in honour of the ensuing Sunday. Wherefore, we being unable fully to ensue the order of living taken byus, on like wise methinketh we were well to rest from story-telling onthat day also; after which, for that we shall then have sojourned herefour days, I hold it opportune, an we would give no occasion fornewcomers to intrude upon us, that we remove hence and get us goneelsewhither; where I have already considered and provided. There whenwe shall be assembled together on Sunday, after sleeping, --we havingto-day had leisure enough for discoursing at large, [147]--I havebethought myself, --at once that you may have more time to consider andbecause it will be yet goodlier that the license of our story-tellingbe somewhat straitened and that we devise of one of the many fashionsof fortune, --that our discourse shall be OF SUCH AS HAVE, BY DINT OFDILIGENCE, [148] ACQUIRED SOME MUCH DESIRED THING OR RECOVERED SOMELOST GOOD. Whereupon let each think to tell somewhat that may beuseful or at least entertaining to the company, saving always Dioneohis privilege. " All commended the speech and disposition of the queenand ordained that it should be as she had said. Then, calling for herseneschal, she particularly instructed him where he should set thetables that evening and after of what he should do during all the timeof her seignory; and this done, rising to her feet, she gave thecompany leave to do that which was most pleasing unto each. Accordingly, ladies and men betook themselves to a little garden andthere, after they had disported themselves awhile, the hour of supperbeing come, they supped with mirth and pleasance; then, all arisingthence and Emilia, by the queen's commandment, leading the round, theditty following was sung by Pampinea, whilst the other ladiesresponded:

 What lady aye should sing, and if not I, Who'm blest with all for which a maid can sigh? Come then, O Love, thou source of all my weal, All hope and every issue glad and bright Sing ye awhile yfere Of sighs nor bitter pains I erst did feel, That now but sweeten to me thy delight, Nay, but of that fire clear, Wherein I, burning, live in joy and cheer, And as my God, thy name do magnify. 

 Thou settest, Love, before these eyes of mine Whenas thy fire I entered the first day, A youngling so beseen With valour, worth and loveliness divine, That never might one find a goodlier, nay, Nor yet his match, I ween. So sore I burnt for him I still must e'en Sing, blithe, of him with thee, my lord most high. 

 And that in him which crowneth my liesse Is that I please him, as he pleaseth me, Thanks to Love debonair; Thus in this world my wish I do possess And in the next I trust at peace to be, Through that fast faith I bear To him; sure God, who seeth this, will ne'er The kingdom of His bliss to us deny. 

[Footnote 146: _i. E. _ Friday being a fast day and Saturday a _jourmaigre_. ]

[Footnote 147: _i. E. _ generally upon the vicissitudes of Fortune andnot upon any particular feature. ]

[Footnote 148: _Industria_, syn. Address, skilful contrivance. ]

After this they sang sundry other songs and danced sundry dances andplayed upon divers instruments of music. Then, the queen deeming ittime to go to rest, each betook himself, with torches before him, tohis chamber, and all on the two following days, whilst applyingthemselves to those things whereof the queen had spoken, lookedlongingly for Sunday. 

HERE ENDETH THE SECOND DAYOF THE DECAMERON

_Day the Third_

 HERE BEGINNETH THE THIRD DAY OF THE DECAMERON WHEREIN UNDER THE GOVERNANCE OF NEIFILE IS DISCOURSED OF SUCH AS HAVE BY DINT OF DILIGENCE ACQUIRED SOME MUCH DESIRED THING OR RECOVERED SOME LOST GOOD

The dawn from vermeil began to grow orange-tawny, at the approach ofthe sun, when on the Sunday the queen arose and caused all her companyrise also. The seneschal had a great while before despatched to theplace whither they were to go store of things needful and folk whoshould there make ready that which behoved, and seeing the queen nowon the way, straightway let load everything else, as if the camp wereraised thence, and with the household stuff and such of the servantsas remained set out in rear of the ladies and gentlemen. The queen, then, with slow step, accompanied and followed by her ladies and thethree young men and guided by the song of some score nightingales andother birds, took her way westward, by a little-used footpath, full ofgreen herbs and flowers, which latter now all began to open for thecoming sun, and chatting, jesting and laughing with her company, brought them a while before half tierce, [149] without having gone overtwo thousand paces, to a very fair and rich palace, somewhat upraisedabove the plain upon a little knoll. Here they entered and having goneall about and viewed the great saloons and the quaint and elegantchambers all throughly furnished with that which pertaineth thereunto, they mightily commended the place and accounted its lord magnificent. Then, going below and seeing the very spacious and cheerful courtthereof, the cellars full of choicest wines and the very cool waterthat welled there in great abundance, they praised it yet more. Thence, as if desirous of repose, they betook themselves to sit in agallery which commanded all the courtyard and was all full of flowers, such as the season afforded, and leafage, whereupon there came thecareful seneschal and entertained and refreshed them with costliestconfections and wines of choice. Thereafter, letting open to them agarden, all walled about, which coasted the palace, they enteredtherein and it seeming to them, at their entering, altogether[150]wonder-goodly, they addressed themselves more intently to view theparticulars thereof. It had about it and athwart the middle veryspacious alleys, all straight as arrows and embowered with trellisesof vines, which made great show of bearing abundance of grapes thatyear and being then all in blossom, yielded so rare a savour about thegarden, that, as it blent with the fragrance of many anothersweet-smelling plant that there gave scent, themseemed they were amongall the spiceries that ever grew in the Orient. The sides of thesealleys were all in a manner walled about with roses, red and white, and jessamine, wherefore not only of a morning, but what while the sunwas highest, one might go all about, untouched thereby, neathodoriferous and delightsome shade. What and how many and how orderlydisposed were the plants that grew in that place, it were tedious torecount; suffice it that there is none goodly of those which may brookour air but was there in abundance. Amiddleward the garden (what wasnot less, but yet more commendable than aught else there) was a platof very fine grass, so green that it seemed well nigh black, enamelledall with belike a thousand kinds of flowers and closed about with thegreenest and lustiest of orange and citron trees, the which, bearingat once old fruits and new and flowers, not only afforded the eyes apleasant shade, but were no less grateful to the smell. Midmost thegrass-plat was a fountain of the whitest marble, enchased withwonder-goodly sculptures, and thence, --whether I know not from anatural or an artificial source, --there sprang, by a figure that stoodon a column in its midst, so great a jet of water and so high towardsthe sky, whence not without a delectable sound it fell back into thewonder-limpid fount, that a mill might have wrought with less; thewhich after (I mean the water which overflowed the full basin) issuedforth of the lawn by a hidden way, and coming to light therewithout, encompassed it all about by very goodly and curiously wroughtenchannels. Thence by like channels it ran through well nigh every partof the pleasance and was gathered again at the last in a place wherebyit had issue from the fair garden and whence it descended, in theclearest of streams, towards the plain; but, ere it won thither, itturned two mills with exceeding power and to the no small vantage ofthe lord. The sight of this garden and its fair ordinance and theplants and the fountain, with the rivulets proceeding therefrom, sopleased the ladies and the three young men that they all of one accordavouched that, an Paradise might be created upon earth, they could notavail to conceive what form, other than that of this garden, might begiven it nor what farther beauty might possibly be added thereunto. However, as they went most gladsomely thereabout, weaving them thegoodliest garlands of the various leafage of the trees and hearkeningthe while to the carols of belike a score of different kinds of birds, that sang as if in rivalry one of other, they became aware of adelectable beauty, which, wonderstricken as they were with the othercharms of the place, they had not yet noted; to wit, they found thegarden full of maybe an hundred kinds of goodly creatures, and oneshowing them to other, they saw on one side rabbits issue, on anotherhares run; here lay kids and there fawns went grazing, and there wasmany another kind of harmless animal, each going about his pastime athis pleasure, as if tame; the which added unto them a yet greaterpleasure than the others. After they had gone about their fill, viewing now this thing and now that, the queen let set the tablesaround the fair fountain and at her commandment, having first sunghalf a dozen canzonets and danced sundry dances, they sat down tomeat. There, being right well and orderly served, after a very fairand sumptuous and tranquil fashion, with goodly and delicate viands, they waxed yet blither and arising thence, gave themselves anew tomusic-making and singing and dancing till it seemed good to the queenthat those whom it pleased should betake themselves to sleep. Accordingly some went thither, whilst others, overcome with the beautyof the place, willed not to leave it, but, abiding there, addressedthemselves, some to reading romances and some to playing chess ortables, whilst the others slept. But presently, the hour of none beingpast and the sleepers having arisen and refreshed their faces withcold water, they came all, at the queen's commandment, to the lawnhard by the fountain and there seating themselves, after the wontedfashion, waited to fall to story-telling upon the subject proposed byher. The first upon whom she laid this charge was Filostrato, whobegan on this wise:

[Footnote 149: _i. E. _ half _before_ (not half _after_) tierce or 7. 30a. M. _Cf. _ the equivalent German idiom, _halb acht_, 7. 30 (not 8. 30)a. M. ]

[Footnote 150: _i. E. _ as a whole (_tutto insieme_). ]

THE FIRST STORY

[Day the Third]

 MASETTO OF LAMPORECCHIO FEIGNETH HIMSELF DUMB AND BECOMETH GARDENER TO A CONVENT OF WOMEN, WHO ALL FLOCK TO LIE WITH HIM

"Fairest ladies, there be many men and women foolish enough to believethat, whenas the white fillet is bound about a girl's head and theblack cowl clapped upon her back, she is no longer a woman and is nolonger sensible of feminine appetites, as if the making her a nun hadchanged her to stone; and if perchance they hear aught contrary tothis their belief, they are as much incensed as if a very great andheinous misdeed had been committed against nature, considering notneither having regard to themselves, whom full license to do thatwhich they will availeth not to sate, nor yet to the much potency ofidlesse and thought-taking. [151] On like wise there are but too manywho believe that spade and mattock and coarse victuals and hard livingdo altogether purge away carnal appetites from the tillers of theearth and render them exceeding dull of wit and judgment. But how muchall who believe thus are deluded, I purpose, since the queen hathcommanded it to me, to make plain to you in a little story, withoutdeparting from the theme by her appointed. 

[Footnote 151: _Sollecitudine. _ The commentators will have it thatthis is an error for _solitudine_, solitude, but I see no necessityfor the substitution, the text being perfectly acceptable as itstands. ]

There was (and is yet) in these our parts a convent of women, veryfamous for sanctity (the which, that I may not anywise abate itsrepute, I will not name), wherein no great while agone, there beingthen no more than eight nuns and an abbess, all young, in the nunnery, a poor silly dolt of a fellow was gardener of a very goodly garden oftheirs, who, being miscontent with his wage, settled his accounts withthe ladies' bailiff and returned to Lamporecchio, whence he came. There, amongst others who welcomed him home, was a young labouringman, stout and robust and (for a countryman) a well-favoured fellow, by name of Masetto, who asked him where he had been so long. The goodman, whose name was Nuto, told him, whereupon Masetto asked him inwhat he had served the convent, and he, 'I tended a great and goodlygarden of theirs, and moreover I went while to the coppice for faggotsand drew water and did other such small matters of service; but thenuns gave me so little wage that I could scare find me in shoonwithal. Besides, they are all young and methinketh they are possessedof the devil, for there was no doing anything to their liking; nay, when I was at work whiles in the hortyard, [152] quoth one, "Set thishere, " and another, "Set that here, " and a third snatched the spadefrom my hand, saying, "That is naught"; brief, they gave me so muchvexation that I would leave work be and begone out of the hortyard;insomuch that, what with one thing and what with another, I wouldabide there no longer and took myself off. When I came away, theirbailiff besought me, an I could lay my hand on any one apt unto thatservice, to send the man to him, and I promised it him; but may Godmake him sound of the loins as he whom I shall get him, else will Isend him none at all!' Masetto, hearing this, was taken with so greata desire to be with these nuns that he was all consumed therewith, judging from Nuto's words that he might avail to compass somewhat ofthat which he desired. However, foreseeing that he would fail of hispurpose, if he discovered aught thereof to Nuto, he said to thelatter, 'Egad, thou didst well to come away. How is a man to live withwomen? He were better abide with devils. Six times out of seven theyknow not what they would have themselves. ' But, after they had made anend of their talk, Masetto began to cast about what means he shouldtake to be with them and feeling himself well able to do the officesof which Nuto had spoken, he had no fear of being refused on thathead, but misdoubted him he might not be received, for that he wasyoung and well-looked. Wherefore, after pondering many things inhimself, he bethought himself thus: 'The place is far hence and noneknoweth me there, an I can but make a show of being dumb, I shall forcertain be received there. ' Having fixed upon this device, he set outwith an axe he had about his neck, without telling any whither he wasbound, and betook himself, in the guise of a beggarman, to theconvent, where being come, he entered in and as luck would have it, found the bailiff in the courtyard. Him he accosted with signs such asdumb folk use and made a show of asking food of him for the love ofGod and that in return he would, an it were needed, cleave wood forhim. The bailiff willingly gave him to eat and after set before himdivers logs that Nuto had not availed to cleave, but of all whichMasetto, who was very strong, made a speedy despatch. By and by, thebailiff, having occasion to go to the coppice, carried him thither andput him to cutting faggots; after which, setting the ass before him, he gave him to understand by signs that he was to bring them home. This he did very well; wherefore the bailiff kept him there some days, so he might have him do certain things for which he had occasion. Oneday it chanced that the abbess saw him and asked the bailiff who hewas. 'Madam, ' answered he, 'this is a poor deaf and dumb man, who camehither the other day to ask an alms; so I took him in out of charityand have made him do sundry things of which we had need. If he knewhow to till the hortyard and chose to abide with us, I believe weshould get good service of him; for that we lack such an one and he isstrong and we could make what we would of him; more by token that youwould have no occasion to fear his playing the fool with yonder lassesof yours. ' 'I' faith, ' rejoined the abbess, 'thou sayst sooth. Learnif he knoweth how to till and study to keep him here; give him a pairof shoes and some old hood or other and make much of him, caress him, give him plenty to eat. ' Which the bailiff promised to do. Masetto wasnot so far distant but he heard all this, making a show the while ofsweeping the courtyard, and said merrily in himself, 'An you put metherein, I will till you your hortyard as it was never tilled yet. 'Accordingly, the bailiff, seeing that he knew right well how to work, asked him by signs if he had a mind to abide there and he replied onlike wise that he would do whatsoever he wished; whereupon the bailiffengaged him and charged him till the hortyard, showing him what he wasto do; after which he went about other business of the convent andleft him. Presently, as Masetto went working one day after another, the nuns fell to plaguing him and making mock of him, as ofttimes itbetideth that folk do with mutes, and bespoke him the naughtiest wordsin the world, thinking he understood them not; whereof the abbess, mayhap supposing him to be tailless as well as tongueless, reckedlittle or nothing. It chanced one day, however, that, as he restedhimself after a hard morning's work, two young nuns, who went aboutthe garden, [153] drew near the place where he lay and fell to lookingupon him, whilst he made a show of sleeping. Presently quoth one whowas somewhat the bolder of the twain to the other, 'If I thought thouwouldst keep my counsel, I would tell thee a thought which I have onceand again had and which might perchance profit thee also. ' 'Speak inall assurance, ' answered the other, 'for certes I will never tell itto any. ' Then said the forward wench, 'I know not if thou have everconsidered how straitly we are kept and how no man dare ever enterhere, save the bailiff, who is old, and yonder dumb fellow; and I haveagain and again heard ladies, who come to visit us, say that all otherdelights in the world are but toys in comparison with that which awoman enjoyeth, whenas she hath to do with a man. Wherefore I haveoften had it in mind to make trial with this mute, since with others Imay not, if it be so. And indeed he is the best in the world to thatend, for that, e'en if he would, he could not nor might tell itagain. Thou seest he is a poor silly lout of a lad, who hath overgrownhis wit, and I would fain hear how thou deemest of the thing. ''Alack!' rejoined the other, 'what is this thou sayest? Knowest thounot that we have promised our virginity to God?' 'Oh, as for that, 'answered the first, 'how many things are promised Him all day long, whereof not one is fulfilled unto Him! An we have promised it Him, letHim find Himself another or others to perform it to Him. ' 'Or if, 'went on her fellow, 'we should prove with child, how would it gothen?' Quoth the other, 'Thou beginnest to take thought unto ill ereit cometh; when that betideth, then will we look to it; there will bea thousand ways for us of doing so that it shall never be known, provided we ourselves tell it not. ' The other, hearing this and havingnow a greater itch than her companion to prove what manner beast a manwas, said, 'Well, then, how shall we do?' Quoth the first, 'Thou seestit is nigh upon none and methinketh the sisters are all asleep, saveonly ourselves; let us look about the hortyard if there be any there, and if there be none, what have we to do but to take him by the handand carry him into yonder hut, whereas he harboureth against the rain, and there let one of us abide with him, whilst the other keepethwatch? He is so simple that he will do whatever we will. ' Masettoheard all this talk and disposed to compliance, waited but to be takenby one of the nuns. The latter having looked well all about andsatisfied themselves that they could be seen from nowhere, she who hadbroached the matter came up to Masetto and aroused him, whereupon herose incontinent to his feet. The nun took him coaxingly by the handand led him, grinning like an idiot, to the hut, where, withoutovermuch pressing, he did what she would. Then, like a loyal comrade, having had her will, she gave place to her fellow, and Masetto, stillfeigning himself a simpleton, did their pleasure. Before they departedthence, each of the girls must needs once more prove how the mutecould horse it, and after devising with each other, they agreed thatthe thing was as delectable as they had heard, nay, more so. Accordingly, watching their opportunity, they went oftentimes atfitting seasons to divert themselves with the mute, till one day itchanced that one of their sisters, espying them in the act from thelattice of her cell, showed it to other twain. At first they talked ofdenouncing the culprits to the abbess, but, after, changing counseland coming to an accord with the first two, they became sharers withthem in Masetto's services, and to them the other three nuns were atdivers times and by divers chances added as associates. Ultimately, the abbess, who had not yet gotten wind of these doings, walking oneday alone in the garden, the heat being great, found Masetto (who hadenough of a little fatigue by day, because of overmuch posting it bynight) stretched out asleep under the shade of an almond-tree, and thewind lifting the forepart of his clothes, all abode discovered. Thelady, beholding this and seeing herself alone, fell into that sameappetite which had gotten hold of her nuns, and arousing Masetto, carried him to her chamber, where, to the no small miscontent of theothers, who complained loudly that the gardener came not to till thehortyard, she kept him several days, proving and reproving thatdelight which she had erst been wont to blame in others. At last shesent him back to his own lodging, but was fain to have him often againand as, moreover, she required of him more than her share, Masetto, unable to satisfy so many, bethought himself that his playing the mutemight, an it endured longer, result in his exceeding great hurt. Wherefore, being one night with the abbess, he gave loose to[154] histongue and bespoke her thus: 'Madam, I have heard say that one cocksufficeth unto half a score hens, but that half a score men can ill orhardly satisfy one woman; whereas needs must I serve nine, and to thisI can no wise endure; nay, for that which I have done up to now, I amcome to such a pass that I can do neither little nor much; whereforedo ye either let me go in God's name or find a remedy for the matter. 'The abbess, hearing him speak whom she held dumb, was all amazed andsaid, 'What is this? Methought thou wast dumb. ' 'Madam, ' answeredMasetto, 'I was indeed dumb, not by nature, but by reason of a maladywhich bereft me of speech, and only this very night for the first timedo I feel it restored to me, wherefore I praise God as most I may. 'The lady believed this and asked him what he meant by saying that hehad to serve nine. Masetto told her how the case stood, whereby sheperceived that she had no nun but was far wiser than herself; but, like a discreet woman as she was, she resolved to take counsel withher nuns to find some means of arranging the matter, without lettingMasetto go, so the convent might not be defamed by him. Accordingly, having openly confessed to one another that which had been secretlydone of each, they all of one accord, with Masetto's consent, soordered it that the people round about believed speech to have beenrestored to him, after he had long been mute, through their prayersand by the merits of the saint in whose name the convent wasintituled, and their bailiff being lately dead, they made Masettobailiff in his stead and apportioned his toils on such wise that hecould endure them. Thereafter, albeit he began upon them monikinsgalore, the thing was so discreetly ordered that nothing took ventthereof till after the death of the abbess, when Masetto began to growold and had a mind to return home rich. The thing becoming known, enabled him lightly to accomplish his desire, and thus Masetto, havingby his foresight contrived to employ his youth to good purpose, returned in his old age, rich and a father, without being at the painsor expense of rearing children, to the place whence he had set outwith an axe about his neck, avouching that thus did Christ entreatwhoso set horns to his cap. "

[Footnote 152: Hortyard (_orto_) is the old form of orchard, properlyan enclosed tract of land in which fruit, vegetables and potherbs arecultivated for use, _i. E. _ the modern kitchen garden and orchard inone, as distinguished from the pleasaunce or flower garden(_giardino_). ]

[Footnote 153: _Giardino_, _i. E. _ flower-garden. ]

[Footnote 154: Lit. Broke the string of. ]

THE SECOND STORY

[Day the Third]

 A HORSEKEEPER LIETH WITH THE WIFE OF KING AGILULF, WHO, BECOMING AWARE THEREOF, WITHOUT WORD SAID, FINDETH HIM OUT AND POLLETH HIM; BUT THE POLLED MAN POLLETH ALL HIS FELLOWS ON LIKE WISE AND SO ESCAPETH ILL HAP

The end of Filostrato's story, whereat whiles the ladies had somelittle blushed and other whiles laughed, being come, it pleased thequeen that Pampinea should follow on with a story, and sheaccordingly, beginning with a smiling countenance, said, "Some are solittle discreet in seeking at all hazards to show that they know andapprehend that which it concerneth them not to know, that whiles, rebuking to this end unperceived defects in others, they think tolessen their own shame, whereas they do infinitely augment it; andthat this is so I purpose, lovesome ladies, to prove to you by thecontrary thereof, showing you the astuteness of one who, in thejudgment of a king of worth and valour, was held belike of lessaccount than Masetto himself. 

Agilulf, King of the Lombards, as his predecessors had done, fixed theseat of his kingship at Pavia, a city of Lombardy, and took to wifeTheodolinda[155] the widow of Autari, likewise King of the Lombards, avery fair lady and exceeding discreet and virtuous, but ill fortunedin a lover. [156] The affairs of the Lombards having, thanks to thevalour and judgment of King Agilulf, been for some time prosperous andin quiet, it befell that one of the said queen's horse-keepers, a manof very low condition, in respect of birth, but otherwise of worth farabove so mean a station, and comely of person and tall as he were theking, became beyond measure enamoured of his mistress. His mean estatehindered him not from being sensible that this love of his was out ofall reason, wherefore, like a discreet man as he was, he discovered itunto none, nor dared he make it known to her even with his eyes. But, albeit he lived without any hope of ever winning her favour, yetinwardly he gloried in that he had bestowed his thoughts in such highplace, and being all aflame with amorous fire, he studied, beyondevery other of his fellows, to do whatsoever he deemed might pleasurethe queen; whereby it befell that, whenas she had occasion to rideabroad, she liefer mounted the palfrey of which he had charge than anyother; and when this happened, he reckoned it a passing great favourto himself nor ever stirred from her stirrup, accounting himself happywhat time he might but touch her clothes. But, as often enough we seeit happen that, even as hope groweth less, so love waxeth greater, sodid it betide this poor groom, insomuch that sore uneath it was to himto avail to brook his great desire, keeping it, as he did, hidden andbeing upheld by no hope; and many a time, unable to rid himself ofthat his love, he determined in himself to die. And consideringinwardly of the manner, he resolved to seek his death on such wisethat it should be manifest he died for the love he bore the queen, towhich end he bethought himself to try his fortune in an enterprise ofsuch a sort as should afford him a chance of having or all or part ofhis desire. He set not himself to seek to say aught to the queen norto make her sensible of his love by letters, knowing he should speakand write in vain, but chose rather to essay an he might by practiceavail to lie with her; nor was there any other shift for it but tofind a means how he might, in the person of the king, who, he knew, lay not with her continually, contrive to make his way to her andenter her bedchamber. Accordingly, that he might see on what wise andin what habit the king went, whenas he visited her, he hid himselfseveral times by night in a great saloon of the palace, which laybetween the king's bedchamber and that of the queen, and one night, amongst others, he saw the king come forth of his chamber, wrapped ina great mantle, with a lighted taper in one hand and a little wand inthe other, and making for the queen's chamber, strike once or twiceupon the door with the wand, without saying aught, whereupon it wasincontinent opened to him and the taper taken from his hand. Notingthis and having seen the king return after the same fashion, hebethought himself to do likewise. Accordingly, finding means to have acloak like that which he had seen the king wear, together with a taperand a wand, and having first well washed himself in a bagnio, lesthaply the smell of the muck should offend the queen or cause her smokethe cheat, he hid himself in the great saloon, as of wont. Whenas heknew that all were asleep and it seemed to him time either to giveeffect to his desire or to make his way by high emprise[157] to thewished-for death, he struck a light with a flint and steel he hadbrought with him and kindling the taper, wrapped himself fast in themantle, then, going up to the chamber-door, smote twice upon it withthe wand. The door was opened by a bedchamber-woman, all sleepy-eyed, who took the light and covered it; whereupon, without saying aught, hepassed within the curtain, put off his mantle and entered the bedwhere the queen slept. Then, taking her desirefully in his arms andfeigning himself troubled (for that he knew the king's wont to bethat, whenas he was troubled, he cared not to hear aught), withoutspeaking or being spoken to, he several times carnally knew the queen;after which, grievous as it seemed to him to depart, yet, fearing lesthis too long stay should be the occasion of turning the gotten delightinto dolour, he arose and taking up the mantle and the light, withdrew, without word said, and returned, as quickliest he might, tohis own bed. He could scarce yet have been therein when the king aroseand repaired to the queen's chamber, whereat she marvelledexceedingly; and as he entered the bed and greeted her blithely, shetook courage by his cheerfulness and said, 'O my lord, what newfashion is this of to-night? You left me but now, after having takenpleasure of me beyond your wont, and do you return so soon? Have acare what you do. ' The king, hearing these words, at once concludedthat the queen had been deceived by likeness of manners and person, but, like a wise man, bethought himself forthright, seeing thatneither she nor any else had perceived the cheat, not to make heraware thereof; which many simpletons would not have done, but wouldhave said, 'I have not been here, I. Who is it hath been here? How didit happen? Who came hither?' Whence many things might have arisen, whereby he would needlessly have afflicted the lady and given herground for desiring another time that which she had already tasted;more by token that, an he kept silence of the matter, no shame mightrevert to him, whereas, by speaking, he would have brought dishonourupon himself. The king, then, more troubled at heart than in looks orspeech, answered, saying, 'Wife, seem I not to you man enough to havebeen here a first time and to come yet again after that?' 'Ay, mylord, ' answered she. 'Nevertheless, I beseech you have regard to yourhealth. ' Quoth Agilulf, 'And it pleaseth me to follow your counsel, wherefore for the nonce I will get me gone again, without giving youmore annoy. ' This said, taking up his mantle, he departed the chamber, with a heart full of wrath and despite for the affront that he saw hadbeen done him, and bethought himself quietly to seek to discover theculprit, concluding that he must be of the household and could not, whoever he might be, have issued forth of the palace. Accordingly, taking a very small light in a little lantern, he betook himself to avery long gallery that was over the stables of his palace and whereall his household slept in different beds, and judging that, whoeverhe might be that had done what the queen said, his pulse and thebeating of his heart for the swink endured could not yet have had timeto abate, he silently, beginning at one end of the gallery, fell tofeeling each one's breast, to know if his heart beat high. Althoughevery other slept fast, he who had been with the queen was not yetasleep, but, seeing the king come and guessing what he went seeking, fell into such a fright that to the beating of the heart caused by thelate-had fatigue, fear added yet a greater and he doubted not but theking, if he became aware of this, would put him to death withoutdelay, and many things passed through his thought that he should do. However, seeing him all unarmed, he resolved to feign sleep and awaitwhat he should do. Agilulf, then, having examined many and found nonewhom he judged to be he of whom he was in quest, came presently to thehorsekeeper and feeling his heart beat high, said in himself, 'This isthe man. ' Nevertheless, an he would have nought be known of that whichhe purposed to do, he did nought to him but poll, with a pair ofscissors he had brought with him, somewhat on one side of his hair, which they then wore very long, so by that token he might know himagain on the morrow; and this done, he withdrew and returned to hisown chamber. The culprit, who had felt all this, like a shrewd fellowas he was, understood plainly enough why he had been thus marked;wherefore he arose without delay and finding a pair of shears, whereofit chanced there were several about the stables for the service of thehorses, went softly up to all who lay in the gallery and clipped eachone's hair on like wise over the ear; which having done without beingobserved, he returned to sleep. When the king arose in the morning, hecommanded that all his household should present themselves before him, or ever the palace-doors were opened; and it was done as he said. Then, as they all stood before him with uncovered heads, he began tolook that he might know him whom he had polled; but, seeing the mostpart of them with their hair clipped after one and the same fashion, he marvelled and said in himself, 'He whom I seek, for all he may beof mean estate, showeth right well he is of no mean wit. ' Then, seeingthat he could not, without making a stir, avail to have him whom hesought, and having no mind to incur a great shame for the sake of apaltry revenge, it pleased him with one sole word to admonish theculprit and show him that he was ware of the matter; wherefore, turning to all who were present, he said, 'Let him who did it do it nomore and get you gone in peace. ' Another would have been for givingthem the strappado, for torturing, examining and questioning, anddoing this, would have published that which every one should go aboutto conceal; and having thus discovered himself, though he should havetaken entire revenge for the affront suffered, his shame had not beenminished, nay, were rather much enhanced therefor and his lady'shonour sullied. Those who heard the king's words marvelled and longdebated amongst themselves what he meant by this speech; but noneunderstood it, save he whom it concerned, and he, like a wise man, never, during Agilulf's lifetime, discovered the matter nor ever againcommitted his life to the hazard of such a venture. "

[Footnote 155: Boccaccio calls her _Teudelinga_; but I know of noauthority for this form of the name of the famous Longobardian queen. ]

[Footnote 156: Referring apparently to the adventure related in thepresent story. ]

[Footnote 157: Lit. With high (_i. E. _ worthy) cause (_con altacagione_). ]

THE THIRD STORY

[Day the Third]

 UNDER COLOUR OF CONFESSION AND OF EXCEEDING NICENESS OF CONSCIENCE, A LADY, BEING ENAMOURED OF A YOUNG MAN, BRINGETH A GRAVE FRIAR, WITHOUT HIS MISDOUBTING HIM THEREOF, TO AFFORD A MEANS OF GIVING ENTIRE EFFECT TO HER PLEASURE

Pampinea being now silent and the daring and subtlety of thehorsekeeper having been extolled by several of the company, as alsothe king's good sense, the queen, turning to Filomena, charged herfollow on; whereupon she blithely began to speak thus, "I purpose torecount to you a cheat which was in very deed put by a fair lady upona grave friar and which should be so much the more pleasing to everylayman as these [--friars, to wit--], albeit for the most part verydull fools and men of strange manners and usances, hold themselves tobe in everything both better worth and wiser than others, whereas theyare of far less account than the rest of mankind, being men who, lacking, of the meanness of their spirit, the ability to providethemselves, take refuge, like swine, whereas they may have what toeat. And this story, charming ladies, I shall tell you, not only forthe ensuing of the order imposed, but to give you to know withal thateven the clergy, to whom we women, beyond measure credulous as we are, yield overmuch faith, can be and are whiles adroitly befooled, andthat not by men only, but even by certain of our own sex. 

In our city, the which is fuller of cozenage than of love or faith, there was, not many years agone, a gentlewoman adorned with beauty andcharms and as richly endowed by nature as any of her sex with engagingmanners and loftiness of spirit and subtle wit, whose name albeit Iknow, I purpose not to discover it, no, nor any other that pertainethunto the present story, for that there be folk yet alive who wouldtake it in despite, whereas it should be passed over with a laugh. This lady, then, seeing herself, though of high lineage, married to awool-monger and unable, for that he was a craftsman, to put off thehaughtiness of her spirit, whereby she deemed no man of meancondition, how rich soever he might be, worthy of a gentlewoman andseeing him moreover, for all his wealth, to be apt unto nothing ofmore moment than to lay a warp for a piece of motley or let weave acloth or chaffer with a spinster anent her yarn, resolved on no wiseto admit of his embraces, save in so far as she might not deny him, but to seek, for her own satisfaction, to find some one who should beworthier of her favours than the wool-monger appeared to her to be, and accordingly fell so fervently in love with a man of very goodquality and middle age, that, whenas she saw him not by day, she couldnot pass the ensuing night without unease. The gentleman, perceivingnot how the case stood, took no heed of her, and she, being verycircumspect, dared not make the matter known to him by sending ofwomen nor by letter, fearing the possible perils that might betide. However, observing that he companied much with a churchman, who, albeit a dull lump of a fellow, was nevertheless, for that he was aman of very devout life, reputed of well nigh all a most worthy friar, she bethought herself that this latter would make an excellentgo-between herself and her lover and having considered what means sheshould use, she repaired, at a fitting season, to the church where heabode, and letting call him to her, told him that, an he pleased, shewould fain confess herself to him. The friar seeing her and judgingher to be a woman of condition, willingly gave ear to her, and she, after confession, said to him, 'Father mine, it behoveth me haverecourse to you for aid and counsel anent that which you shall hear. Iknow, as having myself told you, that you know my kinsfolk and myhusband, who loveth me more than his life, nor is there aught I desirebut I have it of him incontinent, he being a very rich man and one whocan well afford it; wherefore I love him more than mine own self andshould I but think, let alone do, aught that might be contrary to hishonour and pleasure, there were no woman more wicked or more deservingof the fire than I. Now one, whose name in truth I know not, but whois, meseemeth, a man of condition, and is, if I mistake not, much inyour company, --a well-favoured man and tall of his person and clad invery decent sad-coloured raiment, --unaware belike of the constancy ofmy purpose, appeareth to have laid siege to me, nor can I show myselfat door or window nor go without the house, but he incontinentpresenteth himself before me, and I marvel that he is not here now;whereat I am sore concerned, for that such fashions as these oftenbring virtuous women into reproach, without their fault. I have whileshad it in mind to have him told of this by my brothers; but then Ihave bethought me that men oftentimes do messages on such wise thatill answers ensue, which give rise to words and from words they cometo deeds; wherefore, lest mischief spring therefrom and scandal, Ihave kept silence of the matter and have determined to discover it toyourself rather than to another, at once because meseemeth you are hisfriend and for that it beseemeth you to rebuke not only friends, butstrangers, of such things. I beseech you, therefore, for the one God'ssake, that you rebuke him of this and pray him leave these hisfashions. There be women enough, who incline belike to these toys andwould take pleasure in being dogged and courted by him, whereas to me, who have no manner of mind to such matters, it is a very grievousannoy. ' So saying, she bowed her head as she would weep. The holyfriar understood incontinent of whom she spoke and firmly believingwhat she said to be true, greatly commended her righteous intent andpromised her to do on such wise that she should have no farther annoyfrom the person in question; and knowing her to be very rich, hecommended to her works of charity and almsdeeds, recounting to her hisown need. Quoth the lady, 'I beseech you thereof for God's sake, andshould he deny, prithee scruple not to tell him that it was I who toldyou this and complained to you thereof. ' Then, having made herconfession and gotten her penance, recalling the friar's exhortationsto works of almsgiving, she stealthily filled his hand with money, praying him to say masses for the souls of her dead kinsfolk; afterwhich she rose from his feet and taking leave of him, returned home. Not long after up came the gentleman, according to his wont, and afterthey had talked awhile of one thing and another, the friar, drawinghis friend aside, very civilly rebuked him of the manner in which, ashe believed, he pursued and spied upon the lady aforesaid, accordingto that which she had given him to understand. The other marvelled, aswell he might, having never set eyes upon her and being used veryrarely to pass before her house, and would have excused himself; butthe friar suffered him not to speak, saying, 'Now make no show ofwonderment nor waste words in denying it, for it will avail theenothing; I learnt not these matters from the neighbours; nay, sheherself told them to me, complaining sore of thee. And besides thatsuch toys beseem not a man of thine age, I may tell thee this much ofher, that if ever I saw a woman averse to these follies, it is she;wherefore, for thine own credit and her comfort, I prithee desisttherefrom and let her be in peace. ' The gentleman, quicker of wit thanthe friar, was not slow to apprehend the lady's device and feigning tobe somewhat abashed, promised to meddle no more with herthenceforward; then, taking leave of the friar, he betook himself tothe house of the lady, who still abode await at a little window, soshe might see him, should he pass that way. When she saw him come, sheshowed herself so rejoiced and so gracious to him, that he might verywell understand that he had gathered the truth from the friar's words, and thenceforward, under colour of other business, he began with theutmost precaution to pass continually through the street, to his ownpleasure and to the exceeding delight and solace of the lady. Afterawhile, perceiving that she pleased him even as he pleased her andwishful to inflame him yet more and to certify him of the love shebore him, she betook herself again, choosing her time and place, tothe holy friar and seating herself at his feet in the church, fella-weeping. The friar, seeing this, asked her affectionately what wasto do with her anew. 'Alack, father mine, ' answered she, 'that whichaileth me is none other than yonder God-accursed friend of yours, ofwhom I complained to you the other day, for that methinketh he wasborn for my especial torment and to make me do a thing, such that Ishould never be glad again nor ever after dare to seat myself at yourfeet. ' 'How?' cried the friar. 'Hath he not given over annoying thee?''No, indeed, ' answered she; 'nay, since I complained to you of him, asif of despite, maybe taking it ill that I should have done so, forevery once he used to pass before my house, I verily believe he hathpassed seven times. And would to God he were content with passing andspying upon me! Nay, he is grown so bold and so malapert that butyesterday he despatched a woman to me at home with his idle tales andtoys and sent me a purse and a girdle, as if I had not purses andgirdles galore; the which I took and take so ill that I believe, butfor my having regard to the sin of it and after for the love of you, Ihad played the devil. However, I contained myself and would not do orsay aught whereof I should not first have let you know. Nay, I hadalready returned the purse and the girdle to the baggage who broughtthem, that she might carry them back to him, and had given her a roughdismissal, but after, fearing she might keep them for herself and tellhim that I had accepted them, as I hear women of her fashion dowhiles, I called her back and took them, full of despite, from herhands and have brought them to you, so you may return them to him andtell him I want none of his trash, for that, thanks to God and myhusband, I have purses and girdles enough to smother him withal. Moreover, if hereafter he desist not from this, I tell you, as afather, you must excuse me, but I will tell it, come what may, to myhusband and my brothers; for I had far liefer he should brook anaffront, if needs he must, than that I should suffer blame for him;wherefore let him look to himself. ' So saying, still weeping sore, shepulled out from under her surcoat a very handsome and rich purse and aquaint and costly girdle and threw them into the lap of the friar, who, fully crediting that which she told him and incensed beyondmeasure, took them and said to her, 'Daughter, I marvel not that thouart provoked at these doings, nor can I blame thee therefor; but Imuch commend thee for following my counsel in the matter. I rebukedhim the other day and he hath ill performed that which he promised me;wherefore, as well for that as for this that he hath newly done, Imean to warm his ears[158] for him after such a fashion thatmethinketh he will give thee no farther concern; but do thou, God'sbenison on thee, suffer not thyself to be so overcome with anger thatthou tell it to any of thy folk, for that overmuch harm might ensuethereof unto him. Neither fear thou lest this blame anywise ensue tothee, for I shall still, before both God and men, be a most constantwitness to thy virtue. ' The lady made believe to be somewhat comfortedand leaving that talk, said, as one who knew his greed and that of hisfellow-churchmen, 'Sir, these some nights past there have appeared tome sundry of my kinsfolk, who ask nought but almsdeeds, and meseemeththey are indeed in exceeding great torment, especially my mother, whoappeareth to me in such ill case and affliction that it is pity tobehold. Methinketh she suffereth exceeding distress to see me in thistribulation with yonder enemy of God; wherefore I would have you sayme forty masses of Saint Gregory for her and their souls, togetherwith certain of your own prayers, so God may deliver them from thatpenitential fire. ' So saying, she put a florin into his hand, whichthe holy father blithely received and confirming her devoutness withfair words and store of pious instances, gave her his benison and lether go. The lady being gone, the friar, never thinking how he wasgulled, sent for his friend, who, coming and finding him troubled, atonce divined that he was to have news of the lady and awaited what thefriar should say. The latter repeated that which he had before said tohim and bespeaking him anew angrily and reproachfully, rebuked himseverely of that which, according to the lady's report, he had done. The gentleman, not yet perceiving the friar's drift, faintly enoughdenied having sent her the purse and the girdle, so as not toundeceive the friar, in case the lady should have given him to believethat he had done this; whereat the good man was sore incensed andsaid, 'How canst thou deny it, wicked man that thou art? See, herethey are, for she herself brought them to me, weeping; look if thouknowest them. ' The gentleman feigned to be sore abashed and answered, 'Yes, I do indeed know them and I confess to you that I did ill; but Iswear to you, since I see her thus disposed, that you shall never morehear a word of this. ' Brief, after many words, the numskull of a friargave his friend the purse and the girdle and dismissed him, afterrating him amain and beseeching him occupy himself no more with thesefollies, the which he promised him. The gentleman, overjoyed both atthe assurance that himseemed he had of the lady's love and at thegoodly gift, was no sooner quit of the friar than he betook himself toa place where he made shift to let his mistress see that he had theone and the other thing; whereat she was mightily rejoiced, more bytoken that herseemed her device went from good to better. She nowawaited nought but her husband's going abroad to give completion tothe work, and it befell not long after that it behoved him repair toGenoa on some occasion or other. No sooner had he mounted to horse inthe morning and gone his way, than the lady betook herself to the holyman and after many lamentations, said to him, weeping, 'Father mine, I tell you now plainly that I can brook no more; but, for that Ipromised you the other day to do nought, without first telling you, Iam come to excuse myself to you; and that you may believe I have goodreason both to weep and to complain, I will tell you what your friend, or rather devil incarnate, did to me this very morning, a littlebefore matins. I know not what ill chance gave him to know that myhusband was to go to Genoa yestermorn; algates, this morning, at thetime I tell you, he came into a garden of mine and climbing up by atree to the window of my bedchamber, which giveth upon the garden, hadalready opened the lattice and was for entering, when I of a suddenawoke and starting up, offered to cry out, nay, would assuredly havecried out, but that he, who was not yet within, besought me of mercyin God's name and yours, telling me who he was; which when I heard, Iheld my peace for the love of you and naked as I was born, ran andshut the window in his face; whereupon I suppose he took himself off(ill-luck go with him!), for I heard no more of him. Look you now ifthis be a goodly thing and to be endured. For my part I mean to bearwith him no more; nay, I have already forborne him overmuch for thelove of you. ' The friar, hearing this, was the wrathfullest man aliveand knew not what to say, except to ask again and again if she hadwell certified herself that it was indeed he and not another; to whichshe answered, 'Praised be God! As if I did not yet know him fromanother! I tell you it was himself, and although he should deny it, credit him not. ' Then said the friar, 'Daughter, there is nothing tobe said for it but that this was exceeding effrontery and a thingexceeding ill done, and in sending him off, as thou didst, thou didstthat which it behoved thee to do. But I beseech thee, since God hathpreserved thee from shame, that, like as thou hast twice followed mycounsel, even so do thou yet this once; to wit, without complaining toany kinsman of thine, leave it to me to see an I can bridle yonderdevil broke loose, whom I believed a saint. If I can make shift toturn him from this lewdness, well and good; if not, I give thee leavehenceforth to do with him that which thy soul shall judge best, and mybenison go with thee. ' 'Well, then, ' answered the lady, 'for this onceI will well not to vex or disobey you; but look you do on such wisethat he be ware of annoying me again, for I promise you I will neveragain return to you for this cause. ' Thereupon, without saying more, she took leave of the friar and went away, as if in anger. Hardly wasshe out of the church when up came the gentleman and was called by thefriar, who, taking him apart, gave him the soundest rating ever manhad, calling him disloyal and forsworn and traitor. The other, who hadalready twice had occasion to know to what the monk's reprimandsamounted, abode expectant and studied with embarrassed answers to makehim speak out, saying, at the first, 'Why all this passion, Sir? HaveI crucified Christ?' Whereupon, 'Mark this shameless fellow!' criedthe friar. 'Hear what he saith! He speaketh as if a year or two werepassed and he had for lapse of time forgotten his misdeeds and hislewdness! Hath it then escaped thy mind between this and matinsongthat thou hast outraged some one this very morning? Where wast thouthis morning a little before day?' 'I know not, ' answered thegentleman; 'but wherever it was, the news thereof hath reached youmighty early. ' Quoth the friar, 'Certes, the news hath reached me. Doubtless thou supposedst because her husband was abroad, that needsmust the gentlewoman receive thee incontinent in her arms. A finething, indeed! Here's a pretty fellow! Here's an honourable man! He'sgrown a nighthawk, a garden-breaker, a tree-climber! Thinkest thou byimportunity to overcome this lady's chastity, that thou climbest up toher windows anights by the trees? There is nought in the world sodispleasing to her as thou; yet must thou e'en go essaying it againand again. Truly, thou hast profited finely by my admonitions, letalone that she hath shown thee her aversion in many ways. But this Ihave to say to thee; she hath up to now, not for any love she beareththee, but at my instant entreaty, kept silence of that which thou hastdone; but she will do so no more; I have given her leave to do whatseemeth good to her, an thou annoy her again in aught. What wilt thoudo, an she tell her brothers?' The gentleman having now gatheredenough of that which it concerned him to know, appeased the friar, asbest he knew and might, with many and ample promises, and taking leaveof him, waited till matinsong[159] of the ensuing night, when he madehis way into the garden and climbed up by the tree to the window. Hefound the lattice open and entering the chamber as quickliest hemight, threw himself into the arms of his fair mistress, who, havingawaited him with the utmost impatience, received him joyfully, saying, 'Gramercy to my lord the friar for that he so well taught thee the wayhither!' Then, taking their pleasure one of the other, they solacedthemselves together with great delight, devising and laughing amainanent the simplicity of the dolt of a friar and gibing at wool-hanksand teasels and carding-combs. Moreover, having taken order for theirfuture converse, they did on such wise that, without having to resortanew to my lord the friar, they foregathered in equal joyance manyanother night, to the like whereof I pray God, of His holy mercy, speedily to conduct me and all Christian souls who have a mindthereto. "

[Footnote 158: Lit. (_riscaldare gli orecchi_). ]

[Footnote 159: _i. E. _ three a. M. Next morning. ]

THE FOURTH STORY

[Day the Third]

 DOM FELICE TEACHETH FRA PUCCIO HOW HE MAY BECOME BEATIFIED BY PERFORMING A CERTAIN PENANCE OF HIS FASHION, WHICH THE OTHER DOTH, AND DOM FELICE MEANWHILE LEADETH A MERRY LIFE OF IT WITH THE GOOD MAN'S WIFE

Filomena, having made an end of her story, was silent and Dioneohaving with dulcet speech mightily commended the lady's shrewdness andeke the prayer with which Filomena had concluded, the queen turnedwith a smile to Pamfilo and said, "Come, Pamfilo, continue ourdiversion with some pleasant trifle. " Pamfilo promptly answered thathe would well and began thus: "Madam, there are many persons who, whatwhile they study to enter Paradise, unwittingly send others thither;the which happened, no great while since, to a neighbour of ours, asyou shall hear. 

According to that which I have heard tell, there abode near SanPancrazio an honest man and a rich, called Puccio di Rinieri, who, devoting himself in his latter days altogether to religious practices, became a tertiary[160] of the order of St. Francis, whence he wasstyled Fra Puccio, and ensuing this his devout life, much frequentedthe church, for that he had no family other than a wife and one maidand consequently, it behoved him not apply himself to any craft. Beingan ignorant, clod-pated fellow, he said his paternosters, went topreachments and attended mass, nor ever failed to be at the Laudschanted by the seculars, [161] and fasted and mortified himself; nay, it was buzzed about that he was of the Flagellants. [162] His wife, whose name was Mistress Isabetta, [163] a woman, yet young, ofeight-and-twenty to thirty years of age, fresh and fair and plump as alady-apple, kept, by reason of the piety and belike of the age of herhusband, much longer and more frequent fasts than she could havewished, and when she would have slept or maybe frolicked with him, herecounted to her the life of Christ and the preachments of FraNastagio or the Complaint of Mary Magdalene or the like. Meantimethere returned home from Paris a monk hight Dom[164] Felice, Conventual[165] of San Pancrazio, who was young and comely enough ofperson, keen of wit and a profound scholar, and with him Fra Pucciocontracted a strait friendship. And for that this Dom Felice rightwell resolved him his every doubt and knowing his pious turn of mind, made him a show of exceeding devoutness, Fra Puccio fell to carryinghim home bytimes and giving him to dine and sup, as the occasionoffered; and the lady also, for her husband's sake, became familiarwith him and willingly did him honour. The monk, then, continuing tofrequent Fra Puccio's house and seeing the latter's wife so fresh andplump, guessed what should be the thing whereof she suffered the mostdefault and bethought himself, an he might, to go about to furnish herwithal himself, and so spare Fra Puccio fatigue. Accordingly, craftilycasting his eyes on her, at one time and another, he made shift tokindle in her breast that same desire which he had himself, which whenhe saw, he bespoke her of his wishes as first occasion betided him. But, albeit he found her well disposed to give effect to the work, hecould find no means thereunto, for that she would on nowise trustherself to be with him in any place in the world save her own house, and there it might not be, seeing that Fra Puccio never went withoutthe town. At this the monk was sore chagrined; but, after muchconsideration, he hit upon a device whereby he might avail toforegather with the lady in her own house, without suspect, for allFra Puccio should be at home. Accordingly, the latter coming one dayto visit him, he bespoke him thus, 'I have many a time understood, FraPuccio, that all thy desire is to become a saint and to this endmeseemeth thou goest about by a long road, whereas there is anotherand a very short one, which the Pope and the other great prelates, whoknow and practise it, will not have made known, for that the clergy, who for the most part live by alms, would incontinent be undone, inasmuch as the laity would no longer trouble themselves to propitiatethem with alms or otherwhat. But, for that thou art my friend and hastvery honourably entertained me, I would teach it thee, so I wereassured thou wouldst practise it and wouldst not discover it to anyliving soul. ' Fra Puccio, eager to know the thing, began straightwayto entreat him with the utmost instancy that he would teach it him andthen to swear that never, save in so far as it should please him, would he tell it to any, engaging, an if it were such as he mightavail to follow, to address himself thereunto. Whereupon quoth themonk, 'Since thou promisest me this, I will e'en discover it to thee. Thou must know that the doctors of the church hold that it behovethwhoso would become blessed to perform the penance which thou shalthear; but understand me aright; I do not say that, after the penance, thou wilt not be a sinner like as thou presently art; but this willbetide, that the sins which thou hast committed up to the time of thepenance will all by virtue thereof be purged and pardoned unto thee, and those which thou shalt commit thereafterward will not be writtento thy prejudice, but will pass away with the holy water, as venialsins do now. It behoveth a man, then, in the first place, whenas hecometh to begin the penance, to confess himself with the utmostdiligence of his sins, and after this he must keep a fast and a verystrict abstinence for the space of forty days, during which timethou[166] must abstain from touching, not to say other women, but eventhine own wife. Moreover, thou must have in thine own house some placewhence thou mayst see the sky by night, whither thou must betakethyself towards the hour of complines, [167] and there thou must have awide plank set up, on such wise that, standing upright, thou maystlean thy loins against it and keeping thy feet on the ground, stretchout thine arms, crucifix fashion. An thou wouldst rest them upon somepeg or other, thou mayst do it, and on this wise thou must abidegazing upon the sky, without budging a jot, till matins. Wert thou ascholar, thou wouldst do well to repeat certain orisons I would givethee; but, as thou art it not, thou must say three hundredPaternosters and as many Ave Marys, in honour of the Trinity, andlooking upon heaven, still have in remembrance that God is the Creatorof heaven and earth and the passion of Christ, abiding on such wise asHe abode on the cross. When the bell ringeth to matins, thou mayst, anthou wilt, go and cast thyself, clad as thou art, on thy bed andsleep, and after, in the forenoon, betake thyself to church and therehear at least three masses and repeat fifty Paternosters and as manyAves; after which thou shalt with a single heart do all and sundrythine occasions, if thou have any to do, and dine and at evensong bein church again and there say certain orisons which I will give theeby writ and without which it cannot be done. Then, towards complines, do thou return to the fashion aforesaid, and thus doing, even as Ihave myself done aforetime, I doubt not but, ere thou come to the endof the penance, thou wilt, (provided thou shalt have performed it withdevoutness and compunction, ) feel somewhat marvellous of eternalbeatitude. ' Quoth Fra Puccio, 'This is no very burdensome matter, noryet overlong, and may very well be done; wherefore I purpose in God'sname to begin on Sunday. ' Then, taking leave of him and returninghome, he related everything in due order to his wife, having theother's permission therefor. The lady understood very well what themonk meant by bidding him stand fast without stirring till matins;wherefore, the device seeming to her excellent, she replied that shewas well pleased therewith and with every other good work that he didfor the health of his soul and that, so God might make the penanceprofitable to him, she would e'en fast with him, but do no more. Theybeing thus of accord and Sunday come, Fra Puccio began his penance andmy lord monk, having agreed with the lady, came most evenings to supwith her, bringing with him store of good things to eat and drink, andafter lay with her till matinsong, when he arose and took himself off, whilst Fra Puccio returned to bed. Now the place which Fra Puccio hadchosen for his penance adjoined the chamber where the lady lay and wasparted therefrom but by a very slight wall, wherefore, Master Monkwantoning it one night overfreely with the lady and she with him, itseemed to Fra Puccio that he felt a shaking of the floor of the house. Accordingly, having by this said an hundred of his Paternosters, hemade a stop there and without moving, called to his wife to know whatshe did. The lady, who was of a waggish turn and was then belikeastride of San Benedetto his beast or that of San Giovanni Gualberto, answered, 'I' faith, husband mine, I toss as most I may. ' 'How?'quoth Fra Puccio. 'Thou tossest? What meaneth this tossing?' The lady, laughing, for that she was a frolicsome dame and doubtless had causeto laugh, answered merrily; 'How? You know not what it meaneth? Why, Ihave heard you say a thousand times, "Who suppeth not by night musttoss till morning light. "' Fra Puccio doubted not but that the fastingwas the cause of her unableness to sleep and it was for this shetossed thus about the bed; wherefore, in the simplicity of his heart, 'Wife, ' said he, 'I told thee not to fast; but, since thou wouldste'en do it, think not of that, but address thyself to rest; thougivest such vaults about the bed that thou makest all in the placeshake. ' 'Have no care for that, ' answered the lady; 'I know what I amabout; do you but well, you, and I will do as well as I may. ' FraPuccio, accordingly, held his peace and betook himself anew to hisPaternosters; and after that night my lord monk and the lady let makea bed in another part of the house, wherein they abode in the utmostjoyance what while Fra Puccio's penance lasted. At one and the samehour the monk took himself off and the lady returned to her own bed, whereto a little after came Fra Puccio from his penance; and on thiswise the latter continued to do penance, whilst his wife did herdelight with the monk, to whom quoth she merrily, now and again, 'Thouhast put Fra Puccio upon performing a penance, whereby we have gottenParadise. ' Indeed, the lady, finding herself in good case, took such aliking to the monk's fare, having been long kept on low diet by herhusband, that, whenas Fra Puccio's penance was accomplished, she stillfound means to feed her fill with him elsewhere and using discretion, long took her pleasure thereof. Thus, then, that my last words may notbe out of accord with my first, it came to pass that, whereas FraPuccio, by doing penance, thought to win Paradise for himself, he puttherein the monk, who had shown him the speedy way thither, and hiswife, who lived with him in great lack of that whereof Dom Felice, like a charitable man as he was, vouchsafed her great plenty. "

[Footnote 160: _i. E. _ a lay brother or affiliate. ]

[Footnote 161: _i. E. _ the canticles of praise chanted by certain layconfraternities, established for that purpose and answering to ourpræ-Reformation Laudsingers. ]

[Footnote 162: An order of lay penitents, who were wont at certaintimes to go masked about the streets, scourging themselves inexpiation of the sins of the people. This expiatory practice wasparticularly prevalent in Italy in the middle of the thirteenthcentury. ]

[Footnote 163: Contraction of Elisabetta. ]

[Footnote 164: _Dom_, contraction of Dominus (lord), the titlecommonly given to the beneficed clergy in the middle ages, answeringto our _Sir_ as used by Shakespeare (_e. G. _ Sir Hugh Evans the WelshParson, Sir Topas the Curate, etc. ). The expression survives in thetitle _Dominie_ (_i. E. _ Domine, voc. Of Dominus) still familiarlyapplied to schoolmasters, who were of course originally invariablyclergymen. ]

[Footnote 165: A Conventual is a member of some monastic orderattached to the regular service of a church, or (as would nowadays besaid) a "beneficed" monk. ]

[Footnote 166: _Sic. _ This confusion of persons constantly occurs inBoccaccio, especially in the conversational parts of the Decameron, inwhich he makes the freest use of the various forms of enallage and ofother rhetorical figures, such as hyperbaton, synecdoche, etc. , to theno small detriment of his style in the matter of clearness. ]

[Footnote 167: _i. E. _ nine o'clock p. M. ]

THE FIFTH STORY

[Day the Third]

 RICCIARDO, SURNAMED IL ZIMA, GIVETH MESSER FRANCESCO VERGELLESI A PALFREY OF HIS AND HATH THEREFOR HIS LEAVE TO SPEAK WITH HIS WIFE. SHE KEEPING SILENCE, HE IN HER PERSON REPLIETH UNTO HIMSELF, AND THE EFFECT AFTER ENSUETH IN ACCORDANCE WITH HIS ANSWER

Pamfilo having made an end, not without laughter on the part of theladies, of the story of Fra Puccio, the queen with a commanding airbade Elisa follow on. She, rather tartly than otherwise, not out ofmalice, but of old habit, began to speak thus, "Many folk, knowingmuch, imagine that others know nothing, and so ofttimes, what whilethey think to overreach others, find, after the event, that theythemselves have been outwitted of them; wherefore I hold his follygreat who setteth himself without occasion to test the strength ofanother's wit. But, for that maybe all are not of my opinion, itpleaseth me, whilst following on the given order of the discourse, torelate to you that which befell a Pistolese gentleman[168] by reasonthereof. 

[Footnote 168: _i. E. _ a gentleman of Pistoia. ]

There was in Pistoia a gentleman of the Vergellesi family, by nameMesser Francesco, a man of great wealth and understanding and welladvised in all else, but covetous beyond measure. Being made provostof Milan, he had furnished himself with everything necessary for hishonourable going thither, except only with a palfrey handsome enoughfor him, and finding none to his liking, he abode in concern thereof. Now there was then in the same town a young man called Ricciardo, oflittle family, but very rich, who still went so quaintly clad and sobrave of his person that he was commonly known as Il Zima, [169] and hehad long in vain loved and courted Messer Francesco's wife, who wasexceeding fair and very virtuous. Now he had one of the handsomestpalfreys in all Tuscany and set great store by it for its beauty andit being public to every one that he was enamoured of MesserFrancesco's wife, there were those who told the latter that, should heask it, he might have the horse for the love Il Zima bore his lady. Accordingly, moved by covetise, Messer Francesco let call Il Zima tohim and sought of him his palfrey by way of sale, so he should profferit to him as a gift. The other, hearing this, was well pleased andmade answer to him, saying, "Sir, though you gave me all you have inthe world, you might not avail to have my palfrey by way of sale, butby way of gift you may have it, whenas it pleaseth you, on conditionthat, ere you take it, I may have leave to speak some words with yourlady in your presence, but so far removed from every one that I may beheard of none other than herself. ' The gentleman, urged by avarice andlooking to outwit the other, answered that it liked him well and [thathe might speak with her] as much as he would; then, leaving him in thesaloon of his palace, he betook himself to the lady's chamber andtelling her how easily he might acquire the palfrey, bade her comehearken to Il Zima, but charged her take good care to answer neitherlittle or much to aught that he should say. To this the lady muchdemurred, but, it behoving her ensue her husband's pleasure, shepromised to do his bidding and followed him to the saloon, to hearwhat Il Zima should say. The latter, having renewed his covenant withthe gentleman, seated himself with the lady in a part of the saloon ata great distance from every one and began to say thus, 'Noble lady, meseemeth certain that you have too much wit not to have long sinceperceived how great a love I have been brought to bear you by yourbeauty, which far transcendeth that of any woman whom methinketh Iever beheld, to say nothing of the engaging manners and the peerlessvirtues which be in you and which might well avail to take theloftiest spirits of mankind; wherefore it were needless to declare toyou in words that this [my love] is the greatest and most fervent thatever man bore woman; and thus, without fail, will I do[170] so long asmy wretched life shall sustain these limbs, nay, longer; for that, ifin the other world folk love as they do here below, I shall love youto all eternity. Wherefore you may rest assured that you have nothing, be it much or little worth, that you may hold so wholly yours andwhereon you may in every wise so surely reckon as myself, such as Iam, and that likewise which is mine. And that of this you may takeassurance by very certain argument, I tell you that I should countmyself more graced, did you command me somewhat that I might do andthat would pleasure you, than if, I commanding, all the world shouldpromptliest obey me. Since, then, I am yours, even as you have heard, it is not without reason that I dare to offer up my prayers to yournobility, wherefrom alone can all peace, all health and all well-beingderive for me, and no otherwhence; yea, as the humblest of yourservants, I beseech you, dear my good and only hope of my soul, which, midmost the fire of love, feedeth upon its hope in you, --that yourbenignity may be so great and your past rigour shown unto me, who amyours, on such wise be mollified that I, recomforted by your kindness, may say that, like as by your beauty I was stricken with love, even soby your pity have I life, which latter, an your haughty soul inclinenot to my prayers, will without fail come to nought and I shall perishand you may be said to be my murderer. Letting be that my death willdo you no honour, I doubt not eke but that, conscience bytimespricking you therefor, you will regret having wrought it[171] andwhiles, better disposed, will say in yourself, "Alack, how ill I didnot to have compassion upon my poor Zima!" and this repentance, beingof no avail, will cause you the great annoy. Wherefore, so this maynot betide, now that you have it in your power to succour me, bethinkyourself and ere I die, be moved to pity on me, for that with youalone it resteth to make me the happiest or the most miserable manalive. I trust your courtesy will be such that you will not suffer meto receive death in guerdon of such and so great a love, but will witha glad response and full of favour quicken my fainting spirits, whichflutter, all dismayed, in your presence. ' Therewith he held his peaceand heaving the deepest of sighs, followed up with sundry tears, proceeded to await the lady's answer. The latter, --whom the long courthe had paid her, the joustings held and the serenades given in herhonour and other like things done of him for the love of her had notavailed to move, --was moved by the passionate speech of this mostardent lover and began to be sensible of that which she had never yetfelt, to wit, what manner of thing love was; and albeit, in ensuanceof the commandment laid upon her by her husband, she kept silence, shecould not withal hinder sundry gentle sighs from discovering thatwhich, in answer to Il Zima, she would gladly have made manifest. IlZima, having waited awhile and seeing that no response ensued, waswondered and presently began to divine the husband's device; but yet, looking her in the face and observing certain flashes of her eyestowards him now and again and noting, moreover, the sighs which shesuffered not to escape her bosom with all her strength, conceivedfresh hope and heartened thereby, took new counsel[172] and proceededto answer himself after the following fashion, she hearkening thewhile: 'Zima mine, this long time, in good sooth, have I perceived thylove for me to be most great and perfect, and now by thy words I knowit yet better and am well pleased therewith, as indeed I should be. Algates, an I have seemed to thee harsh and cruel, I will not havethee believe that I have at heart been that which I have shown myselfin countenance; nay, I have ever loved thee and held thee dear aboveall other men; but thus hath it behoved me do, both for fear of othersand for the preserving of my fair fame. But now is the time at handwhen I may show thee clearly that I love thee and guerdon thee of thelove that thou hast borne and bearest me. Take comfort, therefore, andbe of good hope, for that a few days hence Messer Francesco is to goto Milan for provost, as indeed thou knowest, who hast for the love ofme given him thy goodly palfrey; and whenas he shall be gone, Ipromise thee by my troth and of the true love I bear thee, that, before many days, thou shalt without fail foregather with me and wewill give gladsome and entire accomplishment to our love. And that Imay not have to bespeak thee otherwhiles of the matter, I tell theepresently that, whenas thou shalt see two napkins displayed at thewindow of my chamber, which giveth upon our garden, do thou that sameevening at nightfall make shift to come to me by the garden door, taking good care that thou be not seen. Thou wilt find me awaitingthee and we will all night long have delight and pleasance one ofanother, to our hearts' content. ' Having thus spoken for the lady, hebegan again to speak in his own person and rejoined on this wise, 'Dearest lady, my every sense is so transported with excessive joy foryour gracious reply that I can scarce avail to make response, muchless to render you due thanks; nay, could I e'en speak as I desire, there is no term so long that it might suffice me fully to thank youas I would fain do and as it behoveth me; wherefore I leave it to yourdiscreet consideration to imagine that which, for all my will, I amunable to express in words. This much only I tell you that I willwithout fail bethink myself to do as you have charged me, and beingthen, peradventure, better certified of so great a grace as that whichyou have vouchsafed me, I will, as best I may, study to render you theutmost thanks in my power. For the nonce there abideth no more to say;wherefore, dearest lady mine, God give you that gladness and that wealwhich you most desire, and so to Him I commend you. ' For all this thelady said not a word; whereupon Il Zima arose and turned towards thehusband, who, seeing him risen, came up to him and said, laughing 'Howdeemest thou? Have I well performed my promise to thee?' 'Nay, sir'answered Il Zima; 'for you promised to let me speak with your lady andyou have caused me speak with a marble statue. ' These words weremighty pleasing to the husband, who, for all he had a good opinion ofthe lady, conceived of her a yet better and said, 'Now is thy palfreyfairly mine. ' 'Ay is it, sir, ' replied Il Zima, 'but, had I thought toreap of this favour received of you such fruit as I have gotten, I hadgiven you the palfrey, without asking it[173] of you; and would God Ihad done it, for that now you have bought the palfrey and I have notsold it. ' The other laughed at this and being now provided with apalfrey, set out upon his way a few days after and betook himself toMilan, to enter upon the Provostship. The lady, left free in herhouse, called to mind Il Zima's words and the love he bore her and thepalfrey given for her sake and seeing him pass often by the house, said in herself, 'What do I? Why waste I my youth? Yonder man is goneto Milan and will not return these six months. When will he everrender me them[174] again? When I am old? Moreover, when shall I everfind such a lover as Il Zima? I am alone and have no one to fear. Iknow not why I should not take this good opportunity what while I may;I shall not always have such leisure as I presently have. None willknow the thing, and even were it to be known, it is better to do andrepent, than to abstain and repent. ' Having thus taken counsel withherself, she one day set two napkins in the garden window, even as IlZima had said, which when he saw, he was greatly rejoiced and nosooner was the night come than he betook himself, secretly and alone, to the gate of the lady's garden and finding it open, passed on toanother door that opened into the house, where he found his mistressawaiting him. She, seeing him come, started up to meet him andreceived him with the utmost joy, whilst he clipped and kissed her anhundred thousand times and followed her up the stair to her chamber, where, getting them to bed without a moment's delay, they knew theutmost term of amorous delight. Nor was this first time the last, forthat, what while the gentleman abode at Milan and even after hiscoming back, Il Zima returned thither many another time, to theexceeding satisfaction of both parties. "

[Footnote 169: Lit. "The summit, " or in modern slang "The tiptop, "_i. E. _ the pink of fashion. ]

[Footnote 170: _i. E. _ this love shall I bear you. This is a flagrantinstance of the misuse of ellipsis, which so frequently disfiguresBoccaccio's dialogue. ]

[Footnote 171: _i. E. _ my death. ]

[Footnote 172: Syn. A rare or strange means (_nuovo consiglio_). Theword _nuovo_ is constantly used by Boccaccio in the latter sense, asis _consiglio_ in its remoter signification of means, remedy, etc. ]

[Footnote 173: _i. E. _ the favour. ]

[Footnote 174: _i. E. _ the lost six months. ]

THE SIXTH STORY

[Day the Third]

 RICCIARDO MINUTOLO, BEING ENAMOURED OF THE WIFE OF FILIPPELLO FIGHINOLFI AND KNOWING HER JEALOUSY OF HER HUSBAND, CONTRIVETH, BY REPRESENTING THAT FILIPPELLO WAS ON THE ENSUING DAY TO BE WITH HIS OWN WIFE IN A BAGNIO, TO BRING HER TO THE LATTER PLACE, WHERE, THINKING TO BE WITH HER HUSBAND, SHE FINDETH THAT SHE HATH ABIDDEN WITH RICCIARDO

Elisa having no more to say, the queen, after commending the sagacityof Il Zima, bade Fiammetta proceed with a story, who answered, allsmilingly, "Willingly, Madam, " and began thus: "It behoveth somedeleto depart our city (which, like as it aboundeth in all things else, isfruitful in instances of every subject) and as Elisa hath done, torecount somewhat of the things that have befallen in other parts ofthe world; wherefore, passing over to Naples, I shall tell how one ofthose she-saints, who feign themselves so shy of love, was by theingenuity of a lover of hers brought to taste the fruits of love, ereshe had known its flowers; the which will at once teach youcircumspection in the things that may hap and afford you diversion ofthose already befallen. 

In Naples, a very ancient city and as delightful as any in Italy ormaybe more so, there was once a young man, illustrious for nobility ofblood and noted for his much wealth, whose name was RicciardoMinutolo. Albeit he had to wife a very fair and lovesome young lady, he fell in love with one who, according to general opinion, faroverpassed in beauty all the other ladies of Naples. Her name wasCatella and she was the wife of another young gentleman of likecondition, hight Filippello Fighinolfi, whom, like a very virtuouswoman as she was, she loved and cherished over all. Ricciardo, then, loving this Catella and doing all those things whereby the love andfavour of a lady are commonly to be won, yet for all that availing notto compass aught of his desire, was like to despair; and unknowing orunable to rid him of his passion, he neither knew how to die nor didit profit him to live. 

Abiding in this mind, it befell that he was one day urgently exhortedby certain ladies of his kinsfolk to renounce this passion of his, seeing he did but weary himself in vain, for that Catella had noneother good than Filippello, of whom she lived in such jealousy thatshe fancied every bird that flew through the air would take him fromher. Ricciardo, hearing of Catella's jealousy, forthright bethoughthimself how he might compass his wishes and accordingly proceeded tofeign himself in despair of her love and to have therefore set hismind upon another lady, for whose love he began to make a show ofjousting and tourneying and doing all those things which he had beenused to do for Catella; nor did he do this long before well nigh allthe Neapolitans, and among the rest the lady herself, were persuadedthat he no longer loved Catella, but was ardently enamoured of thissecond lady; and on this wise he persisted until it was so firmlybelieved not only of others, but of Catella herself, that the latterlaid aside a certain reserve with which she was wont to entreat him, by reason of the love he bore her, and coming and going, saluted himfamiliarly, neighbourwise, as she did others. 

It presently befell that, the weather being warm, many companies ofladies and gentlemen went, according to the usance of the Neapolitans, to divert themselves on the banks of the sea and there to dine andsup, and Ricciardo, knowing Catella to be gone thither with hercompany, betook himself to the same place with his friends and wasreceived into Catella's party of ladies, after allowing himself to bemuch pressed, as if he had no great mind to abide there. The ladiesand Catella fell to rallying him upon his new love, and he, feigninghimself sore inflamed therewith, gave them the more occasion fordiscourse. Presently, one lady going hither and thither, as commonlyhappeneth in such places, and Catella being left with a few whereasRicciardo was, the latter cast at her a hint of a certain amour ofFilippello her husband, whereupon she fell into a sudden passion ofjealousy and began to be inwardly all afire with impatience to knowwhat he meant. At last, having contained herself awhile and beingunable to hold out longer, she besought Ricciardo, for that lady'ssake whom he most loved, to be pleased to make her clear[175] of thatwhich he had said of Filippello; whereupon quoth he, 'You conjure meby such a person that I dare not deny aught you ask me; wherefore I amready to tell it you, so but you promise me that you will never say aword thereof either to him or to any other, save whenas you shall byexperience have seen that which I shall tell you to be true; for that, when you please, I will teach you how you may see it. '

[Footnote 175: Or, in modern parlance, to enlighten her. ]

The lady consented to that which he asked and swore to him never torepeat that which he should tell her, believing it the more to betrue. Then, withdrawing apart with her, so they might not be overheardof any, he proceeded to say thus: 'Madam, an I loved you as once Iloved, I should not dare tell you aught which I thought might vex you;but, since that love is passed away, I shall be less chary ofdiscovering to you the whole truth. I know not if Filippello have evertaken umbrage at the love I bore you or have believed that I was everloved of you. Be this as it may, he hath never personally shown meaught thereof; but now, having peradventure awaited a time whenas hedeemed I should be less suspicious, it seemeth he would fain do untome that which I misdoubt me he feareth I have done unto him, to wit, [he seeketh] to have my wife at his pleasure. As I find, he hath forsome little time past secretly solicited her with sundry messages, allof which I have known from herself, and she hath made answer thereuntoaccording as I have enjoined her. This very day, however, ere I camehither, I found in the house, in close conference with my wife, awoman whom I set down incontinent for that which she was, wherefore Icalled my wife and asked her what the woman wanted. Quoth she, "She isthe agent of Filippello, with whom thou hast saddled me, by dint ofmaking me answer him and give him hopes, and she saith that he wille'en know once for all what I mean to do and that, an I will, hewould contrive for me to be privily at a bagnio in this city; nay, ofthis he prayeth and importuneth me; and hadst thou not, I know notwhy, caused me keep this traffic with him, I would have rid myself ofhim after such a fashion that he should never more have looked whereasI might be. " Thereupon meseemed this was going too far and that it wasno longer to be borne; and I bethought myself to tell it to you, soyou might know how he requiteth that entire fidelity of yours, wherebyaforetime I was nigh upon death. And so you shall not believe thisthat I tell you to be words and fables, but may, whenas you have amind thereto, openly both see and touch it, I caused my wife make thisanswer to her who awaited it, that she was ready to be at the bagnioin question to-morrow at none, whenas the folk sleep; with which thewoman took leave of her, very well pleased. Now methinketh not youbelieve that I will send my wife thither; but, were I in your place, Iwould contrive that he should find me there in the room of her hethinketh to meet, and whenas I had abidden with him awhile, I wouldgive him to know with whom he had been and render him such honourthereof as should beseem him; by which means methinketh you would dohim such a shame that the affront he would fain put upon yourself andupon me would at one blow be avenged. '

Catella, hearing this, without anywise considering who it was thatsaid it to her or suspecting his design, forthright, after the wont ofjealous folk, gave credence to his words and fell a-fitting to hisstory certain things that had already befallen; then, fired withsudden anger, she answered that she would certainly do as hecounselled, --it was no such great matter, --and that assuredly, ifFilippello came thither, she would do him such a shame that it shouldstill recur to his mind, as often as he saw a woman. Ricciardo, wellpleased at this and himseeming his device was a good one and in a fairway of success, confirmed her in her purpose with many other words andstrengthened her belief in his story, praying her, natheless, never tosay that she had heard it from him, the which she promised him on hertroth. 

Next morning, Ricciardo betook himself to a good woman, who kept thebagnio he had named to Catella, and telling her what he purposed todo, prayed her to further him therein as most she might. The goodwoman, who was much beholden to him, answered that she would well andagreed with him what she should do and say. Now in the house where thebagnio was she had a very dark chamber, for that no window gavethereon by which the light might enter. This chamber she made readyand spread a bed there, as best she might, wherein Ricciardo, as soonas he had dined, laid himself and proceeded to await Catella. Thelatter, having heard Ricciardo's words and giving more credencethereto than behoved her, returned in the evening, full of despite, toher house, whither Filippello also returned and being by chance fullof other thought, maybe did not show her his usual fondness. When shesaw this, her suspicions rose yet higher and she said in herself, 'Forsooth, his mind is occupied with yonder lady with whom he thinkethto take his pleasure to-morrow; but of a surety this shall not come topass. ' An in this thought she abode well nigh all that night, considering how she should bespeak him, whenas she should be with him[in the bagnio]. 

What more [need I say?] The hour of none come, she took herwaiting-woman and without anywise changing counsel, repaired to thebagnio that Ricciardo had named to her, and there finding the goodwoman, asked her if Filippello had been there that day, whereuponquoth the other, who had been duly lessoned by Ricciardo, 'Are you thelady that should come to speak with him?' 'Ay am I, ' answered Catella. 'Then, ' said the woman, 'get you in to him. ' Catella, who went seekingthat which she would fain not have found, caused herself to be broughtto the chamber where Ricciardo was and entering with covered head, locked herself in. Ricciardo, seeing her enter, rose joyfully to hisfeet and catching her in his arms, said softly, 'Welcome, my soul!'Whilst she, the better to feign herself other than she was, clippedhim and kissed him and made much of him, without saying a word, fearing to be known of him if she should speak. The chamber was verydark, wherewith each of them was well pleased, nor for long abidingthere did the eyes recover more power. Ricciardo carried her to thebed and there, without speaking, lest their voices should betray them, they abode a long while, to the greater delight and pleasance of theone party than the other. 

But presently, it seeming to Catella time to vent the resentment shefelt, she began, all afire with rage and despite, to speak thus, 'Alas, how wretched is women's lot and how ill bestowed the love thatmany of them bear their husbands! I, unhappy that I am, these eightyears have I loved thee more than my life, and thou, as I have felt, art all afire and all consumed with love of a strange woman, wickedand perverse man that thou art! Now with whom thinkest thou to havebeen? Thou hast been with her whom thou hast too long beguiled withthy false blandishments, making a show of love to her and beingenamoured elsewhere. I am Catella, not Ricciardo's wife, disloyaltraitor that thou art! Hearken if thou know my voice; it is indeed I;and it seemeth to me a thousand years till we be in the light, so Imay shame thee as thou deservest, scurvy discredited cur that thouart! Alack, woe is me! To whom have I borne so much love these manyyears? To this disloyal dog, who, thinking to have a strange woman inhis arms, hath lavished on me more caresses and more fondnesses inthis little while I have been here with him than in all the rest ofthe time I have been his. Thou hast been brisk enough to-day, renegadecur that thou art, that usest at home to show thyself so feeble andforspent and impotent; but, praised be God, thou hast tilled thine ownfield and not, as thou thoughtest, that of another. No wonder thoucamest not anigh me yesternight; thou lookedst to discharge thee ofthy lading elsewhere and wouldst fain come fresh to the battle; but, thanks to God and my own foresight, the stream hath e'en run in itsdue channel. Why answerest thou not, wicked man? Why sayst thou notsomewhat? Art thou grown dumb, hearing me? Cock's faith, I know notwhat hindereth me from thrusting my hands into thine eyes and tearingthem out for thee. Thou thoughtest to do this treason very secretly;but, perdie, one knoweth as much as another; thou hast not availed tocompass thine end; I have had better beagles at thy heels than thouthoughtest. '

Ricciardo inwardly rejoiced at these words and without making anyreply, clipped her and kissed her and fondled her more than ever;whereupon quoth she, following on her speech, 'Ay, thou thinkest tocajole me with thy feigned caresses, fashious dog that thou art, andto appease and console me; but thou art mistaken; I shall never becomforted for this till I have put thee to shame therefor in thepresence of all our friends and kinsmen and neighbours. Am I not asfair as Ricciardo's wife, thou villain? Am I not as good agentlewoman? Why dost thou not answer, thou sorry dog? What hath shemore than I? Keep thy distance; touch me not; thou hast done enoughfeats of arms for to-day. Now thou knowest who I am, I am well assuredthat all thou couldst do would be perforce; but, so God grant megrace, I will yet cause thee suffer want thereof, and I know not whathindereth me from sending for Ricciardo, who hath loved me more thanhimself and could never boast that I once even looked at him; nor knowI what harm it were to do it. Thou thoughtest to have his wife hereand it is as if thou hadst had her, inasmuch as it is none of thyfault that the thing hath miscarried; wherefore, were I to havehimself, thou couldst not with reason blame me. '

Brief, many were the lady's words and sore her complaining. However, at last, Ricciardo, bethinking himself that, an he let her go in thatbelief, much ill might ensue thereof, determined to discover himselfand undeceive her; wherefore, catching her in his arms and holding herfast, so she might not get away, he said, 'Sweet my soul, be notangered; that which I could not have of you by simply loving you, Lovehath taught me to obtain by practice; and I am your Ricciardo. 'Catella, hearing this and knowing him by the voice, would have thrownherself incontinent out of bed, but could not; whereupon she offeredto cry out; but Ricciardo stopped her mouth with one hand and said, 'Madam, this that hath been may henceforth on nowise be undone, thoughyou should cry all the days of your life; and if you cry out or causethis ever anywise to be known of any one, two things will comethereof; the one (which should no little concern you) will be thatyour honour and fair fame will be marred, for that, albeit you mayavouch that I brought you hither by practice, I shall say that it isnot true, nay, that I caused you come hither for monies and gifts thatI promised you, whereof for that I gave you not so largely as youhoped, you waxed angry and made all this talk and this outcry; and youknow that folk are more apt to credit ill than good, wherefore I shallmore readily be believed than you. Secondly, there will ensue thereofa mortal enmity between your husband and myself, and it may as wellhappen that I shall kill him as he me, in which case you are neverafter like to be happy or content. Wherefore, heart of my body, go notabout at once to dishonour yourself and to cast your husband andmyself into strife and peril. You are not the first woman, nor willyou be the last, who hath been deceived, nor have I in this practisedupon you to bereave you of your own, but for the exceeding love thatI bear you and am minded ever to bear you and to be your most humbleservant. And although it is long since I and all that I possess or canor am worth have been yours and at your service, henceforward Ipurpose that they shall be more than ever so. Now, you are welladvised in other things and so I am certain you will be in this. '

Catella, what while Ricciardo spoke thus, wept sore, but, albeit shewas sore provoked and complained grievously, nevertheless, her reasonallowed so much force to his true words that she knew it to bepossible that it should happen as he said; wherefore quoth she, 'Ricciardo, I know not how God will vouchsafe me strength to sufferthe affront and the cheat thou hast put upon me; I will well to makeno outcry here whither my simplicity and overmuch jealousy havebrought me; but of this be assured that I shall never be content tillone way or another I see myself avenged of this thou hast done to me. Wherefore, leave me, hold me no longer; thou hast had that which thoudesiredst and hast tumbled me to thy heart's content; it is time toleave me; let me go, I prithee. '

Ricciardo, seeing her mind yet overmuch disordered, had laid it toheart never to leave her till he had gotten his pardon of her;wherefore, studying with the softest words to appease her, he sobespoke and so entreated and so conjured her that she was prevailedupon to make peace with him, and of like accord they abode together agreat while thereafter in the utmost delight. Moreover, Catella, having thus learned how much more savoury were the lover's kisses thanthose of the husband and her former rigour being changed into kindlove-liking for Ricciardo, from that day forth she loved him verytenderly and thereafter, ordering themselves with the utmostdiscretion, they many a time had joyance of their loves. God grant usto enjoy ours!"

THE SEVENTH STORY

[Day the Third]

 TEDALDO ELISEI, HAVING FALLEN OUT WITH HIS MISTRESS, DEPARTETH FLORENCE AND RETURNING THITHER, AFTER AWHILE, IN A PILGRIM'S FAVOUR, SPEAKETH WITH THE LADY AND MAKETH HER COGNISANT OF HER ERROR; AFTER WHICH HE DELIVERETH HER HUSBAND, WHO HAD BEEN CONVICTED OF MURDERING HIM, FROM DEATH AND RECONCILING HIM WITH HIS BRETHREN, THENCEFORWARD DISCREETLY ENJOYETH HIMSELF WITH HIS MISTRESS

Fiammetta being now silent, commended of all, the queen, to lose notime, forthright committed the burden of discourse to Emilia, whobegan thus: "It pleaseth me to return to our city, whence it pleasedthe last two speakers to depart, and to show you how a townsman ofours regained his lost mistress. 

There was, then, in Florence a noble youth, whose name was TedaldoElisei and who, being beyond measure enamoured of a lady called MadamErmellina, the wife of one Aldobrandino Palermini, deserved for hispraiseworthy fashions, to enjoy his desire. However, Fortune, theenemy of the happy, denied him this solace, for that, whatever mighthave been the cause, the lady, after complying awhile with Tedaldo'swishes, suddenly altogether withdrew her good graces from him and notonly refused to hearken to any message of his, but would on no wisesee him; wherefore he fell into a dire and cruel melancholy; but hislove for her had been so hidden that none guessed it to be the causeof his chagrin. After he had in divers ways studied amain to recoverthe love himseemed he had lost without his fault and finding all hislabour vain, he resolved to withdraw from the world, that he might notafford her who was the cause of his ill the pleasure of seeing himpine away; wherefore, without saying aught to friend or kinsman, saveto a comrade of his, who knew all, he took such monies as he mightavail to have and departing secretly, came to Ancona, where, under thename of Filippo di Sanlodeccio, he made acquaintance with a richmerchant and taking service with him, accompanied him to Cyprus onboard a ship of his. 

His manners and behaviour so pleased the merchant that he not onlyassigned him a good wage, but made him in part his associate and putinto his hands a great part of his affairs, which he ordered so welland so diligently that in a few years he himself became a rich andfamous and considerable merchant; and albeit, in the midst of thesehis dealings, he oft remembered him of his cruel mistress and wasgrievously tormented of love and yearned sore to look on her again, such was his constancy that seven years long he got the better of thebattle. But, chancing one day to hear sing in Cyprus a song thathimself had made aforetime and wherein was recounted the love he borehis mistress and she him and the pleasure he had of her, and thinkingit could not be she had forgotten him, he flamed up into such apassion of desire to see her again that, unable to endure longer, heresolved to return to Florence. 

Accordingly, having set all his affairs in order, he betook himselfwith one only servant to Ancona and transporting all his good thither, despatched it to Florence to a friend of the Anconese his partner, whilst he himself, in the disguise of a pilgrim returning from theHoly Sepulchre, followed secretly after with his servant and coming toFlorence, put up at a little hostelry kept by two brothers, in theneighbourhood of his mistress's house, whereto he repaired first ofall, to see her, an he might. However, he found the windows and doorsand all else closed, wherefore his heart misgave him she was dead orhad removed thence and he betook himself, in great concern, to thehouse of his brethren, before which he saw four of the latter clad allin black. At this he marvelled exceedingly and knowing himself sochanged both in habit and person from that which he was used to be, whenas he departed thence, that he might not lightly be recognized, heboldly accosted a cordwainer hard by and asked him why they were cladin black; whereto he answered, 'Yonder men are clad in black for thatit is not yet a fortnight since a brother of theirs, who had not beenhere this great while, was murdered, and I understand they haveproved to the court that one Aldobrandino Palermini, who is in prison, slew him, for that he was a well-wisher of his wife and had returnedhither unknown to be with her. '

Tedaldo marvelled exceedingly that any one should so resemble him asto be taken for him and was grieved for Aldobrandino's ill fortune. Then, having learned that the lady was alive and well and it being nownight, he returned, full of various thoughts, to the inn and havingsupped with his servant, was put to sleep well nigh at the top of thehouse. There, what with the many thoughts that stirred him and thebadness of the bed and peradventure also by reason of the supper, which had been meagre, half the night passed whilst he had not yetbeen able to fall asleep; wherefore, being awake, himseemed aboutmidnight he heard folk come down into the house from the roof, andafter through the chinks of the chamber-door he saw a light come upthither. Thereupon he stole softly to the door and putting his eye tothe chink, fell a-spying what this might mean and saw a comely enoughlass who held the light, whilst three men, who had come down from theroof, made towards her; and after some greetings had passed betweenthem, one of them said to the girl, 'Henceforth, praised be God, wemay abide secure, since we know now for certain that the death ofTedaldo Elisei hath been proved by his brethren against AldobrandinoPalermini, who hath confessed thereto, and judgment is now recorded;nevertheless, it behoveth to keep strict silence, for that, should itever become known that it was we [who slew him], we shall be in thesame danger as is Aldobrandino. ' Having thus bespoken the woman, whoshowed herself much rejoiced thereat, they left her and going below, betook themselves to bed. 

Tedaldo, hearing this, fell a-considering how many and how great arethe errors which may befall the minds of men, bethinking him first ofhis brothers who had bewept and buried a stranger in his stead andafter of the innocent man accused on false suspicion and brought byuntrue witness to the point of death, no less than of the blindseverity of laws and rulers, who ofttimes, under cover of diligentinvestigation of the truth, cause, by their cruelties, prove thatwhich is false and style themselves ministers of justice and of God, whereas indeed they are executors of iniquity and of the devil; afterwhich he turned his thought to the deliverance of Aldobrandino anddetermined in himself what he should do. Accordingly, arising in themorning, he left his servant at the inn and betook himself alone, whenas it seemed to him time, to the house of his mistress, where, chancing to find the door open, he entered in and saw the lady seated, all full of tears and bitterness of soul, in a little ground floorroom that was there. 

At this sight he was like to weep for compassion of her and drawingnear to her, said, 'Madam, afflict not yourself; your peace is athand. ' The lady, hearing this, lifted her eyes and said, weeping, 'Good man, thou seemest to me a stranger pilgrim; what knowest thou ofmy peace or of my affliction?' 'Madam, ' answered Tedaldo, 'I am ofConstantinople and am but now come hither, being sent of God to turnyour tears into laughter and to deliver your husband from death. 'Quoth she, 'An thou be of Constantinople and newly come hither, howknowest thou who I am or who is my husband?' Thereupon, the pilgrimbeginning from the beginning, recounted to her the whole history ofAldobrandino's troubles and told her who she was and how long she hadbeen married and other things which he very well knew of her affairs;whereat she marvelled exceedingly and holding him for a prophet, fellon her knees at his feet, beseeching him for God's sake, an he werecome for Aldobrandino's salvation, to despatch, for that the time wasshort. 

The pilgrim, feigning himself a very holy man, said, 'Madam, arise andweep not, but hearken well to that which I shall say to you and takegood care never to tell it to any. According to that which God hathrevealed unto me, the tribulation wherein you now are hath betided youbecause of a sin committed by you aforetime, which God the Lord hathchosen in part to purge with this present annoy and will havealtogether amended of you; else will you fall into far greateraffliction. ' 'Sir, ' answered the lady, 'I have many sins and know notwhich one, more than another, God the Lord would have me amend;wherefore, an you know it, tell me and I will do what I may to amendit. ' 'Madam, ' rejoined the pilgrim, 'I know well enough what it is, nor do I question you thereof the better to know it, but to the intentthat, telling it yourself, you may have the more remorse thereof. Butlet us come to the fact; tell me, do you remember, ever to have had alover?'

The lady, hearing this, heaved a deep sigh and marvelled sore, supposing none had ever known it, albeit, in the days when he wasslain who had been buried for Tedaldo, there had been some whisperingthereof, for certain words not very discreetly used by Tedaldo'sconfidant, who knew it; then answered, 'I see that God discoverethunto you all men's secrets, wherefore I am resolved not to hide mineown from you. True it is that in my youth I loved over all theill-fortuned youth whose death is laid to my husband's charge, whichdeath I have bewept as sore as it was grievous to me, for that, albeitI showed myself harsh and cruel to him before his departure, yetneither his long absence nor his unhappy death hath availed to tearhim from my heart. ' Quoth the pilgrim, 'The hapless youth who is deadyou never loved, but Tedaldo Elisei ay. [176] But tell me, what was theoccasion of your falling out with him? Did he ever give you anyoffence?' 'Certes, no, ' replied she; 'he never offended against me;the cause of the breach was the prate of an accursed friar, to whom Ionce confessed me and who, when I told him of the love I bore Tedaldoand the privacy I had with him, made such a racket about my ears thatI tremble yet to think of it, telling me that, an I desisted nottherefrom, I should go in the devil's mouth to the deepest deep ofhell and there be cast into everlasting fire; whereupon there enteredinto me such a fear that I altogether determined to forswear allfurther converse with him, and that I might have no occasiontherefor, I would no longer receive his letters or messages; albeit Ibelieve, had he persevered awhile, instead of getting him gone (as Ipresume) in despair, that, seeing him, as I did, waste away like snowin the sun, my harsh resolve would have yielded, for that I had nogreater desire in the world. '

[Footnote 176: _i. E. _ It was not the dead man, but Tedaldo Elisei whomyou loved. (_Lo sventurato giovane che fu morto non amasti voi mai, maTedaldo Elisei si. _)]

'Madam, ' rejoined the pilgrim, 'it is this sin alone that nowafflicteth you. I know for certain that Tedaldo did you no manner ofviolence; whenas you fell in love with him, you did it of your ownfree will, for that he pleased you; and as you yourself would have it, he came to you and enjoyed your privacy, wherein both with words anddeeds you showed him such complaisance that, if he loved you before, you caused his love redouble a thousandfold. And this being so (as Iknow it was) what cause should have availed to move you so harshly towithdraw yourself from him? These things should be pondered awhilebeforehand and if you think you may presently have cause to repentthereof, as of ill doing, you ought not to do them. You might, at yourpleasure, have ordained of him, as of that which belonged to you, thathe should no longer be yours; but to go about to deprive him ofyourself, you who were his, was a theft and an unseemly thing, whenasit was not his will. Now you must know that I am a friar and amtherefore well acquainted with all their usances; and if I speaksomewhat at large of them for your profit, it is not forbidden me, asit were to another; nay, and it pleaseth me to speak of them, so youmay henceforward know them better than you appear to have done in thepast. 

Friars of old were very pious and worthy men, but those who nowadaysstyle themselves friars and would be held such have nothing of themonk but the gown; nor is this latter even that of a true friar, forthat, --whereas of the founders of the monastic orders they[177] wereordained strait and poor and of coarse stuff and demonstrative[178] ofthe spirit of the wearers, who testified that they held thingstemporal in contempt whenas they wrapped their bodies in so mean ahabit, --those of our time have them made full and double and glossyand of the finest cloth and have brought them to a quaint pontificalcut, insomuch that they think it no shame to flaunt it withalpeacock-wise, in the churches and public places, even as do the laitywith their apparel; and like as with the sweep-net the fisher goethabout to take many fishes in the river at one cast, even so these, wrapping themselves about with the amplest of skirts, study toentangle therein great store of prudish maids and widows and manyother silly women and men, and this is their chief concern over anyother exercise; wherefore, to speak more plainly, they have not thefriar's gown, but only the colours thereof. 

[Footnote 177: _i. E. _ friars' gowns. Boccaccio constantly uses thisirregular form of enallage, especially in dialogue. ]

[Footnote 178: Or, as we should nowadays say, "typical. "]

Moreover, whereas the ancients[179] desired the salvation of mankind, those of our day covet women and riches and turn their every thoughtto terrifying the minds of the foolish with clamours anddepicturements[180] and to making believe that sins may be purged withalmsdeeds and masses, to the intent that unto themselves (who, ofpoltroonery, not of devoutness, and that they may not sufferfatigue, [181] have, as a last resort, turned friars) one may bringbread, another send wine and a third give them a dole of money for thesouls of their departed friends. Certes, it is true that almsdeeds andprayers purge away sins; but, if those who give alms knew on whatmanner folks they bestow them, they would or keep them for themselvesor cast them before as many hogs. And for that these[182] know that, the fewer the possessors of a great treasure, the more they live atease, every one of them studieth with clamours and bugbears to detachothers from that whereof he would fain abide sole possessor. Theydecry lust in men, in order that, they who are chidden desisting fromwomen, the latter may be left to the chiders; they condemn usury andunjust gains, to the intent that, it being entrusted to them to makerestitution thereof, they may, with that which they declare must bringto perdition him who hath it, make wide their gowns and purchasebishopricks and other great benefices. 

[Footnote 179: _i. E. _ the founders of the monastic orders. ]

[Footnote 180: Lit. Pictures, paintings (_dipinture_), but evidentlyhere used in a tropical sense, Boccaccio's apparent meaning being thatthe hypocritical friars used to terrify their devotees by picturing tothem, in vivid colours, the horrors of the punishment reserved forsinners. ]

[Footnote 181: _i. E. _ may not have to labour for their living. ]

[Footnote 182: _i. E. _ the false friars. ]

And when they are taken to task of these and many other unseemlythings that they do, they think that to answer, "Do as we say and notas we do, " is a sufficient discharge of every grave burden, as if itwere possible for the sheep to be more constant and stouter to resisttemptation[183] than the shepherds. And how many there be of those towhom they make such a reply who apprehend it not after thefashion[184] in which they say it, the most part of them know. Themonks of our day would have you do as they say, to wit, fill theirpurses with money, trust your secrets to them, observe chastity, practise patience and forgiveness of injuries and keep yourselves fromevil speaking, --all things good, seemly and righteous; but why wouldthey have this? So they may do that, which if the laity did, themselves could not do. Who knoweth not that without money idlenessmay not endure? An thou expend thy monies in thy pleasures, the friarwill not be able to idle it in the monastery; an thou follow afterwomen, there will be no room for him, and except thou be patient or aforgiver of injuries, he will not dare to come to thy house to corruptthy family. But why should I hark back after every particular? Theycondemn themselves in the eyes of the understanding as often as theymake this excuse. An they believe not themselves able to abstain andlead a devout life, why do they not rather abide at home? Or, if theywill e'en give themselves unto this, [185] why do they not ensue thatother holy saying of the Gospel, "Christ began to do and toteach?"[186] Let them first do and after teach others. I have in mytime seen a thousand of them wooers, lovers and haunters, not of laywomen alone, but of nuns; ay, and of those that make the greatestoutcry in the pulpit. Shall we, then, follow after these who are thusfashioned? Whoso doth it doth that which he will, but God knoweth ifhe do wisely. 

[Footnote 183: Lit. More of iron (_più di ferro_). ]

[Footnote 184: Sic (_per lo modo_); but _quære_ not rather "in thesense. "]

[Footnote 185: _i. E. _ if they must enter upon this way of life, towit, that of the friar. ]

[Footnote 186: The reference is apparently to the opening verse of theActs of the Apostles, where Luke says, "The former treatise have Imade, O Theophilus, of all that Jesus began to do and to teach. " Itneed hardly be remarked that the passage in question does not bear theinterpretation Boccaccio would put upon it. ]

But, granted even we are to allow that which the friar who chid yousaid to you, to wit, that it is a grievous sin to break the marriagevow, is it not a far greater sin to rob a man and a greater yet toslay him or drive him into exile, to wander miserably about the world?Every one must allow this. For a woman to have converse with a man isa sin of nature; but to rob him or slay him or drive him into exileproceedeth from malignity of mind. That you robbed Tedaldo I havealready shown you, in despoiling him of yourself, who had become hisof your spontaneous will, and I say also that, so far as in you lay, you slew him, for that it was none of your fault, --showing yourself, as you did, hourly more cruel, --that he slew not himself with his ownhand; and the law willeth that whoso is the cause of the ill that isdone be held alike guilty with him who doth it. And that you were thecause of his exile and of his going wandering seven years about theworld cannot be denied. So that in whichever one of these three thingsaforesaid you have committed a far greater sin than in your conversewith him. 

But, let us see; maybe Tedaldo deserved this usage? Certes, he didnot; you yourself have already confessed it, more by token that I knowhe loveth[187] you more than himself. No woman was ever so honoured, so exalted, so magnified over every other of her sex as were you byhim, whenas he found himself where he might fairly speak of you, without engendering suspicion. His every good, his every honour, hisevery liberty were all committed by him into your hands. Was he notnoble and young? Was he not handsome among all his townsmen? Was henot accomplished in such things as pertain unto young men? Was he notloved, cherished and well seen of every one? You will not say nay tothis either. Then how, at the bidding of a scurvy, envious numskull ofa friar, could you take such a cruel resolve against him? I know notwhat error is that of women who eschew men and hold them in littleesteem, whenas, considering what themselves are and what and how greatis the nobility, beyond every other animal, given of God to man, theyshould rather glory whenas they are loved of any and prize him overall and study with all diligence to please him, so he may never desistfrom loving them. This how you did, moved by the prate of a friar, who must for certain have been some broth-swilling pasty-gorger, youyourself know; and most like he had a mind to put himself in the placewhence he studied to expel others. 

[Footnote 187: _Sic_; but the past tense "loved" is probably intended, as the pretended pilgrim had not yet discovered Tedaldo to be alive. ]

This, then, is the sin that Divine justice, the which with a justbalance bringeth all its operations to effect, hath willed not toleave unpunished; and even as you without reason studied to withdrawyourself from Tedaldo, so on like wise hath your husband been and isyet, without reason, in peril for Tedaldo, and you in tribulation. Wherefrom an you would be delivered, that which it behoveth you topromise, and yet more to do, is this; that, should it ever chance thatTedaldo return hither from his long banishment, you will render himagain your favour, your love, your goodwill and your privacy andreinstate him in that condition wherein he was, ere you foolishlyhearkened to yonder crack-brained friar. '

The pilgrim having thus made an end of his discourse, the lady, whohad hearkened thereto with the utmost attention, for that hisarguments appeared to her most true and that, hearing him say, sheaccounted herself of a certainty afflicted for the sin of which hespoke, said, 'Friend of God, I know full well that the things youallege are true, and in great part by your showing do I perceive whatmanner of folk are these friars, whom till now I have held all saints. Moreover, I acknowledge my default without doubt to have been great inthat which I wrought against Tedaldo; and an I might, I would gladlyamend it on such wise as you have said; but how may this be done?Tedaldo can never more return hither; he is dead; wherefore I know notwhy it should behove me promise that which may not be performed. ''Madam, ' replied the pilgrim, 'according to that which God hathrevealed unto me, Tedaldo is nowise dead, but alive and well and ingood case, so but he had your favour. ' Quoth the lady, 'Look what yousay; I saw him dead before my door of several knife-thrusts and hadhim in these arms and bathed his dead face with many tears, the whichit may be gave occasion for that which hath been spoken thereofunseemly. ' 'Madam, ' replied the pilgrim, 'whatever you may say, Icertify you that Tedaldo is alive, and if you will e'en promise methat [which I ask, ] with intent to fulfil your promise, I hope youshall soon see him. ' Quoth she, 'That do I promise and will gladlyperform; nor could aught betide that would afford me such content asto see my husband free and unharmed and Tedaldo alive. '

Thereupon it seemed to Tedaldo time to discover himself and to comfortthe lady with more certain hope of her husband, and accordingly hesaid, 'Madam, in order that I may comfort you for your husband, itbehoveth me reveal to you a secret, which look you discover not untoany, as you value your life. ' Now they were in a very retired placeand alone, the lady having conceived the utmost confidence of thesanctity which herseemed was in the pilgrim; wherefore Tedaldo, pulling out a ring, which she had given him the last night he had beenwith her and which he had kept with the utmost diligence, and showingit to her, said, 'Madam, know you this?' As soon as she saw it, sherecognized it and answered, 'Ay, sir; I gave it to Tedaldo aforetime. 'Whereupon the pilgrim, rising to his feet, hastily cast off hispalmer's gown and hat and speaking Florence-fashion, said, 'And knowyou me?'

When the lady saw this, she knew him to be Tedaldo and was all aghast, fearing him as one feareth the dead, an they be seen after death to goas if alive; wherefore she made not towards him to welcome him asTedaldo returned from Cyprus, but would have fled from him inaffright, as he were Tedaldo come back from the tomb. Whereupon, 'Madam, ' quoth he, 'fear not; I am your Tedaldo, alive and well, andhave never died nor been slain, whatsoever you and my brothers maybelieve. ' The lady, somewhat reassured and knowing his voice, considered him awhile longer and avouched in herself that he wascertainly Tedaldo; wherefore she threw herself, weeping, on his neckand kissed him, saying, 'Welcome back, sweet my Tedaldo. '

Tedaldo, having kissed and embraced her, said, 'Madam, it is no timenow for closer greetings; I must e'en go take order that Aldobrandinomay be restored to you safe and sound; whereof I hope that, ereto-morrow come eventide, you shall hear news that will please you;nay, if, as I expect, I have good news of his safety, I trust thisnight to be able to come to you and report them to you at more leisurethan I can at this present. ' Then, donning his gown and hat again, hekissed the lady once more and bidding her be of good hope, took leaveof her and repaired whereas Aldobrandino lay in prison, occupied morewith fear of imminent death than with hopes of deliverance to come. Tedaldo, with the gaoler's consent, went in to him, in the guise of aghostly comforter, and seating himself by his side, said to him, 'Aldobrandino, I am a friend of thine, sent thee for thy deliveranceby God, who hath taken pity on thee because of thine innocence;wherefore, if, in reverence to Him, thou wilt grant me a little boonthat I shall ask of thee, thou shalt without fail, ere to-morrow benight, whereas thou lookest for sentence of death, hear that of thineacquittance. '

'Honest man, ' replied the prisoner, 'since thou art solicitous of mydeliverance, albeit I know thee not nor mind me ever to have seenthee, needs must thou be a friend, as thou sayst. In truth, the sin, for which they say I am to be doomed to death, I never committed;though others enough have I committed aforetime, which, it may be, have brought me to this pass. But this I say to thee, of reverence toGod; an He presently have compassion on me, I will not only promise, but gladly do any thing, however great, to say nothing of a littleone; wherefore ask that which pleaseth thee, for without fail, if itcome to pass that I escape with life, I will punctually perform it. 'Then said the pilgrim, 'What I would have of thee is that thou pardonTedaldo's four brothers the having brought thee to this pass, believing thee guilty of their brother's death, and have them againfor brethren and for friends, whenas they crave thee pardon thereof. 'Whereto quoth Aldobrandino, 'None knoweth but he who hath suffered theaffront how sweet a thing is vengeance and with what ardour it isdesired; nevertheless, so God may apply Himself to my deliverance, Iwill freely pardon them; nay, I pardon them now, and if I come offhence alive and escape, I will in this hold such course as shall beto thy liking. '

This pleased the pilgrim and without concerning himself to say more tohim, he exhorted him to be of good heart, for that, ere the ensuingday came to an end, he should without fail hear very certain news ofhis safety. Then, taking leave of him, he repaired to the Seignory andsaid privily to a gentleman who was in session there, 'My lord, everyone should gladly labour to bring to light the truth of things, andespecially those who hold such a room as this of yours, to the endthat those may not suffer the penalty who have not committed the crimeand that the guilty may be punished; that which may be brought about, to your honour and the bane of those who have merited it, I am comehither to you. As you know, you have rigorously proceeded againstAldobrandino Palermini and thinking you have found for truth that itwas he who slew Tedaldo Elisei, are minded to condemn him; but this ismost certainly false, as I doubt not to show you, ere midnight betide, by giving into your hands the murderers of the young man in question. '

The worthy gentleman, who was in concern for Aldobrandino, willinglygave ear to the pilgrim's words and having conferred at large with himupon the matter, on his information, took the two innkeeper brothersand their servant, without resistance, in their first sleep. He wouldhave put them to the question, to discover how the case stood; butthey brooked it not and each first for himself, and after alltogether, openly confessed that it was they who had slain TedaldoElisei, knowing him not. Being questioned of the case, they said [thatit was] for that he had given the wife of one of them sore annoy, whatwhile they were abroad, and would fain have enforced her to do hiswill. 

The pilgrim, having heard this, with the magistrate's consent took hisleave and repairing privily to the house of Madam Ermellina, found heralone and awaiting him, (all else in the house being gone to sleep, )alike desirous of having good news of her husband and of fullyreconciling herself with her Tedaldo. He accosted her with a joyfulcountenance and said, 'Dearest lady mine, be of good cheer, forto-morrow thou shalt certainly have thine Aldobrandino here again safeand sound'; and to give her more entire assurance thereof, he fullyrecounted to her that which he had done. Whereupon she, glad as everwoman was of two so sudden and so happy chances, to wit, the havingher lover alive again, whom she verily believed to have bewept dead, and the seeing Aldobrandino free from peril, whose death she lookedere many days to have to mourn, affectionately embraced and kissedTedaldo; then, getting them to bed together, with one accord they madea glad and gracious peace, taking delight and joyance one of theother. Whenas the day drew near, Tedaldo arose, after showing the ladythat which he purposed to do and praying her anew to keep it a closesecret, and went forth, even in his pilgrim's habit, to attend, whenasit should be time, to Aldobrandino's affairs. The day come, itappearing to the Seignory that they had full information of thematter, they straightway discharged Aldobrandino and a few days afterlet strike off the murderers' heads whereas they had committed thecrime. 

Aldobrandino being now, to the great joy of himself and his wife andof all his friends and kinsfolk, free and manifestly acknowledgingthat he owed his deliverance to the good offices of the pilgrim, carried the latter to his house for such time as it pleased him tosojourn in the city; and there they could not sate themselves of doinghim honour and worship, especially the lady, who knew with whom shehad to do. After awhile, deeming it time to bring his brothers to anaccord with Aldobrandino and knowing that they were not only put toshame by the latter's acquittance, but went armed for fear [of hisresentment, ] he demanded of his host the fulfilment of his promise. Aldobrandino freely answered that he was ready, whereupon the pilgrimcaused him prepare against the morrow a goodly banquet, whereat hetold him he would have him and his kinsmen and kinswomen entertain thefour brothers and their ladies, adding that he himself would goincontinent and bid the latter on his part to peace and his banquet. Aldobrandino consenting to all that liked the pilgrim, the latterforthright betook himself to the four brothers and plying them withstore of such words as behoved unto the matter, in fine, withirrepugnable arguments, brought them easily enough to consent toregain Aldobrandino's friendship by asking pardon; which done, heinvited them and their ladies to dinner with Aldobrandino nextmorning, and they, being certified of his good faith, frankly acceptedthe invitation. 

Accordingly, on the morrow, towards dinner-time, Tedaldo's fourbrothers, clad all in black as they were, came, with sundry of theirfriends, to the house of Aldobrandino, who stayed for them, and there, in the presence of all who had been bidden of him to bear themcompany, cast down their arms and committed themselves to his mercy, craving forgiveness of that which they had wrought against him. Aldobrandino, weeping, received them affectionately, and kissing themall on the mouth, despatched the matter in a few words, remitting untothem every injury received. After them came their wives and sisters, clad all in sad-coloured raiment, and were graciously received byMadam Ermellina and the other ladies. Then were all, ladies and menalike, magnificently entertained at the banquet, nor was there aughtin the entertainment other than commendable, except it were thetaciturnity occasioned by the yet fresh sorrow expressed in the sombreraiment of Tedaldo's kinsfolk. Now on this account the pilgrim'sdevice of the banquet had been blamed of some and he had observed it;wherefore, the time being come to do away with the constraintaforesaid, he rose to his feet, according as he had foreordained inhimself, what while the rest still ate of the fruits, and said, 'Nothing hath lacked to this entertainment that should make it joyful, save only Tedaldo himself; whom (since having had him continually withyou, you have not known him) I will e'en discover to you. '

So saying, he cast off his palmer's gown and all other his pilgrim'sweeds and abiding in a jerkin of green sendal, was with no littleamazement, long eyed and considered of all, ere any would venture tobelieve it was indeed he. Tedaldo, seeing this, recounted manyparticulars of the relations and things betided between them, as wellas of his own adventures; whereupon his brethren and the othergentlemen present ran all to embrace him, with eyes full of joyfultears, as after did the ladies on like wise, as well strangers askinswomen, except only Madam Ermellina. Which Aldobrandino seeing, 'What is this, Ermellina?' quoth he. 'Why dost thou not welcomeTedaldo, as do the other ladies?' Whereto she answered, in the hearingof all, 'There is none who had more gladly welcomed and would yetwelcome him than myself, who am more beholden to him than any otherwoman, seeing that by his means I have gotten thee again; but theunseemly words spoken in the days when we mourned him whom we deemedTedaldo made me refrain therefrom. ' Quoth her husband, 'Go to;thinkest thou I believe in the howlers?[188] He hath right well showntheir prate to be false by procuring my deliverance; more by tokenthat I never believed it. Quick, rise and go and embrace him. '

[Footnote 188: Lit. Barkers (_abbajatori_), _i. E. _ slanderers. ]

The lady, who desired nothing better, was not slow to obey her husbandin this and accordingly, arising, embraced Tedaldo, as the otherladies had done, and gave him joyous welcome. This liberality ofAldobrandino was mighty pleasing to Tedaldo's brothers and to everyman and woman there, and thereby all suspect[189] that had beenaroused in the minds of some by the words aforesaid was done away. Then, every one having given Tedaldo joy, he with his own hands rentthe black clothes on his brothers' backs and the sad-coloured on thoseof his sisters and kinswomen and would have them send after otherapparel, which whenas they had donned, they gave themselves to singingand dancing and other diversions galore; wherefore the banquet, whichhad had a silent beginning had a loud-resounding ending. Thereafter, with the utmost mirth, they one and all repaired, even as they were, to Tedaldo's house, where they supped that night, and on this wisethey continued to feast several days longer. 

[Footnote 189: Lit. Despite, rancour (_rugginuzza_), but the phraseappears to refer to the suspicions excited by the whispers that hadbeen current, as above mentioned, of the connection between Ermellinaand Tedaldo. ]

The Florentines awhile regarded Tedaldo with amazement, as a man risenfrom the dead; nay, in many an one's mind, and even in that of hisbrethren, there abode a certain faint doubt an he were indeed himselfand they did not yet thoroughly believe it, nor belike had theybelieved it for a long time to come but for a chance which made themclear who the murdered man was which was on this wise. There passedone day before their house certain footmen[190] of Lunigiana, who, seeing Tedaldo, made towards him and said, 'Give you good day, Faziuolo. ' Whereto Tedaldo in his brothers' presence answered, 'Youmistake me. ' The others, hearing him speak, were abashed and cried himpardon, saying, 'Forsooth you resemble, more than ever we saw one manfavour another, a comrade of ours called Faziuolo of Pontremoli, whocame hither some fortnight or more agone, nor could we ever sincelearn what is come of him. Indeed, we marvelled at the dress, for thathe was a soldier, even as we are. ' Tedaldo's elder brother, hearingthis, came forward and enquired how this Faziuolo had been clad. Theytold him and it was found to have been punctually as they said;wherefore, what with these and what with other tokens, it was knownfor certain that he who had been slain was Faziuolo and not Tedaldo, and all doubt of the latter[191] accordingly departed [the minds of]his brothers and of every other. Tedaldo, then, being returned veryrich, persevered in his love and the lady falling out with him nomore, they long, discreetly dealing, had enjoyment of their love. Godgrant us to enjoy ours!"

[Footnote 190: _i. E. _ foot-soldiers. ]

[Footnote 191: _i. E. _ of his identity. ]

THE EIGHTH STORY

[Day the Third]

 FERONDO, HAVING SWALLOWED A CERTAIN POWDER, IS ENTOMBED FOR DEAD AND BEING TAKEN FORTH OF THE SEPULCHRE BY THE ABBOT, WHO ENJOYETH HIS WIFE THE WHILE, IS PUT IN PRISON AND GIVEN TO BELIEVE THAT HE IS IN PURGATORY; AFTER WHICH, BEING RAISED UP AGAIN, HE REARETH FOR HIS OWN A CHILD BEGOTTEN OF THE ABBOT ON HIS WIFE

The end being come of Emilia's long story, --which had not withal forits length been unpleasing to any of the company, nay, but was held ofall the ladies to have been briefly narrated, having regard to thenumber and diversity of the incidents therein recounted, --the queen, having with a mere sign intimated her pleasure to Lauretta, gave heroccasion to begin thus: "Dearest ladies, there occurreth to me to tellyou a true story which hath much more semblance of falsehood than ofthat which it indeed is and which hath been recalled to my mind byhearing one to have been bewept and buried for another. I purposethen, to tell you how a live man was entombed for dead and how afterhe and many other folk believed himself to have come forth of thesepulchre as one raised from the dead, by reason whereof he[192] wasadored as a saint who should rather have been condemned as a criminal. 

[Footnote 192: _i. E. _ the abbot who played the trick upon Ferondo. Seepost. ]

There was, then, and yet is, in Tuscany, an abbey situate, like as wesee many thereof, in a place not overmuch frequented of men, whereof amonk was made abbot, who was a very holy man in everything, save inthe matter of women, and in this he contrived to do so warily thatwell nigh none, not to say knew, but even suspected him thereof, forthat he was holden exceeding godly and just in everything. It chancedthat a very wealthy farmer, by name Ferondo, contracted a greatintimacy with him, a heavy, clodpate fellow and dull-witted beyondmeasure, whose commerce pleased the abbot but for that his simplicitywhiles afforded him some diversion, and in the course of theiracquaintance, the latter perceived that Ferondo had a very handsomewoman to wife, of whom he became so passionately enamoured that hethought of nothing else day or night; but, hearing that, simple andshallow-witted as Ferondo was in everything else, he was shrewd enoughin the matter of loving and guarding his wife, he well nigh despairedof her. 

However, like a very adroit man as he was, he wrought on such wisewith Ferondo that he came whiles, with his wife, to take his pleasancein the abbey-garden, and there he very demurely entertained them withdiscourse of the beatitude of the life eternal and of the pious worksof many men and women of times past, insomuch that the lady was takenwith a desire to confess herself to him and asked and had Ferondo'sleave thereof. Accordingly, to the abbot's exceeding pleasure, shecame to confess to him and seating herself at his feet, before sheproceeded to say otherwhat, began thus: 'Sir, if God had given me aright husband or had given me none, it would belike be easy to me, with the help of your exhortations, to enter upon the road which yousay leadeth folk unto life eternal; but I, having regard to whatFerondo is and to his witlessness, may style myself a widow, and yet Iam married, inasmuch as, he living, I can have no other husband; anddolt as he is, he is without any cause, so out of all measure jealousof me that by reason thereof I cannot live with him otherwise than intribulation and misery; wherefore, ere I come to other confession, Ihumbly beseech you, as most I may, that it may please you give me somecounsel concerning this, for that, an the occasion of my well-doingbegin not therefrom, confession or other good work will profit melittle. '

This speech gave the abbot great satisfaction and himseemed fortunehad opened him the way to his chief desire; wherefore, 'Daughter, 'quoth he, 'I can well believe that it must be a sore annoy for a fairand dainty dame such as you are to have a blockhead to husband, but amuch greater meseemeth to have a jealous man; wherefore, you havingboth the one and the other, I can lightly credit that which you avouchof your tribulation. But for this, speaking briefly, I see neithercounsel nor remedy save one, the which is that Ferondo be cured ofthis jealousy. The medicine that will cure him I know very well how tomake, provided you have the heart to keep secret that which I shalltell you. ' 'Father mine, ' answered the lady, 'have no fear of that, for I would liefer suffer death than tell any that which you bid menot repeat; but how may this be done?' Quoth the abbot, 'An we wouldhave him cured, it behoveth of necessity that he go to purgatory. ''But how, ' asked she, 'can he go thither alive?' 'Needs must he die, 'replied the abbot, 'and so go thither; and whenas he shall havesuffered such penance as shall suffice to purge him of his jealousy, we will pray God, with certain orisons that he restore him to thislife, and He will do it. ' 'Then, ' said the lady, 'I am to become awidow?' 'Ay, ' answered the abbot, 'for a certain time, wherein youmust look well you suffer not yourself to be married again, for thatGod would take it in ill part, and whenas Ferondo returned hither, itwould behove you return to him and he would then be more jealous thanever. ' Quoth she, 'Provided he be but cured of this calamity, so itmay not behove me abide in prison all my life, I am content; do as itpleaseth you. ' 'And I will do it, '[193] rejoined he; 'but what guerdonam I to have of you for such a service?' 'Father, ' answered the lady, 'you shall have whatsoever pleaseth you, so but it be in my power; butwhat can the like of me that may befit such a man as yourself?''Madam, ' replied the abbot 'you can do no less for me than that whichI undertake to do for you; for that, like as I am disposed to do thatwhich is to be your weal and your solacement, even so can you do thatwhich will be the saving and assainment of my life. ' Quoth she, 'An itbe so, I am ready. ' 'Then, ' said the abbot, 'you must give me yourlove and vouchsafe me satisfaction of yourself, for whom I am allafire with love and languishment. '

[Footnote 193: _i. E. _ I will cure your husband of his jealousy. ]

The lady, hearing this, was all aghast and answered, 'Alack, fathermine, what is this you ask? Methought you were a saint. Doth it beseemholy men to require women, who come to them for counsel, of suchthings?' 'Fair my soul, ' rejoined the abbot, 'marvel not, for thatsanctity nowise abateth by this, seeing it hath its seat in the souland that which I ask of you is a sin of the body. But, be that as itmay, your ravishing beauty hath had such might that love constrainethme to do thus; and I tell you that you may glory in your charms overall other women, considering that they please holy men, who are usedto look upon the beauties of heaven. Moreover, abbot though I be, I ama man like another and am, as you see, not yet old. Nor should thisthat I ask be grievous to you to do; nay, you should rather desire it, for that, what while Ferondo sojourneth in purgatory, I will bear youcompany by night and render you that solacement which he should giveyou; nor shall any ever come to know of this, for that every onebelieveth of me that, and more than that, which you but now believedof me. Reject not the grace that God sendeth you, for there be womenenough who covet that which you may have and shall have, if, like awise woman, you hearken to my counsel. Moreover, I have fair andprecious jewels, which I purpose shall belong to none other thanyourself. Do, then, for me, sweet my hope, that which I willingly dofor you. '

The lady hung her head, knowing not how to deny him, whilst herseemedit were ill done to grant him what he asked; but the abbot, seeingthat she hearkened and hesitated to reply and himseeming he hadalready half converted her, followed up his first words with manyothers and stayed not till he had persuaded her that she would do wellto comply with him. Accordingly, she said, blushing, that she wasready to do his every commandment, but might not avail thereto tillsuch time as Ferondo should be gone to purgatory; whereupon quoth theabbot, exceeding well pleased, 'And we will make shift to send himthither incontinent; do you but contrive that he come hither to-morrowor next day to sojourn with me. ' So saying, he privily put a veryhandsome ring into her hand and dismissed her. The lady rejoiced atthe gift and looking to have others, rejoined her companions, to whomshe fell to relating marvellous things of the abbot's sanctity, andpresently returned home with them. 

A few days after Ferondo repaired to the abbey, whom, whenas the abbotsaw, he cast about to send him to purgatory. Accordingly, he soughtout a powder of marvellous virtue, which he had gotten in the parts ofthe Levant of a great prince who avouched it to be that which was wontto be used of the Old Man of the Mountain, [194] whenas he would fainsend any one, sleeping, into his paradise or bring him forth thereof, and that, according as more or less thereof was given, without doingany hurt, it made him who took it sleep more or less [time] on suchwise that, whilst its virtue lasted, none would say he had life inhim. Of this he took as much as might suffice to make a man sleepthree days and putting it in a beaker of wine, that was not yet wellcleared, gave it to Ferondo to drink in his cell, without the lattersuspecting aught; after which he carried him into the cloister andthere with some of his monks fell to making sport of him and hisdunceries; nor was it long before, the powder working, Ferondo wastaken with so sudden and overpowering a drowsiness, that he slumberedas yet he stood afoot and presently fell down fast asleep. 

[Footnote 194: The well-known chief of the Assassins (properly_Heshashin_, _i. E. _ hashish or hemp eaters). The powder in question isapparently a preparation of hashish or hemp. Boccaccio seems to havetaken his idea of the Old Man of the Mountain from Marco Polo, whosetravels, published in the early part of the fourteenth century, give amost romantic account of that chieftain and his followers. ]

The abbot made a show of being concerned at this accident and lettinguntruss him, caused fetch cold water and cast it in his face and essaymany other remedies of his fashion, as if he would recall the strayedlife and senses from [the oppression of] some fumosity of the stomachor what not like affection that had usurped them. The monks, seeingthat for all this he came not to himself and feeling his pulse, butfinding no sign of life in him, all held it for certain that he wasdead. Accordingly, they sent to tell his wife and his kinsfolk, whoall came thither forthright, and the lady having bewept him awhilewith her kinswomen, the abbot caused lay him, clad as he was, in atomb; whilst the lady returned to her house and giving out that shemeant never to part from a little son, whom she had had by herhusband, abode at home and occupied herself with the governance of thechild and of the wealth which had been Ferondo's. Meanwhile, the abbotarose stealthily in the night and with the aid of a Bolognese monk, inwhom he much trusted and who was that day come thither from Bologna, took up Ferondo out of the tomb and carried him into a vault, in whichthere was no light to be seen and which had been made for prison ofsuch of the monks as should make default in aught. There they pulledoff his garments and clothing him monk-fashion, laid him on a truss ofstraw and there left him against he should recover his senses, whilstthe Bolognese monk, having been instructed by the abbot of that whichhe had to do, without any else knowing aught thereof, proceeded toawait his coming to himself. 

On the morrow, the abbot, accompanied by sundry of his monks, betookhimself, by way of visitation, to the house of the lady, whom he foundclad in black and in great tribulation, and having comforted herawhile, he softly required her of her promise. The lady, findingherself free and unhindered of Ferondo or any other and seeing on hisfinger another fine ring, replied that she was ready and appointed himto come to her that same night. Accordingly, night come, the abbot, disguised in Ferondo's clothes and accompanied by the monk hisconfidant, repaired thither and lay with her in the utmost delight andpleasance till the morning, when he returned to the abbey. After thishe very often made the same journey on a like errand and being whilesencountered, coming or going, of one or another of the villagers, itwas believed he was Ferondo who went about those parts, doing penance;by reason whereof many strange stories were after bruited about amongthe simple countryfolk, and this was more than once reported toFerondo's wife, who well knew what it was. 

As for Ferondo, when he recovered his senses and found himself he knewnot where, the Bolognese monk came in to him with a horrible noise andlaying hold of him, gave him a sound drubbing with a rod he had in hishand. Ferondo, weeping and crying out, did nought but ask, 'Where amI?' To which the monk answered, 'Thou art in purgatory. ' 'How?' criedFerondo. 'Am I then dead?' 'Ay, certes, ' replied the other; whereuponFerondo fell to bemoaning himself and his wife and child, saying theoddest things in the world. Presently the monk brought him somewhat ofmeat and drink, which Ferondo seeing, 'What!' cried he. 'Do the deadeat?' 'Ay do they, ' answered the monk. 'This that I bring thee is whatthe woman, thy wife that was, sent this morning to the church to letsay masses for thy soul, and God the Lord willeth that it be made overto thee. ' Quoth Ferondo, 'God grant her a good year! I still cherishedher ere I died, insomuch that I held her all night in mine arms anddid nought but kiss her, and t' other thing also I did, when I had amind thereto. ' Then, being very sharp-set, he fell to eating anddrinking and himseeming the wine was not overgood, 'Lord confoundher!' quoth he. 'Why did not she give the priest wine of the caskagainst the wall?'

After he had eaten, the monk laid hold of him anew and gave himanother sound beating with the same rod; whereat Ferondo roared outlustily and said, 'Alack, why dost thou this to me?' Quoth the monk, 'Because thus hath God the Lord ordained that it be done unto theetwice every day. ' 'And for what cause?' asked Ferondo. 'Because, 'answered the monk, 'thou wast jealous, having the best woman in thecountry to wife. ' 'Alas!' said Ferondo. 'Thou sayst sooth, ay, and thekindest creature; she was sweeter than syrup; but I knew not that Godthe Lord held it for ill that a man should be jealous; else had I notbeen so. ' Quoth the monk, 'Thou shouldst have bethought thyself ofthat, whenas thou wast there below, [195] and have amended theethereof; and should it betide that thou ever return thither, look thouso have in mind that which I do unto thee at this present that thou benevermore jealous. ' 'What?' said Ferondo. 'Do the dead ever returnthither?' 'Ay, ' answered the monk; 'whom God willeth. ' 'Marry, ' criedFerondo, 'and I ever return thither, I will be the best husband in theworld; I will never beat her nor give her an ill word, except it beanent the wine she sent hither this morning and for that she sent nocandles, so it behoved me to eat in the dark. ' 'Nay, ' said the monk, 'she sent candles enough, but they were all burnt for the masses. ''True, ' rejoined Ferondo; 'and assuredly, an I return thither, I willlet her do what she will. But tell me, who art thou that usest methus?' Quoth the monk, 'I also am dead. I was of Sardinia and for thataforetime I much commended a master of mine of being jealous, I havebeen doomed of God to this punishment, that I must give thee to eatand drink and beat thee thus, till such time as God shall ordainotherwhat of thee and of me. ' Then said Ferondo, 'Is there none hereother than we twain?' 'Ay, ' answered the monk, 'there be folk by thethousands; but thou canst neither see nor hear them, nor they thee. 'Quoth Ferondo, 'And how far are we from our own countries?' 'Ecod, 'replied the other, 'we are distant thence more miles than we can wellcack at a bout. ' 'Faith, ' rejoined the farmer, 'that is far enough;meseemeth we must be out of the world, an it be so much as all that. '

[Footnote 195: _i. E. _ in the sublunary world. ]

In such and the like discourse was Ferondo entertained half a scoremonths with eating and drinking and beating, what while the abbotassiduously visited the fair lady, without miscarriage, and gavehimself the goodliest time in the world with her. At last, as ill-luckwould have it, the lady found herself with child and straightwayacquainted the abbot therewith, wherefore it seemed well to them boththat Ferondo should without delay be recalled from purgatory to lifeand return to her, so she might avouch herself with child by him. Accordingly, the abbot that same night caused call to Ferondo inprison with a counterfeit voice, saying, 'Ferondo, take comfort, forit is God's pleasure that thou return to the world, where thou shalthave a son by thy wife, whom look thou name Benedict, for that by theprayers of thy holy abbot and of thy wife and for the love of St. Benedict He doth thee this favour. ' Ferondo, hearing this, wasexceedingly rejoiced and said, 'It liketh me well, Lord grant a goodyear to Seignior God Almighty and to the abbot and St. Benedict and mycheesy[196] sweet honey wife. ' The abbot let give him, in the winethat he sent him, so much of the powder aforesaid as should cause himsleep maybe four hours and with the aid of his monk, having put hisown clothes on him, restored him privily to the tomb wherein he hadbeen buried. 

[Footnote 196: _Sic_ (_casciata_); meaning that he loves her as wellas he loves cheese, for which it is well known that the lower-classItalian has a romantic passion. According to Alexandre Dumas, theItalian loves cheese so well that he has succeeded in introducing itinto everything he eats or drinks, with the one exception of coffee. ]

Next morning, at break of day, Ferondo came to himself and espyinglight, --a thing which he had not seen for good ten months, --throughsome crevice of the tomb, doubted not but he was alive again. Accordingly, he fell to bawling out, 'Open to me! Open to me!' andheaving so lustily at the lid of the tomb with his head that hestirred it, for that it was eath to move, and had begun to move itaway, when the monks, having now made an end of saying matins, ranthither and knew Ferondo's voice and saw him in act to come forth ofthe sepulchre; whereupon, all aghast for the strangeness of the case, they took to their heels and ran to the abbot, who made a show ofrising from prayer and said, 'My sons, have no fear; take the crossand the holy water and follow after me, so we may see that which Godwilleth to show forth to us of His might'; and as he said, so he did. 

Now Ferondo was come forth of the sepulchre all pale, as well might hebe who had so long abidden without seeing the sky. As soon as he sawthe abbot, he ran to cast himself at his feet and said, 'Father mine, according to that which hath been revealed to me, your prayers andthose of St. Benedict and my wife have delivered me from the pains ofpurgatory and restored me to life, wherefore I pray God to give you agood year and good calends now and always. ' Quoth the abbot, 'Praisedbe God His might! Go, my son, since He hath sent thee back hither;comfort thy wife, who hath been still in tears, since thou departedstthis life, and henceforth be a friend and servant of God. ' 'Sir, 'replied Ferondo, 'so hath it indeed been said to me; only leave me do;for, as soon as I find her, I shall buss her, such goodwill do I bearher. '

The abbot, left alone with his monks, made a great show of wondermentat this miracle and caused devoutly sing Miserere therefor. As forFerondo, he returned to his village, where all who saw him fled, asmen use to do from things frightful; but he called them back andavouched himself to be raised up again. His wife on like wise feignedto be adread of him; but, after the folk were somewhat reassured anenthim and saw that he was indeed alive, they questioned him of manythings, and he, as it were he had returned wise, made answer to alland gave them news of the souls of their kinsfolk, making up, of hisown motion, the finest fables in the world of the affairs of purgatoryand recounting in full assembly the revelation made him by the mouthof the Rangel Bragiel[197] ere he was raised up again. Then, returningto his house and entering again into possession of his goods, he gothis wife, as he thought, with child, and by chance it befell that, indue time, --to the thinking of the fools who believe that women go justnine months with child, --the lady gave birth to a boy, who was calledBenedict Ferondi. [198]

[Footnote 197: _i. E. _ the Angel Gabriel. ]

[Footnote 198: The plural of a surname is, in strictness, always usedby the Italians in speaking of a man by his full name, _dei_ beingunderstood between the Christian and surname, as _Benedetto_ (_dei_)_Ferondi_, Benedict of the Ferondos or Ferondo family, whilst, when heis denominated by the surname alone, it is used in the singular, _il_(the) being understood, _e. G. _ (Il) Boccaccio, (Il) Ferondo, _i. E. _the particular Boccaccio or Ferondo in question for the nonce. ]

Ferondo's return and his talk, well nigh every one believing him tohave risen from the dead, added infinitely to the renown of theabbot's sanctity, and he himself, as if cured of his jealousy by themany beatings he had received therefor, thenceforward, according tothe promise made by the abbot to the lady, was no more jealous;whereat she was well pleased and lived honestly with him, as of herwont, save indeed that, whenas she conveniently might, she willinglyforegathered with the holy abbot, who had so well and diligentlyserved her in her greatest needs. "

THE NINTH STORY

[Day the Third]

 GILLETTE DE NARBONNE RECOVERETH THE KING OF FRANCE OF A FISTULA AND DEMANDETH FOR HER HUSBAND BERTRAND DE ROUSSILLON, WHO MARRIETH HER AGAINST HIS WILL AND BETAKETH HIM FOR DESPITE TO FLORENCE, WHERE, HE PAYING COURT TO A YOUNG LADY, GILLETTE, IN THE PERSON OF THE LATTER, LIETH WITH HIM AND HATH BY HIM TWO SONS; WHEREFORE AFTER, HOLDING HER DEAR, HE ENTERTAINETH HER FOR HIS WIFE

Lauretta's story being now ended, it rested but with the queen totell, an she would not infringe upon Dioneo's privilege; wherefore, without waiting to be solicited by her companions, she began allblithesomely to speak thus: "Who shall tell a story that may appeargoodly, now we have heard that of Lauretta? Certes, it was well for usthat hers was not the first, for that few of the others would havepleased after it, as I misdoubt me[199] will betide of those which areyet to tell this day. Natheless, be that as it may, I will e'enrecount to you that which occurreth to me upon the proposed theme. 

[Footnote 199: Lit. And so I hope (_spero_), a curious instance of theancient Dantesque use of the word _spero_, I hope, in its contrarysense of fear. ]

There was in the kingdom of France a gentleman called Isnard, Count ofRoussillon, who, for that he was scant of health, still entertainedabout his person a physician, by name Master Gerard de Narbonne. Thesaid count had one little son, and no more, hight Bertrand, who wasexceeding handsome and agreeable, and with him other children of hisown age were brought up. Among these latter was a daughter of theaforesaid physician, by name Gillette, who vowed to the said Bertrandan infinite love and fervent more than pertained unto her tenderyears. The count dying and leaving his son in the hands of the king, it behoved him betake himself to Paris, whereof the damsel abode soredisconsolate, and her own father dying no great while after, she wouldfain, an she might have had a seemly occasion, have gone to Paris tosee Bertrand: but, being straitly guarded, for that she was left richand alone, she saw no honourable way thereto; and being now of age fora husband and having never been able to forget Bertrand, she had, without reason assigned, refused many to whom her kinsfolk would havemarried her. 

Now it befell that, what while she burned more than ever for love ofBertrand, for that she heard he was grown a very goodly gentleman, news came to her how the King of France, by an imposthume which he hadhad in his breast and which had been ill tended, had gotten a fistula, which occasioned him the utmost anguish and annoy, nor had he yet beenable to find a physician who might avail to recover him thereof, albeit many had essayed it, but all had aggravated the ill; whereforethe king, despairing of cure, would have no more counsel nor aid ofany. Hereof the young lady was beyond measure content and bethoughtherself that not only would this furnish her with a legitimateoccasion of going to Paris, but that, should the king's ailment besuch as she believed, she might lightly avail to have Bertrand tohusband. Accordingly, having aforetime learned many things of herfather, she made a powder of certain simples useful for such aninfirmity as she conceived the king's to be and taking horse, repairedto Paris. 

Before aught else she studied to see Bertrand and next, presentingherself before the king, she prayed him of his favour to show her hisailment. The king, seeing her a fair and engaging damsel, knew not howto deny her and showed her that which ailed him. Whenas she saw it, she was certified incontinent that she could heal it and accordinglysaid, 'My lord, an it please you, I hope in God to make you whole ofthis your infirmity in eight days' time, without annoy or fatigue onyour part. ' The king scoffed in himself at her words, saying, 'Thatwhich the best physicians in the world have availed not neither knownto do, how shall a young woman know?' Accordingly, he thanked her forher good will and answered that he was resolved no more to follow thecounsel of physicians. Whereupon quoth the damsel, 'My lord, you makelight of my skill, for that I am young and a woman; but I would haveyou bear in mind that I medicine not of mine own science, but with theaid of God and the science of Master Gerard de Narbonne, who was myfather and a famous physician whilst he lived. '

The king, hearing this, said in himself, 'It may be this woman is sentme of God; why should I not make proof of her knowledge, since shesaith she will, without annoy of mine, cure me in little time?'Accordingly, being resolved to essay her, he said, 'Damsel, and if youcure us not, after causing us break our resolution, what will you haveensue to you therefor?' 'My lord, ' answered she, 'set a guard upon meand if I cure you not within eight days, let burn me alive; but, if Icure you, what reward shall I have?' Quoth the king, 'You seem as yetunhusbanded; if you do this, we will marry you well and worshipfully. ''My lord, ' replied the young lady, 'I am well pleased that you shouldmarry me, but I will have a husband such as I shall ask of you, excepting always any one of your sons or of the royal house. ' Hereadily promised her that which she sought, whereupon she began hercure and in brief, before the term limited, she brought him back tohealth. 

The king, feeling himself healed, said, 'Damsel, you have well earnedyour husband'; whereto she answered, 'Then, my lord, I have earnedBertrand de Roussillon, whom I began to love even in the days of mychildhood and have ever since loved over all. ' The king deemed it agrave matter to give him to her; nevertheless, having promised her andunwilling to fail of his faith, he let call the count to himself andbespoke him thus: 'Bertrand, you are now of age and accomplished [inall that behoveth unto man's estate];[200] wherefore it is ourpleasure that you return to govern your county and carry with you adamsel, whom we have given you to wife. ' 'And who is the damsel, mylord?' asked Bertrand; to which the king answered, 'It is she who hathwith her medicines restored to us our health. '

[Footnote 200: _Fornito_, a notable example of what the illustriousLewis Carroll Dodgson, Waywode of Wonderland, calls a "portmanteau-word, "a species that abounds in mediæval Italian, for the confusion oftranslators. ]

Bertrand, who had seen and recognized Gillette, knowing her (albeitshe seemed to him very fair) to be of no such lineage as sorted withhis quality, said all disdainfully, 'My lord, will you then marry meto a she-leach? Now God forbid I should ever take such an one towife!' 'Then, ' said the king, 'will you have us fail of our faith, thewhich, to have our health again, we pledged to the damsel, who inguerdon thereof demanded you to husband?' 'My lord, ' answeredBertrand, 'you may, an you will, take from me whatsoever I possess or, as your liegeman, bestow me upon whoso pleaseth you; but of this Icertify you, that I will never be a consenting party unto such amarriage. ' 'Nay, ' rejoined the king, 'but you shall, for that thedamsel is fair and wise and loveth you dear; wherefore we doubt notbut you will have a far happier life with her than with a lady ofhigher lineage. ' Bertrand held his peace and the king let make greatpreparations for the celebration of the marriage. 

The appointed day being come, Bertrand, sore against his will, in thepresence of the king, espoused the damsel, who loved him more thanherself. This done, having already determined in himself what heshould do, he sought leave of the king to depart, saying he would fainreturn to his county and there consummate the marriage; then, takinghorse, he repaired not thither, but betook himself into Tuscany, where, hearing that the Florentines were at war with those of Sienna, he determined to join himself to the former, by whom he was joyfullyreceived and made captain over a certain number of men-at-arms; andthere, being well provided[201] of them, he abode a pretty while intheir service. 

[Footnote 201: _i. E. _ getting good pay and allowances (_avendo buonaprovisione_). ]

The newly-made wife, ill content with such a lot, but hoping by herfair dealing to recall him to his county, betook herself toRoussillon, where she was received of all as their liege lady. There, finding everything waste and disordered for the long time that theland had been without a lord, with great diligence and solicitude, like a discreet lady as she was, she set all in order again, whereofthe count's vassals were mightily content and held her exceeding dear, vowing her a great love and blaming the count sore for that heaccepted not of her. The lady, having thoroughly ordered the county, notified the count thereof by two knights, whom she despatched to him, praying him that, an it were on her account he forbore to come to hiscounty, he should signify it to her and she, to pleasure him, woulddepart thence; but he answered them very harshly, saying, 'For that, let her do her pleasure; I, for my part, will return thither to abidewith her, whenas she shall have this my ring on her finger and in herarms a son by me begotten. ' Now the ring in question he held very dearand never parted with it, by reason of a certain virtue which it hadbeen given him to understand that it had. 

The knights understood the hardship of the condition implied in thesetwo well nigh impossible requirements, but, seeing that they might notby their words avail to move him from his purpose, they returned tothe lady and reported to her his reply; whereat she was sore afflictedand determined, after long consideration, to seek to learn if andwhere the two things aforesaid might be compassed, to the intent thatshe might, in consequence, have her husband again. Accordingly, havingbethought herself what she should do, she assembled certain of thebest and chiefest men of the county and with plaintive speech veryorderly recounted to them that which she had already done for love ofthe count and showed them what had ensued thereof, adding that it wasnot her intent that, through her sojourn there, the count should abidein perpetual exile; nay, rather she purposed to spend the rest of herlife in pilgrimages and works of mercy and charity for her soul'shealth; wherefore she prayed them take the ward and governance of thecounty and notify the count that she had left him free and vacantpossession and had departed the country, intending nevermore to returnto Roussillon. Many were the tears shed by the good folk, whilst shespoke, and many the prayers addressed to her that it would please herchange counsel and abide there; but they availed nought. Then, commending them to God, she set out upon her way, without telling anywhither she was bound, well furnished with monies and jewels of priceand accompanied by a cousin of hers and a chamberwoman, all inpilgrims' habits, and stayed not till she came to Florence, where, chancing upon a little inn, kept by a decent widow woman, she theretook up her abode and lived quietly, after the fashion of a poorpilgrim, impatient to hear news of her lord. 

It befell, then, that on the morrow of her arrival she saw Bertrandpass before her lodging, a-horseback with his company, and albeit sheknew him full well, natheless she asked the good woman of the inn whohe was. The hostess answered, 'That is a stranger gentleman, whocalleth himself Count Bertrand, a pleasant man and a courteous andmuch loved in this city; and he is the most enamoured man in the worldof a she-neighbour of ours, who is a gentlewoman, but poor. Sooth tosay, she is a very virtuous damsel and abideth, being yet unmarriedfor poverty, with her mother, a very good and discreet lady, but forwhom, maybe, she had already done the count's pleasure. ' The countesstook good note of what she heard and having more closely enquired intoevery particular and apprehended all aright, determined in herself howshe should do. 

Accordingly, having learned the house and name of the lady whosedaughter the count loved, she one day repaired privily thither in herpilgrim's habit and finding the mother and daughter in very poor case, saluted them and told the former that, an it pleased her, she wouldfain speak with her alone. The gentlewoman, rising, replied that shewas ready to hearken to her and accordingly carried her into a chamberof hers, where they seated themselves and the countess began thus, 'Madam, meseemeth you are of the enemies of Fortune, even as I am;but, an you will, belike you may be able to relieve both yourself andme. ' The lady answered that she desired nothing better than to relieveherself by any honest means; and the countess went on, 'Needs must youpledge me your faith, whereto an I commit myself and you deceive me, you will mar your own affairs and mine. ' 'Tell me anything you will inall assurance, ' replied the gentlewoman; 'for never shall you findyourself deceived of me. '

Thereupon the countess, beginning with her first enamourment, recounted to her who she was and all that had betided her to that dayafter such a fashion that the gentlewoman, putting faith in her wordsand having, indeed, already in part heard her story from others, beganto have compassion of her. The countess, having related heradventures, went on to say, 'You have now, amongst my other troubles, heard what are the two things which it behoveth me have, an I wouldhave my husband, and to which I know none who can help me, save onlyyourself, if that be true which I hear, to wit, that the count myhusband is passionately enamoured of your daughter. ' 'Madam, ' answeredthe gentlewoman, 'if the count love my daughter I know not; indeed hemaketh a great show thereof. But, an it be so, what can I do in thisthat you desire?' 'Madam, ' rejoined the countess, 'I will tell you;but first I will e'en show you what I purpose shall ensue thereof toyou, an you serve me. I see your daughter fair and of age for ahusband and according to what I have heard, meseemeth I understand thelack of good to marry her withal it is that causeth you keep her athome. Now I purpose, in requital of the service you shall do me, togive her forthright of mine own monies such a dowry as you yourselfshall deem necessary to marry her honorably. '

The mother, being needy, was pleased with the offer; algates, havingthe spirit of a gentlewoman, she said, 'Madam, tell me what I can dofor you; if it consist with my honour, I will willingly do it, and youshall after do that which shall please you. ' Then said the countess, 'It behoveth me that you let tell the count my husband by some one inwhom you trust, that your daughter is ready to do his every pleasure, so she may but be certified that he loveth her as he pretendeth, thewhich she will never believe, except he send her the ring which hecarrieth on his finger and by which she hath heard he setteth suchstore. An he send you the ring, you must give it to me and after sendto him to say that your daughter is ready do his pleasure; then bringhim hither in secret and privily put me to bed to him in the stead ofyour daughter. It may be God will vouchsafe me to conceive and on thiswise, having his ring on my finger and a child in mine arms of himbegotten, I shall presently regain him and abide with him, as a wifeshould abide with her husband, and you will have been the causethereof. '

This seemed a grave matter to the gentlewoman, who feared lest blameshould haply ensue thereof to her daughter; nevertheless, bethinkingher it were honourably done to help the poor lady recover her husbandand that she went about to do this to a worthy end and trusting in thegood and honest intention of the countess, she not only promised herto do it, but, before many days, dealing with prudence and secrecy, inaccordance with the latter's instructions, she both got the ring(albeit this seemed somewhat grievous to the count) and adroitly puther to bed with her husband, in the place of her own daughter. Inthese first embracements, most ardently sought of the count, the lady, by God's pleasure, became with child of two sons, as her delivery indue time made manifest. Nor once only, but many times, did thegentlewoman gratify the countess with her husband's embraces, contriving so secretly that never was a word known of the matter, whilst the count still believed himself to have been, not with hiswife, but with her whom he loved; and whenas he came to take leave ofa morning, he gave her, at one time and another, divers goodly andprecious jewels, which the countess laid up with all diligence. 

Then, feeling herself with child and unwilling to burden thegentlewoman farther with such an office, she said to her, 'Madam, thanks to God and you, I have gotten that which I desired, whereforeit is time that I do that which shall content you and after get megone hence. ' The gentlewoman answered that, if she had gotten thatwhich contented her, she was well pleased, but that she had not donethis of any hope of reward, nay, for that herseemed it behoved her todo it, an she would do well. 'Madam, ' rejoined the countess, 'thatwhich you say liketh me well and so on my part I purpose not to giveyou that which you shall ask of me by way of reward, but to do well, for that meseemeth behoveful so to do. ' The gentlewoman, then, constrained by necessity, with the utmost shamefastness, asked her anhundred pounds to marry her daughter withal; but the countess, seeingher confusion and hearing her modest demand, gave her five hundred andso many rare and precious jewels as were worth maybe as much more. With this the gentlewoman was far more than satisfied and rendered thecountess the best thanks in her power; whereupon the latter, takingleave of her, returned to the inn, whilst the other, to depriveBertrand of all farther occasion of coming or sending to her house, removed with her daughter into the country to the house of one of herkinsfolk, and he, being a little after recalled by his vassals andhearing that the countess had departed the country, returned to hisown house. 

The countess, hearing that he had departed Florence and returned tohis county, was mightily rejoiced and abode at Florence till her timecame to be delivered, when she gave birth to two male children, mostlike their father, and let rear them with all diligence. Whenas itseemed to her time, she set out and came, without being known of any, to Montpellier, where having rested some days and made enquiry of thecount and where he was, she learned that he was to hold a greatentertainment of knights and ladies at Roussillon on All Saints' Dayand betook herself thither, still in her pilgrim's habit that she waswont to wear. Finding the knights and ladies assembled in the count'spalace and about to sit down to table, she went up, with her childrenin her arms and without changing her dress, into the banqueting halland making her way between man and man whereas she saw the count, castherself at his feet and said, weeping, 'I am thine unhappy wife, who, to let thee return and abide in thy house, have long gone wanderingmiserably about the world. I conjure thee, in the name of God, toaccomplish unto me thy promise upon the condition appointed me by thetwo knights I sent thee; for, behold, here in mine arms is not onlyone son of thine, but two, and here is thy ring. It is time, then, that I be received of thee as a wife, according to thy promise. '

The count, hearing this, was all confounded and recognized the ringand the children also, so like were they to him; but yet he said, 'Howcan this have come to pass?' The countess, then, to his exceedingwonderment and that of all others who were present, orderly recountedthat which had passed and how it had happened; whereupon the count, feeling that she spoke sooth and seeing her constancy and wit andmoreover two such goodly children, as well for the observance of hispromise as to pleasure all his liegemen and the ladies, who allbesought him thenceforth to receive and honour her as his lawful wife, put off his obstinate despite and raising the countess to her feet, embraced her and kissing her, acknowledged her for his lawful wife andthose for his children. Then, letting clothe her in apparel such asbeseemed her quality, to the exceeding joyance of as many as werethere and of all other his vassals who heard the news, he held highfestival, not only all that day, but sundry others, and from that dayforth still honoured her as his bride and his wife and loved andtendered her over all. "

THE TENTH STORY

[Day the Third]

 ALIBECH, TURNING HERMIT, IS TAUGHT BY RUSTICO, A MONK, TO PUT THE DEVIL IN HELL, AND BEING AFTER BROUGHT AWAY THENCE, BECOMETH NEERBALE HIS WIFE

Dioneo, who had diligently hearkened to the queen's story, seeing thatit was ended and that it rested with him alone to tell, withoutawaiting commandment, smilingly began to speak as follows: "Charmingladies, maybe you have never heard tell how one putteth the devil inhell; wherefore, without much departing from the tenor of thatwhereof you have discoursed all this day, I will e'en tell it you. Belike, having learned it, you may catch the spirit[202] thereof andcome to know that, albeit Love sojourneth liefer in jocund palaces andluxurious chambers than in the hovels of the poor, yet none the lessdoth he whiles make his power felt midmost thick forests and ruggedmountains and in desert caverns; whereby it may be understood that allthings are subject to his puissance. 

[Footnote 202: _Guadagnare l'anima_, lit. Gain the soul (syn. Pith, kernel, substance). This passage is ambiguous and should perhaps berendered "catch the knack or trick" or "acquire the wish. "]

To come, then, to the fact, I say that in the city of Capsa in Barbarythere was aforetime a very rich man, who, among his other children, had a fair and winsome young daughter, by name Alibech. She, not beinga Christian and hearing many Christians who abode in the town mightilyextol the Christian faith and the service of God, one day questionedone of them in what manner one might avail to serve God with the leasthindrance. The other answered that they best served God who moststrictly eschewed the things of the world, as those did who hadbetaken them into the solitudes of the deserts of Thebais. The girl, who was maybe fourteen years old and very simple, moved by no ordereddesire, but by some childish fancy, set off next morning by stealthand all alone, to go to the desert of Thebais, without letting anyknow her intent. After some days, her desire persisting, she won, withno little toil, to the deserts in question and seeing a hut afar off, went thither and found at the door a holy man, who marvelled to seeher there and asked her what she sought. She replied that, beinginspired of God, she went seeking to enter into His service and wasnow in quest of one who should teach her how it behoved to serve Him. 

The worthy man, seeing her young and very fair and fearing lest, an heentertained her, the devil should beguile him, commended her piousintent and giving her somewhat to eat of roots of herbs and wildapples and dates and to drink of water, said to her, 'Daughter mine, not far hence is a holy man, who is a much better master than I ofthat which thou goest seeking; do thou betake thyself to him'; and puther in the way. However, when she reached the man in question, she hadof him the same answer and faring farther, came to the cell of a younghermit, a very devout and good man, whose name was Rustico and to whomshe made the same request as she had done to the others. He, having amind to make a trial of his own constancy, sent her not away, as theothers had done, but received her into his cell, and the night beingcome, he made her a little bed of palm-fronds and bade her lie down torest thereon. This done, temptations tarried not to give battle to hispowers of resistance and he, finding himself grossly deceived by theselatter, turned tail, without awaiting many assaults, and confessedhimself beaten; then, laying aside devout thoughts and orisons andmortifications, he fell to revolving in his memory the youth andbeauty of the damsel and bethinking himself what course he should takewith her, so as to win to that which he desired of her, without hertaking him for a debauched fellow. 

Accordingly, having sounded her with sundry questions, he found thatshe had never known man and was in truth as simple as she seemed;wherefore he bethought him how, under colour of the service of God, hemight bring her to his pleasures. In the first place, he showeth herwith many words how great an enemy the devil was of God the Lord andafter gave her to understand that the most acceptable service thatcould be rendered to God was to put back the devil into hell, wheretohe had condemned him. The girl asked him how this might be done; andhe, 'Thou shalt soon know that; do thou but as thou shalt see me do. 'So saying, he proceeded to put off the few garments he had and abodestark naked, as likewise did the girl, whereupon he fell on his knees, as he would pray, and caused her abide over against himself. [203]

[Footnote 203: The translators regret that the disuse into which magichas fallen, makes it impossible to render the technicalities of thatmysterious art into tolerable English; they have therefore found itnecessary to insert several passages in the original Italian. ]

E cosí stando, essendo Rustico, piú che mai, nel suo disidero acceso, per lo vederla cosí bella, venue la resurrezion della carne; la qualeriguardando Alibech, e maravigliatasti, disse: Rustico, quella checosa è, che io ti veggio, che cosí si pigne in fuori, e non l' ho io?O figliuola mia, disse Rustico, questo è il diavolo, di che io t'hoparlato, e vedi tu ora: egli mi dà grandissima molestia, tanta, che ioappena la posso sofferire. Allora disse la giovane. O lodato siaIddio, ché io veggio, che io sto meglio, che non stai tu, ché io nonho cotesto diavolo io. Disse Rustico, tu di vero; ma tu hai un' altracosa, che non l'ho io, et haila in iscambio di questo. Disse Alibech:O che? A cui Rustico disse: Hai l'inferno; e dicoti, che io mi credo, che Dio t'abbia qui mandata per la salute dell' anima mia; perciòche, se questo diavolo pur mi darà questa noia, ove tu cogli aver di metanta pietà, e sofferire, che io in inferno il rimetta; tu mi daraigrandissima consolazione, et a Dio farai grandissimo piacere, eservigio; se tu per quello fare in queste parti venuta se; che tu di. La giovane di buona fede rispose O padre mio, poscia che io hol'inferno, sia pure quando vi piacerà mettervi il diavolo. Disseallora Rustico: Figliuola mia benedetta sia tu: andiamo dunque, erimettiamlovi sí, che egli poscia mi lasci stare. E cosí detto, menatela giovane sopra uno de' loro letticelli, le 'nsegnò, come star sidovesse a dover incarcerare quel maladetto da Dio. La giovane, che maipiú non aveva in inferno messo diavolo alcuno, per la prima voltasentí un poco di noia; perché ella disse a Rustico. 

Per certo, padre mio, mala cosa dee essere questo diavolo, e veramentenimico di Iddio ché ancora all'inferno, non che altrui duole quando, egli v'è dentro rimesso. Disse Rustico: Figliuola, egli non averràsempre cosí: e per fare, che questo non avvenisse, da sei volteanziche di su il letticel si movesero, ve 'l rimisero; tantoche perquella volta gli trasser sí la superbia del capo, che egli si stettevolentieri in pace. Ma ritornatagli poi nel seguente tempo piú volte, e la giovane ubbidente sempre a trargliela si disponesse, avvenne, che il giuoco le cominciò a piacere; e cominciò a dire a Rustico. Benveggio, che il ver dicevano que valenti uomini in Capsa, che ilservire a Dio era cosí dolce cosa, e per certo io non mi ricordo, chemai alcuna altra ne facessi, che di tanto diletto, e piacere mi fosse, quanto è il rimettere il diavolo in inferno; e perciò giudico ogn'altra persona, che ad altro che a servire a Dio attende, essere unabestia. Per la qual cosa essa spesse volte andava a Rustico, e glidiceva. Padre mio, io son qui venuta per servire a Dio, e non peristare oziosa; andiamo a rimittere il diavolo in inferno. La qual cosafaccendo, diceva ella alcuna volta. Rustico, io non so perché ildiavolo si fugga di ninferno, ché s' egli vi stesse cosí volentiere, come l'inferno il riceve, e tiene; agli non sene uscirebbe mai. Cosíadunque invitando spesso la giovane Rustico, et al servigio di Dioconfortandolo, se la bambagia del farsetto tratta gli avea, che egli atalora sentiva freddo, che un' altro sarebbe sudato; e perciò egliincominciò a dire alla giovane, che il diavolo non era da gastigare, né da rimettere in inferno, se non quando egli per superbia levasse ilcapo; e noi, per la grazia, di Dio, l'abbiamo sí sgannato, che eglapriega Iddio di starsi in pace: e cosí alquanto impose di silenzioalla giovane. La qual, poiche vide che Rustico non la richiedeva adovere il diavolo rimittere in inferno, gli disse un giorno. Rustico, se il diavolo tuo è gastigato, e piú non ti dà noia me il mio ninfernonon lascia stare: perché tu farai bene, che tu col tuo diavolo aiutiad attutare la rabbia al mio inferno; come io col mio ninferno hoajutato a trarre la superbia al tuo diavolo. 

 [Transcriber's Note: The following is a 1903 translation of