The Decameron of Giovanni Boccaccio
by Giovanni Boccaccio · English · Gutenberg #23700 · 1,721,176 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Decameron of Giovanni Boccaccio
Author: Giovanni Boccaccio
Translator: John Payne
Release date: December 3, 2007 [eBook #23700]
Most recently updated: October 2, 2021
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/23700
Credits: Ted Garvin, Linda Cantoni, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DECAMERON OF GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO ***
[Transcriber's Note: The original text does not observe the normal
convention of placing quotation marks at the beginnings of paragraphs
within a multiple-paragraph quotation. This idiosyncrasy has been
preserved in this e-text.
Archaic spellings have been preserved, but obvious printer errors have
been corrected.
In the untranslated Italian passage in Day 3, Story 10, the original is
missing the accents, which have been added using an Italian edition of
Decameron (Milan: Mursia, 1977) as a guide.
John Payne's translation of _The Decameron_ was originally published
in a private printing for The Villon Society, London, 1886. The
American 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 Avenue
NEW 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 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_ 16
THE SECOND STORY. _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_ 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 very
grievous 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 hens
and certain sprightly words, curbeth the extravagant passion of the
King of France_ 33
THE SIXTH STORY. _An honest man, with a chance pleasantry, putteth to
shame the perverse hypocrisy of the religious orders_ 35
THE SEVENTH STORY. _Bergamino, with a story of Primasso and the Abbot
of Cluny, courteously rebuketh a fit of parsimony newly come to Messer
Cane della Scala_ 37
THE EIGHTH STORY. _Guglielmo Borsiere with some quaint words rebuketh
the niggardliness of Messer Ermino de' Grimaldi_ 40
THE NINTH STORY. _The King of Cyprus, touched to the quick by a Gascon
lady, from a mean-spirited prince becometh a man of worth and
valiance_ 42
THE TENTH STORY. _Master Alberto of Bologna civilly putteth a lady to
the 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 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_ 49
THE SECOND STORY. _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_ 52
THE THIRD STORY. _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_ 57
THE FOURTH STORY. _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_ 63
THE FIFTH STORY. _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_ 66
THE SIXTH STORY. _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_ 75
THE SEVENTH STORY. _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_ 85
THE EIGHTH STORY. _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_ 100
THE NINTH STORY. _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_ 111
THE TENTH STORY. _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_ 120
DAY THE THIRD 127
THE FIRST STORY. _Masetto of Lamporecchio feigneth himself dumb and
becometh gardener to a convent of women, who all flock to lie with
him_ 129
THE SECOND STORY. _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_ 134
THE THIRD STORY. _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_ 137
THE FOURTH STORY. _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_ 143
THE FIFTH STORY. _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_ 147
THE SIXTH STORY. _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_ 152
THE SEVENTH STORY. _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_
157
THE EIGHTH STORY. _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_ 169
THE NINTH STORY. _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_
176
THE TENTH STORY. _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_ 182
DAY THE FOURTH 189
THE FIRST STORY. _Tancred, Prince of Salerno, slayeth his daughter's
lover and sendeth her his heart in a bowl of gold; whereupon, pouring
poisoned water over it, she drinketh thereof and dieth_ 194
THE SECOND STORY. _Fra Alberto giveth a lady to believe that the angel
Gabriel is enamoured of her and in his shape lieth with her sundry
times; after which, for fear of her kinsmen, he casteth himself forth
of her window into the canal and taketh refuge in the house of a poor
man, who on the morrow carrieth him, in the guise of a wild man of the
woods, to the Piazza, where, being recognized, he is taken by his
brethren and put in prison_ 201
THE THIRD STORY. _Three young men love three sisters and flee with
them into Crete, where the eldest sister for jealousy slayeth her
lover. The second, yielding herself to the Duke of Crete, saveth her
sister from death, whereupon her own lover slayeth her and fleeth with
the eldest sister. Meanwhile the third lover and the youngest sister
are accused of the new murder and being taken, confess it; then, for
fear of death, they corrupt their keepers with money and flee to
Rhodes, where they die in poverty_ 208
THE FOURTH STORY. _Gerbino, against the plighted faith of his
grandfather, King Guglielmo of Sicily, attacketh a ship of the King of
Tunis, to carry off a daughter of his, who being put to death of those
on board, he slayeth these latter and is after himself beheaded_ 213
THE FIFTH STORY. _Lisabetta's brothers slay her lover, who appeareth
to her in a dream and showeth her where he is buried, whereupon she
privily disinterreth his head and setteth it in a pot of basil.
Thereover making moan a great while every day, her brothers take it
from her and she for grief dieth a little thereafterward_ 216
THE SIXTH STORY. _Andrevuola loveth Gabriotto and recounteth to him a
dream she hath had, whereupon he telleth her one of his own and
presently dieth suddenly in her arms. What while she and a waiting
woman of hers bear him to his own house, they are taken by the
officers of justice and carried before the provost, to whom she
discovereth 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, she
becometh a nun_ 220
THE SEVENTH STORY. _Simona loveth Pasquino and they being together in
a garden, the latter rubbeth a leaf of sage against his teeth and
dieth. She, being taken and thinking to show the judge how her lover
died, rubbeth one of the same leaves against her teeth and dieth on
like wise_ 225
THE EIGHTH STORY. _Girolamo loveth Salvestra and being constrained by
his mother's prayers to go to Paris, returneth and findeth his
mistress married; whereupon he entereth her house by stealth and dieth
by her side; and he being carried to a church, Salvestra dieth beside
him_ 228
THE NINTH STORY. _Sir Guillaume de Roussillon giveth his wife to eat
the heart of Sir Guillaume de Guardestaing by him slain and loved of
her, which she after coming to know, casteth herself from a high
casement to the ground and dying, is buried with her lover_ 232
THE TENTH STORY. _A physician's wife putteth her lover for dead in a
chest, which two usurers carry off to their own house, gallant and
all. The latter, who is but drugged, cometh presently to himself and
being discovered, is taken for a thief; but the lady's maid avoucheth
to the seignory that she herself had put him into the chest stolen by
the two usurers, whereby he escapeth the gallows and the thieves are
amerced in certain monies_ 235
DAY THE FIFTH 243
THE FIRST STORY. _Cimon, loving, waxeth wise and carrieth off to sea
Iphigenia his mistress. Being cast into prison at Rhodes, he is
delivered thence by Lysimachus and in concert with him carrieth off
Iphigenia and Cassandra on their wedding-day, with whom the twain flee
into Crete, where the two ladies become their wives and whence they
are presently all four recalled home_ 244
THE SECOND STORY. _Costanza loveth Martuccio Gomito and hearing that
he is dead, embarketh for despair alone in a boat, which is carried by
the wind to Susa. Finding her lover alive at Tunis, she discovereth
herself to him and he, being great in favour with the king for
counsels given, espouseth her and returneth rich with her to Lipari_
252
THE THIRD STORY. _Pietro Boccamazza, fleeing with Agnolella, falleth
among thieves; the girl escapeth through a wood and is led [by
fortune] to a castle, whilst Pietro is taken by the thieves, but
presently, escaping from their hands, winneth, after divers
adventures, 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 da
Valbona with his daughter, espouseth her and abideth in peace with her
father_ 261
THE FIFTH STORY. _Guidotto da Cremona leaveth to Giacomino da Pavia a
daughter of his and dieth. Giannole di Severino and Minghino di
Mingole fall in love with the girl at Faenza and come to blows on her
account. Ultimately she is proved to be Giannole's sister and is given
to 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, is
bound with her to a stake to be burnt; but, being recognized by
Ruggieri dell' Oria, escapeth and becometh her husband_ 269
THE SEVENTH STORY. _Teodoro, being enamoured of Violante, daughter of
Messer Amerigo his lord, getteth her with child and is condemned to be
hanged; but, being recognized and delivered by his father, as they are
leading him to the gallows, scourging him the while, he taketh
Violante to wife_ 273
THE EIGHTH STORY. _Nastagio degli Onesti, falling in love with a lady
of the Traversari family, spendeth his substance, without being
beloved in return, and betaking himself, at the instance of his
kinsfolk, to Chiassi, he there seeth a horseman give chase to a damsel
and slay her and cause her to be devoured of two dogs. Therewithal he
biddeth his kinsfolk and the lady whom he loveth to a dinner, where
his mistress seeth the same damsel torn in pieces and fearing a like
fate, taketh Nastagio to husband_ 278
THE NINTH STORY. _Federigo degli Alberighi loveth and is not loved. He
wasteth his substance in prodigal hospitality till there is left him
but one sole falcon, which, having nought else, he giveth his mistress
to eat, on her coming to his house; and she, learning this, changeth
her mind and taking him to husband, maketh him rich again_ 282
THE TENTH STORY. _Pietro di Vinciolo goeth to sup abroad, whereupon
his wife letteth fetch her a youth to keep her company, and her
husband returning, unlooked for, she hideth her gallant under a
hen-coop. Pietro telleth her how there had been found in the house of
one Arcolano, with whom he was to have supped, a young man brought in
by his wife, and she blameth the latter. Presently, an ass, by
mischance, setteth foot on the fingers of him who is under the coop
and he roareth out, whereupon Pietro runneth thither and espying him,
discovereth his wife's unfaith, but ultimately cometh to an accord
with her for his own lewd ends_ 286
DAY THE SIXTH 294
THE FIRST STORY. _A gentleman engageth to Madam Oretta to carry her
a-horseback with a story, but, telling it disorderly, is prayed by her
to set her down again_ 296
THE SECOND STORY. _Cisti the baker with a word of his fashion maketh
Messer Geri Spina sensible of an indiscreet request of his_ 297
THE THIRD STORY. _Madam Nonna de' Pulci, with a ready retort to a not
altogether seemly pleasantry, imposeth silence on the Bishop of
Florence_ 299
THE FOURTH STORY. _Chichibio, cook to Currado Gianfigliazzi, with a
ready word spoken to save himself, turneth his master's anger into
laughter and escapeth the punishment threatened him by the latter_ 301
THE FIFTH STORY. _Messer Forese da Rabatta and Master Giotto the
painter coming from Mugello, each jestingly rallieth the other on his
scurvy favour_ 303
THE SIXTH STORY. _Michele Scalza proveth to certain young men that the
cadgers of Florence are the best gentlemen of the world or the Maremma
and winneth a supper_ 304
THE SEVENTH STORY. _Madam Filippa, being found by her husband with a
lover of hers and brought to justice, delivereth herself with a prompt
and pleasant answer and causeth modify the statute_ 306
THE EIGHTH STORY. _Fresco exhorteth his niece not to mirror herself in
the glass if, as she saith, it irketh her to see disagreeable folk_
308
THE NINTH STORY. _Guido Cavalcanti with a pithy speech courteously
flouteth certain Florentine gentlemen who had taken him by surprise_
309
THE TENTH STORY. _Fra Cipolla promiseth certain country folk to show
them one of the angel Gabriel's feathers and finding coals in place
thereof, 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 by
night and awakeneth his wife, who giveth him to believe that it is a
phantom; whereupon they go to exorcise it with a certain orison and
the knocking ceaseth_ 323
THE SECOND STORY. _Peronella hideth a lover of hers in a vat, upon her
husband's unlooked for return, and hearing from the latter that he
hath sold the vat, avoucheth herself to have sold it to one who is
presently therewithin, to see if it be sound; whereupon the gallant,
jumping out of the vat, causeth the husband scrape it out for him and
after carry it home to his house_ 326
THE THIRD STORY. _Fra Rinaldo lieth with his gossip and being found of
her husband closeted with her in her chamber, they give him to believe
that 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 cast
herself into a well and casteth therein a great stone. Tofano cometh
forth of the house and runneth thither, whereupon she slippeth in and
locking 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 a
priest, who cometh to her every night; and whilst the husband secretly
keepeth watch at the door for the latter, the lady bringeth in a lover
of hers by the roof and lieth with him_ 336
THE SIXTH STORY. _Madam Isabella, being in company with Leonetto her
lover, is visited by one Messer Lambertuccio, of whom she is beloved;
her husband returning, [unexpected,] she sendeth Lambertuccio forth of
the house, whinger in hand, and the husband after escorteth Leonetto
home_ 341
THE SEVENTH STORY. _Lodovico discovereth to Madam Beatrice the love he
beareth her, whereupon she sendeth Egano her husband into the garden,
in her own favour, and lieth meanwhile with Lodovico, who, presently
arising, goeth and cudgelleth Egano in the garden_ 344
THE EIGHTH STORY. _A man waxeth jealous of his wife, who bindeth a
piece of packthread to her great toe anights, so she may have notice
of her lover's coming. One night her husband becometh aware of this
device and what while he pursueth the lover, the lady putteth another
woman to bed in her room. This latter the husband beateth and cutteth
off her hair, then fetcheth his wife's brothers, who, finding his
story [seemingly] untrue, give him hard words_ 348
THE NINTH STORY. _Lydia, wife of Nicostratus, loveth Pyrrhus, who, so
he may believe it, requireth of her three things, all which she doth.
Moreover, she solaceth herself with him in the presence of Nicostratus
and maketh the latter believe that that which he hath seen is not
real_ 353
THE TENTH STORY. _Two Siennese love a lady, who is gossip to one of
them; the latter dieth and returning to his companion, according to
premise 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, and
accordingly giveth them to her; then, in her presence, he telleth
Guasparruolo that he gave them to her, and she confesseth it to be
true_ 365
THE SECOND STORY. _The parish priest of Varlungo lieth with Mistress
Belcolore and leaveth her a cloak of his in pledge; then, borrowing a
mortar of her, he sendeth it back to her, demanding in return the
cloak left by way of token, which the good woman grudgingly giveth him
back_ 367
THE THIRD STORY. _Calandrino, Bruno and Buffalmacco go coasting along
the Mugnone in search of the heliotrope and Calandrino thinketh to
have found it. Accordingly he returneth home, laden with stones, and
his wife chideth him; whereupon, flying out into a rage, he beateth
her and recounteth to his companions that which they know better than
he_ 371
THE FOURTH STORY. _The rector of Fiesole loveth a widow lady, but is
not loved by her and thinking to lie with her, lieth with a
serving-wench of hers, whilst the lady's brothers cause the bishop
find him in this case_ 377
THE FIFTH STORY. _Three young men pull the breeches off a Marchegan
judge in Florence, what while he is on the bench, administering
justice_ 380
THE SIXTH STORY. _Bruno and Buffalmacco, having stolen a pig from
Calandrino, make him try the ordeal with ginger boluses and sack and
give him (instead of the ginger) two dogballs compounded with aloes,
whereby it appeareth that he himself hath had the pig and they make
him pay blackmail, and he would not have them tell his wife_ 383
THE SEVENTH STORY. _A scholar loveth a widow lady, who, being
enamoured of another, causeth him spend one winter's night in the snow
awaiting her, and he after contriveth, by his sleight, to have her
abide naked, all one mid-July day, on the summit of a tower, exposed
to flies and gads and sun_ 387
THE EIGHTH STORY. _Two men consorting together, one lieth with the
wife of his comrade, who, becoming aware thereof, doth with her on
such wise that the other is shut up in a chest, upon which he lieth
with his wife, he being inside the while_ 403
THE NINTH STORY. _Master Simone the physician, having been induced by
Bruno and Buffalmacco to repair to a certain place by night, there to
be made a member of a company, that goeth a-roving, is cast by
Buffalmacco into a trench full of ordure and there left_ 406
THE TENTH STORY. _A certain woman of Sicily artfully despoileth a
merchant of that which he had brought to Palermo; but he, making
believe to have returned thither with much greater plenty of
merchandise than before, borroweth money of her and leaveth her water
and tow in payment_ 418
DAY THE NINTH 427
THE FIRST STORY. _Madam Francesca, being courted of one Rinuccio
Palermini and one Alessandro Chiarmontesi and loving neither the one
nor the other, adroitly riddeth herself of both by causing one enter
for dead into a sepulchre and the other bring him forth thereof for
dead, on such wise that they cannot avail to accomplish the condition
imposed_ 428
THE SECOND STORY. _An abbess, arising in haste and in the dark to find
one of her nuns, who had been denounced to her, in bed with her lover
and, thinking to cover her head with her coif, donneth instead thereof
the breeches of a priest who is abed with her; the which the accused
nun observing and making her aware thereof, she is acquitted and hath
leisure to be with her lover_ 432
THE THIRD STORY. _Master Simone, at the instance of Bruno and
Buffalmacco and Nello, maketh Calandrino believe that he is with
child; wherefore he giveth them capons and money for medicines and
recovereth without bringing forth_ 435
THE FOURTH STORY. _Cecco Fortarrigo gameth away at Buonconvento all
his good and the monies of Cecco Angiolieri [his master;] moreover,
running after the latter, in his shirt, and avouching that he hath
robbed him, he causeth him be taken of the countryfolk; then, donning
Angiolieri's clothes and mounting his palfrey, he maketh off and
leaveth the other in his shirt_ 438
THE FIFTH STORY. _Calandrino falleth in love with a wench and Bruno
writeth him a talisman, wherewith when he toucheth her, she goeth with
him; and his wife finding them together, there betideth him grievous
trouble and annoy_ 441
THE SIXTH STORY. _Two young gentlemen lodge the night with an
innkeeper, whereof one goeth to lie with the host's daughter, whilst
his wife unwittingly coucheth with the other; after which he who lay
with the girl getteth him to bed with her father and telleth him all,
thinking to bespeak his comrade. Therewithal they come to words, but
the wife, perceiving her mistake, entereth her daughter's bed and
thence with certain words appeaseth everything_ 446
THE SEVENTH STORY. _Talano di Molese dreameth that a wolf mangleth all
his wife's neck and face and biddeth her beware thereof; but she
payeth no heed to his warning and it befalleth her even as he had
dreamed_ 450
THE EIGHTH STORY. _Biondello cheateth Ciacco of a dinner, whereof the
other craftily avengeth himself, procuring him to be shamefully
beaten_ 451
THE NINTH STORY. _Two young men seek counsel of Solomon, one how he
may be loved and the other how he may amend his froward wife, and in
answer 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 wife
to become a mare; but, whenas he cometh to put on the tail, Pietro
marreth 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 thinking
himself ill guerdoned, the king by very certain proof showeth him that
this is not his fault, but that of his own perverse fortune, and after
largesseth him magnificently_ 462
THE SECOND STORY. _Ghino di Tacco taketh the Abbot of Cluny and having
cured him of the stomach-complaint, letteth him go; whereupon the
Abbot, returning to the court of Rome, reconcileth him with Pope
Boniface and maketh him a Prior of the Hospitallers_ 464
THE THIRD STORY. _Mithridanes, envying Nathan his hospitality and
generosity and going to kill him, falleth in with himself, without
knowing him, and is by him instructed of the course he shall take to
accomplish his purpose; by means whereof he findeth him, as he himself
had ordered it, in a coppice and recognizing him, is ashamed and
becometh 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 been
buried for dead. The lady, restored to life, beareth a male child and
Messer Gentile restoreth her and her son to Niccoluccio Caccianimico,
her husband_ 472
THE FIFTH STORY. _Madam Dianora requireth of Messer Ansaldo a garden
as fair in January as in May, and he by binding himself [to pay a
great sum of money] to a nigromancer, giveth it to her. Her husband
granteth her leave to do Messer Ansaldo's pleasure, but he, hearing of
the former's generosity, absolveth her of her promise, whereupon the
nigromancer, in his turn, acquitteth Messer Ansaldo of his bond,
without willing aught of his_ 478
THE SIXTH STORY. _King Charles the Old, the Victorious, falleth
enamoured 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 fervent
love borne him by Lisa, comforteth the lovesick maid and presently
marrieth her to a noble young gentleman; then, kissing her on the
brow, he ever after avoucheth himself her knight_ 485
THE EIGHTH STORY. _Sophronia, thinking to marry Gisippus, becometh the
wife of Titus Quintius Fulvus and with him betaketh herself to Rome,
whither Gisippus cometh in poor case and conceiving himself slighted
of 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; whereupon
they are all three liberated by Octavianus and Titus, giving Gisippus
his sister to wife, hath all his good in common with him_ 491
THE NINTH STORY. _Saladin, in the disguise of a merchant, is
honourably entertained by Messer Torello d'Istria, who, presently
undertaking the [third] crusade, appointeth his wife a term for her
marrying again. He is taken [by the Saracens] and cometh, by his skill
in training hawks, under the notice of the Soldan, who knoweth him
again and discovering himself to him, entreateth him with the utmost
honour. Then, Torello falling sick for languishment, he is by magical
art transported in one night [from Alexandria] to Pavia, where, being
recognized 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 prayers
of his vassals to marry, but determined to do it after his own
fashion, taketh to wife the daughter of a peasant and hath of her two
children, 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, he
letteth bring his own daughter home to his house, as she were his new
bride, and turneth his wife away in her shift; but, finding her
patient under everything, he fetcheth her home again, dearer than
ever, and showing her her children grown great, honoureth and letteth
honour her as marchioness_ 510
CONCLUSION OF THE AUTHOR 525
HERE BEGINNETH THE BOOK CALLED DECAMERON AND SURNAMED PRINCE GALAHALT
WHEREIN ARE CONTAINED AN HUNDRED STORIES IN TEN DAYS TOLD BY SEVEN
LADIES AND THREE YOUNG MEN
PROEM
A kindly thing it is to have compassion of the afflicted and albeit it
well beseemeth every one, yet of those is it more particularly
required 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 took
pleasure therein aforetimes, certes, I am one of these. For that,
having from my first youth unto this present been beyond measure
inflamed with a very high and noble passion (higher and nobler,
perchance, than might appear, were I to relate it, to sort with my low
estate) albeit by persons of discretion who had intelligence thereof I
was commended therefor and accounted so much the more worth, natheless
a passing sore travail it was to me to bear it, not, certes, by reason
of the cruelty of the beloved lady, but because of the exceeding
ardour 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 this
my affliction the pleasant discourse of a certain friend of mine and
his admirable consolations afforded me such refreshment that I firmly
believe of these it came that I died not. But, as it pleased Him who,
being Himself infinite, hath for immutable law appointed unto all
things mundane that they shall have an end, my love,--beyond every
other fervent and which nor stress of reasoning nor counsel, no, nor
yet manifest shame nor peril that might ensue thereof, had availed
either to break or to bend,--of its own motion, in process of time, on
such wise abated that of itself at this present it hath left me only
that pleasance which it is used to afford unto whoso adventureth
himself not too far in the navigation of its profounder oceans; by
reason whereof, all chagrin being done away, I feel it grown
delightsome, whereas it used to be grievous. Yet, albeit the pain hath
ceased, not, therefore, is the memory fled of the benefits whilom
received and the kindnesses bestowed on me by those to whom, of the
goodwill they bore me, my troubles were grievous; nor, as I deem, will
it ever pass away, save for death. And for that gratitude, to my
thinking, is, among the other virtues, especially commendable and its
contrary blameworthy, I have, that I may not appear ungrateful,
bethought myself, now that I can call myself free, to endeavour, in
that little which is possible to me, to afford some relief, in
requital of that which I received aforetime,--if not to those who
succoured me and who, belike, by reason of their good sense or of
their fortune, have no occasion therefor,--to those, at least, who
stand in need thereof. And albeit my support, or rather I should say
my comfort, may be and indeed is of little enough avail to the
afflicted, natheless meseemeth it should rather be proffered whereas
the need appeareth greater, as well because it will there do more
service as for that it will still be there the liefer had. And who
will deny that this [comfort], whatsoever [worth] it be, it behoveth
much more to give unto lovesick ladies than unto men? For that these
within their tender bosoms, fearful and shamefast, hold hid the fires
of love (which those who have proved know how much more puissance they
have than those which are manifest), and constrained by the wishes,
the pleasures, the commandments of fathers, mothers, brothers and
husbands, abide most time enmewed in the narrow compass of their
chambers and sitting in a manner idle, willing and willing not in one
breath, revolve in themselves various thoughts which it is not
possible should still be merry. By reason whereof if there arise in
their minds any melancholy, bred of ardent desire, needs must it with
grievous annoy abide therein, except it be done away by new discourse;
more by token that they are far less strong than men to endure. With
men in love it happeneth not on this wise, as we may manifestly see.
They, if any melancholy or heaviness of thought oppress them, have
many means of easing it or doing it away, for that to them, an they
have a mind thereto, there lacketh not commodity of going about
hearing and seeing many things, fowling, hunting, fishing, riding,
gaming and trafficking; each of which means hath, altogether or in
part, power to draw the mind unto itself and to divert it from
troublous thought, at least for some space of time, whereafter, one
way or another, either solacement superveneth or else the annoy
groweth less. Wherefore, to the end that the unright of Fortune may by
me in part be amended, which, where there is the less strength to
endure, as we see it in delicate ladies, hath there been the more
niggard of support, I purpose, for the succour and solace of ladies in
love (unto others[1] the needle and the spindle and the reel suffice)
to recount an hundred stories or fables or parables or histories or
whatever you like to style them, in ten days' time related by an
honourable company of seven ladies and three young men made in the
days of the late deadly pestilence, together with sundry canzonets
sung by the aforesaid ladies for their diversion. In these stories
will be found love-chances,[2] both gladsome and grievous, and other
accidents of fortune befallen as well in times present as in days of
old, whereof the ladies aforesaid, who shall read them, may at once
take solace from the delectable things therein shown forth and useful
counsel, inasmuch as they may learn thereby what is to be eschewed and
what is on like wise to be ensued,--the which methinketh cannot betide
without cease of chagrin. If it happen thus (as God grant it may) let
them render thanks therefor to Love, who, by loosing me from his
bonds, hath vouchsafed me the power of applying myself to the service
of 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 mind
me how very pitiful you are all by nature, so often do I recognize
that this present work will, to your thinking, have a grievous and a
weariful beginning, inasmuch as the dolorous remembrance of the late
pestiferous mortality, which it beareth on its forefront, is
universally irksome to all who saw or otherwise knew it. But I would
not therefore have this affright you from reading further, as if in
the reading you were still to fare among sighs and tears. Let this
grisly beginning be none other to you than is to wayfarers a rugged
and steep mountain, beyond which is situate a most fair and delightful
plain, which latter cometh so much the pleasanter to them as the
greater was the hardship of the ascent and the descent; for, like as
dolour occupieth the extreme of gladness, even so are miseries
determined by imminent joyance. This brief annoy (I say brief,
inasmuch as it is contained in few pages) is straightway succeeded by
the pleasance and delight which I have already promised you and which,
belike, were it not aforesaid, might not be looked for from such a
beginning. And in truth, could I fairly have availed to bring you to
my desire otherwise than by so rugged a path as this will be I had
gladly done it; but being in a manner constrained thereto, for that,
without this reminiscence of our past miseries, it might not be shown
what was the occasion of the coming about of the things that will
hereafter 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 Incarnation
of the Son of God had attained to the number of one thousand three
hundred and forty-eight, when into the notable city of Florence, fair
over every other of Italy, there came the death-dealing pestilence,
which, through the operation of the heavenly bodies or of our own
iniquitous dealings, being sent down upon mankind for our correction
by the just wrath of God, had some years before appeared in the parts
of the East and after having bereft these latter of an innumerable
number of inhabitants, extending without cease from one place to
another, had now unhappily spread towards the West. And thereagainst
no wisdom availing nor human foresight (whereby the city was purged of
many impurities by officers deputed to that end and it was forbidden
unto any sick person to enter therein and many were the counsels
given[4] for the preservation of health) nor yet humble
supplications, not once but many times both in ordered processions and
on other wise made unto God by devout persons,--about the coming in of
the Spring of the aforesaid year, it began on horrible and miraculous
wise to show forth its dolorous effects. Yet not as it had done in the
East, where, if any bled at the nose, it was a manifest sign of
inevitable death; nay, but in men and women alike there appeared, at
the beginning of the malady, certain swellings, either on the groin or
under the armpits, whereof some waxed of the bigness of a common
apple, others like unto an egg, some more and some less, and these the
vulgar named plague-boils. From these two parts the aforesaid
death-bearing plague-boils proceeded, in brief space, to appear and
come indifferently in every part of the body; wherefrom, after awhile,
the fashion of the contagion began to change into black or livid
blotches, which showed themselves in many [first] on the arms and
about 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 like
as the plague-boils had been first (and yet were) a very certain token
of 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 virtue
of any medicine appeared to avail or profit aught; on the
contrary,--whether it was that the nature of the infection suffered it
not or that the ignorance of the physicians (of whom, over and above
the men of art, the number, both men and women, who had never had any
teaching of medicine, was become exceeding great,) availed not to know
whence it arose and consequently took not due measures thereagainst,--not
only did few recover thereof, but well nigh all died within the third
day from the appearance of the aforesaid signs, this sooner and that
later, and for the most part without fever or other accident.[6] And
this pestilence was the more virulent for that, by communication with
those who were sick thereof, it gat hold upon the sound, no otherwise
than fire upon things dry or greasy, whenas they are brought very near
thereunto. Nay, the mischief was yet greater; for that not only did
converse and consortion with the sick give to the sound infection of
cause of common death, but the mere touching of the clothes or of
whatsoever other thing had been touched or used of the sick appeared
of itself to communicate the malady to the toucher. A marvellous thing
to hear is that which I have to tell and one which, had it not been
seen 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 worthy
of belief. I say, then, that of such efficience was the nature of the
pestilence in question in communicating itself from one to another,
that, not only did it pass from man to man, but this, which is much
more, it many times visibly did;--to wit, a thing which had pertained
to a man sick or dead of the aforesaid sickness, being touched by an
animal foreign to the human species, not only infected this latter
with the plague, but in a very brief space of time killed it. Of this
mine own eyes (as hath a little before been said) had one day, among
others, 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, two
hogs came up to them and having first, after their wont, rooted amain
among them with their snouts, took them in their mouths and tossed
them about their jaws; then, in a little while, after turning round
and round, they both, as if they had taken poison, fell down dead upon
the 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 the
Italian word.]
From these things and many others like unto them or yet stranger
divers fears and conceits were begotten in those who abode alive,
which well nigh all tended to a very barbarous conclusion, namely, to
shun and flee from the sick and all that pertained to them, and thus
doing, each thought to secure immunity for himself. Some there were
who conceived that to live moderately and keep oneself from all excess
was the best defence against such a danger; wherefore, making up their
company, they lived removed from every other and shut themselves up in
those houses where none had been sick and where living was best; and
there, using very temperately of the most delicate viands and the
finest wines and eschewing all incontinence, they abode with music and
such other diversions as they might have, never suffering themselves
to speak with any nor choosing to hear any news from without of death
or sick folk. Others, inclining to the contrary opinion, maintained
that to carouse and make merry and go about singing and frolicking and
satisfy the appetite in everything possible and laugh and scoff at
whatsoever befell was a very certain remedy for such an ill. That
which they said they put in practice as best they might, going about
day and night, now to this tavern, now to that, drinking without stint
or measure; and on this wise they did yet more freely in other folk's
houses, so but they scented there aught that liked or tempted them, as
they might lightly do, for that every one--as he were to live no
longer--had abandoned all care of his possessions, as of himself,
wherefore the most part of the houses were become common good and
strangers used them, whenas they happened upon them, like as the very
owner might have done; and with all this bestial preoccupation, they
still shunned the sick to the best of their power.
In this sore affliction and misery of our city, the reverend authority
of the laws, both human and divine, was all in a manner dissolved and
fallen into decay, for [lack of] the ministers and executors thereof,
who, like other men, were all either dead or sick or else left so
destitute of followers that they were unable to exercise any office,
wherefore every one had license to do whatsoever pleased him. Many
others held a middle course between the two aforesaid, not straitening
themselves so exactly in the matter of diet as the first neither
allowing themselves such license in drinking and other debauchery as
the second, but using things in sufficiency, according to their
appetites; nor did they seclude themselves, but went about, carrying
in their hands, some flowers, some odoriferous herbs and other some
divers kinds of spiceries,[7] which they set often to their noses,
accounting it an excellent thing to fortify the brain with such
odours, more by token that the air seemed all heavy and attainted with
the stench of the dead bodies and that of the sick and of the remedies
used.
[Footnote 7: _i.e._ aromatic drugs.]
Some were of a more barbarous, though, peradventure, a surer way of
thinking, avouching that there was no remedy against pestilences
better than--no, nor any so good as--to flee before them; wherefore,
moved by this reasoning and recking of nought but themselves, very
many, both men and women, abandoned their own city, their own houses
and homes, their kinsfolk and possessions, and sought the country
seats 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 do
so wheresoever they might be, but would content itself with afflicting
those only who were found within the walls of their city, or as if
they were persuaded that no person was to remain therein and that its
last hour was come. And albeit these, who opined thus variously, died
not all, yet neither did they all escape; nay, many of each way of
thinking and in every place sickened of the plague and languished on
all sides, well nigh abandoned, having themselves, what while they
were whole, set the example to those who abode in health.
Indeed, leaving be that townsman avoided townsman and that well nigh
no neighbour took thought unto other and that kinsfolk seldom or never
visited one another and held no converse together save from afar, this
tribulation had stricken such terror to the hearts of all, men and
women alike, that brother forsook brother, uncle nephew and sister
brother and oftentimes wife husband; nay (what is yet more
extraordinary and well nigh incredible) fathers and mothers refused to
visit or tend their very children, as they had not been theirs. By
reason whereof there remained unto those (and the number of them, both
males and females, was incalculable) who fell sick, none other succour
than that which they owed either to the charity of friends (and of
these there were few) or the greed of servants, who tended them,
allured by high and extravagant wage; albeit, for all this, these
latter were not grown many, and those men and women of mean
understanding and for the most part unused to such offices, who served
for well nigh nought but to reach things called for by the sick or to
note when they died; and in the doing of these services many of them
perished with their gain.
Of this abandonment of the sick by neighbours, kinsfolk and friends
and of the scarcity of servants arose an usage before well nigh
unheard, to wit, that no woman, how fair or lovesome or well-born
soever she might be, once fallen sick, recked aught of having a man to
tend her, whatever he might be, or young or old, and without any shame
discovered to him every part of her body, no otherwise than she would
have done to a woman, so but the necessity of her sickness required
it; the which belike, in those who recovered, was the occasion of
lesser modesty in time to come. Moreover, there ensued of this
abandonment the death of many who peradventure, had they been
succoured, would have escaped alive; wherefore, as well for the lack
of the opportune services which the sick availed not to have as for
the virulence of the plague, such was the multitude of those who died
in the city by day and by night that it was an astonishment to hear
tell thereof, much more to see it; and thence, as it were of
necessity, there sprang up among those who abode alive things contrary
to the pristine manners of the townsfolk.
It was then (even as we yet see it used) a custom that the kinswomen
and she-neighbours of the dead should assemble in his house and there
condole with those who more nearly pertained unto him, whilst his
neighbours and many other citizens foregathered with his next of kin
before his house, whither, according to the dead man's quality, came
the clergy, and he with funeral pomp of chants and candles was borne
on the shoulders of his peers to the church chosen by himself before
his death; which usages, after the virulence of the plague began to
increase, were either altogether or for the most part laid aside, and
other and strange customs sprang up in their stead. For that, not only
did folk die without having a multitude of women about them, but many
there were who departed this life without witness and few indeed were
they to whom the pious plaints and bitter tears of their kinsfolk were
vouchsafed; nay, in lieu of these things there obtained, for the most
part, laughter and jests and gibes and feasting and merrymaking in
company; which usance women, laying aside womanly pitifulness, had
right well learned for their own safety.
Few, again, were they whose bodies were accompanied to the church by
more than half a score or a dozen of their neighbours, and of these no
worshipful 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 and
bore it with hurried steps, not to that church which the dead man had
chosen before his death, but most times to the nearest, behind five or
six[9] priests, with little light[10] and whiles none at all, which
latter, with the aid of the said pickmen, thrust him into what grave
soever they first found unoccupied, without troubling themselves with
too long or too formal a service.
[Footnote 8: _i.e._ gravediggers (_becchini_).]
[Footnote 9: Lit. _four_ or six. This is the equivalent Italian
idiom.]
[Footnote 10: _i.e._ but few tapers.]
The condition of the common people (and belike, in great part, of the
middle class also) was yet more pitiable to behold, for that these,
for the most part retained by hope[11] or poverty in their houses and
abiding in their own quarters, sickened by the thousand daily and
being altogether untended and unsuccoured, died well nigh all without
recourse. Many breathed their last in the open street, whilst other
many, for all they died in their houses, made it known to the
neighbours that they were dead rather by the stench of their rotting
bodies than otherwise; and of these and others who died all about the
whole city was full. For the most part one same usance was observed by
the neighbours, moved more by fear lest the corruption of the dead
bodies should imperil themselves than by any charity they had for the
departed; to wit, that either with their own hands or with the aid of
certain bearers, whenas they might have any, they brought the bodies
of those who had died forth of their houses and laid them before their
doors, where, especially in the morning, those who went about might
see corpses without number; then they fetched biers and some, in
default thereof, they laid upon some board or other. Nor was it only
one bier that carried two or three corpses, nor did this happen but
once; nay, many might have been counted which contained husband and
wife, two or three brothers, father and son or the like. And an
infinite number of times it befell that, two priests going with one
cross for some one, three or four biers, borne by bearers, ranged
themselves behind the latter,[12] and whereas the priests thought to
have 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 or
funeral train; nay, the thing was come to such a pass that folk recked
no more of men that died than nowadays they would of goats; whereby it
very manifestly appeared that that which the natural course of things
had not availed, by dint of small and infrequent harms, to teach the
wise to endure with patience, the very greatness of their ills had
brought even the simple to expect and make no account of. The
consecrated ground sufficing not to the burial of the vast multitude
of corpses aforesaid, which daily and well nigh hourly came carried in
crowds to every church,--especially if it were sought to give each his
own place, according to ancient usance,--there were made throughout
the churchyards, after every other part was full, vast trenches,
wherein those who came after were laid by the hundred and being heaped
up therein by layers, as goods are stowed aboard ship, were covered
with a little earth, till such time as they reached the top of the
trench.
[Footnote 11: _i.e._ expectation of gain from acting as tenders of the
sick, gravediggers, etc. The word _speranza_ is, however, constantly
used 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 every
particular of our past miseries, as they befell throughout the
city,--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 like
unto the city,) throughout the scattered villages and in the fields,
the poor and miserable husbandmen and their families, without succour
of physician or aid of servitor, died, not like men, but well nigh
like beasts, by the ways or in their tillages or about the houses,
indifferently by day and night. By reason whereof, growing lax like
the townsfolk in their manners and customs, they recked not of any
thing or business of theirs; nay, all, as if they looked for death
that very day, studied with all their wit, not to help to maturity the
future produce of their cattle and their fields and the fruits of
their 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 their
pleasure about the fields, where the very corn was abandoned, without
being cut, much less gathered in; and many, well nigh like reasonable
creatures, after grazing all day, returned at night, glutted, to their
houses, 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 said
save 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 of
sick folk ill tended or forsaken in their need, through the
fearfulness of those who were whole, it is believed for certain that
upward of an hundred thousand human beings perished within the walls
of the city of Florence, which, peradventure, before the advent of
that death-dealing calamity, had not been accounted to hold so many?
Alas, how many great palaces, how many goodly houses, how many noble
mansions, once full of families, of lords and of ladies, abode empty
even to the meanest servant! How many memorable families, how many
ample heritages, how many famous fortunes were seen to remain without
lawful heir! How many valiant men, how many fair ladies, how many
sprightly youths, whom, not others only, but Galen, Hippocrates or
Æsculapius themselves would have judged most hale, breakfasted in the
morning with their kinsfolk, comrades and friends and that same night
supped 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 can
fitly, I say that,--our city being at this pass, well nigh void of
inhabitants,--it chanced (as I afterward heard from a person worthy of
credit) that there foregathered in the venerable church of Santa Maria
Novella, one Tuesday morning when there was well nigh none else there,
seven young ladies, all knit one to another by friendship or
neighbourhood or kinship, who had heard divine service in mourning
attire, as sorted with such a season. Not one of them had passed her
eight-and-twentieth year nor was less than eighteen years old, and
each was discreet and of noble blood, fair of favour and well-mannered
and full of honest sprightliness. The names of these ladies I would in
proper terms set out, did not just cause forbid me, to wit, that I
would not have it possible that, in time to come, any of them should
take shame by reason of the things hereinafter related as being told
or hearkened by them, the laws of disport being nowadays somewhat
straitened, which at that time, for the reasons above shown, were of
the largest, not only for persons of their years, but for those of a
much riper age; nor yet would I give occasion to the envious, who are
still ready to carp at every praiseworthy life, on anywise to
disparage the fair fame of these honourable ladies with unseemly talk.
Wherefore, so that which each saith may hereafterward be apprehended
without confusion, I purpose to denominate them by names altogether or
in part sorting with each one's quality.[15] The first of them and
her of ripest age I shall call Pampinea, the second Fiammetta, the
third Filomena and the fourth Emilia. To the fifth we will give the
name of Lauretta, to the sixth that of Neifile and the last, not
without cause, we will style Elisa.[16] These, then, not drawn of any
set purpose, but foregathering by chance in a corner of the church,
having seated themselves in a ring, after divers sighs, let be the
saying of paternosters and fell to devising with one another many and
various things of the nature of the time. After awhile, the others
being silent, Pampinea proceeded to speak thus:
[Footnote 15: Or character (_qualità_).]
[Footnote 16: I know of no explanation of these names by the
commentators, who seem, indeed, after the manner of their kind, to
have generally confined themselves to the elaborate illustration and
elucidation (or rather, alas! too often, obscuration) of passages
already perfectly plain, leaving the difficult passages for the most
part 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-advising
or admonishing, which would agree well enough with the character of
Pampinea, who is represented as the eldest and sagest of the female
personages 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 very
high and noble passion" of which he speaks in his Proem), in his
earlier opuscule, the "Elégia di Madonna Fiammetta," describing, in
her name, the torments of separation from the beloved. In this work he
speaks of himself under the name of Pamfilo (Gr. [Greek: pan], all,
and [Greek: phileô], I love, _i.e._ the all-loving or the passionate
lover), and it is probable, therefore, that under these names he
intended to introduce his royal ladylove and himself in the present
work. _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, as
we 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) stamps
her as being of a somewhat curious disposition, eager "to tell or to
hear some new thing." The name _Elisa_ is not so easily to be
explained as the others; possibly it was intended by the author as a
reminiscence of Dido, to whom the name (which is by some authorities
explained to mean "Godlike," from a Hebrew root) is said to have been
given "quòd plurima supra animi muliebris fortitudinem gesserit." It
does not, however, appear that there was in Elisa's character or life
anything to justify the implied comparison.]
"Dear my ladies, you may, like myself, have many times heard that
whoso honestly useth his right doth no one wrong; and it is the
natural right of every one who is born here below to succour, keep and
defend his own life as best he may, and in so far is this allowed that
it hath happened whiles that, for the preservation thereof, men have
been 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 it
lawful for us and whatsoever other, without offence unto any, to take
such means as we may for the preservation of our lives? As often as I
consider our fashions of this morning and those of many other mornings
past 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, considering
that we all have a woman's wit, that we take no steps to provide
ourselves against that which each of us justly feareth. We abide here,
to my seeming, no otherwise than as if we would or should be witness
of how many dead bodies are brought hither for burial or to hearken if
the 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 forth
unto whosoever appeareth here the nature and extent of our distresses.
If we depart hence, we either see dead bodies or sick persons carried
about or those, whom for their misdeeds the authority of the public
laws whilere condemned to exile, overrun the whole place with unseemly
excesses, as if scoffing at the laws, for that they know the executors
thereof to be either dead or sick; whilst the dregs of our city,
fattened with our blood, style themselves _pickmen_ and ruffle it
everywhere in mockery of us, riding and running all about and flouting
us with our distresses in ribald songs. We hear nothing here but 'Such
an one is dead' or 'Such an one is at the point of death'; and were
there any to make them, we should hear dolorous lamentations on all
sides. And if we return to our houses, I know not if it is with you as
with me, but, for my part, when I find none left therein of a great
household, save my serving-maid, I wax fearful and feel every hair of
my 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 not
those countenances that I was used to see, but terrify me with a
horrid aspect, I know not whence newly come to them.
By reason of these things I feel myself alike ill at ease here and
abroad and at home, more by token that meseemeth none, who hath, as we
have, 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 perceived
that, without making any distinction between things lawful and
unlawful, so but appetite move them, whether alone or in company, both
day and night, they do that which affordeth them most delight. Nor is
it the laity alone who do thus; nay, even those who are shut in the
monasteries, persuading themselves that what befitteth and is lawful
to others alike sortable and unforbidden unto them,[17] have broken
the 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 our
safety than all the rest of the townsfolk? Deem we ourselves of less
price than others, or do we hold our life to be bounden in our bodies
with a stronger chain than is theirs and that therefore we need reck
nothing 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 to
mind the number and quality of the youths and ladies overborne of this
cruel pestilence, we may see a most manifest proof thereof.
[Footnote 17: This phrase may also be read "persuading themselves that
that (_i.e._ their breach of the laws of obedience, etc.) beseemeth
them and is forbidden only to others" (_faccendosi a credere che
quello a lor si convenga e non si disdica che all' altre_); but the
reading in the text appears more in harmony with the general sense and
is 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 or
nonchalance, fall into that wherefrom we may, peradventure, an we but
will, by some means or other escape, I know not if it seem to you as
it 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, and
eschewing, as we would death, the dishonourable example of others,
betake ourselves quietly to our places in the country, whereof each of
us hath great plenty, and there take such diversion, such delight and
such pleasance as we may, without anywise overpassing the bounds of
reason. There may we hear the small birds sing, there may we see the
hills and plains clad all in green and the fields full of corn wave
even as doth the sea; there may we see trees, a thousand sorts, and
there is the face of heaven more open to view, the which, angered
against us though it be, nevertheless denieth not unto us its eternal
beauties, 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 is
more plenty of that which behoveth unto life and less is the sum of
annoys, for that, albeit the husbandmen die there, even as do the
townsfolk here, the displeasance is there the less, insomuch as houses
and 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, we
may far rather say with truth that we ourselves are abandoned, seeing
that our kinsfolk, either dying or fleeing from death, have left us
alone in this great tribulation, as it were we pertained not unto
them. 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 our
maids and letting follow after us with the necessary gear, sojourn
to-day in this place and to-morrow in that, taking such pleasance and
diversion as the season may afford, and on this wise abide till such
time (an we be not earlier overtaken of death) as we shall see what
issue Heaven reserveth unto these things. And I would remind you that
it is no more forbidden unto us honourably to depart than it is unto
many others of our sex to abide in dishonour."
The other ladies, having hearkened to Pampinea, not only commended her
counsel, but, eager to follow it, had already begun to devise more
particularly among themselves of the manner, as if, arising from
their session there, they were to set off out of hand. But Filomena,
who was exceeding discreet, said, "Ladies, albeit that which Pampinea
allegeth is excellently well said, yet is there no occasion for
running, as meseemeth you would do. Remember that we are all women and
none of us is child enough not to know how [little] reasonable women
are among themselves and how [ill], without some man's guidance, they
know how to order themselves. We are fickle, wilful, suspicious,
faint-hearted and timorous, for which reasons I misdoubt me sore, an
we take not some other guidance than our own, that our company will be
far too soon dissolved and with less honour to ourselves than were
seemly; wherefore we should do well to provide ourselves, ere we
begin."
"Verily," answered Elisa, "men are the head of women, and without
their ordinance seldom cometh any emprise of ours to good end; but how
may we come by these men? There is none of us but knoweth that of her
kinsmen the most part are dead and those who abide alive are all gone
fleeing that which we seek to flee, in divers companies, some here and
some there, without our knowing where, and to invite strangers would
not be seemly, seeing that, if we would endeavour after our welfare,
it behoveth us find a means of so ordering ourselves that, wherever we
go for diversion and repose, scandal nor annoy may ensue thereof."
Whilst such discourse was toward between the ladies, behold, there
entered the church three young men,--yet not so young that the age of
the youngest of them was less than five-and-twenty years,--in whom
neither 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] another
Filostrato[20] and the third Dioneo,[21] all very agreeable and
well-bred, and they went seeking, for their supreme solace, in such a
perturbation of things, to see their mistresses, who, as it chanced,
were all three among the seven aforesaid; whilst certain of the other
ladies 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. This
name appears to be a reminiscence of Boccaccio's poem (_Il
Filostrato_, well known through its translation by Chaucer and the
Senechal d'Anjou) upon the subject of the loves of Troilus and
Cressida and to be in this instance used by him as a synonym for an
unhappy lover, whom no rebuffs, no treachery can divert from his
ill-starred passion. Such a lover may well be said to be in love with
strife, and that the Filostrato of the Decameron sufficiently answers
to 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, to
which, indeed, the erotic character of most of the stories told by him
bears sufficient witness.]
No sooner had their eyes fallen on the ladies than they were
themselves espied of them; whereupon quoth Pampinea, smiling, "See,
fortune is favourable to our beginnings and hath thrown in our way
young men of worth and discretion, who will gladly be to us both
guides and servitors, an we disdain not to accept of them in that
capacity." But Neifile, whose face was grown all vermeil for
shamefastness, for that it was she who was beloved of one of the young
men, said, "For God's sake, Pampinea, look what thou sayest! I
acknowledge most frankly that there can be nought but all good said of
which one soever of them and I hold them sufficient unto a much
greater thing than this, even as I opine that they would bear, not
only ourselves, but far fairer and nobler dames than we, good and
honourable company. But, for that it is a very manifest thing that
they are enamoured of certain of us who are here, I fear lest, without
our fault or theirs, scandal and blame ensue thereof, if we carry them
with us." Quoth Filomena, "That skilleth nought; so but I live
honestly and conscience prick me not of aught, let who will speak to
the contrary; God and the truth will take up arms for me. Wherefore,
if they be disposed to come, verily we may say with Pampinea that
fortune is favourable to our going."
The other ladies, hearing her speak thus absolutely, not only held
their peace, but all with one accord agreed that the young men should
be called and acquainted with their project and bidden to be pleased
bear them company in their expedition. Accordingly, without more
words, Pampinea, who was knit by kinship to one of them, rising to her
feet, made for the three young men, who stood fast, looking upon them,
and saluting them with a cheerful countenance, discovered to them
their intent and prayed them, on behalf of herself and her companions,
that they would be pleased to bear them company in a pure and
brotherly spirit. The young men at the first thought themselves
bantered, but, seeing that the lady spoke in good earnest, they made
answer joyfully that they were ready, and without losing time about
the matter, forthright took order for that which they had to do
against departure.
On the following morning, Wednesday to wit, towards break of day,
having let orderly make ready all things needful and despatched them
in advance whereas they purposed to go,[22] the ladies, with certain
of their waiting-women, and the three young men, with as many of their
serving-men, departing Florence, set out upon their way; nor had they
gone more than two short miles from the city, when they came to the
place fore-appointed of them, which was situate on a little hill,
somewhat withdrawn on every side from the high way and full of various
shrubs and plants, all green of leafage and pleasant to behold. On the
summit of this hill was a palace, with a goodly and great courtyard in
its midst and galleries[23] and saloons and bedchambers, each in
itself most fair and adorned and notable with jocund paintings, with
lawns and grassplots round about and wonder-goodly gardens and wells
of very cold water and cellars full of wines of price, things more apt
unto curious drinkers than unto sober and modest ladies. The new
comers, to their no little pleasure, found the place all swept and the
beds made in the chambers and every thing full of such flowers as
might be had at that season and strewn with rushes.
[Footnote 22: _e prima mandato là dove_, etc. This passage is obscure
and may be read to mean "and having first despatched [a messenger] (or
sent [word]) whereas," etc. I think, however, that _mandato_ is a
copyist's error for _mandata_, in which case the meaning would be as
in the text.]
[Footnote 23: Or balconies (_loggie_).]
As soon as they had seated themselves, Dioneo, who was the merriest
springald in the world and full of quips and cranks, said, "Ladies,
your wit, rather than our foresight, hath guided us hither, and I know
not what you purpose to do with your cares; as for my own, I left them
within the city gates, whenas I issued thence with you awhile agone;
wherefore, do you either address yourselves to make merry and laugh
and sing together with me (in so far, I mean, as pertaineth to your
dignity) or give me leave to go back for my cares and abide in the
afflicted city." Whereto Pampinea, no otherwise than as if in like
manner she had banished all her own cares, answered blithely, "Dioneo,
thou sayst well; it behoveth us live merrily, nor hath any other
occasion caused us flee from yonder miseries. But, for that things
which are without measure may not long endure, I, who began the
discourse wherethrough this so goodly company came to be made, taking
thought for the continuance of our gladness, hold it of necessity that
we appoint some one to be principal among us, whom we may honour and
obey as chief and whose especial care it shall be to dispose us to
live joyously. And in order that each in turn may prove the burden of
solicitude, together with the pleasure of headship; and that, the
chief being thus drawn, in turn, from one and the other sex, there may
be no cause for jealousy, as might happen, were any excluded from the
sovranty, I say that unto each be attributed the burden and the honour
for one day. Let who is to be our first chief be at the election of us
all. For who shall follow, be it he or she whom it shall please the
governor of the day to appoint, whenas the hour of vespers draweth
near, and let each in turn, at his or her discretion, order and
dispose of the place and manner wherein we are to live, for such time
as his or her seignory shall endure."
Pampinea's words pleased mightily, and with one voice they elected her
chief of the first day; whereupon Filomena, running nimbly to a
laurel-tree--for that she had many a time heard speak of the honour
due to the leaves of this plant and how worship-worth they made whoso
was deservedly crowned withal--and plucking divers sprays therefrom,
made her thereof a goodly and honourable wreath, which, being set upon
her head, was thenceforth, what while their company lasted, a manifest
sign 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 own
and the other ladies' women, who were four in number, before herself
and all being silent, she spoke thus: "In order that I may set you a
first example, by which, proceeding from good to better, our company
may live and last in order and pleasance and without reproach so long
as it is agreeable to us, I constitute, firstly, Parmeno, Dioneo's
servant, my seneschal and commit unto him the care and ordinance of
all our household and [especially] that which pertaineth to the
service of the saloon. Sirisco, Pamfilo's servant, I will shall be
our purveyor and treasurer and ensue the commandments of Parmeno.
Tindaro shall look to the service of Filostrato and the other two
gentlemen in their bed chambers, what time the others, being occupied
about their respective offices, cannot attend thereto. Misia, my
woman, and Filomena's Licisca shall still abide in the kitchen and
there diligently prepare such viands as shall be appointed them of
Parmeno. Lauretta's Chimera and Fiammetta's Stratilia it is our
pleasure shall occupy themselves with the ordinance of the ladies'
chambers and the cleanliness of the places where we shall abide; and
we will and command all and several, as they hold our favour dear, to
have a care that, whithersoever they go or whencesoever they return
and whatsoever they hear or see, they bring us from without no news
other than joyous." These orders summarily given and commended of all,
Pampinea, rising blithely to her feet, said, "Here be gardens, here be
meadows, here be store of other delectable places, wherein let each go
a-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 measuring
time by the canonical hours has been a sore stumbling-block to the
ordinary English and French translator, who is generally terribly at
sea as to his meaning, inclining to render _tierce_ three, _sexte_ six
o'clock and _none_ noon and making shots of the same wild kind at the
other hours. The monasterial rule (which before the general
introduction of clocks was commonly followed by the mediæval public in
the computation of time) divided the twenty-four hours of the day and
night into seven parts (six of three hours each and one of six), the
inception of which was denoted by the sound of the bells that summoned
the 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_ or
Noonsong 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 served
the laity as a clock.]
The merry company, being thus dismissed by the new queen, went
straying with slow steps, young men and fair ladies together, about a
garden, devising blithely and diverting themselves with weaving goodly
garlands of various leaves and carolling amorously. After they had
abidden there such time as had been appointed them of the queen, they
returned to the house, where they found that Parmeno had made a
diligent beginning with his office, for that, entering a saloon on the
ground floor, they saw there the tables laid with the whitest of
cloths and beakers that seemed of silver and everything covered with
the flowers of the broom; whereupon, having washed their hands, they
all, by command of the queen, seated themselves according to Parmeno's
ordinance. Then came viands delicately drest and choicest wines were
proffered and the three serving-men, without more, quietly tended the
tables. All, being gladdened by these things, for that they were fair
and orderly done, ate joyously and with store of merry talk, and the
tables being cleared away,[25] the queen bade bring instruments of
music, for that all the ladies knew how to dance, as also the young
men, and some of them could both play and sing excellent well.
Accordingly, by her commandment, Dioneo took a lute and Fiammetta a
viol and began softly to sound a dance; whereupon the queen and the
other ladies, together with the other two young men, having sent the
serving-men to eat, struck up a round and began with a slow pace to
dance a brawl; which ended, they fell to singing quaint and merry
ditties. On this wise they abode till it seemed to the queen time to
go to sleep,[26] and she accordingly dismissed them all; whereupon the
young men retired to their chambers, which were withdrawn from the
ladies' lodging, and finding them with the beds well made and as full
of flowers as the saloon, put off their clothes and betook themselves
to rest, whilst the ladies, on their part, did likewise.
[Footnote 25: The table of Boccaccio's time was a mere board upon
trestles, which when not in actual use, was stowed away, for room's
sake, against the wall.]
[Footnote 26: _i.e._ to take the siesta or midday nap common in hot
countries.]
None[27] had not long sounded when the queen, arising, made all the
other ladies arise, and on like wise the three young men, alleging
overmuch sleep to be harmful by day; and so they betook themselves to
a little meadow, where the grass grew green and high nor there had the
sun 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 the
green grass; while she bespoke them thus, "As ye see, the sun is high
and the heat great, nor is aught heard save the crickets yonder among
the olives; wherefore it were doubtless folly to go anywhither at this
present. Here is the sojourn fair and cool, and here, as you see, are
chess and tables,[28] and each can divert himself as is most to his
mind. But, an my counsel be followed in this, we shall pass away this
sultry part of the day, not in gaming,--wherein the mind of one of the
players must of necessity be troubled, without any great pleasure of
the other or of those who look on,--but in telling stories, which, one
telling, may afford diversion to all the company who hearken; nor
shall we have made an end of telling each his story but the sun will
have declined and the heat be abated, and we can then go a-pleasuring
whereas it may be most agreeable to us. Wherefore, if this that I say
please you, (for I am disposed to follow your pleasure therein,) let
us do it; and if it please you not, let each until the hour of vespers
do what most liketh him." Ladies and men alike all approved the
story-telling, whereupon, "Then," said the queen, "since this pleaseth
you, I will that this first day each be free to tell of such matters
as are most to his liking." Then, turning to Pamfilo, who sat on her
right hand, she smilingly bade him give beginning to the story-telling
with one of his; and he, hearing the commandment, forthright began
thus, 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, he
give it beginning from the holy and admirable name of Him who is the
maker of all things. Wherefore, it behoving me, as the first, to give
commencement to our story-telling, I purpose to begin with one of His
marvels, to the end that, this being heard, our hope in Him, as in a
thing immutable, may be confirmed and His name be ever praised of us.
It is manifest that, like as things temporal are all transitory and
mortal, even so both within and without are they full of annoy and
anguish and travail and subject to infinite perils, against which it
is indubitable that we, who live enmingled therein and who are indeed
part and parcel thereof, might avail neither to endure nor to defend
ourselves, except God's especial grace lent us strength and foresight;
which latter, it is not to be believed, descendeth unto us and upon us
by any merit of our own, but of the proper motion of His own benignity
and the efficacy of the prayers of those who were mortals even as we
are and having diligently ensued His commandments, what while they
were on life, are now with Him become eternal and blessed and unto
whom we,--belike not daring to address ourselves unto the proper
presence of so august a judge,--proffer our petitions of the things
which we deem needful unto ourselves, as unto advocates[29] informed
by experience of our frailty. And this more we discern in Him, full as
He is of compassionate liberality towards us, that, whereas it
chanceth whiles (the keenness of mortal eyes availing not in any wise
to penetrate the secrets of the Divine intent), that we peradventure,
beguiled by report, make such an one our advocate unto His
majesty, who is outcast from His presence with an eternal
banishment,--nevertheless He, from whom nothing is hidden, having
regard rather to the purity of the suppliant's intent than to his
ignorance or to the reprobate estate of him whose intercession be
invoketh, giveth ear unto those who pray unto the latter, as if he
were in very deed blessed in His aspect. The which will manifestly
appear 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 rich
and considerable merchant in France become a knight and it behoving
him thereupon go into Tuscany with Messire Charles Sansterre,[31]
brother to the king of France,[32] who had been required and bidden
thither by Pope Boniface,[33] found his affairs in one part and
another sore embroiled, (as those of merchants most times are,) and
was unable lightly or promptly to disentangle them; wherefore he
bethought himself to commit them unto divers persons and made shift
for all, save only he abode in doubt whom he might leave sufficient to
the recovery of the credits he had given to certain Burgundians. The
cause of his doubt was that he knew the Burgundians to be litigious,
quarrelsome fellows, ill-conditioned and disloyal, and could not call
one to mind, in whom he might put any trust, curst enough to cope with
their perversity. After long consideration of the matter, there came
to his memory a certain Master Ciapperello da Prato, who came often to
his house in Paris and whom, for that he was little of person and
mighty nice in his dress, the French, knowing not what Cepparello[34]
meant and thinking it be the same with Cappello, to wit, in their
vernacular, Chaplet, called him, not Cappello, but Ciappelletto,[35]
and accordingly as Ciappelletto he was known everywhere, whilst few
knew him for Master Ciapperello.
[Footnote 30: A Florentine merchant settled in France; he had great
influence over Philippe le Bel and made use of the royal favour to
enrich himself by means of monopolies granted at the expense of his
compatriots.]
[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 is
apparently a dialectic variant of the same word.]
[Footnote 35: Diminutive of Cappello. This passage is obscure and most
likely 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 a
scrivener, he thought very great shame whenas any of his instrument
was found (and indeed he drew few such) other than false; whilst of
the latter[36] he would have drawn as many as might be required of him
and these with a better will by way of gift than any other for a great
wage. False witness he bore with especial delight, required or not
required, and the greatest regard being in those times paid to oaths
in France, as he recked nothing of forswearing himself, he knavishly
gained all the suits concerning which he was called upon to tell the
truth upon his faith. He took inordinate pleasure and was mighty
diligent in stirring up troubles and enmities and scandals between
friends and kinsfolk and whomsoever else, and the greater the
mischiefs he saw ensue thereof, the more he rejoiced. If bidden to
manslaughter or whatsoever other naughty deed, he went about it with a
will, without ever saying nay thereto; and many a time of his proper
choice he had been known to wound men and do them to death with his
own hand. He was a terrible blasphemer of God and the saints, and that
for every trifle, being the most choleric man alive. To church he went
never and all the sacraments thereof he flouted in abominable terms,
as things of no account; whilst, on the other hand, he was still fain
to haunt and use taverns and other lewd places. Of women he was as
fond as dogs of the stick; but in the contrary he delighted more than
any filthy fellow alive. He robbed and pillaged with as much
conscience as a godly man would make oblation to God; he was a very
glutton and a great wine bibber, insomuch that bytimes it wrought him
shameful mischief, and to boot, he was a notorious gamester and a
caster of cogged dice. But why should I enlarge in so many words? He
was belike the worst man that ever was born.[37] His wickedness had
long been upheld by the power and interest of Messer Musciatto, who
had many a time safeguarded him as well from private persons, to whom
he often did a mischief, as from the law, against which he was a
perpetual 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 himself
that he should be such an one as the perversity of the Burgundians
required and accordingly, sending for him, he bespoke him thus:
'Master Ciappelletto, I am, as thou knowest, about altogether to
withdraw hence, and having to do, amongst others, with certain
Burgundians, men full of guile, I know none whom I may leave to
recover my due from them more fitting than thyself, more by token that
thou dost nothing at this present; wherefore, an thou wilt undertake
this, I will e'en procure thee the favour of the Court and give thee
such part as shall be meet of that which thou shalt recover.'
Don Ciappelletto, who was then out of employ and ill provided with the
goods of the world, seeing him who had long been his stay and his
refuge about to depart thence, lost no time in deliberation, but, as
of necessity constrained, replied that he would well. They being come
to an accord, Musciatto departed and Ciappelletto, having gotten his
patron's procuration and letters commendatory from the king, betook
himself into Burgundy, where well nigh none knew him, and there,
contrary to his nature, began courteously and blandly to seek to get
in his payments and do that wherefor he was come thither, as if
reserving choler and violence for a last resort. Dealing thus and
lodging in the house of two Florentines, brothers, who there lent at
usance and who entertained him with great honour for the love of
Messer Musciatto, it chanced that he fell sick, whereupon the two
brothers promptly fetched physicians and servants to tend him and
furnished 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 daily
worse, as one who had a mortal sickness; wherefore the two brothers
were sore concerned and one day, being pretty near the chamber where
he lay sick, they began to take counsel together, saying one to the
other, 'How shall we do with yonder fellow? We have a sorry bargain on
our hands of his affair, for that to send him forth of our house, thus
sick, were a sore reproach to us and a manifest sign of little wit on
our part, if the folk, who have seen us first receive him and after
let tend and medicine him with such solicitude, should now see him
suddenly put out of our house, sick unto death as he is, without it
being possible for him to have done aught that should displease us. On
the other hand, he hath been so wicked a man that he will never
consent to confess or take any sacrament of the church; and he dying
without confession, no church will receive his body; nay, he will be
cast into a ditch, like a dog. Again, even if he do confess, his sins
are so many and so horrible that the like will come of it, for that
there 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 of
our trade, which appeareth to them most iniquitous and of which they
missay all day, as of their itch to plunder us, seeing this, will rise
up in riot and cry out, "These Lombard dogs, whom the church refuseth
to receive, are to be suffered here no longer";--and they will run to
our houses and despoil us not only of our good, but may be of our
lives, to boot; wherefore in any case it will go ill with us, if
yonder fellow die.'
Master Ciappelletto, who, as we have said, lay near the place where
the two brothers were in discourse, being quick of hearing, as is most
times the case with the sick, heard what they said of him and calling
them to him, bespoke them thus: 'I will not have you anywise misdoubt
of me nor fear to take any hurt by me. I have heard what you say of me
and am well assured that it would happen even as you say, should
matters pass as you expect; but it shall go otherwise. I have in my
lifetime done God the Lord so many an affront that it will make
neither 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 worthiest
friar you may avail to have, if any such there be,[38] and leave the
rest to me, for that I will assuredly order your affairs and mine own
on such wise that all shall go well and you shall have good cause to
be satisfied.'
[Footnote 38: _i.e._ if there be such a thing as a holy and worthy
friar.]
The two brothers, albeit they conceived no great hope of this,
nevertheless betook themselves to a brotherhood of monks and demanded
some holy and learned man to hear the confession of a Lombard who lay
sick in their house. There was given them a venerable brother of holy
and good life and a past master in Holy Writ, a very reverend man, for
whom all the townsfolk had a very great and special regard, and they
carried him to their house; where, coming to the chamber where Master
Ciappelletto lay and seating himself by his side, he began first
tenderly to comfort him and after asked him how long it was since he
had confessed last; whereto Master Ciappelletto, who had never
confessed in his life, answered, 'Father, it hath been my usance to
confess 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 not
confessed, such is the annoy that my sickness hath given me.' Quoth
the friar, 'My son, thou hast done well and so must thou do
henceforward. I see, since thou confessest so often, that I shall be
at little pains either of hearing or questioning.' 'Sir,' answered
Master Ciappelletto, 'say not so; I have never confessed so much nor
so often but I would still fain make a general confession of all my
sins that I could call to mind from the day of my birth to that of my
confession; wherefore I pray you, good my father, question me as
punctually of everything, nay, everything, as if I had never
confessed; and consider me not because I am sick, for that I had far
liefer displease this my flesh than, in consulting its ease, do aught
that might be the perdition of my soul, which my Saviour redeemed with
His precious blood.'
These words much pleased the holy man and seemed to him to argue a
well-disposed mind; wherefore, after he had much commended Master
Ciappelletto for that his usance, he asked him if he had ever sinned
by way of lust with any woman. 'Father,' replied Master Ciappelletto,
sighing, 'on this point I am ashamed to tell you the truth, fearing to
sin by way of vainglory.' Quoth the friar, 'Speak in all security, for
never did one sin by telling the truth, whether in confession or
otherwise.' 'Then,' said Master Ciappelletto, 'since you certify me of
this, I will tell you; I am yet a virgin, even as I came forth of my
mother's body.' 'O blessed be thou of God!' cried the monk. 'How well
hast thou done! And doing thus, thou hast the more deserved, inasmuch
as, an thou wouldst, thou hadst more leisure to do the contrary than
we and whatsoever others are limited by any rule.'
After this he asked him if he had ever offended against God in the sin
of gluttony; whereto Master Ciappelletto answered, sighing, Ay had he,
and that many a time; for that, albeit, over and above the Lenten
fasts that are yearly observed of the devout, he had been wont to fast
on bread and water three days at the least in every week,--he had
oftentimes (and especially whenas he had endured any fatigue, either
praying or going a-pilgrimage) drunken the water with as much appetite
and as keen a relish as great drinkers do wine. And many a time he had
longed to have such homely salads of potherbs as women make when they
go into the country; and whiles eating had given him more pleasure
than himseemed it should do to one who fasteth for devotion, as did
he. 'My son,' said the friar, 'these sins are natural and very slight
and I would not therefore have thee burden thy conscience withal more
than 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 to
comfort me; you must know I know that things done for the service of
God should be done sincerely and with an ungrudging mind; and whoso
doth otherwise sinneth.' Quoth the friar, exceeding well pleased, 'I
am content that thou shouldst thus apprehend it and thy pure and good
conscience therein pleaseth me exceedingly. But, tell me, hast thou
sinned by way of avarice, desiring more than befitted or withholding
that which it behoved thee not to withhold?' 'Father mine,' replied
Ciappelletto, 'I would not have you look to my being in the house of
these usurers; I have nought to do here; nay, I came hither to
admonish and chasten them and turn them from this their abominable way
of gain; and methinketh I should have made shift to do so, had not God
thus visited me. But you must know that I was left a rich man by my
father, of whose good, when he was dead, I bestowed the most part in
alms, and after, to sustain my life and that I might be able to
succour Christ's poor, I have done my little traffickings, and in
these I have desired to gain; but still with God's poor have I shared
that which I gained, converting my own half to my occasion and giving
them the other, and in this so well hath my Creator prospered me that
my affairs have still gone from good to better.'
'Well hast thou done,' said the friar; 'but hast thou often been
angered?' 'Oh,' cried Master Ciappelletto, 'that I must tell you I
have very often been! And who could keep himself therefrom, seeing men
do unseemly things all day long, keeping not the commandments of God
neither fearing His judgment? Many times a day I had liefer been dead
than alive, seeing young men follow after vanities and hearing them
curse and forswear themselves, haunting the taverns, visiting not the
churches 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 part
might I enjoin thee any penance therefor. But hath anger at any time
availed to move thee to do any manslaughter or to bespeak any one
unseemly or do any other unright?' 'Alack, sir,' answered the sick
man, '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 things
whereof you speak, think you I believe that God would so long have
forborne me? These be the doings of outlaws and men of nought, whereof
I 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 of
others; for that I had a neighbour aforetime, who, with the greatest
unright in the world, did nought but beat his wife, insomuch that I
once spoke ill of him to her kinsfolk, so great was the compassion
that overcame me for the poor woman, whom he used as God alone can
tell, whenassoever he had drunken overmuch.' Quoth the friar, 'Thou
tellest me thou hast been a merchant. Hast thou never cheated any one,
as merchants do whiles!' 'I' faith, yes, sir,' answered Master
Ciappelletto; 'but I know not whom, except it were a certain man, who
once brought me monies which he owed me for cloth I had sold him and
which I threw into a chest, without counting. A good month after, I
found that they were four farthings more than they should have been;
wherefore, not seeing him again and having kept them by me a full
year, 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 deal
with it as thou didst.'
Then he questioned him of many other things, of all which he answered
after the same fashion, and the holy father offering to proceed to
absolution, Master Ciappelletto said, 'Sir, I have yet sundry sins
that I have not told you.' The friar asked him what they were, and he
answered, 'I mind me that one Saturday, after none, I caused my
servant sweep out the house and had not that reverence for the Lord's
holy day which it behoved me have.' 'Oh,' said the friar, 'that is a
light matter, my son.' 'Nay,' rejoined Master Ciappelletto, 'call it
not 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 the
friar, 'Well, hast thou done aught else?' 'Ay, sir,' answered Master
Ciappelletto; 'once, unthinking what I did, I spat in the church of
God.' Thereupon the friar fell a-smiling, and said, 'My son, that is
no thing to be recked of; we who are of the clergy, we spit there all
day long.' 'And you do very ill,' rejoined Master Ciappelletto; 'for
that there is nought which it so straitly behoveth to keep clean as
the holy temple wherein is rendered sacrifice to God.'
Brief, he told him great plenty of such like things and presently fell
a-sighing and after weeping sore, as he knew full well to do, whenas
he would. Quoth the holy friar, 'What aileth thee, my son?' 'Alas,
sir,' replied Master Ciappelletto, 'I have one sin left, whereof I
never yet confessed me, such shame have I to tell it; and every time I
call it to mind, I weep, even as you see, and meseemeth very certain
that 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 or
are yet to be wrought of all mankind, what while the world endureth,
were all in one man and he repented him thereof and were contrite
therefor, as I see thee, such is the mercy and loving-kindness of God
that, upon confession, He would freely pardon them to him. Wherefore
do thou tell it in all assurance.' Quoth Master Ciappelletto, still
weeping sore, 'Alack, father mine, mine is too great a sin, and I can
scarce believe that it will ever be forgiven me of God, except your
prayers strive for me.' Then said the friar, 'Tell it me in all
assurance, for I promise thee to pray God for thee.'
Master Ciappelletto, however, still wept and said nought; but, after
he had thus held the friar a great while in suspense, he heaved a deep
sigh 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 once
cursed my mother.' So saying, he fell again to weeping sore. 'O my
son,' quoth the friar, 'seemeth this to thee so heinous a sin? Why,
men blaspheme God all day long and He freely pardoneth whoso repenteth
him of having blasphemed Him; and deemest thou not He will pardon thee
this? Weep not, but comfort thyself; for, certes, wert thou one of
those who set Him on the cross, He would pardon thee, in favour of
such contrition as I see in thee.' 'Alack, father mine, what say you?'
replied Ciappelletto. 'My kind mother, who bore me nine months in her
body, day and night, and carried me on her neck an hundred times and
more, I did passing ill to curse her and it was an exceeding great
sin; 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 a
very holy man and devoutly believing all that he had told him to be
true. And who would not have believed it, hearing a man at the point
of death speak thus? Then, after all this, he said to him, 'Master
Ciappelletto, with God's help you will speedily be whole; but, should
it come to pass that God call your blessed and well-disposed soul to
Himself, would it please you that your body be buried in our convent?'
'Ay, would it, sir,' replied Master Ciappelletto. 'Nay, I would fain
no 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 must
cause bring me that most veritable body of Christ, which you
consecrate a-mornings upon the altar, for that, with your leave, I
purpose (all unworthy as I am) to take it and after, holy and extreme
unction, to the intent that, if I have lived as a sinner, I may at the
least die like a Christian.' The good friar replied that it pleased
him much and that he said well and promised to see it presently
brought him; and so was it done.
Meanwhile, the two brothers, misdoubting them sore lest Master
Ciappelletto should play them false, had posted themselves behind a
wainscot, that divided the chamber where he lay from another, and
listening, easily heard and apprehended that which he said to the
friar and had whiles so great a mind to laugh, hearing the things
which he confessed to having done, that they were like to burst and
said, one to other, 'What manner of man is this, whom neither old age
nor sickness nor fear of death, whereunto he seeth himself near, nor
yet of God, before whose judgment-seat he looketh to be ere long, have
availed to turn from his wickedness nor hinder him from choosing to
die as he hath lived?' However, seeing that he had so spoken that he
should be admitted to burial in a church, they recked nought of the
rest.
Master Ciappelletto presently took the sacrament and, growing rapidly
worse, received extreme unction, and a little after evensong of the
day he had made his fine confession, he died; whereupon the two
brothers, having, of his proper monies, taken order for his honourable
burial, sent to the convent to acquaint the friars therewith, bidding
them come thither that night to hold vigil, according to usance, and
fetch away the body in the morning, and meanwhile made ready all that
was needful thereunto.
The holy friar, who had shriven him, hearing that he had departed this
life, betook himself to the prior of the convent and, letting ring to
chapter, gave out to the brethren therein assembled that Master
Ciappelletto had been a holy man, according to that which he had
gathered from his confession, and persuaded them to receive his body
with the utmost reverence and devotion, in the hope that God should
show forth many miracles through him. To this the prior and brethren
credulously consented and that same evening, coming all whereas Master
Ciappelletto lay dead, they held high and solemn vigil over him and on
the morrow, clad all in albs and copes, book in hand and crosses
before them, they went, chanting the while, for his body and brought
it with the utmost pomp and solemnity to their church, followed by
well 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-preaching
marvellous things of the dead man and of his life, his fasts, his
virginity, his simplicity and innocence and sanctity, recounting,
amongst other things, that which he had confessed to him as his
greatest sin and how he had hardly availed to persuade him that God
would forgive it him; thence passing on to reprove the folk who
hearkened, 'And you, accursed that you are,' quoth he, 'for every waif
of straw that stirreth between your feet, you blaspheme God and the
Virgin and all the host of heaven.' Moreover, he told them many other
things of his loyalty and purity of heart; brief, with his speech,
whereto entire faith was yielded of the people of the city, he so
established the dead man in the reverent consideration of all who were
present that, no sooner was the service at an end, than they all with
the utmost eagerness flocked to kiss his hands and feet and the
clothes were torn off his back, he holding himself blessed who might
avail to have never so little thereof; and needs must they leave him
thus all that day, so he might be seen and visited of all.
The following night he was honourably buried in a marble tomb in one
of the chapels of the church and on the morrow the folk began
incontinent to come and burn candles and offer up prayers and make
vows to him and hang images of wax[39] at his shrine, according to the
promise made. Nay, on such wise waxed the frame of his sanctity and
men's devotion to him that there was scarce any who, being in
adversity, would vow himself to another saint than him; and they
styled and yet style him Saint Ciappelletto and avouch that God
through him hath wrought many miracles and yet worketh, them every day
for whoso devoutly commendeth himself unto him.
[Footnote 39: _i.e._ ex voto.]
Thus, then, lived and died Master Cepperello[40] da Prato and became a
saint, as you have heard; nor would I deny it to be possible that he
is beatified in God's presence, for that, albeit his life was wicked
and perverse, he may at his last extremity have shown such contrition
that peradventure God had mercy on him and received him into His
kingdom; but, for that this is hidden from us, I reason according to
that which, is apparent and say that he should rather be in the hands
of the devil in perdition than in Paradise. And if so it be, we may
know 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, whenas
we 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, as
intercessor for His favour. Wherefore, to the end that by His grace we
may be preserved safe and sound in this present adversity and in this
so joyous company, let us, magnifying His name, in which we have begun
our diversion, and holding Him in reverence, commend ourselves to Him
in our necessities, well assured of being heard." And with this he was
silent.
[Footnote 40: It will be noted that this is Boccaccio's third variant
of his hero's name (the others being Ciapperello and Cepparello) and
the 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 the
ladies, and it being come to its end, after being diligently
hearkened, the queen bade Neifile, who sat next him, ensue the
ordinance of the commenced diversion by telling one[41] of her
fashion. Neifile, who was distinguished no less by courteous manners
than by beauty, answered blithely that she would well and began on
this wise: "Pamfilo hath shown us in his story that God's benignness
regardeth not our errors, when they proceed from that which is beyond
our ken; and I, in mine, purpose to show you how this same
benignness,--patiently suffering the defaults of those who, being
especially bounden both with words and deeds to bear true witness
thereof[42] yet practise the contrary,--exhibiteth unto us an
infallible proof of itself, to the intent that we may, with the more
constancy 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 great
merchant and a very loyal and upright man, whose name was Jehannot de
Chevigné and who was of great traffic in silks and stuffs. He had
particular friendship for a very rich Jew called Abraham, who was also
a merchant and a very honest and trusty man, and seeing the latter's
worth and loyalty, it began to irk him sore that the soul of so worthy
and discreet and good a man should go to perdition for default of
faith; wherefore he fell to beseeching him on friendly wise leave the
errors of the Jewish faith and turn to the Christian verity, which he
might see still wax and prosper, as being holy and good, whereas his
own faith, on the contrary, was manifestly on the wane and dwindling
to nought. The Jew made answer that he held no faith holy or good save
only the Jewish, that in this latter he was born and therein meant to
live and die, nor should aught ever make him remove therefrom.
Jehannot for all that desisted not from him, but some days after
returned to the attack with similar words, showing him, on rude enough
wise (for that merchants for the most part can no better), for what
reasons our religion is better than the Jewish; and albeit the Jew was
a past master in their law, nevertheless, whether it was the great
friendship he bore Jehannot that moved him or peradventure words
wrought 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 be
converted. Like as he abode obstinate, even so Jehannot never gave
over importuning him, till at last the Jew, overcome by such continual
insistence, said, 'Look you, Jehannot, thou wouldst have me become a
Christian 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 and
likewise those of his chief brethren.[43] If these appear to me such
that I may, by them, as well as by your words, apprehend that your
faith is better than mine, even as thou hast studied to show me, I
will do as I have said; and if it be not so, I will remain a Jew as I
am.'
[Footnote 43: Lit. cardinal brethren (_fratelli cardinali_).]
When Jehannot heard this, he was beyond measure chagrined and said in
himself, 'I have lost my pains, which meseemed I had right well
bestowed, thinking to have converted this man; for that, an he go to
the court of Rome and see the lewd and wicked life of the clergy, not
only will he never become a Christian, but, were he already a
Christian, he would infallibly turn Jew again.' Then, turning to
Abraham, he said to him, 'Alack, my friend, why wilt thou undertake
this travail and so great a charge as it will be to thee to go from
here to Rome? More by token that, both by sea and by land, the road is
full of perils for a rich man such as thou art. Thinkest thou not to
find here who shall give thee baptism? Or, if peradventure thou have
any doubts concerning the faith which I have propounded to thee, where
are there greater doctors and men more learned in the matter than are
here or better able to resolve thee of that which thou wilt know or
ask? Wherefore, to my thinking, this thy going is superfluous. Bethink
thee that the prelates there are even such as those thou mayst have
seen here, and indeed so much the better as they are nearer unto the
Chief Pastor. Wherefore, an thou wilt be counselled by me, thou wilt
reserve this travail unto another time against some jubilee or other,
whereunto it may be I will bear thee company.' To this the Jew made
answer, 'I doubt not, Jehannot, but it is as thou tellest me; but, to
sum up many words in one, I am altogether determined, an thou wouldst
have me do that whereof thou hast so instantly besought me, to go
thither; else will I never do aught thereof.' Jehannot, seeing his
determination, said, 'Go and good luck go with thee!' And inwardly
assured that he would never become a Christian, when once he should
have seen the court of Rome, but availing[44] nothing in the matter,
he desisted.
[Footnote 44: Lit. losing (_perdendo_), but this is probably some
copyist's mistake for _podendo_, the old form of _potendo_, availing.]
The Jew mounted to horse and as quickliest he might betook himself to
the court of Rome, he was honourably entertained of his brethren, and
there abiding, without telling any the reason of his coming, he began
diligently to enquire into the manners and fashions of the Pope and
Cardinals and other prelates and of all the members of his court, and
what with that which he himself noted, being a mighty quick-witted
man, and that which he gathered from others, he found all, from the
highest to the lowest, most shamefully given to the sin of lust, and
that not only in the way of nature, but after the Sodomitical fashion,
without any restraint of remorse or shamefastness, insomuch that the
interest of courtezans and catamites was of no small avail there in
obtaining any considerable thing.
Moreover, he manifestly perceived them to be universally gluttons,
wine-bibbers, drunkards and slaves to their bellies, brute-beast
fashion, more than to aught else after lust. And looking farther, he
saw them all covetous and greedy after money, insomuch that human,
nay, Christian blood, no less than things sacred, whatsoever they
might be, whether pertaining to the sacrifices of the altar or to the
benefices of the church, they sold and bought indifferently for a
price, making a greater traffic and having more brokers thereof than
folk at Paris of silks and stuffs or what not else. Manifest simony
they had christened 'procuration' and gluttony 'sustentation,' as if
God apprehended not,--let be the meaning of words but,--the intention
of depraved minds and would suffer Himself, after the fashion of men,
to be duped by the names of things. All this, together with much else
which must be left unsaid, was supremely displeasing to the Jew, who
was a sober and modest man, and himseeming he had seen enough, he
determined 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 they
greeted each other with the utmost joy. Then, after Abraham had rested
some days, Jehannot asked him how himseemed of the Holy Father and of
the cardinals and others of his court. Whereto the Jew promptly
answered, 'Meseemeth, God give them ill one and all! And I say this
for that, if I was able to observe aright, no piety, no devoutness, no
good work or example of life or otherwhat did I see there in any who
was a churchman; nay, but lust, covetise, gluttony and the like and
worse (if worse can be) meseemed to be there in such favour with all
that I hold it for a forgingplace of things diabolical rather than
divine. And as far as I can judge, meseemeth your chief pastor and
consequently all the others endeavour with all diligence and all their
wit and every art to bring to nought and banish from the world the
Christian religion, whereas they should be its foundation and support.
And for that I see that this whereafter they strive cometh not to
pass, but that your religion continually increaseth and waxeth still
brighter and more glorious, meseemeth I manifestly discern that the
Holy Spirit is verily the foundation and support thereof, as of that
which is true and holy over any other. Wherefore, whereas, aforetime I
abode obdurate and insensible to thine exhortations and would not be
persuaded to embrace thy faith, I now tell thee frankly that for
nothing in the world would I forbear to become a Christian. Let us,
then, to church and there have me baptized, according to the rite and
ordinance of your holy faith.'
Jehannot, who looked for a directly contrary conclusion to this, was
the joyfullest man that might be, when he heard him speak thus, and
repairing with him to our Lady's Church of Paris, required the clergy
there to give Abraham baptism. They, hearing that the Jew himself
demanded it, straightway proceeded to baptize him, whilst Jehannot
raised him from the sacred font[45] and named him Giovanni. After
this, he had him thoroughly lessoned by men of great worth and
learning in the tenets of our holy faith, which he speedily
apprehended and thenceforward was a good man and a worthy and one of a
devout 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: "The
story told by Neifile bringeth to my mind a parlous case the once
betided a Jew; and for that, it having already been excellent well
spoken both of God and of the verity of our faith, it should not
henceforth be forbidden us to descend to the doings of mankind and the
events that have befallen them, I will now proceed to relate to you
the case aforesaid, which having heard, you will peradventure become
more wary in answering the questions that may be put to you. You must
know, lovesome[46] companions[47] mine, that, like as folly ofttimes
draweth folk forth of happy estate and casteth them into the utmost
misery, even so doth good sense extricate the wise man from the
greatest perils and place him in assurance and tranquillity. How true
it is that folly bringeth many an one from fair estate unto misery is
seen by multitude of examples, with the recounting whereof we have no
present concern, considering that a thousand instances thereof do
every day manifestly appear to us; but that good sense is a cause of
solacement 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 in
an active or transitive sense only, in their ancient passive or
intransitive sense of lovesome, desirable, etc.]
[Footnote 47: _Compagne_, _i.e._ she-companions. Filomena is
addressing the female part of the company.]
Saladin,--whose valour was such that not only from a man of little
account it made him Soldan of Babylon, but gained him many victories
over kings Saracen and Christian,--having in divers wars and in the
exercise of his extraordinary munificences expended his whole treasure
and having an urgent occasion for a good sum of money nor seeing
whence he might avail to have it as promptly as it behoved him, called
to mind a rich Jew, by name Melchizedek, who lent at usance in
Alexandria, and bethought himself that this latter had the wherewithal
to oblige him, and he would; but he was so miserly that he would never
have done it of his freewill and Saladin was loath to use force with
him; wherefore, need constraining him, he set his every wit awork to
find a means how the Jew might be brought to serve him in this and
presently concluded to do him a violence coloured by some show of
reason.
Accordingly he sent for Melchizedek and receiving him familiarly,
seated him by himself, then said to him, 'Honest man, I have
understood from divers persons that thou art a very learned man and
deeply versed in matters of divinity; wherefore I would fain know of
thee whether of the three Laws thou reputest the true, the Jewish, the
Saracen or the Christian.' The Jew, who was in truth a man of learning
and understanding, perceived but too well that Saladin looked to
entrap him in words, so he might fasten a quarrel on him, and
bethought himself that he could not praise any of the three more than
the others without giving him the occasion he sought. Accordingly,
sharpening his wits, as became one who felt himself in need of an
answer by which he might not be taken at a vantage, there speedily
occurred 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 you
with that which I think of the matter, it behoveth me tell you a
little story, which you shall hear.
An I mistake not, I mind me to have many a time heard tell that there
was once a great man and a rich, who among other very precious jewels
in his treasury, had a very goodly and costly ring, whereunto being
minded, for its worth and beauty, to do honour and wishing to leave it
in perpetuity to his descendants, he declared that whichsoever of his
sons should, at his death, be found in possession thereof, by his
bequest unto him, should be recognized as his heir and be held of all
the others in honour and reverence as chief and head. He to whom the
ring was left by him held a like course with his own descendants and
did even as his father had done. In brief the ring passed from hand to
hand, through many generations, and came at last into the possession
of a man who had three goodly and virtuous sons, all very obedient to
their father wherefore he loved them all three alike. The young men,
knowing the usance of the ring, each for himself, desiring to be the
most 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 to
choose to which he had liefer leave the ring, bethought himself,
having promised it to each, to seek to satisfy all three and privily
let make by a good craftsman other two rings, which were so like unto
the first that he himself scarce knew which was the true. When he came
to die, he secretly gave each one of his sons his ring, wherefore each
of them, seeking after their father's death, to occupy the inheritance
and the honour and denying it to the others, produced his ring, in
witness of his right, and the three rings being found so like unto one
another that the true might not be known, the question which was the
father'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 the
Father, whereof you question me; each people deemeth itself to have
his inheritance, His true Law and His commandments; but of which in
very deed hath them, even as of the rings, the question yet pendeth.'
Saladin perceived that the Jew had excellently well contrived to
escape the snare which he had spread before his feet; wherefore he
concluded to discover to him his need and see if he were willing to
serve him; and so accordingly he did, confessing to him that which he
had 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 Soldan
after satisfied him in full; moreover, he gave him very great gifts
and still had him to friend and maintained him about his own person in
high 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, whereupon
Dioneo, who sat next her, knowing already, by the ordinance begun,
that it fell to his turn to tell, proceeded, without awaiting farther
commandment from the queen, to speak on this wise: "Lovesome ladies,
if I have rightly apprehended the intention of you all, we are here to
divert ourselves with story-telling; wherefore, so but it be not done
contrary to this our purpose, I hold it lawful unto each (even as our
queen told us a while agone) to tell such story as he deemeth may
afford most entertainment. Accordingly having heard how, by the good
counsels of Jehannot de Chevigné, Abraham had his soul saved and how
Melchizedek, by his good sense, defended his riches from Saladin's
ambushes, I purpose, without looking for reprehension from you,
briefly to relate with what address a monk delivered his body from a
very grievous punishment.
There was in Lunigiana, a country not very far hence, a monastery
whilere more abounding in sanctity and monks than it is nowadays, and
therein, among others, was a young monk, whose vigour and lustiness
neither fasts nor vigils availed to mortify. It chanced one day,
towards noontide, when all the other monks slept, that, as he went all
alone round about the convent,[48] which stood in a very solitary
place, he espied a very well-favoured lass, belike some husbandman's
daughter of the country, who went about the fields culling certain
herbs, and no sooner had he set eyes on her than he was violently
assailed by carnal appetite. Wherefore, accosting her, he entered into
parley with her and so led on from one thing to another that he came
to an accord with her and brought her to his cell, unperceived of
any; but whilst, carried away by overmuch ardour, he disported himself
with her less cautiously than was prudent, it chanced that the abbot
arose from sleep and softly passing by the monk's cell, heard the
racket that the twain made together; whereupon he came stealthily up
to the door to listen, that he might the better recognize the voices,
and manifestly perceiving that there was a woman in the cell, was at
first minded to cause open to him, but after bethought himself to hold
another course in the matter and, returning to his chamber, awaited
the monk's coming forth.
[Footnote 48: Lit. his church (_sua chiesa_); but the context seems to
indicate that the monastery itself is meant.]
The latter, all taken up as he was with the wench and his exceeding
pleasure and delight in her company, was none the less on his guard
and himseeming he heard some scuffling of feet in the dormitory, he
set his eye to a crevice and plainly saw the abbot stand hearkening
unto him; whereby he understood but too well that the latter must have
gotten wind of the wench's presence in his cell and knowing that sore
punishment would ensue to him thereof, he was beyond measure
chagrined. However, without discovering aught of his concern to the
girl, he hastily revolved many things in himself, seeking to find some
means of escape, and presently hit upon a rare device, which went
straight to the mark he aimed at. Accordingly, making a show of
thinking 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 himself
straight to the abbot's chamber and presenting him with the key,
according as each monk did, whenas he went abroad, said to him, with a
good countenance, 'Sir, I was unable to make an end this morning of
bringing off all the faggots I had cut; wherefore with your leave I
will presently go to the wood and fetch them away.' The abbot, deeming
the monk unaware that he had been seen of him, was glad of such an
opportunity to inform himself more fully of the offence committed by
him 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 he
should rather do, whether open his cell in the presence of all the
other monks and cause them to see his default, so they might after
have no occasion to murmur against himself, whenas he should punish
the offender, or seek first to learn from the girl herself how the
thing had passed; and bethinking himself that she might perchance be
the wife or daughter of such a man that he would be loath to have done
her the shame of showing her to all the monks, he determined first to
see her and after come to a conclusion; wherefore, betaking himself to
the cell, he opened it and, entering, shut the door after him.
The girl, seeing the abbot enter, was all aghast and fell a-weeping
for fear of shame; but my lord abbot, casting his eyes upon her and
seeing her young and handsome, old as he was, suddenly felt the pricks
of the flesh no less importunate than his young monk had done and fell
a-saying in himself, 'Marry, why should I not take somewhat of
pleasure, whenas I may, more by token that displeasance and annoy are
still at hand, whenever I have a mind to them? This is a handsome
wench and is here unknown of any in the world. If I can bring her to
do 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 to
avail ourselves of a good, whenas God the Lord sendeth us thereof.'
So saying and having altogether changed purpose from that wherewith he
came, he drew near to the girl and began gently to comfort her,
praying her not to weep, and passing from one word to another, he
ended by discovering to her his desire. The girl, who was neither iron
nor adamant, readily enough lent herself to the pleasure of the abbot,
who, after he had clipped and kissed her again and again, mounted upon
the monk's pallet and having belike regard to the grave burden of his
dignity and the girl's tender age and fearful of irking her for
overmuch heaviness, bestrode not her breast, but set her upon his own
and so a great while disported himself with her.
Meanwhile, the monk, who had only made believe to go to the wood and
had hidden himself in the dormitory, was altogether reassured, whenas
he saw the abbot enter his cell alone, doubting not but his device
should have effect, and when he saw him lock the door from within, he
held it for certain. Accordingly, coming forth of his hiding-place, he
stealthily betook himself to a crevice, through which he both heard
and saw all that the abbot did and said. When it seemed to the latter
that he had tarried long enough with the damsel, he locked her in the
cell and returned to his own chamber, whence, after awhile, he heard
the monk stirring and deeming him returned from the wood, thought to
rebuke him severely and cast him into prison, so himself might alone
possess the prey he had gotten; wherefore, sending for him, he very
grievously rebuked him and with a stern countenance and commanded that
he should be put in prison.
The monk very readily answered, 'Sir, I have not yet pertained long
enough to the order of St. Benedict to have been able to learn every
particular thereof, and you had not yet shown me that monks should
make 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 pardon
me this default, never again to offend therein, but still to do as I
have seen you do.' The abbot, who was a quick-witted man, readily
understood that the monk not only knew more than himself, but had seen
what he did; wherefore, his conscience pricking him for his own
default, he was ashamed to inflict on the monk a punishment which he
himself had merited even as he. Accordingly, pardoning him and
charging him keep silence of that which he had seen, they privily put
the girl out of doors and it is believed that they caused her return
thither more than once thereafterward."
[Footnote 49: Lit. a pressure or oppression (_priemere_, hod.
_premere_, to press or oppress, indicative used as a noun). The monk
of course refers to the posture in which he had seen the abbot have to
do with the girl, pretending to believe that he placed her on his own
breast (instead of mounting on hers) out of a sentiment of humility
and 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 listening
ladies with somewhat of shamefastness, whereof a modest redness
appearing in their faces gave token; but after, looking one at other
and being scarce able to keep their countenance, they listened,
laughing in their sleeves. The end thereof being come, after they had
gently chidden him, giving him to understand that such tales were not
fit to be told among ladies, the queen, turning to Fiammetta, who sat
next him on the grass, bade her follow on the ordinance. Accordingly,
she began with a good grace and a cheerful countenance, "It hath
occurred to my mind, fair my ladies,--at once because it pleaseth me
that we have entered upon showing by stories how great is the efficacy
of prompt and goodly answers and because, like as in men it is great
good sense to seek still to love a lady of higher lineage than
themselves,[50] so in women it is great discretion to know how to keep
themselves from being taken with the love of men of greater condition
than they,--to set forth to you, in the story which it falleth to me
to tell, how both with deeds and words a noble lady guarded herself
against this and diverted another therefrom.
[Footnote 50: An evident allusion to Boccaccio's passion for the
Princess Maria, _i.e._ Fiammetta herself.]
The Marquis of Monferrato, a man of high worth and gonfalonier[51] of
the church, had passed beyond seas on the occasion of a general
crusade undertaken by the Christians, arms in hand, and it being one
day discoursed of his merit at the court of King Phillippe le
Borgne,[52] who was then making ready to depart France upon the same
crusade, it was avouched by a gentleman present that there was not
under the stars a couple to match with the marquis and his lady, for
that, even as he was renowned among knights for every virtue, so was
she the fairest and noblest of all the ladies in the world. These
words took such hold upon the mind of the King of France that, without
having seen the marchioness, he fell of a sudden ardently in love with
her and determined to take ship for the crusade, on which he was to
go, no otherwhere than at Genoa, in order that, journeying thither by
land, he might have an honourable occasion of visiting the
marchioness, doubting not but that, the marquis being absent, he might
avail 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._ Philip
II. 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 by
some few gentlemen, and coming within a day's journey of the
marquis's domains, despatched a vauntcourier to bid the lady expect
him the following morning to dinner. The marchioness, who was well
advised and discreet, replied blithely that in this he did her the
greatest of favours and that he would be welcome and after bethought
herself what this might mean that such a king should come to visit her
in her husband's absence, nor was she deceived in the conclusion to
which she came, to wit, that the report of her beauty drew him
thither. Nevertheless, like a brave lady as she was, she determined to
receive him with honour and summoning to her counsels sundry gentlemen
of those who remained there, with their help, she let provide for
everything needful. The ordinance of the repast and of the viands she
reserved to herself alone and having forthright caused collect as many
hens as were in the country, she bade her cooks dress various dishes
of these alone for the royal table.
The king came at the appointed time and was received by the lady with
great honour and rejoicing. When he beheld her, she seemed to him fair
and noble and well-bred beyond that which he had conceived from the
courtier's words, whereat he marvelled exceedingly and commended her
amain, waxing so much the hotter in his desire as he found the lady
overpassing his foregone conceit of her. After he had taken somewhat
of rest in chambers adorned to the utmost with all that pertaineth to
the entertainment of such a king, the dinner hour being come, the king
and the marchioness seated themselves at one table, whilst the rest,
according to their quality, were honourably entertained at others. The
king, being served with many dishes in succession, as well as with
wines of the best and costliest, and to boot gazing with delight the
while upon the lovely marchioness, was mightily pleased with his
entertainment; but, after awhile, as the viands followed one upon
another, he began somewhat to marvel, perceiving that, for all the
diversity of the dishes, they were nevertheless of nought other than
hens, and this although he knew the part where he was to be such as
should abound in game of various kinds and although he had, by
advising the lady in advance of his coming, given her time to send
a-hunting. However, much as he might marvel at this, he chose not to
take occasion of engaging her in parley thereof, otherwise than in the
matter of her hens, and accordingly, turning to her with a merry air,
'Madam,' quoth he, 'are hens only born in these parts, without ever a
cock?' The marchioness, who understood the king's question excellent
well, herseeming God had vouchsafed her, according to her wish, an
opportune occasion of discovering her mind, turned to him and answered
boldly, 'Nay, my lord; but women, albeit in apparel and dignities they
may differ somewhat from others, are natheless all of the same fashion
here as elsewhere.'
The King, hearing this, right well apprehended the meaning of the
banquet of hens and the virtue hidden in her speech and perceived that
words would be wasted upon such a lady and that violence was out of
the question; wherefore, even as he had ill-advisedly taken fire for
her, so now it behoved him sagely, for his own honour's sake, stifle
his ill-conceived passion. Accordingly, without making any more words
with her, for fear of her replies, he dined, out of all hope; and the
meal ended, thanking her for the honourable entertainment he had
received from her and commending her to God, he set out for Genoa, so
by 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 marchioness
and the quaint rebuke administered by her to the King of France having
been commended of all the ladies,--began, by the queen's pleasure,
boldly to speak as follows: "I also, I will not keep silence of a
biting reproof given by an honest layman to a covetous monk with a
speech no less laughable than commendable.
There was, then, dear lasses, no great while agone, in our city, a
Minor friar and inquisitor of heretical pravity, who, for all he
studied hard to appear a devout and tender lover of the Christian
religion, as do they all, was no less diligent in enquiring of who had
a well-filled purse than of whom he might find wanting in the things
of the Faith. Thanks to this his diligence, he lit by chance upon a
good simple man, richer, by far in coin than in wit, who, of no lack
of religion, but speaking thoughtlessly and belike overheated with
wine or excess of mirth, chanced one day to say to a company of his
friends that he had a wine so good that Christ himself might drink
thereof. This being reported to the inquisitor and he understanding
that the man's means were large and his purse well filled, ran in a
violent hurry _cum gladiis et fustibus_[53] to clap up a right
grievous suit against him, looking not for an amendment of misbelief
in the defendant, but for the filling of his own hand with florins to
ensue thereof (as indeed it did,) and causing him to be cited, asked
him if that which had been alleged against him were true.
[Footnote 53: _i.e._ with sword and whips, a technical term of
ecclesiastical procedure, about equivalent to our "with the strong arm
of 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 and
curious in wines of choice, as if he were Cinciglione[55] or what not
other of your drunken sots and tavern-haunters; and now thou speakest
lowly and wouldst feign this to be a very light matter! It is not as
thou deemest; thou hast merited the fire therefor, an we were minded
to deal with thee as we ought.' With these and many other words he
bespoke him, with as menacing a countenance as if the poor wretch had
been Epicurus denying the immortality of the soul, and in brief so
terrified him that the good simple soul, by means of certain
intermediaries, let grease his palm with a good dose of St. John
Goldenmouth's ointment[56] (the which is a sovereign remedy for the
pestilential covetise of the clergy and especially of the Minor
Brethren, who dare not touch money), so he should deal mercifully with
him.
[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 thereof
in any part of his Medicines), wrought to such purpose that the fire
denounced against him was by favour commuted into [the wearing, by way
of penance, of] a cross, and to make the finer banner, as he were to
go a crusading beyond seas, the inquisitor imposed it him yellow upon
black. Moreover, whenas he had gotten the money, he detained him about
himself some days, enjoining him, by way of penance, hear a mass every
morning 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 a
Gospel, wherein these words were chanted, 'For every one ye shall
receive an hundred and shall possess eternal life.'[57] This he laid
fast up in his memory and according to the commandment given him,
presented him at the eating hour before the inquisitor, whom he found
at 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 something
which caused and yet causeth me have the greatest compassion of you
and your brother friars, bethinking me of the ill case wherein you
will find yourselves over yonder in the next life.' 'And what was it
that moved thee to such compassion of us?' asked the inquisitor.
'Sir,' answered the other, 'it was that verse of the Evangel, which
saith, "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 used
to resort hither, I have seen give out every day to a multitude of
poor folk now one and now two vast great cauldrons of broth, which had
been taken away from before yourself and the other brethren of this
convent, as superfluous; wherefore, if for each one of these cauldrons
of broth there be rendered you an hundred in the world to come, you
will have so much thereof that you will assuredly all be drowned
therein.'
[Footnote 57: "And every one that hath forsaken houses or brethren or
sisters or father or mother or wife or children or lands for my name's
sake shall receive an hundredfold and shall inherit everlasting
life."--Matthew xix. 29. Boccaccio has garbled the passage for the
sake of his point.]
All who were at the inquisitor's table fell a-laughing; but the
latter, feeling the hit at the broth-swilling[58] hypocrisy of himself
and his brethren, was mightily incensed, and but that he had gotten
blame for that which he had already done, he would have saddled him
with another prosecution, for that with a laughable speech he had
rebuked him and his brother good-for-noughts; wherefore, of his
despite, he bade him thenceforward do what most pleased him and not
come 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 rest
to 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 appeareth
of a sudden, it be forthright stricken of an archer. The lewd and
filthy life of the clergy, in many things as it were a constant mark
for malice, giveth without much difficulty occasion to all who have a
mind to speak of, to gird at and rebuke it; wherefore, albeit the
worthy man, who pierced the inquisitor to the quick touching the
hypocritical charity of the friars, who give to the poor that which it
should behove them cast to the swine or throw away, did well, I hold
him much more to be commended of whom, the foregoing tale moving me
thereto, I am to speak and who with a quaint story rebuked Messer Cane
della Scala, a magnificent nobleman, of a sudden and unaccustomed
niggardliness newly appeared in him, figuring, in the person of
another, 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 whole
world, Messer Cane della Scala, to whom in many things fortune was
favourable, was one of the most notable and most magnificent gentlemen
that have been known in Italy since the days of the Emperor Frederick
the Second. Being minded to make a notable and wonder-goodly
entertainment in Verona, whereunto many folk should have come from
divers parts and especially men of art[59] of all kinds, he of a
sudden (whatever might have been the cause) withdrew therefrom and
having in a measure requited those who were come thither, dismissed
them all, save only one, Bergamino by name, a man ready of speech and
accomplished beyond the credence of whoso had not heard him, who,
having received neither largesse nor dismissal, abode behind, in the
hope that his stay might prove to his future advantage. But Messer
Cane had taken it into his mind that what thing soever he might give
him 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 and
the like, lit. men of court (_uomini di corte_).]
Bergamino, after some days, finding himself neither called upon nor
required unto aught that pertained to his craft and wasting his
substance, to boot, in the hostelry with his horses and his servants,
began to be sore concerned, but waited yet, himseeming he would not do
well to depart. Now he had brought with him three goodly and rich
suits of apparel, which had been given him of other noblemen, that he
might make a brave appearance at the festival, and his host pressing
for payment, he gave one thereof to him. After this, tarrying yet
longer, it behoved him give the host the second suit, an he would
abide longer with him, and withal he began to live upon the third,
resolved to abide in expectation so long as this should last and then
depart. Whilst he thus fed upon the third suit, he chanced one day,
Messer Cane being at dinner, to present himself before him with a
rueful countenance, and Messer Cane, seeing this, more by way of
rallying 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's
hesitation, forthright, as if he had long considered it, related the
following 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 of
thy melancholy.]
'My lord,' said he, 'you must know that Primasso was a very learned
grammarian[61] and a skilful and ready verse-maker above all others,
which things rendered him so notable and so famous that, albeit he
might not everywhere be known by sight, there was well nigh none who
knew him not by name and by report. It chanced that, finding himself
once at Paris in poor case, as indeed he abode most times, for that
worth is[62] little prized of those who can most,[63] he heard speak
of the Abbot of Cluny, who is believed to be, barring the Pope, the
richest prelate of his revenues that the Church of God possesseth, and
of him he heard tell marvellous and magnificent things, in that he
still held open house nor were meat and drink ever denied to any who
went whereas he might be, so but he sought it what time the Abbot was
at meat. Primasso, hearing this and being one who delighted in looking
upon men of worth and nobility, determined to go see the magnificence
of this Abbot and enquired how near he then abode to Paris. It was
answered him that he was then at a place of his maybe half a dozen
miles 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, he
feared lest he might go astray by mischance and happen on a part where
there might be no victual so readily to be found; wherefore, in order
that, if this should betide, he might not suffer for lack of food, he
bethought himself to carry with him three cakes of bread, judging that
water (albeit it was little to his taste) he should find everywhere.
The bread he put in his bosom and setting out, was fortunate enough to
reach the Abbot's residence before the eating-hour. He entered and
went spying all about and seeing the great multitude of tables set and
the mighty preparations making in the kitchen and what not else
provided against dinner, said in himself, "Of a truth this Abbot is as
magnificent as folk say." After he had abidden awhile intent upon
these things, the Abbot's seneschal, eating-time being come, bade
bring water for the hands; which being done, he seated each man at
table, and it chanced that Primasso was set right over against the
door of the chamber, whence the Abbot should come forth into the
eating-hall.
Now it was the usance in that house that neither wine nor bread nor
aught else of meat or drink should ever be set on the tables, except
the Abbot were first came to sit at his own table. Accordingly, the
seneschal, having set the tables, let tell the Abbot that, whenas it
pleased 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, who
was 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 had
never yet been there, and he said in himself, "See to whom I give my
substance to eat!" Then, turning back, he bade shut the chamber-door
and enquired of those who were about him if any knew yonder losel who
sat at table over against his chamber-door; but all answered no.
Meanwhile Primasso, who had a mind to eat, having come a journey and
being unused to fast, waited awhile and seeing that the Abbot came
not, pulled out of his bosom one of the three cakes of bread he had
brought with him and fell to eating. The Abbot, after he had waited
awhile, bade one of his serving-men look if Primasso were gone, and
the man answered, "No, my lord; nay, he eateth bread, which it seemeth
he hath brought with him." Quoth the Abbot, "Well, let him eat of his
own, an he have thereof; for of ours he shall not eat to-day." Now he
would fain have had Primasso depart of his own motion, himseeming it
were not well done to turn him away; but the latter, having eaten one
cake of bread and the Abbot coming not, began upon the second; the
which was likewise reported to the Abbot, who had caused look if he
were gone.
At last, the Abbot still tarrying, Primasso, having eaten the second
cake, began upon the third, and this again was reported to the Abbot,
who fell a-pondering in himself and saying, "Alack, what new maggot is
this that is come into my head to-day? What avarice! What despite! And
for whom? This many a year have I given my substance to eat to
whosoever had a mind thereto, without regarding if he were gentle or
simple, poor or rich, merchant or huckster, and have seen it with mine
own eyes squandered by a multitude of ribald knaves; nor ever yet came
there 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 little
account; needs must this who seemeth to me a losel be some great
matter, since my soul hath thus repugned to do him honour."
So saying, he desired to know who he was and finding that it was
Primasso, whom he had long known by report for a man of merit, come
thither to see with his own eyes that which he had heard of his
magnificence, was ashamed and eager to make him amends, studied in
many ways to do him honour. Moreover, after eating, he caused clothe
him sumptuously, as befitted his quality, and giving him money and a
palfrey, left it to his own choice to go or stay; whereupon Primasso,
well pleased with his entertainment, rendered him the best thanks in
his power and returned on horseback to Paris, whence he had set out
afoot.
Messer Cane, who was a gentleman of understanding, right well
apprehended Bergamino's meaning, without further exposition, and said
to him, smiling, 'Bergamino, thou hast very aptly set forth to me thy
wrongs and merit and my niggardliness, as well as that which thou
wouldst have of me; and in good sooth, never, save now on thine
account, have I been assailed of parsimony; but I will drive it away
with that same stick which thou thyself hast shown me.' Then, letting
pay Bergamino's host and clothing himself most sumptuously in a suit
of his own apparel, he gave him money and a palfrey and committed to
his 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's
address commended, perceiving that it behoved her tell somewhat,
began, without awaiting any commandment, blithely to speak thus: "The
foregoing story, dear companions,[64] bringeth me in mind to tell how
an honest minstrel on like wise and not without fruit rebuked the
covetise of a very rich merchant, the which, albeit in effect it
resembleth the last story, should not therefore be less agreeable to
you, considering that good came thereof in the end.
[Footnote 64: Fem.]
There was, then, in Genoa, a good while agone, a gentleman called
Messer Ermino de' Grimaldi, who (according to general belief) far
overpassed in wealth of lands and monies the riches of whatsoever
other richest citizen was then known in Italy; and like as he excelled
all other Italians in wealth, even so in avarice and sordidness he
outwent 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 to
dress sumptuously, he suffered the greatest privations in things
necessary to his own person, no less than in meat and in drink, rather
than be at any expense; by reason whereof the surname de' Grimaldi had
fallen away from him and he was deservedly called of all only Messer
Ermino Avarizia.
It chanced that, whilst, by dint of spending not, he multiplied his
wealth, there came to Genoa a worthy minstrel,[65] both well-bred and
well-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 and
blameworthy usances of those[67] who nowadays would fain be called and
reputed 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 those
times it used to be a minstrel's office and his wont to expend his
pains in negotiating treaties of peace, where feuds or despites had
befallen between noblemen, or transacting marriages, alliances and
friendships, in solacing the minds of the weary and diverting courts
with quaint and pleasant sayings, ay, and with sharp reproofs,
father-like, rebuking the misdeeds of the froward,--and this for
slight enough reward; but nowadays they study to spend their time in
hawking evil reports from one to another, in sowing discord, in
speaking naughtiness and obscenity and (what is worse) doing them in
all men's presence, in imputing evil doings, lewdnesses and knaveries,
true or false, one to other, and in prompting men of condition with
treacherous allurements to base and shameful actions; and he is most
cherished and honoured and most munificently entertained and rewarded
of the sorry unmannerly noblemen of our time who saith and doth the
most abominable words and deeds; a sore and shameful reproach to the
present age and a very manifest proof that the virtues have departed
this lower world and left us wretched mortals to wallow in the slough
of the vices.
[Footnote 65: _Uomo di corte._ This word has been another grievous
stumbling block to the French and English translators of Boccaccio,
who render it literally "courtier." The reader need hardly be reminded
that the minstrel of the middle ages was commonly jester, gleeman and
story-teller all in one and in these several capacities was allowed
the utmost license of speech. He was generally attached to the court
of some king or sovereign prince, but, in default of some such
permanent appointment, passed his time in visiting the courts and
mansions of princes and men of wealth and liberty, where his talents
were likely to be appreciated and rewarded; hence the name _uomo di
corte_, "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 carried
me somewhat farther astray than I purposed,--I say that the aforesaid
Guglielmo was honoured by all the gentlemen of Genoa and gladly seen
of them, and having sojourned some days in the city and hearing many
tales of Messer Ermino's avarice and sordidness, he desired to see
him. Messer Ermino having already heard how worthy a man was this
Guglielmo Borsiere and having yet, all miser as he was, some tincture
of gentle breeding, received him with very amicable words and blithe
aspect and entered with him into many and various discourses. Devising
thus, he carried him, together with other Genoese who were in his
company, into a fine new house of his which he had lately built and
after having shown it all to him, said, 'Pray, Messer Guglielmo, you
who have seen and heard many things, can you tell me of something that
was never yet seen, which I may have depictured in the saloon of this
my house?' Guglielmo, hearing this his preposterous question,
answered, 'Sir, I doubt me I cannot undertake to tell you of aught
that was never yet seen, except it were sneezings or the like; but, an
it like you, I will tell you of somewhat which me thinketh you never
yet beheld.' Quoth Messer Ermino, not looking for such an answer as he
got, 'I pray you tell me what it is.' Whereto Guglielmo promptly
replied, 'Cause Liberality to be here depictured.'
When Messer Ermino heard this speech, there took him incontinent such
a shame that it availed in a manner to change his disposition
altogether to the contrary of that which it had been and he said,
'Messer Guglielmo, I will have it here depictured after such a fashion
that neither you nor any other shall ever again have cause to tell me
that I have never seen nor known it.' And from that time forth (such
was the virtue of Guglielmo's words) he was the most liberal and the
most courteous gentleman of his day in Genoa and he who most
hospitably 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 awaiting
it, began all blithely, "Young ladies, it hath often chanced that what
all manner reproofs and many pains[68] bestowed upon a man have not
availed to bring about in him hath been effected by a word more often
spoken at hazard than of purpose aforethought. This is very well shown
in the story related by Lauretta and I, in my turn, purpose to prove
to you the same thing by means of another and a very short one; for
that, since good things may still serve, they should be received with
a 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 the
conquest of the Holy Land by Godefroi de Bouillon, it chanced that a
gentlewoman of Gascony went on a pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulchre and
returning thence, came to Cyprus, where she was shamefully abused of
certain lewd fellows; whereof having complained, without getting any
satisfaction, she thought to appeal to the King for redress, but was
told that she would lose her pains, for that he was of so abject a
composition and so little of worth that, far from justifying others of
their wrongs, he endured with shameful pusillanimity innumerable
affronts offered to himself, insomuch that whose had any grudge
[against him] was wont to vent his despite by doing him some shame or
insult.
The lady, hearing this and despairing of redress, bethought herself,
by way of some small solacement of her chagrin, to seek to rebuke the
king's pusillanimity; wherefore, presenting herself in tears before
him, she said to him, 'My lord, I come not into thy presence for any
redress that I expect of the wrong that hath been done me; but in
satisfaction thereof, I prithee teach me how thou dost to suffer those
affronts which I understand are offered unto thyself, so haply I may
learn of thee patiently to endure mine own, the which God knoweth, an
I might, I would gladly bestow on thee, since thou art so excellent a
supporter thereof.'
The King, who till then had been sluggish and supine, awoke as if from
sleep and beginning with the wrong done to the lady, which he cruelly
avenged, thenceforth became a very rigorous prosecutor of all who
committed 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 rested
with the queen, who, with womanly grace beginning to speak, said,
"Noble damsels, like as in the lucid nights the stars are the ornament
of the sky and as in Spring-time the flowers of the green meadows,
even so are commendable manners and pleasing discourse adorned by
witty sallies, which latter, for that they are brief, are yet more
beseeming to women than to men, inasmuch as much and long speech,
whenas it may be dispensed with, is straitlier forbidden unto women
than to men, albeit nowadays there are few or no women left who
understand a sprightly saying or, if they understand it, know how to
answer it, to the general shame be it said of ourselves and of all
women alive. For that virtue,[69] which was erst in the minds of the
women of times past, those of our day have diverted to the adornment
of the body, and she on whose back are to be seen the most motley
garments and the most gaudily laced and garded and garnished with the
greatest plenty of fringes and purflings and broidery deemeth herself
worthy to be held of far more account than her fellows and to be
honoured above them, considering not that, were it a question of who
should load her back and shoulders with bravery, an ass would carry
much more thereof than any of them nor would therefore be honoured for
more 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 women
but I say it against myself; these women that are so laced and purfled
and painted and parti-coloured abide either mute and senseless, like
marble statues, or, an they be questioned, answer after such a fashion
that it were far better to have kept silence. And they would have you
believe that their unableness to converse among ladies and men of
parts proceedeth from purity of mind, and to their witlessness they
give the name of modesty, as if forsooth no woman were modest but she
who talketh with her chamberwoman or her laundress or her bake-wench;
the which had Nature willed, as they would have it believed, she had
assuredly limited unto them their prattle on other wise. It is true
that in this, as in other things, it behoveth to have regard to time
and place and with whom one talketh; for that it chanceth bytimes that
women or men, thinking with some pleasantry or other to put another to
the blush and not having well measured their own powers with those of
the latter, find that confusion, which they thought to cast upon
another, recoil upon themselves. Wherefore, so you may know how to
keep yourselves and that, to boot, you may not serve as a text for the
proverb which is current everywhere, to wit, that women in everything
still take the worst, I would have you learn a lesson from the last of
to-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, so
likewise you may show yourselves no less removed from them by
excellence of manners.
It is not many years since there lived (and belike yet liveth) at
Bologna a very great and famous physician, known by manifest renown to
well nigh all the world. His name was Master Alberto and such was the
vivacity of his spirit that, albeit he was an old man of hard upon
seventy years of age and well nigh all natural heat had departed his
body, he scrupled not to expose himself to the flames of love; for
that, having seen at an entertainment a very beautiful widow lady,
called, as some say, Madam Malgherida[70] de' Ghisolieri, and being
vastly taken with her, he received into his mature bosom, no otherwise
than if he had been a young gallant, the amorous fire, insomuch that
himseemed he rested not well by night, except the day foregone he had
looked upon the delicate and lovesome countenance of the fair lady.
Wherefore he fell to passing continually before her house, now afoot
and now on horseback, as the occasion served him, insomuch that she
and many other ladies got wind of the cause of his constant passings
to and fro and oftentimes made merry among themselves to see a man
thus ripe of years and wit in love, as if they deemed that that most
pleasant passion of love took root and flourished only in the silly
minds of the young and not otherwhere.
[Footnote 70: Old form of Margherita.]
What while he continued to pass back and forth, it chanced one holiday
that, the lady being seated with many others before her door and
espying Master Alberto making towards them from afar, they one and
all took counsel together to entertain him and do him honour and after
to rally him on that his passion. Accordingly, they all rose to
receive him and inviting him [to enter,] carried him into a shady
courtyard, whither they let bring the choicest of wines and sweetmeats
and presently enquired of him, in very civil and pleasant terms, how
it might be that he was fallen enamoured of that fair lady, knowing
her to be loved of many handsome, young and sprightly gentlemen. The
physician, finding himself thus courteously attacked, put on a blithe
countenance and answered, 'Madam, that I love should be no marvel to
any understanding person, and especially that I love yourself, for
that you deserve it; and albeit old men are by operation of nature
bereft of the vigour that behoveth unto amorous exercises, yet not for
all that are they bereft of the will nor of the wit to apprehend that
which is worthy to be loved; nay, this latter is naturally the better
valued of them, inasmuch as they have more knowledge and experience
than the young. As for the hope that moveth me, who am an old man, to
love you who are courted of many young gallants, it is on this wise: I
have been many a time where I have seen ladies lunch and eat lupins
and leeks. Now, although in the leek no part is good, yet is the
head[71] thereof less hurtful and more agreeable to the taste; but you
ladies, moved by a perverse appetite, commonly hold the head in your
hand and munch the leaves, which are not only naught, but of an ill
savour. How know I, madam, but you do the like in the election of your
lovers? In which case, I should be the one chosen of you and the
others 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 our
presumptuous emprise; algates, your love is dear to me, as should be
that of a man of worth and learning; wherefore, you may in all
assurance command me, as your creature, of your every pleasure, saving
only mine honour.' The physician, rising with his companions, thanked
the lady and taking leave of her with laughter and merriment, departed
thence. Thus the lady, looking not whom she rallied and thinking to
discomfit 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 in
great part abated, when the stories of the young ladies and of the
three young men came to an end; whereupon quoth the queen
blithesomely, "Henceforth, dear companions, there remaineth nought
more to do in the matter of my governance for the present day, save to
give you a new queen, who shall, according to her judgment, order her
life 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 the
new queen shall deem needful for the morrow may be prepared,--methinketh
the ensuing days should commence at this hour. Wherefore, in reverence
of Him unto whom all things live and for our own solacement, Filomena,
a right discreet damsel, shall, as queen, govern our kingdom for the
coming day." So saying, she rose to her feet and putting off the
laurel-wreath, set it reverently on the head of Filomena, whom first
herself and after all the other ladies and the young men likewise
saluted 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 by
Pampinea,[73]--in order that she might not appear witless, she resumed
her assurance and in the first place confirmed all the offices given
by Pampinea; then, having declared that they should abide whereas they
were, 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 for
any worth of mine, hath made me queen of you all, I am not therefore
disposed to follow my judgment alone in the manner of our living, but
yours together with mine; and that you may know that which meseemeth
is to do and consequently at your pleasure add thereto or abate
thereof, I purpose briefly to declare it to you.
If I have well noted the course this day held by Pampinea, meseemeth I
have found it alike praiseworthy and delectable; wherefore till such
time as, for overlong continuance or other reason, it grow irksome to
us, I judge it not to be changed. Order, then, being taken for [the
continuance of] that which we have already begun to do, we will,
arising hence, go awhile a-pleasuring, and whenas the sun shall be for
going under, we will sup in the cool of the evening, and after sundry
canzonets and other pastimes, we shall do well to betake ourselves to
sleep. To-morrow, rising in the cool of the morning, we will on like
wise go somewhither a-pleasuring, as shall be most agreeable to every
one; and as we have done to-day, we will at the due hour come back to
eat; after which we will dance and when we arise from sleep, as to-day
we have done, we will return hither to our story-telling, wherein
meseemeth a very great measure to consist alike of pleasance and of
profit. Moreover, that which Pampinea had indeed no opportunity of
doing, by reason of her late election to the governance, I purpose now
to enter upon, to wit, to limit within some bound that whereof we are
to tell and to declare it[74] to you beforehand, so each of you may
have leisure to think of some goodly story to relate upon the theme
proposed, the which, an it please you, shall be on this wise; namely,
seeing that since the beginning of the world men have been and will
be, until the end thereof, bandied about by various shifts of fortune,
each shall be holden to tell OF THOSE WHO AFTER BEING BAFFLED BY
DIVERS 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 declared
themselves ready to ensue it. Only Dioneo, the others all being
silent, said, "Madam, as all the rest have said, so say I, to wit that
the ordinance given by you is exceeding pleasant and commendable; but
of especial favour I crave you a boon, which I would have confirmed to
me for such time as our company shall endure, to wit, that I may not
be 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 most
please me. And that none may think I seek this favour as one who hath
not stories, in hand, from this time forth I am content to be still
the last to tell."
The queen,--who knew him for a merry man and a gamesome and was well
assured that he asked this but that he might cheer the company with
some laughable story, whenas they should be weary of discoursing,--with
the others' consent, cheerfully accorded him the favour he sought.
Then, arising from session, with slow steps they took their way
towards a rill of very clear water, that ran down from a little hill,
amid great rocks and green herbage, into a valley overshaded with many
trees and there, going about in the water, bare-armed and shoeless,
they fell to taking various diversions among themselves, till
supper-time drew near, when they returned to the palace and there
supped merrily. Supper ended, the queen called for instruments of
music and bade Lauretta lead up a dance, whilst Emilia sang a song, to
the accompaniment of Dioneo's lute. Accordingly, Lauretta promptly set
up a dance and led it off, whilst Emilia amorously warbled the
following 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 of
which all had blithely joined, albeit the words thereof gave some much
matter for thought,--divers other rounds were danced and a part of the
short night being now spent, it pleased the queen to give an end to
the first day; wherefore, letting kindle the flambeaux, she commanded
that 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 to
be sung as an accompaniment to a dance (from _ballare_, to dance).
This is the origin of our word ballad.]
HERE ENDETH THE FIRST DAY
OF 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 light
and the birds, carolling blithely among the green branches, bore
witness thereof unto the ear with their merry songs, when the ladies
and the three young men, arising all, entered the gardens and pressing
the dewy grass with slow step, went wandering hither and thither,
weaving goodly garlands and disporting themselves, a great while. And
like 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 them
to repose and arising thence after none, came all, by command of their
queen, into the fresh meadows, where they seated themselves round
about her. Then she, who was fair of favour and exceeding pleasant of
aspect, having sat awhile, crowned with her laurel wreath, and looked
all her company in the face, bade Neifile give beginning to the day's
stories by telling one of her fashion; whereupon the latter, without
making 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 befool
others, and especially in things reverend, findeth himself with
nothing for his pains but flouts and whiles cometh not off scathless.
Wherefore, that I may obey the queen's commandment and give beginning
to the appointed theme with a story of mine, I purpose to relate to
you that which, first misfortunately and after happily, beyond his
every 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 to
that which the Trevisans avouch, that, in the hour of his death, the
bells of the great church of Treviso began to ring, without being
pulled of any. The people of the city, accounting this a miracle,
proclaimed this Arrigo a saint and running all to the house where he
lay, bore his body, for that of a saint, to the Cathedral, whither
they fell to bringing the halt, the impotent and the blind and others
afflicted with whatsoever defect or infirmity, as if they should all
be made whole by the touch of the body.
In the midst of this great turmoil and concourse of folk, it chanced
that there arrived at Treviso three of our townsmen, whereof one was
called Stecchi, another Martellino and the third Marchese, men who
visited the courts of princes and lords and diverted the beholders by
travestying themselves and counterfeiting whatsoever other man with
rare motions and grimaces. Never having been there before and seeing
all the folk run, they marvelled and hearing the cause, were for going
to see what was toward; wherefore they laid up their baggage at an inn
and Marchese said, 'We would fain go look upon this saint; but, for my
part, I see not how we may avail to win thither, for that I understand
the Cathedral place is full of German and other men-at-arms, whom the
lord of this city hath stationed there, so no riot may betide; more by
token that they say the church is so full of folk that well nigh none
else 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 means
of winning to the holy body.' 'How so?' asked Marchese, and Martellino
answered, 'I will tell thee. I will counterfeit myself a cripple and
thou on one side and Stecchi on the other shall go upholding me, as it
were I could not walk of myself, making as if you would fain bring me
to 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 inn
without delay, all three. Whenas they came to a solitary place,
Martellino writhed his hands and fingers and arms and legs and eke his
mouth and eyes and all his visnomy on such wise that it was a
frightful thing to look upon, nor was there any saw him but would have
avouched him to be verily all fordone and palsied of his person.
Marchese and Stecchi, taking him up, counterfeited as he was, made
straight for the church, with a show of the utmost compunction, humbly
beseeching all who came in their way for the love of God to make room
for them, the which was lightly yielded them. Brief, every one gazing
on them and crying well nigh all, 'Make way! Make way!' they came
whereas Saint Arrigo's body lay and Martellino was forthright taken up
by certain gentlemen who stood around and laid upon the body, so he
might thereby regain the benefit of health. Martellino, having lain
awhile, whilst all the folk were on the stretch to see what should
come of him, began, as right well he knew how, to make a show of
opening first one finger, then a hand and after putting forth an arm
and so at last coming to stretch himself out altogether. Which when
the people saw, they set up such an outcry in praise of Saint Arrigo
as would have drowned the very thunder.
Now, as chance would have it, there was therenigh a certain
Florentine, who knew Martellino very well, but had not recognized him,
counterfeited as he was, whenas he was brought thither. However, when
he saw him grown straight again, he knew him and straightway fell
a-laughing and saying, 'God confound him! Who that saw him come had
not deemed him palsied in good earnest?' His words were overheard of
sundry Trevisans, who asked him incontinent, 'How! Was he not
palsied?' 'God forbid!' answered the Florentine. 'He hath ever been as
straight as any one of us; but he knoweth better than any man in the
world how to play off tricks of this kind and counterfeit what shape
soever he will.'
When the others heard this, there needed nothing farther; but they
pushed forward by main force and fell a-crying out and saying, 'Seize
yonder traitor and scoffer at God and His saints, who, being whole of
his body, hath come hither, in the guise of a cripple, to make mock of
us and of our saint!' So saying, they laid hold of Martellino and
pulled him down from the place where he lay. Then, taking him by the
hair of his head and tearing all the clothes off his back, they fell
upon him with cuffs and kicks; nor himseemed was there a man in the
place but ran to do likewise. Martellino roared out, 'Mercy, for God's
sake!' and fended himself as best he might, but to no avail; for the
crowd redoubled upon him momently. Stecchi and Marchese, seeing this,
began to say one to the other that things stood ill, but, fearing for
themselves, dared not come to his aid; nay, they cried out with the
rest to put him to death, bethinking them the while how they might
avail to fetch him out of the hands of the people, who would certainly
have slain him, but for a means promptly taken by Marchese; to wit,
all the officers of the Seignory being without the church, he betook
himself as quickliest he might, to him who commanded for the Provost
and said, 'Help, for God's sake! There is a lewd fellow within who
hath cut my purse, with a good hundred gold florins. I pray you take
him, so I may have mine own again.'
Hearing this, a round dozen of sergeants ran straightway whereas the
wretched Martellino was being carded without a comb and having with
the greatest pains in the world broken through the crowd, dragged him
out of the people's hands, all bruised and tumbled as he was, and
haled him off to the palace, whither many followed him who held
themselves affronted of him and hearing that he had been taken for a
cutpurse and themseeming they had no better occasion[77] of doing him
an ill turn,[78] began each on like wise to say that he had cut his
purse. The Provost's judge, who was a crabbed, ill-conditioned fellow,
hearing this, forthright took him apart and began to examine him of
the matter; but Martellino answered jestingly, as if he made light of
his arrest; whereat the judge, incensed, caused truss him up and give
him two or three good bouts of the strappado, with intent to make him
confess that which they laid to his charge, so he might after have him
strung up by the neck.
[Footnote 77: Or pretext (_titolo_).]
[Footnote 78: Or "having him punished," lit. "causing give him ill
luck" (_fargli dar la mala ventura_). This passage, like so many
others 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 were
true which the folk avouched against him, and Martellino, seeing that
it availed him not to deny, answered, 'My lord, I am ready to confess
the truth to you; but first make each who accuseth me say when and
where 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, put
the question to them; whereupon one said that he had cut his purse
eight, another six and a third four days agone, whilst some said that
very day. Martellino, hearing this, said, 'My lord, these all lie in
their 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 as
it is that I was never in this place till a few hours agone; and as
soon as I arrived, I went, of my ill fortune, to see yonder holy body
in the church, where I was carded as you may see; and that this I say
is true, the Prince's officer who keepeth the register of strangers
can 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 me
to death at the instance of these wicked, men.'
Whilst things were at this pass, Marchese and Stecchi, hearing that
the judge of the Provostry was proceeding rigorously against
Martellino and had already given him the strappado, were sore affeared
and said in themselves, 'We have gone the wrong way to work; we have
brought him forth of the frying-pan and cast him into the fire.'
Wherefore they went with all diligence in quest of their host and
having found him, related to him how the case stood. He laughed and
carried them to one Sandro Agolanti, who abode in Treviso and had
great interest with the Prince, and telling him everything in order,
joined with them in beseeching him to occupy himself with Martellino's
affairs. Sandro, after many a laugh, repaired to the Prince and
prevailed upon him to send for Martellino.
The Prince's messengers found Martellino still in his shirt before the
judge, all confounded and sore adread, for that the judge would hear
nothing in his excuse; nay, having, by chance, some spite against the
people of Florence, he was altogether determined to hang him by the
neck and would on no wise render him up to the Prince till such time
as he was constrained thereto in his despite. Martellino, being
brought before the lord of the city and having told him everything in
order, besought him, by way of special favour, to let him go about his
business, for that, until he should be in Florence again, it would
still seem to him he had the rope about his neck. The Prince laughed
heartily at his mischance and let give each of the three a suit of
apparel, wherewith they returned home safe and sound, having, beyond
all 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 narrated
by Neifile, as did also the young men and especially Filostrato, whom,
for that he sat next Neifile, the queen bade follow her in
story-telling. Accordingly he began without delay, "Fair ladies, needs
must I tell you a story[79] of things Catholic,[80] in part mingled
with misadventures and love-matters, which belike will not be other
than profitable to hear, especially to those who are wayfarers in the
perilous lands of love, wherein whoso hath not said St. Julian his
Paternoster is oftentimes ill lodged, for all he have a good bed.
[Footnote 79: Lit. a story striveth in (draweth) me to be told or to
tell 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 a
merchant called Rinaldo d'Asti to Bologna on his occasions, which
having despatched and returning homeward, it chanced that, as he
issued forth of Ferrara and rode towards Verona, he fell in with
certain folk who seemed merchants, but were in truth highwaymen and
men of lewd life and condition, with whom he unwarily joined company
and entered into discourse. They, seeing him to be a merchant and
judging him to have monies about him, took counsel together to rob
him, at the first opportu
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