THE UNIVERSITY 
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 Latest Date stamped below. 
 
 
 
 
 
 University of Illinois Library 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 L161—H41 
 
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THE DECAMERON 
 
 OR 
 TEN DAYS’ ENTERTAINMENT OF 
 
 BOCCACCTO 
 
 FINE-PAPER EDITION 
 
 ALBERT & CHARLES BONI 
 NEW YORK 1926 
 

 
 
 
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 cow | CONTENTS 
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 ae 4 f PAGE 
 
 AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION TO LADIES , i < ‘ob Soe ot Neeix 
 PELo er LR SL DAY 
 
 PAGR 
 
 NovEL I.—Chappelet imposes upon the priest by a sham confession, 
 and dies; and, although a very wicked fellow, was afterwards 
 reputed a saint; and called St. Chappelet . : : ° _ 4 
 > aii IIl.—Abraham, the Jew, at the instigation of Jeannot de 
 Ivigni, goes to the court of Rome, and seeing the wickedness 
 of the clergy there, returns to Paris, and becomes a Christian . £9 
 
 _ NOVEL III,—Melchizedeck, a Jew, by a story of the three rings, 
 escapes a most dangerous snare, which Saladin had prepared 
 for him ; t 3 : ; : e . ‘ A ene |: i 
 Aspire IV.—A monk having committed an offence, for which he 
 ought to have been severely punished, saves himself by wittily 
 
 proving his abbot guilty of the very same fault . ‘ 5 » NoES 
 
 Nove. V.--The Marchioness of Monferrat, by an entertainment of 
 hens, and some witty speeches, cures the King of France of his 
 dishonourable love . i = 5 ° i : A nt a 
 
 Nove. VI.—A plain honest man, by a jest accidentally let fall, very 
 wittily reproves the hypocrisy of the clergy ‘ , : a. 
 
 NovEL VII.—Bergamino, by telling a tale of a certain witty person 
 named Primasso, very handsomely reproves the avarice which 
 had lately appeared in M. Cane della Scala : A : - @§ 
 
 NoveL VIJ1.—Gulieimo Borsiere, by a few smart words, checks the 
 miserable covetousness of M. Ermino de’ Grimaldi. ; » 30 
 
 Nove. IX.—The King of Cyprus was so much affected by the 
 words of a gentlewoman of Gascogne, that from being a vicious 
 prince he became very virtuous . : : : ; ; . 38 
 
 NoveL X.—Master Albert of Bologna puts a lady to the blush, who 
 thought to have done as much to him, because she perceived 
 him to be amorously inclined towards her , i ; » oy 
 v 
 
 4 
 
vi 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 THE SECOND DAY 
 
 Nove. I,—Martellino, feigning himself to be a cripple, pretends to 
 
 vA 
 
 be cured by being laid upon the body of Saint Arrigo; but his 
 roguery being discovered, he gets soundly beaten, and is after- 
 wards apprehended, and in danger of being hangd&A, but at last 
 escapes ° ° . ° : . . . . d < 
 
 OVEL II.—Rinaldo d’Asti having been robbed, comes to Castel 
 
 Gulielmo, where he is entertained by a widow lady, makes good 
 his loss, and returns safe home . 2 . ‘ : ° 
 
 NovEL II].—Three young gentlemen lavish away their fortunes, and 
 
 a nephew of theirs returning home in as desperate a condition, 
 falls in company with an Abbot, whom he afterwards found to 
 be the King of England’s daughter, who marries him, and 
 makes good his uncles’ losses, resettling them in their former 
 prosperity . ‘ ° ; , . « . 
 
 NoveL I1V.—Landolpho Ruffolo, falling into poverty, became a 
 
 pirate, and was taken by the Genoese, and suffered shipwreck, 
 but saved himself upon a cask of jewels, and was taken out of 
 the sea by a woman at Corfu, and afterwards returned home 
 
 very rich . . . . . . . : : : . 
 
 “NoveL V.—Andreuccio, of Perugia, coming to Naples to buy 
 
 horses, met with three remarkable accidents in one night; from 
 all which he escapes, and returns with a ruby of value 
 
 NoveEL VI.—Madam Beritola was found on an island with two 
 
 goats, having lost her two sons, and went from thence to Luni- 
 giana, where one of her sons became servant to the lord thereof ; 
 and being found with his daughter, was by him sent to prison ; 
 afterwards, when the country of Sicily rebelled against King 
 Charles, that same son was known again by his mother, and 
 was married to his master’s daughter; and his brother being 
 found likewise, they both returned to great estate and credit 
 
 VEL VII.—The Sultan of Babylon sends one of his daughters te 
 
 S be married to the King of Algarve, who, by divers accidents in 
 
 the space of four years fell into the hands of nine different men 
 in different places. At length, being restored to her father, she 
 went to the King of Algarve as a maid, and, as at first she was 
 intended, to be his wife ‘ : f K j 
 
 PAGE 
 
 45 
 
 48 
 
 55 
 
 §9 
 
 7 
 
 83 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Nove. VIII.—The Count d’Angiers, being falsely accused, was 
 banished from France, and left his two children in different 
 parts of England. Returning afterwards privately out of Ire- 
 land, he found them settled in great repute; from thence he 
 goes as a common servant into the King of France’s army, and 
 his innocence being made public at. last, he is restored to his 
 former dignity ° ° ’ ° . . . ° : . 
 
 Nove. IX.—Bernard of Genoa is imposed upon by one Ambrose, 
 loses his money, and orders his wife, who is quite innocent, to 
 be put to death. She makes her escape, and goes in man’s 
 dress into the service of the Sultan; there she meets with the 
 deceiver ; and, sending for her husband to Alexandria, has him 
 punished ; she then resumes her former habit, and returns with 
 her husband rich to Genoa. ° ° . ° » ° . 
 
 NOVEL X.—Paganino da Monaca carries away the wife of Signior 
 Ricciardo di Chinzica, who, understanding where she was, went 
 thither, and growing acquainted with Paganino, he demanded 
 her back, which the other consents to, provided she is willing: 
 she refuses to return; and upon Ricciardo’s death became the 
 wife of Paganino e e , 4 « i e ry e 
 
 THE THIRD DAY 
 
 NOVEL I,—Masetto da Lamporecchio, pretending to be dumb, {is 
 taken in to be gardener to a monastery of nuns; what happens 
 in consequence ., . : : ‘ 
 
 — 
 
 NoveEL II.—An equerry belonging to King Agilulf lies with his 
 queen : of which the king making a secret discovery, set a mark 
 upon him by shearing the hair off his head: upon which he who 
 was so shorn, cut that of his fellow-servants in like manner, and 
 so escaped further punishment , . ah Pa ° 
 
 Nove. III.—A lady, under pretence of confessing, and a pure con- 
 science, being in love with a young gentleman, makes a sanctified 
 friar bring them together, without his knowing anything of her 
 intention , . “ . . ° . . ° . : 
 
 yéver IV.—A young scholar, named Felix, teaches one Puccio how 
 he may be saved, by performing a penance which he shows him: 
 
 vil 
 
 PAGE 
 
 10. 
 
 14 
 
 » 194 
 
 134 
 
 138 
 
 142 
 
vill CONTENTS 
 
 this he puts into execution; and, in the meantime, Felix amuses 
 himself with his wife , . : ° ’ ° . . ° 
 NOVEL V.—Ricciardo, surnamed the Beau, makes a present of a fine 
 horse to Francisco Vergellesi, upon condition that he should have 
 the liberty of speaking to his wife: and she making him no reply, 
 he answers for her, which accordingly has its effect e° . . 
 
 NOVEL VI.—Ricciardo Minutolo is in love with the wife of Philiv- 
 pello Fighinolfi; and knowing her to be jealous of her husband, 
 makes her believe that he was to meet his wife that night at a 
 bagnio. Accordingly she goes thither; and, imagining she had 
 been with her husband all the time, finds herself at last with 
 Ricciardo . . ° ° ° . . . . . ° 
 
 NOVEL VII,—Tedaldo, having a misunderstanding with his mistress, 
 leaves Florence: he returns thither afterwards in the habit of a 
 pilgrim, and makes himself known to her; when he convinces 
 her of her mistake, and saves her husband from being put to 
 death for his murder, for which he had been condemned, He 
 then reconciles him to his brethren, and lives upon good terms 
 with her for the future. . ° . . . . . : 
 
 VEL VIII.—Ferondo, by taking a certain drug, is buried for dead, 
 and by the abbot, who has an intrigue with his wife, is taken out 
 of the grave and put into a dungeon, when he is made to believe 
 that he is in purgatory; being raised up again, he rears a child 
 as his own, which the abbot had got by his wife. “ . 
 
 NovEL IX.—Giletta de Narbonne cures the King of France of a 
 complaint, and demands the Count de Roussilon in marriage, as 
 her reward; he marries her against his will, and goes in a pet to 
 Florence, where he fell in love with a young lady, and lay with 
 his own wife, when he thought himself in bed with his mistress, 
 She had two sons by him, and, by that means, matters were 
 accommodated at last between them , ’ . ‘ , : 
 
 NovEL X.—Alibech, a young girl desirous of becoming a Christian, 
 travels to a desert to consult some holy men as to the best means 
 of serving and pleasing God. Rusticus, a devout hermit, informs 
 her that the Devil had escaped from hell, that nothing could be 
 more acceptable to God than his being sent back again, and 
 teaches.her how to accomplish it; which she does with his pious 
 assistance, to her great satisfaction , ° e , ° . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 150 
 
 153 
 
 157 
 
 163 
 
 174 
 
 182 
 
 28g 
 
CONTENTS ix 
 
 . ‘THE FOURTH DAY 
 
 ; ; PAGE 
 Nove. I,—Tancred, Prince of Salerno, puts his daughter's lover to 
 death, and sends his heart to her in a golden cup; she pours 
 water ‘upon it, which she had poisoned, and sodies . , + 97 
 
 Nove Il,—Friar Albert makes a woman believe that an angel is 
 in love with her, and in that shape deceives her. Afterwards, for 
 fear of her relations, he throws himself out of the window, and 
 takes shelter ina poor man’s house; who exposes him the next 
 day in the public market-place in the form of'a wild man; when 
 he is discovered by two friars, and put into. prison”, ° s 204 
 
 Nove IIJ.—Three young men fall in love with three sisters, and fly 
 with them.into Crete,. The eldest destroys her lover out. of 
 jealousy ; and the second, by consenting to the Duke of Crete’s 
 request, is the.means of,saving her sister’s life: afterwards her 
 lover kills her, and goes away with the eldest sister. The third 
 couple is charged with her death, which they confess, and after- 
 wards fee their keepers, and, making their escape, die at Rhodes 
 at last in great necessity . ° . . : ° ° . 210 
 
 NoveL IV.—Gerbino, contrary to a treaty made by King William, 
 his grandfather, fought with a ship belonging to the King of 
 Tunis, with a design to take away his daughter; who being slain 
 by the ship’s crew, he slew them likewise, and was afterwards 
 beheaded for it , 4 ° : > > ° ° ° » 2x6 
 
 NovEL. V.—Isabella's brothers put her lover to death; he appears to 
 her in a dream, and shows her where he is buried. She privately 
 brings away his head; and, putting it into a pot of basil and 
 other sweet herbs, laments over it a considerable time every day. 
 At length they take it away from her, and she soon after dies 
 for grief  . ’ . . . . . . : ° iy 220 
 
 Nove. VI.—A young lady, named Andrevuola, was in love with 
 Gabriotto ; they relate to each other their dreams, ‘when he falls 
 down dead in ber arms; as she and her maid are carrying him 
 out, they are apprehended by the officers of justice, and she 
 relates how the affair happened. Afterwards the magistrate 
 would force her, but she resists; at length her father hears of it, 
 and as her innocence is clear, has her set at liberty. From that 
 period she grows weary of the world, and becomesa nun . 2 293 
 
 a2 
 
x | CONTENTS 
 
 AGB 
 Novel. VII.—Pasquino is in love with Simona; and, being in a 
 garden together, he happens to rub his teeth with a leaf of sage, 
 and immediately dies. She is brought before the judge, when, 
 being desirous of showing him the cause of Pasquino’s death, 
 she rubs her teeth with the same herb, and meets with a similar 
 fate . ° . ’ . : . . : . . » 229 
 
 Nove. VIII.—Girolamo is in love with Salvestra, and:is obliged by 
 his mother to go to Paris. On his return he finds her married: 
 and getting privately into her house, he breathes his last by her 
 side. Being carried from thence toa church to be buried, she 
 o dies likewise upon his corpse : : ° ’ . . + 232 
 
 NoveEL 1X.—Gulielmo Rossiglione gives his wife to eat the heart of 
 Gulielmo Guardastagno, her gallant, whom he had slain; as soon 
 as she knew this, she threw herself out of a window, and, dying, 
 was buried along with him , : . ° . . . - 236 
 
 NovEL X.—A doctor's wife puts her gallant into a chest, imagining 
 him to be dead ; which chest is stolen by two usurers, and carried 
 home. He comes to himself, and is taken for a thief; whilst the 
 lady's maid informs the magistrates that she had put him into a 
 chest, which the usurers had carried away; upon which he 
 escapes, and they are fined a sum of money ? : . 239 
 
 THE FIFTH DAY 
 
 NovzEL I.—Cymon becomes wise by being in love, and by force of 
 arms wins Ephigenia his mistress upon the seas; and is impri- 
 soned at Rhodes__ Being delivered from thence by Lysimachus, 
 with him he recovers Ephigenia, and flies with her to Crete, 
 where he is married to her, and is afterwards recalled home . 260 
 
 Nove. I1.—Constantia is in love with Martuccio Gomito; and 
 hearing that he was dead, out of despair, goes alone into a boat, 
 which is driven by the wind to Susa: finding him alive at Tunis, 
 she makes herself known; whilst he, being a great favourite 
 there of the king's, marries her, and returns home witb her to 
 Lipari, very rich . . . 5 . . > wont . » 260 
 
 Nove. III.—Pietro Boccamazza running away with his mistress, is 
 set upon by thieves, whilst the lady makes her escape into a 
 forest, from whence she is conducted to a castle. He is taken, 
 but escapes by some accident, and arrives at the same castle, 
 where they are married, and return from thence to Rome . », 265 
 
CONTENTS Xi 
 -PAGE 
 NOVEL 1V —Ricciardo Manardi is found by Lizio along with his ~ 
 daughter, whom he marries, and they become reconciled to- 
 gether . : ; . : 5 : : ; : 5 =" azo 
 
 NovEL V.—Guidotto da Cremona dying, left a daughter to the care 
 of Giacomino da Pavia. Giannole di Severino and Minghino di 
 Mingole are both in love with her, and fight on her account, 
 when she is known to be Giannole’s sister, and is married to 
 Minghino , - ‘ ‘ . ‘ : , ; f ~ 274 
 
 NovEL VI.—Gianni di Procida is discovered with a young lady, 
 formerly his mistress, but then given to King Frederick, for 
 which he is condemned to be burnt with her at astake. When, 
 being known by Ruggieri dell’ Oria, he escapes, and marries her 278 
 
 NOVEL VII.—Theodoro is in love with Violante, his master’s 
 daughter; she proves with child, for which he’ is condemned 
 to be hanged; when being led out to execution, he is known 
 by his father, set at liberty, and afterwards marries her » 15283 
 
 NOVEL VIII.—Anastasio being in love with a young lady, spent a 
 good part of his fortune without being able to gain her affections. 
 At the request of his relations he retires to Chiassi, where he sees 
 a lady pursued and slain by a gentleman, and then given to the 
 dogs to be devoured. He invites his friends, along with his 
 mistress, to come and dine with him, when they see the same 
 thing, and she, fearing the like punishment, takes him for her 
 yi husband . . . ‘ . ° ° = : ; . 288 
 
 NovEL IX.—Federigo being in love, without meeting with any 
 return, spends all his substance, having nothing left but one 
 poor hawk, which he gives to his lady for her dinner when she 
 
 ‘comes to his house ; she, knowing this, changes her resolution, 
 and marries him, by which means he becomes very rich. un 303 
 
 NovEL X.—Pietro di Vinciolo goes to sup at a friend’s house; his 
 wife in the meantime has her gallant: Pietro returns, when she / 
 hides him under a chicken coop. Pietro relates, that a young / 
 fellow was found in Hercolano’s house where he supped, who ° 
 had been concealed by his wife. Pietro’s wife blames very much 
 the wife of Hercolano; whilst an ass happening to tread on the 
 young man’s fingers, who lay hidden, he cries out. Pietro runs 
 to see what is the matter, and finds out the trick. At length 
 they makeitup . : : * : . . 268 
 
cil CONTENTS 
 
 THE SIXTH DAY 
 
 NovEL I.—A certain knight offers a lady to carry ber behind him, 
 and to tell her a pleasant story by the way; but doing it with an 
 ill grace, she chose rather to walk on foot . oa ee 
 
 Nove. I[I.—Cisti the baker; by a smart reply makes Signor Geri 
 Spina sensible of an unreasonable request . : : : . 
 
 FAGE 
 
 395 
 
 $97 
 
 Nove. III.—Madam Nonna de’ Pulei ‘silences ‘the Bishop of | 
 
 Florence, by a smart reply to an unseemly. piece of raillery : 
 
 Nove. IV,-—Chichibio, cook to Currado Gianfiliazzi, by a sudden 
 reply, which he made to his master, turns his wrath into 
 
 laughter, and so escapes the punishment with which he had, 
 
 threatened him , 5 ‘ ¥ , - e ? 
 
 NovEL V.—Forese da Rabatta and Giotto the painter, coming from 
 Mugello, laugh at the meanness of each other’s appearance 
 
 Nove. VI.—Michael Scalza proves to certain young gentlemen, that 
 the family of the Baronci is the most honourable of any in the 
 world, and wins a supper byit . ‘ : ; 
 
 NovEL VII.—Madam Philippa being surprised with her gallant by 
 
 her husband, is accused and tried for it; but saves herself by 
 her quick reply, and has the laws moderated for the future 
 
 NoOveEL VIII,—Fresco advises his niece that if she could not endure 
 to look at any disagreeable people, she should never behold 
 herself , : . , . P d 
 
 NoveL IX.—Guido Cavalcanti genteelly reprimands the folly of 
 
 some Florentine gentlemen, who came unawares upon him 
 Ps 
 
 NoveEL X.—Friar Onion promises some country people to show them 
 a feather from the wing of the angel Gabriel; instead of which 
 
 he finds only some coals, which he tells them are the same that. 
 
 roasted St. Laurence... . , ‘ d i 
 
 THE SEVENTH DAY 
 
 Nove. I.—Giann: Lotteringhi hears a knocking at his door, and 
 wakes his wife, who makes him believe it is a spirit, and they 
 both go to conjure it away with a certain prayer, after which 
 the noise ceases : : 
 
 . . 
 
 310 
 
 3It 
 
 314 
 
 317 
 
 319 
 
 335 
 
CONTENTS Kili 
 ” 
 
 hovan I1.—Peroiella puts her gallant into a tub on her busband’s 
 coming home; which tub the husband had sold; she conse- 
 quently tells him that she had also sold it to a person who was 
 then in it to see if it were sound. Upon this the man jumps cut, 
 makes the husband clean it for him, and carries ithome . «338 
 
 PAGS 
 
 Nove. II].—Friar Rinaldo has an affair with a lady in the neigh- 
 bourhood, when he makes the husband believe that he is upon 
 
 oe to cure their child of the worms , ° ° : o: 345 
 
 NoveEL IV.—Tofano shuts his wife one night out of doors; who, not 
 being able to persuade him to let her come in, pretends to throw 
 herself into a well, by throwing a stone in:.he runs thither to 
 see, during which she enters, and locking him out, abuses him 
 well ° ° . a . ° . e ° e ° o 344 
 
 NoveEL. V.—A jealous man confesses his wife under a priest's habit, 
 who tells him that she is visited every night by a friar ; and, 
 whilst he is watching the door, she lets her lover in at the house- 
 top . ° ° ° . e * e e . . ° 348 
 
 Nove. VI.—Isabella, being in company with her gallant, called 
 Leonetto, and being’ visited at the same time by ese Lambertuc- 
 cio, her/ husband returns, when she sends Lambertuccio away 
 with a drawn sword in his hand, whilst the husband guards 
 Leonetto safe to his own house , ; 2 - } Da 4. 
 
 NoveL VII.—Lodovico being in love with Beatrice, she sends her 
 husband into the garden, disguised like herself, so that her lover 
 may be with her in the meantime ; and he afterwards goes into 
 the garden, and beats him . F ° e » e ° «356 
 
 Nove. VIII.—A woman who had a very jealous husband, tied a 
 thread to her great toe, by which she informed her lover whether 
 he should come or not. The husband found it out, and whilst 
 he was pursuing the lover, she put her maid in her place. He 
 takes her to be his wife, beats her, cuts off her hair, and then 
 fetches his wife's relations, who find nothing of what he had told 
 them, and so load him witb reproaches ° . ° ° o» 363 
 
 NovEL IX.—Lydia, the wife of Nicostratus, being in love with 
 Pyrrhus, did three things which he had enjoined her, to con- 
 vince him of her affection,, She afterwards used some famili- ~~ 
 arities with him before her husband's face, making him believe 
 
 that what he had seen was notreal ., F ° lb : ~) 36) 
 
Kiv CONTENTS 
 
 NOVEL X.—Two inhabitants of Siena love the same woman, one of 
 whom was godfather to her son. This man dies, and returns, 
 according to his promise, to bis friend, and gives him an account 
 of what is done in the other world e : . é d 
 
 THE EIGHTH DAY | 
 
 NovEL I,.—Gulfardo borrows a sum of money of Guasparruolo, in 
 order to give it his wife for granting him a favour: he afterwards 
 tells Guasparruolo, whilst she was present, that he had paid it to 
 her, which she acknowledges to be true. . . . 
 
 NoveEL I1.—The parson of Varlungo receives favours from a woman 
 of his parish, and leaves his cloak in pawn for them. He after- 
 wards borrows a mortar of her, which he returns, and demands 
 his cloak, which he says he left only as a token, She mutinies, 
 but is forced by her husband to send it ‘ . , . . 
 
 ~~ 
 
 Nove III.—Calandrino, Bruno, and Buffalmacco go to Mugnone 
 to look for the Heliotrope; and Calandrino returns laden with 
 stones, supposing that he had found it. Upon this his wife 
 scolds him, and he beats her for it ; and then tells his companions 
 what they knew better than himself . , : . 
 
 NOVEL IV.—The provost of the church of Fiesole is in love with a 
 lady who has no liking to him; and he, thinking that he is with 
 her, is all the time with her maid, when her brothers bring the 
 bishop thither to witness it . A . , : . : . 
 
 Nove. V.—Three young sparks play a trick with a judge, whilst he 
 is sitting upon the bench hearing causes, ; ; “ . 
 
 Nove. VI.—Bruno and Buffalmacco steal a pig from Calandrino, 
 and make a charm to find out the thief with pills made of ginger 
 and some sack ; giving him, at the same time, pills made of aloes: 
 whence it appeared that he had it himself, and they make him 
 pay handsomely, for fear they should tell his wife 
 
 Nov ¢L VII.—A certain scholar is in love with a widow lady named 
 
 Helena; who, being enamoured of another person, makes the 
 ~~ former wait a whole night for her during the midst of winter in 
 the snow. In return, he afterwards contrives that she shall 
 stand naked on the top of a tower in the middle of July, exposed 
 to the sun and all manner of insects , ‘ : : ’ 
 
 PAGE 
 
 374 
 
 379 
 
 381 
 
 385 
 
 391 
 
 395 
 
 397 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 pores VIII.—Two neighbours are very intimate together , when one 
 
 making very free with the other's wife, the other finds it out, and 
 returns the compliment, whilst the friend is locked up in a chest 
 all the time. . . . ° ° . . ° . 
 
 NOvEL [X.—Master Simon, the doctor, is imposed upon by Bruno 
 and Buffalmacco, and made to believe that he is to be one of the 
 company of rovers, and afterwards they leave himinaditch . 
 
 NOVEL X.—A certain Sicilian damsel cheats a merchant of all the 
 money he had taken for his goods at Palermo. Afterwards he 
 pretends to return with a greater stock of goods than before; 
 when he contrives to borrow a large sum of money of her, leaving 
 sham pledges for her security . ° ae ° ° . 
 
 THE NINTH DAY 
 
 Nove. I.—Madam Francesca having two lovers, and liking neither 
 of them, rids herself of both by making one go and lie down in a 
 person's grave, and sending the other to fetch him out ‘ : 
 
 Novg. II,—An abbess, going in haste, and in the dark, to surprise 
 one of her nuns, instead of her veil, puts on the priest's breeches, 
 The lady accused makes a just remark upon this, and so escapes 
 
 NovEL lil.—Master Simon, the doctor, with Bruno, and the rest 
 make Calandrino believe that he is with child; who gives them 
 fowls and money, to compose a medicine for him ; and he recovers 
 without being delivered ° . : : ° : ° . 
 
 Nove. IV.—Fortarrigo played away all that he had at Buoncon- 
 vento, as also the money of Angiolieri, who was his master ; then 
 running away in his shirt, and pretending that the other had 
 robbed him, he caused him to be seized by the country people, 
 when he put on his clothes, and rode away upon his horse, leav- 
 ing him therein his shirt . ° . . . ‘ . . 
 
 NoveEL V.—Calandrino is in love with a certain damsel, when Bruno 
 prepares a charm for her, by virtue of which she follows him, and 
 they are found together by his wife, . . . : . 
 
 ee 
 
 EL VI.—Two young gentlemen lie at an inn, one of whom goes 
 to bed to the landlord's daughter; whilst the wife, by mistake, 
 lies with the other. Afterwards, he that had lain with the 
 daughter gets to bed to the father, and tells him all that had 
 
 XV 
 
 PAGE 
 
 419 
 
 434 
 
 446 
 
 450 
 
 4§2 
 
 455 
 
 458 
 
xvi CONTENTS 
 
 passed, thinking it had been ‘his friend: a great uproar is made 
 about it; upon which the wife goes to bed to the daughter; and 
 very cunningly sets all to rights again, 
 
 NOVEL VII.—Talano di Molese dreamed that a wolf tore his wife's 
 face and throat; and he bids her take care of herself : but she not 
 regarding him, it happens as he dreamed. . ¢ : . : 
 
 NOvEL VIII.—Biondello imposes upon one Ciacco with regard toa 
 dinner ; who revenges himself afterwards, and causes the other 
 to be soundly beaten , - ‘ 
 
 NoveEL IX.—Two young men go to King Solomon for his advice ; 
 : the one to know how he is to behave to be beloved, the other how 
 to manage an untoward wife. To the first he replies, Love; to 
 the second, Go to Goosebridge . 
 
 NoveEL X,—Don John, at the request of his companion Peter, pro- 
 ceeds by enchantment to turn his wife into a mare; but when he 
 is about to attach the tail, Peter, in crying out that he will not 
 have the tail, breaks the enchantment. ; 4 
 
 * ® 
 5 : 
 
 THE TENTH DAY. 
 
 NovEL, 1.—A certain knight in the service of the King of Spain 
 thinks himself not sufficiently rewarded, when the king gives a 
 remarkable proof that it was not his fault so much as the knight's 
 ill fortune; and: afterwards nobly requiteshim . . . » 3 
 
 NovEL I1.—Ghino di Tacco takes the Abbot of Cligni prisoner, and 
 cures him of a pain in his stomach, and then sets him at liberty ; 
 when he returns to the court of Rome, and reconciling him with 
 Pope Boniface, he is made prior of an hospital , . . : 
 
 NovEL III,.—Mithridanes envied the generosity of Nathan, and went 
 to kill him; when, conversing together, without knowing him, 
 and being informed i in what manner he might do it, he went to 
 meet him in a wood as he had directed. ‘There he calls him to 
 mind, is ashamed, and becomes his friend . etapa . . 
 
 Nove. IV.—Signor Gentil de’ Carisendi takes a lady out of her 
 grave, whom he had loved, and who was buried for'dead. She 
 recovers, and is brought to bed of a son, which he presents along 
 with the lady to ber husband 7 ° . . ° . . 
 
 NovEL V.—Dianora requires Ansaldo to present her with a garden 
 in January as beautifulasin May. He engages a necromancer to 
 
 PAGE 
 
 464 
 
 VS 
 
 468 
 
 469 
 
 472 
 
 476 
 
 481 
 
 484 
 
 488 
 
 493° 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 do it. Her husband, upon this, gives her leave to keep her word 
 with Ansaldo; who, hearing of the husband’s generosity, quits 
 her of her promise; and the necromancer likewise takes nothing 
 for his trouble , : , . : . ; . 
 
 NovEL VI.—Old King Charles, surnamed the Victorious, being in 
 
 love with a young lady, and ashamed afterwards of his folly, 
 marries both her and her sister much to their advantage , ‘ 
 
 NovEL VII.—King Pietro, knowing that a lady was love-sick for 
 
 him, makes her a visit, and marries her to a worthy gentleman; 
 then kissing her forehead, calls himself ever afterwards her knight 
 
 Nove. VIII.—Sophronia, believing herself to be the wife of Gisip- 
 
 pus, is really married to Titus Quintus Fulvius, who carries her 
 to Rome; where Gisippus arrives some time after in great dis- 
 tress, and, thinking himself despised by Titus, confesses himself 
 guilty of a murder, in order to put.an end to his life. Titus 
 recollects him, and to save him, accuses himself; which, when 
 the murderer sees, he delivers himself up as the guilty person, 
 On which account they are all set at liberty by Octavius, and 
 Titus marries Gisippus to his sister, and gives him half his estate 
 
 Nove. [X.—Saladin, disguising himself like a merchant, is gener- 
 
 i 
 
 ously entertained by Signor Torello ; who, going upon an expedi- 
 tion to the Holy Land, allowed his wife a certain time to marry 
 again. In the meantime he is taken prisoner, and being em- 
 ployed to look after the hawks, is known to the Soldan, who 
 shows him great respect. Afterwards Torello falls sick, and is 
 conveyed, by magic art, in one night, to Pavia, at the very time 
 that his wife was to have been married: when he makes himself 
 known to her, and returns with her home , e P . 
 
 NOVEL X.—The Marquis of Saluzzo having been prevailed upon’ by 
 
 his subjects to marry, in order to please himself in the affair, 
 made choice of a countryman’s daughter, by whom he had two 
 children, which he pretended to put todeath. Afterwards, seem- 
 ing as though he was weary of her, and had taken another, he 
 had his own daughter brought home, as if he had espoused her, 
 whilst his wife was sent away in a most distressed condition, At 
 length, being convinced of her patience, he brought her home 
 again, presented her children to her, who were now of consider- 
 able years, and ever afterwards loved and honoured her as his 
 ES a ee re 1 SSN ARS BOS a takers 
 
 € 
 
 xvi 
 
 PAGE 
 
 499 
 
 504 
 
 507 
 
 513 
 
 528 
 
 543 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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AUTHOR'S. INTRODUCTION 
 
 ZO THE LADIES 
 
 WHENEVER I reflect how disposed you are by nature to 
 compassion, I cannot help being apprehensive, lest what I 
 now Offer to your acceptance should seem to have but a 
 melancholy beginning. For it calls to mind the remem- 
 brance of that most fatal plague, so terrible yet in the 
 memories of us all, an account of which is in the front 
 of the book. but be not frightened.too soon, as if you 
 expected to meet with nothing else. ~This beginning, 
 disagreeable as it is, is as a rugged and steep mountain 
 placed before a delightful valley, which appears more 
 beautiful and pleasant, as the way to it was more difficult: 
 for as joy usually ends with sorrow, so again the end of 
 sorrow is joy. To this short fatigue (I call it short, because 
 contained in few words) immediately succeeds the mirth 
 and pleasure I had before promised you; and which, but 
 for that promise, you would scarcely expect to find. And 
 in truth could I have brought you by any other way than 
 this, I would gladly have done it: but as the occasion of 
 the occurrences, of which I am going to treat, could not 
 well be made out without such a relation, I am forced to 
 use this Introduction. 
 
 In the year then of our Lord 1348, there happened at 
 Florence, the finest city in all Italy, a most terrible plague ; 
 which, whether owing to the ‘influence of the planets, or 
 that it was sent from God as a just punishment for our 
 sins, had broken out some years before in the Levant ; and 
 after passing from place to place, and making incredible 
 havoc all the way, had now reached the west; where, spite 
 of all the means that art and human foresight could suggest, 
 
 xX1X 
 
XX INTRODUCTION 
 
 as keeping the city clear from filth, and excluding all sus- 
 pected persons; notwithstanding frequent consultations 
 what else was to be done; nor omitting prayers to God in 
 nae processions: in the spring of the foregoing year, 1t it 
 
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 from the nose is fk fatal prognostic, here there appeared 
 certain tumours in the groin, or under the armpits, some as 
 big as a small apple, others as an egg; and afterwards 
 purple spots in most parts of the body: in some cases large 
 and but few in number, in others less and more numerous, 
 both sorts the usual messengers of death. ve. the cure o of 
 
 in ts “own nature AD or that the physicians ne num- 
 ber of whom, taking quacks and women pretenders into 
 account, was grown very great) could form no just idea of 
 the cause, nor consequently ground a true method of cure; 
 whichever was the reason, few or none escaped; but. they 
 generally died the third day from the first appearance of 
 the symptoms, without a fever or other bad circumstance 
 attending. And the disease, by being communicated from 
 the sick to the well, seemed daily to get ahead, and to rage 
 the more, as fire will do by laying on fresh combustibles. 
 
 _ Nor was it given by conversing with only, or coming near 
 _ the sick, but even by touching their clothes, or, anything 
 _ that they had before touched. It is wonderful what I am 
 going to mention; which, had I not seen it with my own 
 eyes, and were there not.many witnesses to attest it besides 
 myself, I should never venture to relate, however credibly I 
 _ might have been informed about it: such, I say, was the 
 _ quality of the pestilential matter, as to pass not only from 
 man to man, but, what is more strange and has been often 
 known, that anything belonging to the infected, if touched 
 
 _ ‘by any other creature, would certainly infect, and even kill | 
 _ that creature in a short space of time: and one instance 
 of this kind I took particular notice of, namely, that the 
 rags of a poor man just dead, being thrown into the street, 
 
 _ and two hogs coming by at the same time and rooting 
 _ amongst them, and shaking them about in their mouths, in 
 
 zy 
 
 at 
 
 | 
 <a 
 
less than an hour vuiucu sound and aied on: the spot. 
 ihese’ accidents, and others of the like sort, occasioned 
 various fears and devices amongst those people that sur- 
 vived, all tending to the same uncharitable and cruel 
 end; which was to avoid the sick, and everything that had 
 been near them expecting by ‘that’ means to save them- 
 selves. _ And some holding it best to ‘live temperately, 
 and to avoid excesses of all kinds, made parties, and shut 
 themselves up fromthe rest of the world; eating and drink- 
 ing’ moderately of the best, and diverting themselves with 
 music, and such other entertainments as they might have . 
 within doors; never listening to. anything: from without, to 
 make them uneasy. Others maintained free living to be a 
 better preservative, and would baulk no passion or appetite 
 they wished to gratify, drinking: and revelling incessantly 
 from tavern to tavern, or in private houses; which were 
 frequently found deserted by the owners, and therefore 
 common to every one; yet_avoiding, with all this irregu- 
 larity, to.come near the infected. And such at that time 
 
 was the public distress, that the laws, human and divine, 
 were not regarded: for the officers to put ‘them in force, 
 being either dead, sick, or in want of persons to assist them ; 
 
 every one did just as he. pleased. A third sort of people 
 
 chose_a method between these two; not confining them- 
 
 selves to rules of diet like the former, and_yet avoiding the 
 intemperance of the latter; but eating and drinking what. 
 their appetites required, they waiked everywhere with odours 
 and nosegays to smell to; as holding it best to corroborate 
 the brain: for they supposed the: whole atmosphere to be 
 tainted with the stink of dead bodies, arising partly from 
 the distemper itself, and partly from the fermenting of the 
 medicines within them. Others of a’more cruel disposi: 
 tion, as perhaps the more safe to themselves, declared that 
 the only remedy was to avoid it: persuaded, therefore, of 
 this, and taking care for themselves only, men and women 
 in great numbers left the city, their houses, relations, and 
 effects, and fled into the country: as if the wrath of God 
 had been restrained to visit those only within the walls of 
 the city; or else concluding that none ought to stay in a 
 place thus doomed to destruction. Divided as they were, 
 
 . ae 
 
oy a 
 
 xxii INTRODUCTION 
 
 neither did all die nor all escape ; but falling sick indiffer- 
 ently, as well those of one as of another opinion ; they who 
 first set the example by forsaking others, now languished 
 themselves without mercy, I pass over the little regard 
 that citizens and relations showed to each other; for their 
 terror was such that a brother even fled from his brother, a’ 
 wife from her husband, and, what is more uncommon, a 
 parent from its own child.. On which account numbers 
 that fell sick could have no help but what the charity of 
 friends, who were very few, or the avarice of servants 
 supplied ; and even these were scarce, and at extravagant 
 wages, and so little used to the business, that they were fit 
 only to reach what was called for, and observe when they 
 died; and this desire of getting money often cost them their 
 lives. From this desertion of friends, and scarcity of ser- 
 vants, an unheard-of custom prevailed ; no lady, however 
 young or handsome, would disdain being attended by a’ 
 man-servant, whether young or old it mattered not; and to. 
 expose herself naked to him, the necessity of the distemper 
 requiring it, as though it was to a woman; which might 
 make those who recovered less modest for the time to come. 
 And many lost their lives who might have escaped had they 
 
 been looked after at all. So that between the scarcity of 
 servants and violence of the distemper, such numbers were 
 continually dying, as made it terrible to hear as well as 
 to behold. Whence from mere necessity, many customs 
 
 were introduced, different from what had been before known 
 
 inthe city. It had been usual, as it now is, for the women 
 
 who were friends and neighbours to the deceased, to meet 
 together at his house, and to lament with his relations; at 
 
 _ the same time the men would get together at the door, with 
 
 a number of clergy, according to the person’s circum- 
 
 stances ; and the corpse was carried by people of his own 
 rank, with the solemnity of tapers and singing, to that 
 church where the person had desired to be buried; which 
 custom was now laid aside, and, so far from having a crowd 
 of women to lament over them, that_great numbers_passed 
 out_of the world without a-single person: and few had the 
 tears of their friends at their departure; but those friends 
 would laugh, and make themselves merry: for even the 
 
INTRODUCTION xxill 
 
 women had learned to postpone every other concern to that 
 of their own lives. Nor was a corpse attended by mare 
 than ten or a dozen, nor those citizens of credit, but fellows 
 hired for the purpose ; who would put themselves under the. 
 bier, and carry it with all possible haste to the nearest 
 church,; and the corpse was interred, without any great 
 ceremony, where they could find room. 
 
 With regard to the lower sort, and many of middling 
 rank, the scene was still more affecting ; for they staying at 
 home either through poverty, or hopes of succour in dis- 
 tress, fell_sick daily by thousands, and, having nobody to 
 attend them, generally died : some breathed their last in the 
 streets, and others shut up in their own houses, when the 
 stench that came from them made the first discovery of their 
 deaths to the neighbourhood. And, indeed, eyery place was 
 filled with the dead. A method now was taken, as well 
 out of regard to the living, as pity for the dead, for the 
 neighbours, assisted by what porters they could meet with, 
 to clear all the houses, and lay the bodies at the doors; 
 and every morning great numbers might be seen brought 
 out in this manner; from whence they were carried away 
 on biers, or tables, two or three at a time; and sometimes 
 it has happened that a wife and her husband, two or three 
 brothers, and a father and son, have been laid on together: 
 it has been observed also, whilst two or three priests have 
 walked before a corpse with their crucifix, that two or three 
 sets of porters have fallen in with them ; and where they 
 knew but of one, they have buried six, eight, or more: nor 
 
 was_there any to follow and shed a few tears over them; 
 for things were come to that pass, that men’s lives were no 
 
 more regarded than the lives of so many beasts. Hence 
 it plainly appeared, that what the wisest in the ordinary 
 course of things, and by a common train of calamities, 
 could never be taught, namely, to bear them patiently ; this, 
 by the excess of those calamities, was now grown a familiar 
 lesson to the most simple and unthinking. The con- 
 secrated ground no longer containing the numbers which 
 were continually brought thither, especially as they were 
 desirous of laying every one in the parts allotted to their 
 | families ; they were forced to dig trenches and to put them 
 
exiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 in by hundreds, piling them up in rows, as goods are 
 stowed in a ship, and ‘throwing in little earth till they 
 
 were filled to the top. Not to’ rake any farther into the 
 particulars of our misery, I shall observe that it fared no 
 _ better with the adjacent country; for to omit'the different 
 
 castles about us, which presented the same view in miniature 
 
 - with the city, you might see the poor distressed labourers 
 
 with their families, without either the plague or physicians, 
 or help of servants, languishing on the highways, in the 
 
 
 
 fields, and in their own houses, and » dying rather like cattle 
 “than human creatures; and growing dissolute in their 
 manners like the citizens, and careless of everything, as 
 supposing every day’ to be their last, their thoughts were 
 
 not so much employed how to improve as to make use 
 of their substance for their present. support : whence ‘it 
 happened that the flocks, herds, &c., and the dogs them- 
 selves, ever faithful to their masters, being driven from their 
 own homes, would wander, no’ regard being had to them, 
 among the forsaken harvest; and many times, after they 
 had filled themselves in the day, would return of their own 
 accord like’ rational creatures at night. What can I say 
 more, if I return to the city? unless that such was the 
 cruelty of Heaven, and perhaps of men, that between 
 March and July following, it is supposed, and made pretty 
 certain, that upwards of a hundred thousand souls perished 
 in the city only ; whereas, before that calamity, it was not 
 supposed to have contained so many inhabitants. What 
 magnificent dwellings, what noble palaces were then de- 
 populated to the last person! what families extinct! what 
 riches and vast possessions left, and ‘no known heir to 
 inherit! what’ numbers of both sexes in the prime and 
 vigour of youth, whom in the morning’ neither Galen, 
 Hippocrates, nor Aisculapius himself, but would have de- 
 clared in perfect health, after dining heartily with their 
 friends here, have supped with their departed friends in the 
 other world! But I am weary of recounting our late 
 miseries ; therefore, passing by everything that I can well 
 omit, I shall only observe, that the city being left almost — 
 without inhabitants, it happened esday in the even-.. 
 ing as’ I was informed by persons of ‘good credit, that f 
 
 
 
a 
 INTRODUCTION XXV 
 
 seven ladies all in deep mourning, as most proper for that 
 Sree ieet atieoding: D ling Divine service (being the whole 
 congregation), in new St. Mary’s Church: who, as united 
 by the ties either of friendship or relation, and of suitable 
 years; viz., the youngest not less than eighteen, nor the 
 eldest exceeding twenty-eight; so were they all discreet, 
 nobly descended, and perfectly accomplished, both in 
 person and behaviour. I do not mention their names, lest 
 they should be displeased with some things said to have 
 passed in conversation, there being a greater restraint on 
 those diversions now; nor would I give a handle to ill- 
 natured persons, who carp at everything that is praise- 
 worthy, to detract in any way from their modesty by 
 injurious reflections. And that I may relate therefore ail 
 that occurred without confusion, I shall affix names to 
 every one bearing some resemblance to the quality of the 
 person. The eldest then I call Pampinea, the next to her 
 Flammetta, the third Philomena, the fourth Emilia, the fifth 
 Lauretta, the sixth Neiphile, and the youngest Eliza: who 
 being got together by chance rather than any appointment, 
 into a corner of the church, and there seated in a ring; 
 and leaving off their devotions, and falling into some dis- 
 course together concerning the nature of the times; in a 
 little while Pampinea thus began: 
 
 “My dear girls, you have often heard, as well as 
 I, that no one is injured, where we only make an 
 honest use of our own reason: now reason tells us 
 that we are_to preserve our lives by all possible means; 
 and, in some cases, at the expense of the lives of others. 
 And if the laws which regard the good of the community 
 allow this, may not we much rather (and all that mean 
 honestly as we do), without giving offence to any, use 
 the means now in our power for our own preservation? 
 Every moment when I think of what has passed to-day, 
 and every day, I perceive, as you may also, that we are all 
 in pain for ourselves. Nor do I wonder at this; but much 
 rather, as we are women, do I wonder that none of us 
 should look out for a remedy, where we have so much 
 reason to be afraid. We stay here for no other purpose, 
 that I can see, but to observe what numbers come to be. 
 
 \ 
 \ 
 
 } 
 
KXVI INTRODUCTION 
 
 buried, or to listen if the monks, who are now reduced to a 
 very few, sing their services at the proper times, or else to 
 show by our habits the greatness of our distress. And if 
 we go from hence, we are saluted with numbers of the 
 dead and sick carried along the streets; or with persons 
 who had been outlawed for their-villainies, now facing it out 
 publicly, in defiance of the laws. Or we see the scum of 
 the city enriched with the public calamity, and insulting us 
 with reproachful ballads. Nor_is_ anything talked of but 
 that such an one is dead or dying ; and, were any left to 
 mourn, we should hear nothing but lamentations. Or if we 
 go home (I know not whether it fares with you as with 
 myself), when I find out of a numerous family not one left, 
 besides a maid-servant, I am frightened out of my senses ; 
 and go where I will, the ghosts of the departed seem always 
 before; not like the persons whilst they were living, but 
 assuming a ghastly and dreadful aspect. 
 
 “Therefore the case is the same, whether we stay here, 
 depart hence, or go home; especially as there are few wha 
 are able to go, and have a place to go to, left but ourselves. ; 
 And those few, I am told, fall into all sorts of debauchery ; 
 and even the religious and ladies shut up in monasteries, 
 supposing themselves entitled to equal liberties with others, 
 
 
 
 are as bad as the worst. And if. this be so (as you see 
 plainly it is) what do we here? What are we dreaming 
 
 of? Why less regardful of our lives than other people of 
 theirs? Are we of less value to ourselves, or are our souls 
 and bodies more firmly united, and so in less danger of 
 dissolution? ’Tis monstrous to think in such a manner; 
 so many of both sexes dying of this distemper in the very 
 prime of their youth affords us an undeniable argument 
 to the contrary. Wherefore, lest through our own wilful- 
 ness or neglect, this calamity, which might have been 
 prevented, should befall us, I should think it best (and 
 I hope you will join with me) for_us to quit the town, and 
 avoiding, as we would death itself, the bad example of 
 others, to choose some place of retirement, of which every 
 one of us has more than one, where we may make our- 
 selves innocently merry, without offering the least violence 
 to the dictates of reason and our own consciences. There 
 
INTRODUCTION XXVI1i 
 
 will our ears be entertained with the warbling of the birds, 
 and our eyes with the verdure of the hills and valleys; 
 with the waving of corn-fields like the sea itself; with trees 
 of a thousand different kinds, and a more open and serene 
 sky? which, however overcast, yet affords a far more agree- 
 able prospect than these desolate walls. The air also is 
 pleasanter, and there is greater plenty of everything, at- 
 tended with fewer inconveniences: for, though people die 
 there as well as here, yet we shall have fewer such objects 
 before us, as the inhabitants are less in number; and on 
 the other part, if I judge right, we desert nobody, but are 
 rather ourselves forsaken. or all our friends, either by 
 death, or endeavouring to ‘avoid it, have left us, as if we 
 in no way belonged to them. As no blame then can ensue 
 by following this advice, and perhaps sickness and death by 
 not doing so, I would have us take our maids, and every- 
 thing we may be supposed to want, and to remove every 
 day to a different place, takin all the diversions in the 
 meantime which the seasons will permit ; and there con- 
 tinue, unless death should interpose, till we see what end 
 Providence designs for these things. And this I remind 
 you of, that your character will stand as fair by our going 
 away reputably, as the characters of others will do, who stay 
 at home with discredit.” 
 
 The ladies having heard what Pampinea had to offer, not 
 only approved of it, but were going to concert measures for 
 their departure, when Philomena, who was a most discreet 
 person, made answer: “Though Pampinea has spoken 
 well, yet there_is no occasion to run hand over head into 
 it, as you are about to do. We are but women, nor is any 
 of us so ignorant not to know how little able we shall be 
 to conduct such an affair, without some man to help _us. 
 We are naturally fickle, obstinate, suspicious, and fearful ; 
 and I doubt much, unless we take somebody into our 
 scheme to manage it for us, lest it soon be at an end; and 
 perhaps, little to our reputation. Let us provide against 
 this, therefore, before we begin.” 
 
 ' Eliza then replied: “It is true, man 1s the head of a 
 woman, and without his management it seldom happens 
 that any undertaking of ours succeeds well. But how are 
 
te 
 
 XXVill INTRODUCTION 
 
 these men to be come-at? We all know that the greatest 
 part of our male acquaintance are dead, and the rest all 
 dispersed abroad, avoiding what we seek to avoid, and 
 without our knowing where to find them. And to take 
 strangers with us, would not be altogether so proper; for, 
 whilst we have regard to our health, we should so contrive 
 matters that, wherever we go to repose and divert ourselves, 
 no scandal may ensue from it.” Whilst this was debated, 
 behold, three gentlemen came into the church, the youngest 
 not less than twenty-five years of age, and in whom neither 
 the adversity of the times, the loss of relations and friends, 
 nor even fear for themselves, could stifle, or indeed cool, 
 the passion of love. One was called Pamphilus, the second 
 Philostratus, and the third Dioneus, all of them well bred, 
 and pleasant companions; and who, to divert themselves 
 in this time of affliction, were then in ,pursuit of their 
 mistresses, who by chance were three of these seven ladies, 
 and “the other four all related to one or other of them. 
 These gentlemen were no sooner within view, but the ladies 
 had immediately their eyes upon them ; and Pampinea said, 
 with a smile, ‘See, fortune is with us, and has thrown in 
 our way three prudent and worthy gentlemen, who will 
 conduct.and wait upon us, if we think fit to accept of their 
 service.” Neiphile, with a blush, because she was one that 
 had an admirer, answered: ‘Take care what you say; I 
 know them all indeed to be persons of character, and fit to 
 be trusted, even in affairs of more consequence, and in 
 better company; but, as some of them are enamoured of 
 certain ladies here, I am only concerned lest we be drawn 
 into some scrape or scandal, without either our fault or 
 theirs.” Philomena replied: ‘‘ Never tell me, so_long as I 
 know myself _to be virtuous, what other péople think ; 
 God and the truth will be amay: delete 7 aaa iain aie 
 willing to go, we will say with Pampinea, that fortune is 
 with us.” The rest hearing her speak in this manner, gave 
 consent that they should be called, and invited to partake 
 in this expedition. And, without more words, Pampinea, 
 related to one of the three, rose up, and made towards 
 them, who were standing at a distance, attentive to what 
 passed, and, after a cheerful salutation, acquainted them with 
 
 4 
 hi 
 Ay 
 
INTRODUCTION Xxix 
 
 their design, and entreated that they would, out of pure 
 friendship, oblige them with their company. The gentle- 
 men at first took it all for a jest; but, being assured to 
 the contrary, immediately answered that they-were ready ; 
 and to lose no time, gave the necessary orders for what 
 they would have done. Everything being thus prepared, 
 and a messenger despatched before, whither they intended: 
 to go, the next morning, which was Wednesday, by break 
 of day, the ladies, with some of their women, and the 
 gentlemen, with every one his servant, set_out fromthe 
 city, and, after they had travelled two short miles, came to 
 the place appointed. It was a little eminence, remote 
 from any great road, covered with trees and plants of an 
 agreeable verdure, on the top of which was a stately palace, 
 with a grand and beautiful court in the middle; within 
 were galleries, and fine apartments elegantly fitted up, and 
 adorned with most curious paintings; around it were fine 
 meadows, and most delightful gardens, with fountains of the 
 purest and best water. The vaults also were stored with 
 the richest wines, suited rather to the taste of debauchees, 
 than of modest and virtuous ladies. This palace they 
 found cleared out, and everything set in order for their 
 reception, with the rooms all graced with the flowers of the 
 season, to their great satisfaction. Being seated, Dioneus, 
 who was the pleasantest of them all, and full of words, 
 began: “Your wisdom it is, ladies, rather than any fore- 
 sight of ours, which has brought us hither. I know not 
 how you have disposed of your cares; as for mine I left 
 _ them all behind me when I came from home. Either 
 prepare, then, to be as merry as myself (I mean with 
 decency), or give me leave to go back again, and resume 
 my cares where I left them.” To whom Pampinea, as if 
 she had disposed of hers in like manner, answered: ‘*You 
 say right, sir, we will be merry; we fled from our troubles 
 for no other reason. But, as extremes are never likely to 
 last, I who first proposed the means by which such an 
 agreeable set of company is now got together, and being 
 desirous to make our mirth of some continuance, find there 
 is a~ necessity for our appointing a principal, whom we 
 _ should Sake kndiobey ae al things as our head ; whose 
 
 pl ht 
 
ane INTRODUCTION 
 
 province it shall be to regulate our diversions. And thai 
 | every one may make trial of the burthen which attends 
 care, as well as the pleasure which there is in superiority, 
 nor, therefore, envy what he hath not yet tried, I hold it 
 _best that every one should experience-both the. trouble and 
 5 the honour for one day. The_first-to-be-eleeted—by-us-all, 
 ; parid who on. the approach of the evening, shall _name_a 
 _person_to_succeed_for the. penny ce ; who, during the 
 time _of_ their government, are to 
 the place where, and the—manner howiiainrel soloed 
 _ These words gave a general satisfaction, and they named 
 _ her, with one consent, for the first-day : whilst Philomena, 
 - running to a laurel tree, as having often heard how much 
 | that tree had always been esteemed, and what honour was 
 | conferred on those who were deservedly crowned with it, 
 made a garland, and put it upon her head, which whilst 
 _ the company continued together, was hereafter to be the 
 ensign of sovereignty. 
 _ Pampinea, thus elected queen, enjoined silence, and 
 _ having summoned the gentlemen’s servants, and their own 
 _ women, who were four in number, before her: “To give 
 you the first example,” said she, ‘‘how, by proceeding from 
 good to better, we may live orderly and_pleasantly, and 
 continue together, without the least reproach, as long as 
 _ we please: in the first place I declare Parme 
 servant, master of my household, and to him I commit the 
 care_of. my family, and -everything relating tomy hall. 
 Siriscus, Pamphilus’s servant, I appoint my treasurer, and 
 to be under the direction. of Parmeno; and Tindarus I 
 command to wait on Philostratus and the other two gentle- 
 men, whilst their servants are thus employed. Mysia, my 
 woman, and Licisca, Philomena’s, I order into the kitchen, © 
 there to get ready what shall be provided by Parmeno. 
 To Chimera, Lauretta’s, and Stratilia, Flammetta’s, I give 
 the care of the ladies’ chambers, and to keep the room 
 clean where we sit. And ‘I will and command you all, 
 n pain of my displeasure, that wherever you go, or what- 
 ver you hear and see, you bring me no news here but 
 ‘at is good.” These orders were approved by them all; 
 ‘she, tising from her seat, with a good deal of gaiety, 
 
 | 
 
 
 
INTRODUCTION KXxxi 
 
 added, “Here are gardens and meadows, where you may 
 divert yourselves till three o’clock, when I shall expect you 
 back, that we may dine in the cool of the day.” 
 
 The company were now at liberty, and the gentlemen 
 and ladies took a pleasant walk in the garden, talking over 
 a thousand merry things by the way, and diverting them- 
 selves there by singing love-songs, and weaving garlands 
 of flowers, and returned at the time appointed, when they 
 found Parmeno busy in the execution of his office: for in 
 a saloon below was the table set forth, covered with the 
 neatest linen, with glasses reflecting a lustre like silver; and 
 having washed their hands, by the queen’s order, Parmeno 
 desired them to sit down. ‘The dishes now were served up 
 in the most elegant manner, and the best wines brought in, 
 the servants waiting all the time with the most profound 
 silence: and, being well pleased with their entertainment, 
 they dined with all the facetiousness and mirth imaginable. 
 When dinner was over, as they could all dance, and some 
 both play and sing well, the queen ordered in the musical 
 instruments, and commanding Dioneus to take a lute, and 
 Flammetta a viol, they struck up a dance, and the queen, 
 with the rest of the company, took an agreeable turn or 
 two, whilst the servants were sent to dinner; and when the 
 dance was ended, they began to-sing, and continued till the 
 queen thought it time to break up. Her permission being 
 given, the gentlemen retired to their chambers, remote 
 from the ladies’ lodging rooms, and the ladies did the 
 same, and undressed themselves for bed. 
 
 It was no sooner nine, than the queen arose, and ordered 
 all to be called, alleging, that much sleep in the day-time 
 was unwholesome ; and they went into a meadow of deep 
 grass, where the sun had little power; and having the 
 benefit of a pleasant breeze, they sat down in a circle, as 
 the queen had commanded, who spoke in this manner :— 
 “As the sun is high, and the heat excessive, and nothing 
 is to be heard but the chirping of the grasshoppers among the 
 olives, it woud be madness for us to think-of moving yet 
 this is an airy place, and here are chess-boards and gam- 
 mon-tables to divert yourselves with; but if you are ruled 
 by me, you will not play at all, since it often makes one 
 
XxXii INTRODUCTION 
 
 party uneasy, without any great pleasure to the other, or 
 to the looker-on ; but let us begin and tell stories, and_in 
 this manner one person will entertain the whole company ; 
 and by the time it has gone round, the worst part of the 
 day will be over, and then we can divert ourselves as we 
 like best. If this be agreeable to you, then, for I wait to 
 know your pleasure, let us begin; if not, you are at your 
 own disposal till the evening.” This motion was approved 
 by all; whilst the queen continued, ‘‘ Let every one for 
 this first day take what subject he fancies most:” and 
 turning to Pamphilus, who sat on her right hand, bade 
 him begin ; who, in ready obedience to her commands, and 
 being well heard, spoke to this effect. 
 
THE DECAMERON 
 
 THE FIRST DAY 
 ere I 
 
 Chappelet imposes upon the priest by a sham confession, and dies ; and 
 although a very wicked fellow, was afterwards reputed a saint ; 
 and called St. Chappelet. 
 
 LaDIES, it is most meet and right, that everything we do 
 should be-begun in the name of Him who is the Maker of 
 all things. Therefore, as I am to entertain you first, I 
 ‘shall make choice of a very extraordinary instance, which 
 may direct us to place all our hopes in Him, as the only 
 unchangeable being, and evermore to praise Him. Certain 
 it is, that all earthly things are transitory and mortal; 
 attended with great troubles, and subject to infinite dangers, 
 which we who live embroiled with them, and are even part 
 of them, could neither endure, nor find a remedy for, were 
 it not for the especial grace of God that enables us: which 
 blessing we are not to expect through our own merits, but 
 His goodness, and the intercession of those saints who, 
 having been once mortal men like ourselves, and done His 
 will whilst on earth, now enjoy happiness and immortality 
 in heaven; to whom, as to fit agents, informed of our 
 frailties by their own experience, and not daring, perhaps, 
 immediately to address ourselves to so great a Judge, we 
 offer up our prayers for what we want. And we find His 
 mercy the greater, as, not being able to pry into the secrets 
 of His divine will, we may sometimes make choice of a 
 mediator before Him, who is banished eternally from His 
 A 
 
2 THE DECAMERON 
 
 presence: and yet He from whom nothing is hidden, having 
 regard to the purity of the supplicant, rather than to his 
 ignorance, or the situation of the person to whom he applies 
 himself, hears those who pray in this manner, as if that 
 person were really a saint: which will most plainly appear 
 from the following story; I say most plainly, not consider- 
 ing the judgment of God, but that of man. 
 
 There lived in France a person whose name was 
 Musciat; who, from a wealthy merchant, became a 
 courtier, and went into Tuscany with Charles, surnamed 
 Lackland, brother to the King of France, who was 
 instigated to that expedition by Pope Boniface. This 
 gentleman, finding his affairs considerably perplexed, and 
 lying, as is usual to persons in trade, in abundance of 
 hands; nor being able to right them himself, without a 
 good deal of time and trouble, resolved to entrust them 
 _with several people; and settled everything to his mind, 
 excepting some debts which were standing out from persons 
 living in Burgundy.. The reason was, he had found them 
 to be a set of perverse, ill-conditioned, rascally fellows, and 
 he could not for his life conceive, where a man might be 
 met with bad enough to match them : after much thinking 
 about it, he at last called to mind one Ciapperello da 
 Prato, who used to come much to his house at Paris; 
 and being a= little pragmatical fellow, the French, not 
 knowing the meaning of his true name, but thinking him 
 to have been called Cappello, gave him the diminutive 
 name of Ciappelletto, or Chappelet, by which he was 
 generally known there. | 
 
 Now the character of the man was this: Being by trade 
 a scrivener, he was really ashamed if any writings of his 
 (he did not draw many indeed) were found without some 
 fault, or flaw ; and would do that sort of work for nothing 
 with more pleasure than a just thing that he was to be well 
 paid for. He was glad at all times of being a false witness, 
 whether it was required of him or not: and as great regard 
 was had to an oath in France, he, who made: no scruple to 
 forswear himself on every occasion, was sure of every cause 
 that depended on his single testimony. ‘To foment quarrels 
 and disputes was his utmost pleasure, especially amongst 
 
FIRST DAY 3 
 
 friends or relations ; and the more mischief he occasioned, 
 the greater was his satisfaction. Was a man to be dis: 
 patched at any time; he was the person to undertake it, 
 and would do it with his own hands. He was a great 
 blasphemer of God and His saints, swearing and cursing 
 on every occasion. He went to church at no time, but 
 spoke always of the holy sacraments in the same abomin- 
 able terms, as he would do of’the vilest things in the 
 world; on the contrary, he was eternally at taverns, and 
 ag of bad repute. Of women he was as fond as a dog 
 s of a stick; but to unnatural’ vice, no wretch so aban- 
 doned as himself. He would pilfer and steal with as much 
 conscience as others give to charity. He was a glutton 
 and drunkard to the ruin of his constitution. He was also 
 a most notorious gamester ; making use always of false dice. 
 And, to sum up his character in few words, perhaps his 
 ‘equal in wickedness has not yet been born. Yet, bad as 
 he was, he had all along been screened by the favour and 
 interest of Musciat, as well from the resentment of private 
 persons, whom he had often injured, as from that of the — 
 court, to which he gave daily provocation. 
 
 This man coming into Musciat’s thoughts at last, who 
 was no Stranger to every part of his life, he concluded him 
 to be such an one as the tempers of the people he had to 
 deal with required ; and sending for him, he addressed him 
 thus : 
 
 ** Master Chappelet, you know that I am about to leave 
 this country, and as I have affairs to settle with some 
 people of Burgundy, who are full of quirks and deceit, I do 
 not know any one that I can employ so fit to manage them 
 as yourself: you have a good deal of spare time, and if you 
 will undertake it, I will procure you recommendatory letters 
 from court, and allow you a reasonable part of what you 
 recover.” 
 
 Chappelet, who found himself much embarrassed in the 
 world, and likely to be more so when his great friend was 
 gone, without hesitating at all about it, answered that he 
 was willing.» They agreed upon terms; Musciat gave him 
 a deputation, and procuring him the letters he had pro- 
 mised, he set out for Burgundy; where, being quite a 
 
4 THE DECAMERON 
 
 stranger, he endeavoured, contrary to his former manner, 
 to do the business he came about by fair means ; reserving 
 a different behaviour to the last. He lodged with two 
 brothers; who were usurers; and they entertained him 
 well on Musciat’s account ; and falling sick there, they had 
 physicians to him, and servants to attend him; nor was 
 anything omitted that cou:d be of service, but all .in 
 vain; for this worthy good man, who was advanced’ in 
 years, and had been also an irregular liver, grew worse and 
 worse in the judgment of the physicians; so that he was 
 looked upon as a dead man; at which the brothers were 
 greatly concerned. And one day, being near the chamber 
 where he lay, they began to have some talk together about 
 it; and one said to the other : 
 
 ‘‘What shall we do with this fellow? We have a fine 
 affair upon our hands, by means of his wickedness. For 
 to turn him out in this condition would afford matter for 
 reproach, and also be a proof of our want of understand- 
 ing; the people seeing us receive him before into our 
 ' house, and supply him with physic, and all things necessary; 
 and now send him out whilst he is dying, without his 
 having been able to do anything that we ought to be 
 offended at.—And on the other hand, he has been such 
 a vile fellow always, that he will never be brought to con- 
 fess, and to receive the sacraments of the Church; and 
 should he die without them, no church will receive his 
 body ; but he must be put into the ground like a.dog. Or 
 should he confess, his sins will appear so enormous, that 
 the like were never known: nor can any priest be found 
 that will give him absolution: and without that he must 
 still be thrown into a ditch. And should this happen, the 
 people of this country, who think ours an iniquitous trade, 
 and are daily reviling us, would be apt to raise a mutiny, 
 and declare publicly, that they will no longer bear with these 
 Lombards, these extortioning villains, whom the Church 
 disdains to receive into her bosom; and make that a pre- 
 tence to plunder us of all we are worth, and abuse our 
 persons into the bargain; so that it will be bad for us on 
 all sides, should this man die.” 
 
 Chappelet, whom we observed not to lie far off, heard all 
 
FIRST DAY 5 
 
 this, as sick people are often quick of hearing, and calling 
 them to him he said: 
 
 ‘‘T would have you be in-no doubts or fears of harm to 
 yourselves'on my account. I have heard what you have 
 been talking about, and am confident the thing would 
 happen as you say, were everything to be as you suppose ; 
 but I will take care that it shall happen otherwise: I have 
 been guilty of so much wickedness, in my lifetime, that to 
 add one sin at my death, will not make the sum much 
 greater: therefore send out for the most able and religious 
 priest you know of, if a religious one can be found, and I 
 will take such care of your affairs, as well as of my own, 
 that you shall have reason to be satisfied.” 
 
 . The brothers. expected no great matters from this; but 
 went however to a convent, and desired that some learned 
 and holy person would come, and take the confession of a 
 Lombard, who was sick in their house. Accordingly, a 
 venerable old friar, of great sanctity and learning, and much 
 reverenced by the whole city, was ordered to go with them; 
 who being come into the room, and seated by the sick 
 man’s bed-side, began, after some heavenly consolations, to 
 inquire of him, how long it was since he had last confessed. 
 To whom Chappelet, who had never confessed in his whole 
 life, answered : » 
 
 “Holy father, it has been usual with me always to 
 confess once a: week at least; and sometimes oftener ; 
 but it is true, since I have been sick, my affliction has 
 been such, that I have not confessed at all.” 
 
 The friar replied: ‘“‘Son, it is well, thus you should 
 always: do; and I perceive, as you have confessed so 
 often, that I shall have but little trouble, either in hearing 
 or asking you questions.” 
 
 » Good» father; do not say so,” cried Chappelet: ‘I 
 have never so often confessed, but that I would always 
 mention every sin that I could recollect from the hour 
 Iwas born. Therefore I beg you would examine me 
 as particularly as if 1 had never confessed at all; and do 
 not regard: my languishing condition; for I had much 
 rather do what may disoblige the flesh, than, by consult- 
 ing the ease of my body, bring damnation on my soul, 
 
 ( 
 | 
 
6 THE DECAMERON 
 
 which my Saviour has: purchased with His most precious 
 blood.” 
 
 The good old man was ravished with these expressions, 
 esteeming them. proofs of a well-disposed mind; and 
 having commended his piety, he asked him whether he 
 had ever offended God by the knowledge of women. To 
 whom Chappelet, fetching a deep sigh, replied: 
 
 *‘I. am ashamed to speak the truth, lest I should be 
 thought to offend by vain-glory.” 
 
 “Speak out boldly,” said the priest, ‘ for there can be 
 no harm in telling truth, whether at confession or any 
 other time.” 
 
 ‘Since you make me: easy in this,” quoth Chappelet, 
 “T will speak out; I am as pure, in that respect, as when 
 I first came into the world.” | 
 
 ‘God bless you, my son,” said the friar, “you have done 
 well; and this is so much the more meritorious, as you 
 have liberties far beyond us, of doing otherwise:” and 
 he added, ‘‘but were you never given to gluttony?” 
 
 Chappelet answered with a groan: 
 
 “Yes, very often; for besides fasting in Lent, as all 
 devout persons do, I have accustomed myself to live 
 three days in a week at least on bread and water; and 
 I have drunk the water sometimes, especially if I have 
 been fatigued with praying, or performing a pilgrimage, 
 with as much pleasure as drunkards drink wine; and 
 sometimes I have wished for salads, and have eat my 
 bread with more pleasure than a person ought, who fasts 
 out of devotion. 4 
 
 ““My son,” replied the friar, “these are very natural 
 and trivial crimes, and I would not. have you burthen 
 your conscience more than is necessary: every one, be 
 he ever so holy, eats with a good appetite ‘after. fasting, 
 and drinks with pleasure when he has been fatigued.” 
 
 “Do not tell me these things to comfort me only,” 
 said Chappelet, “you know I cannot be ignorant, that 
 whatever relates to the service of God should be done 
 sincerely, and with a good will, otherwise we are guilty 
 of sin” 
 
 “T am well satisfied,” returned the friar, “in your 
 
FIRST DAY " 
 
 being of that opinion, and much approve the purity of 
 your conscience: but tell me, have you not been guilty 
 of the sin of covetousness, desiring more than was fit, or 
 detaining what was not your due?” 
 
 “J would not have you think so,” said Chappelet, 
 “because you see me in the house with these usurers: 
 I have no ‘concern with them, but came purely to per 
 suade them to leave off that abominable way of living ; 
 and believe I might have prevailed, had it not pleased 
 God to visit me in this manner. My father left me a 
 plentiful fortune, and’ I immediately disposed of the 
 greater part of it to religious uses; and betook myself 
 to trade for a maintenance, and to have it in my power 
 to relieve the poor in Christ: I cannot say indeed that 
 I have not been desirous of gain; but I always gave 
 half to the poor, and kept the other part for my own 
 necessary occasions; and God hath so far blessed me, 
 that my affairs have always prospered.” 
 
 ‘“You have done well,” said the confessor: ‘‘but have 
 you not been often transported with anger and passion?” 
 
 ‘Very often truly!” answered the penitent, ‘but who ' 
 can forbear, seeing the common degeneracy of mankind, 
 who are every day breaking the commandments of God, 
 and are not kept in awe by His judgments? I could 
 rather choose to be out of the world, than to see youth 
 run after vanity, swear and forswear, haunt taverns, neglect 
 going to church, and follow the ways of the world before 
 those of God.” 
 
 “My son,” said the friar, ‘passion here is commend- 
 able; nor shall I enjoin you any penance for it: but 
 have you been transported by rage at no time, to 
 murder, or use indecent expressions, or to do any other 
 injury ?” 
 
 “Alas, sir!” answered Chappelet, “‘how can you, who 
 appear to be so good a man, mention any suchthing? Do 
 you believe, had I ever entertained such thoughts, that 
 God would have suffered me to live? These are the 
 actions of robbers and villains, whom I never look upou 
 without offering up a prayer to God for their conversion.” 
 
 “‘God bless thee again, my dear child,” said the good 
 
8 THE DECAMERON 
 
 old man; ‘but have you never borne false witness against, 
 or spoken ill of another, or taken AWAY that from him 
 which properly belonged to him ?” 
 
 *‘'Yes, reverend father,” answered he, “ “] must needs 
 confess I have spoken ill of another, for I had once a 
 neighbour, who used to beat his wife without cause; and I 
 gave him a bad character to her parents; so much did I 
 pity the poor woman, who was always ill treated by him, as 
 often as he got drunk.” 
 
 “But,” said the friar, “you tell me you have been a 
 merchant, did you never cheat any person, as is common 
 for them to do?” 
 
 ‘‘ Yes, in good truth, sir,” he replied, ‘but I know only 
 of one person, who, having brought the money for a piece 
 of cloth which I had sold him, I put it into a bag without 
 counting it, and at the month’s end, when I came to tell it 
 over, I found fourpence too much; but as I was not able 
 to find the owner again, after keeping it a year, I gave it to 
 the poor.” 
 
 “This is a mere trifle,” said the friar, ‘and you did well 
 to dispose of it in that manner.’ 
 
 He then put some other questions to him, which Chap- 
 pelet answered as he had done the rest; and just as he 
 was proceeding to absolution, Chappelet cried out, 
 
 ‘There is another thing hangs upon me, which I have 
 not confessed.” 
 
 The priest inquired what that was; and he answered, 
 
 ‘‘ T remember once making my maid clean the house on 
 a holiday; and I have not showed that regards for the 
 Lord’s day which I ought.” 
 
 “Oh!” said the friar, ‘that is a small matter, my son.” 
 
 “Do not call it so, dear father,” quoth the other, 
 ‘Sunday is a day much to be reverenced, being the day on 
 which our Lord rose from the dead.” | 
 
 “Then,” said the priest, ‘‘is there anything more?” 
 
 ‘“‘Ves,” answered. he, ‘‘I remember, once in my life, to 
 have spit in the house of God.” 
 
 The friar smiled, and said, ‘‘ My son, that is not to be 
 regarded ; we ourselves spit there every day.” 
 
 “ And you are much to blame for it,” returned he, “for 
 
FIRST DAY 9 
 
 nothing should be kept so clean as the temple of God, 
 where we offer sacrifice.” In short, he told him many 
 more things of that kind, and at last, as he could weep 
 when he pleased, he fell groaning and sobbing, as though 
 he would burst his very heart. 
 
 «Son, what is the matter?” said the friar. 
 
 He answered, ‘*‘ Alas, sir! there is one sin left behind, 
 which I could never endure to confess, the shame to 
 mention it is so great, and which, as often as I recollect, I 
 lament in the manner you now see; nay, I am convinced 
 that God will never forgive it.” 
 
 **Go, go, my son,” quoth the friar, “what is that you 
 say? I tell you, that if all the wickedness that ever was 
 committed by man, or can be committed whilst the world 
 endures, was to be amassed in one person, if that person 
 was thoroughly penitent, as I see you are, so great is God’s 
 mercy, that upon confession, it would all be forgiven him ; 
 — tell me then what it is.” 
 
 ‘‘ Alas! father,” said Chappelet, shedding abundance of 
 tears, “‘my sin is so heinous, that I despair altogether of 
 pardon, unless you assist me, and move God by your 
 prayers.” 
 
 ‘Speak out, then,” said the friar, “‘and I promise to 
 intercede for you.” 
 
 Chappelet yet kept weeping, and would say. nothing ; 
 the priest exhorting him all the while to clear his con- 
 science ; and after he had held him some time in suspense, 
 he fetched a deep sigh,.and said, 
 
 ** Since you have promised to pray for me, I will disclose 
 it: you must know then, that when I was a child, I once 
 cursed my mother ;” and here he began to lament afresh 
 in a most grievous manner. 
 
 ___ & My good son,” said the friar, ‘‘ does this seem so great 
 asin? Men are cursing God every day, yet He pardons 
 them upon repentance; and do you think you shall never 
 _be forgiven? Weep not; but let this be your comfort, 
 that though you had even a hand in nailing Christ upon 
 the cross, yet would that sin be forgiven on such a repent- 
 
 ance as yours.” 3 
 **What do you say?” quoth Chappelet; “what! to curse 
 
 A2 
 
10 THE DECAMERON 
 
 my dearest mother, who bore me day and night in her womb 
 for nine months, and suckled me many hundreds of times at 
 her breast! No, the sin is so great, that I must inevitably 
 perish, unless your prayers prevent it.” . 
 
 The friar, finding he had no more to say, absolved and 
 gave him his benediction; and, supposing that he spoke 
 truth all the while, thought him the most pious man living. 
 And, indeed, who could think otherwise, having it all from 
 a dying man? He afterwards said to him, ‘ Monsieur 
 Chappelet, by God’s assistance you will soon recover; but 
 if it should please the Almighty to take your blessed and 
 well-disposed soul unto Himself, will you give leave for your 
 body to be buried in our convent ?” 
 
 **T would have it laid nowhere else,” answered he, ‘‘ both 
 because you have promised to pray for me, and as I have 
 always had a great regard for your order; therefore, when 
 you go home I beg you would take care that the real body 
 of our Lord, which was consecrated at your altar this morn- 
 ing, may be brought to me; for, unworthy as I am, I intend, 
 with your leave, to receive it, and after that extreme unction ; 
 so that though I have been a great sinner all my life, I may 
 die at least like a Christian.” 
 
 The holy man was much pleased, and told him that he 
 said well, and promised that it should be brought that day ; 
 and so it was. 
 
 The brothers being a little suspicious that he intended to 
 impose upon them, had posted themselves behind a parti- 
 tion of the room, where they heard all that passed ; inso- 
 much that they could scarcely refrain from lagi 3 and 
 said one to the other, 
 
 “What a strange fellow this is! whom neither age, sick- 
 ness, fear of death, which is at hand, nor of God, at whose 
 tribunal he must shortly appear, are sufficient to deter from 
 his wicked courses, or to prevent his dying as he has always 
 lived!” But as he had obtained burial in the church by 
 that means, they cared no farther. He then received the 
 sacrament, and, growing worse and worse, had extreme 
 unction, and died the evening that he had made this extra- 
 ordinary confession. The brothers took immediate care 
 that he should be honourably interred, and sent forthwith 
 
FIRST DAY II 
 
 to the convent to desire they would come, as was usual, and 
 perform vigils and matins for the deceased: and the priest, 
 to whom he had confessed, went, upon this notice, to the 
 prior, and had a chapter called, when he informed them 
 how holy a person Chappelet was, as he could easily perceive 
 by his confession: and hoping that God would work many 
 miracles by him, he persuaded them to receive his body 
 with all due reverence and devotion; to which the prior 
 and the credulous brotherhood’ all consented, and that 
 night they came in a body to the place where the corpse 
 lay, and sang the great and solemn vigils; and in the morn- 
 ing they all went in their hoods and surplices, with books in 
 _ their hands, and the cross carried before them for the body, 
 singing all the way; and they brought it with the utmost 
 solemnity to their church, being followed by the whole city : 
 and having set it down there, the good confessor mounted 
 _ the pulpit, and told them wonderful things concerning his 
 _ life, fastings, chastity, simplicity, innocence, and sanctity ; 
 speaking more particularly of that great crime, which he had 
 confessed with so much concern, as scarcely to be persuaded 
 that God would forgive him. And from thence he took 
 occasion to reprimand his audience in this manner: “ Yet 
 you, wicked as you are, make no scruple to curse God, the 
 holy mother of God, and all the host of heaven, for the 
 least trifle.” He flourished much concerning his truth and 
 purity; and worked so far upon them by his discourse, to 
 which all yielded an implicit faith, that when the service 
 was ended they pressed forward to kiss the deceased’s 
 hands and feet; and the funeral clothes were immediately 
 rent to pieces, every one thinking himself happy who could 
 get a single rag. All that day he was kept, so that every 
 one might see and visit him ; and at night most honourably 
 interred in a marble sepulchre: and on the following day 
 was a great procession of devout persons, to worship at his 
 shrine with lighted tapers, and to offer the waxen images 
 which they had vowed. And such was the fame of his 
 sanctity, and the people’s devotion towards him, that 
 nobody in time of trouble would apply themselves to any 
 other saint but him, calling him St. Chappelet, and affirm- 
 ing, that God had wrought many miracles by him, and still 
 
12 THE DECAMERON 
 
 continued to work for such as recommended themselves 
 devoutly to him. 
 
 Thus lived and died master Ciapperello da: Prato, and 
 became a saint as you have heard, of whom I will not say 
 but he may be happy ; for though his whole life could not 
 be worse, it is not impossible, but, before the hour of his 
 death, he might be such a penitent, that God should have 
 mercy on him, and receive him into His kingdom. But as 
 this we know nothing of, we have much more reason, from 
 what appears, to conclude that he is more likely in the 
 hands of the devil in purgatory, than amongst the angels in 
 Paradise. And if it be so, great is God’s mercy towards 
 us; who, not regarding our errors, but the purity of our 
 intention, whenever we make choice of an improper medi- 
 ator, hears us as well as if we had applied ourselves to one 
 truly a saint. And therefore, that His grace may preserve 
 us in our present calamity, and in this cheerful and agree- 
 able society, let us praise His name, as we first began; re- 
 commending ourselves to Him in time of need, with a full 
 assurance of being always heard. 
 
 NOVEL II 
 
 Abraham the Jew, at the instigation of Jeannot de Chivigni, goes to the 
 court of Rome, and seeing the wickedness of the clergy there, returns 
 to Paris, and becomes a Christian. 
 
 SomE parts of Pamphilus's story made them laugh heartily ; 
 and the whole was much commended by the ladies, who had 
 been very attentive; and, as it was now ended, the queen 
 ordered Neiphile, in the next seat to her, to go on in the 
 method she had prescribed, who, being as affable in be- 
 haviour as her person was beautiful, very cheerfully answered 
 that she was willing, and began in this manner :— 
 Pamphilus has showed us, in his novel, the great goodness 
 of God in not regarding any errors of ours, which proceed 
 from the blindness and imperfection of our nature. And I 
 intend to set forth in mine, how the same goodness of God 
 (by bearing with the vices of those persons, who, though — 
 
 Aah Ss a ae 
 
FIRST DAY 13 
 
 obliged to give testimony both in their words and actions 
 concerning it, yet do the reverse) displays itself in the most _ 
 plain and evident manner ; whence we may be taught more 
 steadily to persevere in what we believe. 
 
 At Paris there lived, as I have been told, a great merchant, 
 and a worthy person, called Jeannot de Chivigni, a dealer 
 in silk, and an intimate friend to a certain rich Jew, whose 
 name was Abraham, a merchant also, and a very honest 
 man; and Jeannot, being no stranger to his good and 
 upright intentions, was greatly troubled that the soul of so 
 wise and well-meaning a person should perish through his 
 unbelief. He began, therefore, in the most friendly manner, 
 to entreat him to renounce the errors of Judaism, and em- 
 brace the truth of Christianity, which he might ‘plainly see, 
 as the most wise and holy institution, daily to gain ground, 
 and flourish more and more, whereas their religion was 
 dwindling to nothing. The Jew answered, that he esteemed 
 no religion like his own ; that he was born in it, and in it he 
 intended to live and die; nor could anything make him alter 
 his resolution. Notwithstanding this, Jeannot began, in a 
 few days, with the same arguments over again, setting forth, 
 in as awkward a manner as a merchant must be supposed to 
 do, for what reasons our religion ought to be preferred: and 
 though the Jew was well read in their law, yet, whether it 
 was his regard to the man, or that Jeannot had the spirit of 
 God upon his tongue, he began to be greatly pleased with 
 his arguments; but continued obstinate, nevertheless, in his 
 opinion, nor would suffer himself to be converted. Jeannot 
 continued his most earnest solicitations, insomuch that the 
 
 Jew, overcome at last by them, said: ‘‘I perceive, /e:nnot, 
 you are very desirous I should become a Chri I am 
 willing to do as you would have me, but first I ave » mind 
 to go to Rome, to see him whom you call Gc car on 
 earth, and to consider his ways a little, and ‘ose of -his 
 brother cardinals ; and if they appear in such < to me 
 that I may be able to comprehend by them, oy what 
 you have said, that your religion is better than 6, as you 
 would persuade me, I will then do as I said © >erwise I 
 _ will continue a Jewas Iam.” When Jeannot ©. this he 
 
 was much troubled, and said to himself: “J +. © lost all 
 
14 THE DECAMERON ; 
 
 my labour, which I thought well-bestowed, expecting to have 
 converted this man; for should he go to Rome, and see the 
 ' wickedness of the clergy there, so far from turning Christian, 
 were he a Christian, he would certainly become a Jew.” 
 
 Then.applying himself to Abraham, he said: “ Alas! my | 
 
 friend, why should you be at the great trouble and expense 
 of such a journey? Not to mention the dangers, both by 
 sea and land, to which so rich a person as yourself must be 
 exposed, do you think to find nobody here that can baptize 
 you? Or if you have any doubts and scruples, where will 
 you meet with more able persons than are here to clear 
 them up for you, and to answer such questions as you shal! 
 - put to them? You may suppose the prelates to be like 
 what you see in France; but more perfect indeed, as they 
 are nearer to the principal pastor. Then let me advise you 
 to save this journey against another time, when you may 
 want some pardon or indulgence, and probably then I may 
 bear you company.” 
 
 The Jew answered, “I believe it is as you say; but to 
 make short of the matter, I am fully resolved, if you would 
 have me to do what you have so much solicited, to go 
 thither; else I will in no wise comply.” Jeannot seeing 
 him determined, said, ‘‘God be with you!” and, supposing 
 that he would never be a Christian after he had seen Rome, 
 gave him over for lost. The Jew took horse, and made the 
 best of his way to Rome, where he was most honourably 
 received by his brethren, the Jews; and, without saying a 
 word what he was come about, he began to inspect narrowly 
 into the manner of living of the pope, the cardinals, and 
 
 other prelates, and of the whole court; and, from what he 
 
 himself perceived, being a person quick of sight, and as he 
 was informed by others, he found that, from the highest to 
 the lowest, they were given to all sorts of lewdness, without 
 the least shame or remorse; so that the only way to obtain 
 anything considerable was, by applying to prostitutes of 
 every description. He observed, also, that they were 
 generally drunkards and gluttons, and, like brutes, more 
 solicitous about their bellies than anything else. Inquir- 
 ing farther, he found them all such lovers of money, that 
 they would not only buy and sell man’s blood in general, 
 
SR UE A NSN OI De aS 
 FIRST DAY r5 
 
 but even the blood of Christians, and sacred things, of 
 what kind soever, whether benefices, or pertaining to the 
 altar : and they drove as great a trade of this, as there is 
 in selling cloth and other commodities at Paris: that to 
 palpable: simony they had given the plausible name of 
 procuration, and debaucheries they called supporting the 
 body ; as if God had been unacquainted with their wicked 
 intentions, and, like men, was to be imposed upon by the 
 names: of things. These and other things which I shall 
 
 pass over, gave great offence to the Jew, who was a sober — — 
 
 ' and modest person; and now thinking he had seen enough, 
 he returned home. 
 
 As soon as Jeannot heard of his arrival, he went to see 
 him, thinking of nothing so little as his conversion ; and 
 they received one another with a great deal of pleasure: 
 and in a day or two, after he had recovered from his 
 fatigue, Jeannot began to inquire of him what he thought 
 of the holy father, the cardinals, and the rest of the court! 
 To whom the Jew immediately answered: “'To me it 
 seems as if God was much kinder to them than they de- 
 serve ; for, if I may be allowed to judge, I must be bold 
 to tell you, that I have neither seen sanctity, devotion, or 
 anything good in the clergy of Rome ; but, on the contrary, 
 luxury, avarice, gluttony, and worse than these, if worse 
 things can be, are so much in fashion with all sorts of 
 people, that I should rather esteem the court of Rome to 
 be a forge, if you allow the expression, for diabolical opera- ~ 
 tions than things divine; and, for what I can perceive, 
 your pastor, and consequently the rest, strive with their 
 whole might and skill to overthrow the Christian religion, , 
 and'to drive it from off the face of the earth, even where - 
 they ought to be its chief succour and support. But as I | 
 do not see this come to pass, which they so earnestly aim | 
 at ; on the contrary, that your religion gains strength, and 
 becomes every day more glorious ; I plainly perceive the 
 Spirit of God to be the protector of it, as the most true 
 
 nd holy of all others. For which reason, though I con- 
 tinued obstinate to your exhortations, nor would suffer 
 myself to be converted by them, now I declare to you, 
 that I will no longer defer ‘being made a Christian. Let 
 
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 A ee 4 Ls ~ BN - 7 
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 - 
 
 us go then to the church, and do you take care that I 
 be baptized according to the manner of your holy faith,” 
 _Jeannot, who expected a quite different conclusion, was 
 the most overjoyed man that could be; and taking him to 
 our Lady’s church at Paris, he requested the priests there 
 to baptize Abraham; and they, finding that it was his 
 desire, immediately performed it ; Jeannot being his sponsor, 
 _ gave him the name of John. He afterwards took care to 
 have him well instructed in our faith, in which he made a 
 “speedy proficiency, and became, in time, a great and good 
 man. 
 
 
 
 j 
 j 
 | : 
 1 
 
 NOVEL Ill 
 
 . | Metehisecteth, a Jew, by a story of the three rings, escapes a most 
 | dangerous snare, which Saladin had prepared for him. 
 
 | Tents novel was universally applauded when Philomena 
 thus began :— 
 _ Neiphile’s story puts me in mind of what happened to 
 certain Jew; for as enough has been said concerning God 
 and the truth of our religion, it will not be amiss if we 
 descend to the actions of men. I. proceed, therefore, to 
 the relation of a thing, which may make you more cautious 
 for the time to come, in answering questions that shall be 
 put to you. For you must know, that, as a man’s folly 
 often brings him down from. the a exalted state of life 
 
 to the greatest misery, so shall his secure him 
 
 in_the midst of the utmost "danger andepocae eal a 
 safe and honourable repose. There are many instances of 
 people | being reduced by their foolishness, which I choose 
 to omit, as they happen daily ; but what great cause for | 
 comfort a person’s good understanding may at some times — 
 fford, I shall make appear, as I promised, in the following 
 short novel. 
 
 _ Saladin was so brave and great a man, that he had 
 raised himself from an inconsiderable person to be Sultan 
 of Babylon, and had gained many victories over both. the i 
 Turkish and Christian princes. This monarch, having in 
 divers ware ond he manv evtraordinarv eynences rnin 
 
 ) 
 
 
 
a 7 tren t “RAED > De a ie Cae! Cea eh Re NY yo 
 Ber se hy re e ; Gun 
 Fetus, kote Ne ; ie | x "hea aa? 
 rn E ” 
 
 © FIRST DAY: | 17 
 
 through all his treasure, some urgent occasion fell out, 
 that he wanted a large sum of money. Not knowing which 
 way he might raise enough to answer his necessities, he at 
 last called to mind a rich. Jew of Alexandria, named 
 Melchizedeck, who let out money to interest. Him _ he 
 believed to have wherewithal to serve him ; but then he was 
 so covetous, that he would never do it willingly, and he was 
 unwilling to force him. But as necessity has no law, after 
 much thinking which way the matter might best be effected, 
 he at last resolved to use force under some colour of 
 reason. He therefore sent for, and received him in a most 
 gracious manner, and making him sit down, thus ad- 
 dressed him: “Honest man, I hear from divers persons 
 that thou art very wise, and knowing in religiops. matters ; 
 wherefore I would gladly know from thee which religion 
 thou judgest to be the true one, viz., the /Jewish, the 
 Mahometan, or the Christian?” The Jew (truly a wise 
 man) found that Saladin had a mind to trap him; and 
 perceiving that he must:gain his point should he prefer,any 
 one religion, after considering a little how best to avoid the 
 snare, his invention at last supplied him with the following 
 answer. ‘The question which your Highness has pro- 
 posed is very curious ; and, that I may give you my senti- 
 ments, I must bey leave to tell a short story. 
 
 “I remember oiten to have heard of a great and rich 
 man, who, among his most rare and precious jewels, had 
 a ring of exceeding yreat beauty and value; and being 
 proud of possessing a thing of such worth, and desirous 
 that it should continue for ever in his family, he declared, 
 ‘by will, that to which soever of his sons he should give this 
 ring, him he designed for his heir, and that he should be 
 respected as the head of the family. That son to whom 
 the ring was given, made the same law with respect to his 
 descendants, and the ring passed from one to another ina 
 long succession, till it came to a person who had three 
 sons, all virtuous and dutiful to their father, and all equally” 
 beloved by him. And the young men, knowing what de- 
 pended upon the-ring, and ambitious of superiority, began 
 ‘to entreat their father, who was now growing old, every 
 ene for himself, that he would give the ring to him. The 
 
LO low VECAMERON 
 
 good man, equally fond of all, was at’a loss which | 
 prefer; and as he had promised’ all, and being willing 1 
 satisfy all, privately got an artist to make two ‘others, whic 
 were so like the first, that he himself scarcely knew th 
 true one! and at his death gave one privately to each ¢ 
 his sons. They afterwards all claimed the honour ani 
 estate, each disputing them with his brothers, and produc 
 ing his ring; and the rings were found so much alike, tha 
 the true one could not be distinguished. To law the 
 they went, which should succeed, nor is that yet decided 
 And thus it has happened, my lord, with regard to the 
 ' three laws given by God the Father, concerning which yor 
 proposed your question: every. one believes he is the true 
 heir of God, has His law, and obeys. His commandments 
 but which 1 ich is in the right is uncertain in lke manner as of 
 the rings.” 
 
 
 
 
 
 Saladin perceived that he had escaped the net which > 
 was spread fc for him; he therefore resolved to discover his © 
 
 necessity to him, to see if he would lend him money, 
 telling him at the same time what he designed to have 
 done, had not his discreet answer prevented him. The 
 
 Jew freely supplied him with what he wanted, Saladin: 
 
 afterwards paid him with a great deal of honour, made him 
 large presents, besides maintaining him nobly at his court, 
 and was his friend as long as he lived. 
 
 NOVEL IV 
 
 A monk having committed an offence, for which he ought to have been 
 severely punished, saves himself by wittily proving his abbot guilty 
 of the very same fault. 
 
 YTuus ended Philomena, when Dioneus, who sat next t¢ 
 her (without waiting the queen’s order, as knowing that hi 
 was to follow in course), spoke as follows: 
 
 If I understand you right, ladies, we are assembled her 
 to amuse ourselves by telling stories: whilst nothing, ther 
 is done contrary to this intention, I suppose every one he 
 liberty to relate what he thinks will be-most entertaining 
 
FIRST DAY 19 
 
 therefore, having heard how, by the pious admonitions of 
 Jeannot de Chivigni, Abraham the Jew was advised to his 
 soul’s salvation; and also how Melchizedeck, by his good | 
 sense, saved his wealth from the designs of Saladin ; I shall 
 without fear of reproof, show, in few words, how cunningly 
 a monk saved his bones from the punishment intended 
 him. 
 
 There was once, in the territories of Lunigiana, a mon: 
 astery, better stored both with monks and religion than 
 many are now-a-days, to which belonged a young monk, 
 whose constitution neither fasting nor praying could humble. 
 Now it happened one day, early in the morning, whilst his 
 brethren were all asleep, that, taking a walk about their 
 church, which stood in a lonesome place, he cast his eye 
 upon a farmer’s daughter, who was gathering herbs, and 
 immediately felt a strong temptation, ill suiting with his 
 profession; and drawing near, he entered into discourse 
 with her, and prevailed upon her to go to his cell with him, 
 before anybody was stirring abroad to see them; where, 
 whilst they were diverting themselves together, it happened 
 that the abbot, being just awake, and passing by the door, 
 thought he heard something of a noise within; and laying 
 his ear to listen, could distinguish a woman’s voice. At 
 first he was inclined to make him open the door, but he 
 afterwards thought of a different method, and returned to 
 his chamber to wait till he came out. The monk, though 
 he was pleased with his companion, could not help being a 
 little suspicious of a discovery, and imagining that he heard 
 somebody treading at the door, he peeped through a crevice, 
 and saw the abbot standing to listen; and knowing that he 
 was detected, and should be soundly punished, he became 
 very uneasy. Yet, without showing anything of it to the 
 girl, he was contriving how to get clear of the affair; and 
 he hit on a stratagem which succeeded to his heart’s desire. 
 Pretending that he could stay no longer—‘‘I must go,” he 
 cried, ‘‘and will contrive a way to get you off without being 
 seen; lie still, then, till I return.” He now locked the 
 door ‘after him, and carried the key to the abbot, as is usual 
 when they stir out of the monastery, and Bete a good 
 face on the matter, he said—‘“ Reverend father, I could not 
 
20 THE DECAMERON 
 
 get all my wood home this morning, and if you please I 
 will go now and fetch the remainder.” The abbot, willing 
 to make a more perfect discovery, took the key, and gave 
 leave. No sooner was the other departed, but he began to 
 consider what he had best do in this case; whether to 
 open the door in presence of all the monks, that so, the 
 offence being known to all, they could have no room to 
 murmur when he proceeded to punishment ; or, whether 
 he should not rather inquire of the damsel herself, how she 
 had been brought thither. Supposing, also, that she might 
 be a person’s daughter whom he would not have disgraced 
 in that public manner, he thought it best to see who she 
 was first, and then come to some resolution. \ So stepping 
 privately to the chamber, he went in, and locked the door 
 after him. The girl, on seeing him, was in great confusion, 
 and fell a weeping ; whilst our abbot, finding her to be 
 young and handsome, was seized (old as he was): with the 
 same desires as the young monk had been, and began to 
 reason thus with himself: ‘‘ Why should’I not take a little 
 pleasure when I may have it? for plague and: trouble I 
 know enough every day. She is handsome, and nobody 
 can ever know it.’ If I can persuade her, I see no reason 
 why I should not. Such another offer may never fall in 
 my way, and I hold it best to take it whilst I can have it.” 
 Upon this, his purpose of going thither being quite changed, 
 he went nearer, and began to comfort her, desiring: her not 
 to weep; and making some farther advances, acquainted 
 her, at last, with his intention; and she, who was made 
 neither of flint nor steel, easily complied. The monk, who, 
 under pretence of going to the wood, had concealed himself 
 in-the dormitory; on seeing the abbot go alone to his 
 chamber, promised himself success; but when he saw him 
 lock the door, he thought it past all doubt; and coming 
 from the place where he lay hid, he heard and saw through 
 a grating in the door all that passed between them. ‘The 
 abbot, after he had stayed some time, locked the door 
 again, and returned to his chamber; and supposing the — 
 monk to be now come from the wood, he resolved to> 
 reprimand and imprison him, that so the girl might remain 
 solely to himself; and causing him to be sent for, he gave 
 
FIRST DAY 21 
 
 him a severe rebuke, and ordered him to prison. The 
 monk answered, yery readily,—‘‘ Good sir, I have not been 
 so long of the Benedictine order, to be acquainted with all 
 the particularities thereto belonging : your reverence in- 
 structed me well in the observance of fasts and vigils ; but 
 you never told me how I was to behave with regard to 
 women. But, as you have so lately set me an example, I 
 promise, if you will forgive me, to follow it, and to do here- 
 after as I have seen you.” The abbot being quick of ap- 
 prehension, found the monk knew more than he expected, 
 and being ashamed to punish him for a crime of which 
 himself was known to be guilty, he pardoned him; and 
 enjoining his silence, they had the girl conveyed privately 
 out of the monastery, whither she was afterwards often said 
 to return. 
 
 NOVEL V 
 
 The Marchtoness of Monferrat, by an entertainment of hens, and some 
 witty speeches, cures the King of France of his dishonourable love. 
 
 D1oNnEus’s story had put all the ladies to the blush, at the 
 very beginning ; and they looked at each other with a sort 
 of smile all the time it lasted; giving him to know, by a 
 gentle reprimand, that such sort of tales should not be 
 told among women. The queen then pointed to Flam- 
 metta, who sat next, to take her turn, who most cheerfully 
 began in this manner: 
 
 It is no little joy to mé, to find the force of smart and 
 witty replies so well set forth in what is already passed 
 among us. And, as it is accounted a mark of good sense 
 in men, to aim at ladies of superior quality to themselves ; 
 sO is it no less a token of the greatest discretion in women, 
 to take care never to be surprised in love by men of higher 
 degree. For which reason I shall now relate, how a woman 
 by her wit and address may ward off an attack of that kind, 
 when there is a design upon her honour. 
 
 The Marquis of Monferrat was a person of great valour, 
 and being standard-bearer to the church, was gone in a 
 general crusade of the Christian princes against the Turks. 
 
22 THE DECAMERON 
 
 And one day as they were discoursing of his prowess at the 
 court of Philip, surnamed the Short-sighted, who was pre- 
 paring in France for the like expedition, a courtier said, 
 in the presence of the king, that the whole world had not 
 so accomplished a pair as the marquis and his lady; for as. 
 much as he excelled other cavaliers in valour, so much was 
 she superior to the rest of her sex in worth and beauty. 
 These words so affected the king, that from that very 
 moment, though he had never seen her, he began to be 
 passionately in love. And he resolved to go by land as far 
 as Genoa, that he might have an honourable pretence for 
 paying her a visit, thinking that, as the marquis was absent, — 
 he could not fail of accomplishing his desires. With this: 
 
 design, having sent the greatest part of his company before, 
 he set forward with a small retinue, and being come within . 
 a day’s journey of the place he sent her word, that on the © 
 morrow she might expect his company at dinner. The 
 lady very cheerfully replied, that she should esteem it a — 
 singular favour, and would make hii heartily welcome. 
 
 A long while she could not conceive why so great a — 
 prince should come to see her, when her husband was from 
 home; but supposing at last that the fame of her beauty 
 must have drawn him thither, she resolved nevertheless, as — 
 she was of a noble spirit, to show him due respect: for — 
 which purpose she summoned the principal gentry, who — 
 were left in the country, to consult them about what was 
 necessary for his reception, reserving the entire manage- 
 ment of the feast to herself. And, buying all the hens that 
 were in the country, she ordered the cooks to get nothing 
 else for his majesty’s dinner, but to dress them all the 
 different ways possible. 
 
 Next day the king came, and was received by the lady 
 with great joy, and had all due honour paid him; and 
 finding her even exceed what had been said before in her 
 favour, he was greatly astonished; he then retired a while 
 into the apartments, which were provided for him, to repose 
 himself; and when dinner was ready his majesty and the 
 lady sat down at one table, and their attendants at other 
 tables, all placed according to their respective qualities. 
 
 . Here the king was served with dishes one after another, 
 
 
 
FIRST DAY 23 
 
 and with the most costly wines, feasting his eyes yet more 
 with the sight of the lady, and was extremely pleased with 
 his entertainment. But. observing at last that all the 
 different courses, however tossed up and variously cooked, 
 were nothing but hens, he began to wonder; and though 
 he knew that the country about was well stored with 
 venison and wild fowl, and he had signified: his intention 
 
 _ time enough for them to have provided both, yet, being 
 
 ; 
 i 
 
 
 
 unwilling, how great soever his surprise might be, to 
 mention anything but concerning the hens, turning a 
 merry countenance to the lady, he said, “Madam, are 
 only hens bred in this country, and no cocks?” 
 
 The lady, who well understood the meaning of his 
 question, now thinking that she had a fit opportunity of 
 letting him know her sentiments, boldly answered: ‘‘ Not 
 so, my Lord; but women, however they may differ in dress 
 and titles, are the same here as in other places.” 
 
 The king hearing this, immediately found out the mean- 
 
 ing of the entertainment; as also what virtue lay couched 
 
 under her answer. And being sensible that words would 
 be spent in vain on such.a lady, and force he could not 
 use; he therefore judged it more becoming his honour to 
 stifle his ill-conceived passion; and so without more words 
 (as being afraid of the lady’s replies), when dinner was 
 over, that he might shadow his dishonourable coming by 
 a hasty departure, he thanked her for the honour he had 
 received, took his leave, and posted away to Geroa. 
 
 NOVEL Vi 
 
 A plain honest man, by a jest accidentally let fall, very wittily 
 veproves the hypocrisy of the clergy. 
 
 EMILIA, whose turn came next (the genteel reproof given by 
 the marchioness to the King of France, being approved by 
 the whole assembly), began in this manner :— 
 
 Nor will I conceal a most severe expression made use of 
 
 _ by an honest simple man to a most sordid and avaricious 
 
 monk, which you will both commend and laugh at. 
 There was, not long since, in our city, a friar belonging 
 
24 THE DECAMERON 
 
 to the Inquisition, who, though he laboured much to appear 
 righteous and zealous for the Christian faith, yet was he a 
 much better inquisitor after such as had full purses, than 
 those who aeld heterodox opinions. By which great care 
 of his, he soon found out a person better stored with money — 
 than sense. 
 
 This man, not so much out of profaneness as want of 
 thought, and perhaps overheated with liquor into the bar- 
 gain, unluckily said to one of his companions, that he had 
 better wine than Christ himself had ever drunk: which 
 being reported to the inquisitor, and he understanding that 
 the man’s estate was large, and that he was full of money, 
 sent all his myrmidons, had him seized, and commenced a 
 process, not so much with a design of amending him in 
 matters of faith, as to ease him of part of his money, as he 
 soon did. 
 
 The man being brought before him, he inquired whether 
 it was true what had been alleged against him; and the 
 poor man immediately answered, that it was, and told him 
 in what manner the words were spoken. To whom the 
 most holy inquisitor (devoted to St. John with the golden 
 beard) replied: ‘f What! dost thou make Christ a drunkard, 
 and curious in the choice of wines, like your common sots 
 and frequenters of taverns? and now wouldst excuse it as a 
 small matter? And so it may seem to thee; but I tell 
 thee, should I proceed with the rigour of justice, thou 
 wouldst be burnt alive for it.” With these and such-like 
 words, as if he had to do with a downright atheist, he so 
 terrified the poor wretch, that he was forced to have 
 recourse to a little of St. John’s golden grease (a most 
 sovereign remedy against the pestilential avarice of the 
 clergy, especially of the lesser friars, who are forbidden the 
 use of money, although it be not mentioned by Galen in 
 his book of medicines), with which he anointed his hands 
 to such purpose, that the fire and faggot, with which he had 
 been threatened, were changed into a cross; which, being 
 yellow and black, seemed like a banner designed for the 
 Holy Land. The money being paid, he was to stay there 
 for some time, being ordered, by way of penance, to hear 
 mass of the holy cross every morning, to visit him also 
 
FIRST DAY 25 
 
 at dinner-time, and to do nothing the rest of the day but 
 what he commanded ; all which he performed punctually : 
 and one morning it happened, that, during mass, the gospel 
 was read, wherein were these: words: ‘You shall receive 
 a hundred for one, andso possess eternal life ;” which he 
 kept thoroughly in his mind, and being come, at dinner- 
 time, the inquisitor asked him, whether he had heard mass 
 that morning. ‘Yes, sir,” replied the man very readily.— 
 “Hast thou heard anything therein,” quoth the inquisitor, 
 “wherein thou art doubtful, or desirous to ask any ques-" 
 tions P”’—* No, surely,” said the honest man, “and: believe 
 all that I have heard most steadfastly; only one thing, 
 I remember, which occasions great pity in me for you and 
 the rest of your brethren, as to what will become of you in 
 the other world.”—‘‘ And what are those words,” replied 
 the other, “‘ which make you pity us so much ?””——**O, good 
 sir,” said the man, ‘‘do you remember the words of the 
 gospel? ‘You shall receive a hundred for one.’”—‘‘ Well, 
 what of them?” quoth the inquisitor.—‘I will tell you, 
 sir,” continued he: ‘‘ Ever since I have been here, have I 
 seen sometimes one, and sometimes two great cauldrons 
 of broth, given out of your great abundance every day to 
 the poor, after you and your brethren have been sufficiently 
 regaled: and now, if for every:one of these you are to 
 receive a hundred, you will all of you be drowned in broth!” 
 This set the whole table a-laughing, and the inquisitor was 
 quite confounded, knowing it to be a satire upon their great 
 hypocrisy ; and were it not that he had been much blamed 
 for his former prosecution, he would have ‘given him more 
 trouble: he ordered him, therefore, in a rage, to go about 
 his business, and to come near him no more. 
 
 NOVEL VII 
 
 Bergamino, by telling a tale of a certain witty person named Primasso, 
 very handsomely reproves the avarice which had lately appeared in 
 M, Cane della Scala. 
 
 THE pleasantries of Emilia, and her agreeable story made 
 them all laugh heartily, and they commended the contri- 
 
26 THE DECAMERON 
 
 yance of the cross. After which Philostratus, who was to 
 speak next, began:—It is a commendable thing, most 
 worthy ladies, to hit a fixed. mark ; but more so, to see 
 a thing suddenly appearing, as suddenly hit by an archer. 
 The scandalous and most wicked lives of the clergy, furnish 
 matter enough for reproach and raillery, to such as are 
 so disposed, without much thinking upon the matter: and 
 therefore, though the honest. man did well in touching 
 master inquisitor, by aiming at the hypocritical charity 
 ‘of the friar, who gave that to, the poor which they would 
 otherwise either throw away, or give to the hogs; yet is 
 he more to be commended, of whom (the last story leading 
 me to it) I am going to speak, who reproved M. Cane della 
 Scala, a most magnificent person, heretofore, of a sudden 
 and. unusual kind of avarice, which had lately appeared 
 in him, figuring by other persons in a pretty novel, that 
 which he intended to say concerning themselves, and which 
 was as follows: M. Cane della Scala was known all over 
 the world, as well for the wealth with which fortune had 
 blessed him, as for his being one of the greatest and most 
 magnificent lords that had lived in Italy since the days 
 of the Emperor Frederick II. This person had determined 
 to make a most sumptuous feast at Verona, to which people 
 began to flock from all parts, those especially of the best 
 fashion; when, on. a sudden, whatever was the cause, he 
 altered his mind, and making such as came some little 
 amends for their trouble, he sent them away. One person 
 only remained unsatisfied, whose name was Bergamino, 
 of incredible: wit and parts, who was still in hopes that 
 things would at length turn out to his advantage. But 
 M. Cane della Scala (having been made to understand, 
 that whatever was given to him was entirely thrown away), 
 neither spoke to, nor took the least notice of him. Berga- 
 mino waited some days, and perceiving that no account 
 was made of him, and finding his stock grew low with 
 the expense of horses and servants at the inn, he’ became 
 melancholy, yet resolved to wait longer, as not thinking 
 it right to depart: and having brought three costly suits 
 with him, which had been given him by other lords, for 
 his more splendid appearance at this feast; the landlord 
 
FIRST. DAY || 27 
 
 beginning to grow importunate, he first pawned one, and 
 staying a little longer, a second ; and he had now begun to 
 live upon the ‘credit of the last, resolving, when that was 
 spent, to go away. In the meantime it happened that 
 he met with M. Cane della Scala at dinner, where he 
 presented himself before him with a sorrowful countenance; 
 which the other observing, out of mockery rather than to 
 take any delight in what should come from him, he said: 
 “How farest thou, Bergamino? Thou seemest melancholy ; 
 what is the reason?” ‘Bergamino, without any premedi- 
 tation, yet as if he had thought long upon the matter, made 
 a proper reply in the following story :— 
 
 * You must understand, sir, that Primasso was a person 
 well skilled in grammar, as well asa good and ready 
 poet, by which means he became so famous, that though 
 his person was not universally known, his fame and 
 character were in every one’s mouth... Now it came 
 to pass, that being once at Paris in a poor condition, 
 as his virtue met with no better fortune, being little 
 encouraged by such as were the most able, he heard 
 much talk of the abbot of Cligni, who, next to the pope, 
 was reputed to be the richest prelate of the church: of 
 him it was said, that he always kept a most grand and 
 hospitable court, and all were entertained freely that came 
 thither, provided it was whilst the abbot was at dinner. 
 Primasso hearing this, and being desirous of seeing great 
 and worthy persons, resolved to be a witness of the magni- 
 ficence of this abbot. He inquired, therefore, how far he 
 dwelt from Paris? Being answered, about six miles, he 
 supposed that, if he set out early in the morning, he should 
 be able to reach thither by dinner. Accordingly he asked 
 the way ; and having nobody to keep him company, lest he 
 should mistake the road, and so come to a place where no 
 victuals could be had, he took three loaves with him, 
 depending upon finding water enough, for a /7#tle served 
 him, wherever he went. The loaves he put in his bosom, 
 and he nicked his time so well, that he arrived at the 
 abbot’s exactly at the hour of dining; and entering into 
 the great hall, and beholding the number of tables which 
 were laid forth, and the vast preparations making in the 
 
28 THE DECAMERON 
 
 kitchens, and everything else getting ready for dinner, 
 he said to himself, ‘‘This man is truly as. generous as he 
 has been always reported.’ Whilst he, was. considering 
 these things attentively. the steward of the household 
 ordered water to be brought, and they. washed their hands, 
 and sat down every one at his respective table. . Now it 
 happened that Primasso was placed facing the door where 
 the abbot was to make his entrance. It was the custom in 
 this court that neither wine, bread, nor any manner of food 
 whatever, should be served to any of the tables, till the lord 
 abbot himself was seated: whereupon the steward, having 
 all things in readiness, acquainted his. lord, that nothing 
 now was wanting but his presence. ‘The abbot ordered the 
 door to be thrown open; and, as he was entering the hall, 
 the first person he chanced to cast his eyes upon, was 
 Primasso ; who being a stranger, as to his person, and but 
 meanly apparelled, an ungenerous, as well as an unusual 
 thought came into his mind. . ‘Behold,’ said he to him- 
 self, ‘to whom I give my substance to be consumed!’ 
 And turning back, he ordered the door to be shut again, 
 and inquired of the people within, whether they could give 
 any account of that poor fellow, that sat over against the 
 door: they all.answered that they could not. Primasso, 
 who had a kind of traveller’s appetite, and had not been 
 used to fast so long, seeing the abbot did. not yet come, 
 took one of the loaves out of his bosom, and began to 
 devour it. The abbot, after he had waited a considerable 
 time, sent one of his servants to see whether the fellow was 
 gone: the servant brought word that he stayed, and was 
 eating bread, which he seemed to have brought with him. 
 ‘Let him eat of his own,’ replied the abbot, ‘if he has it, 
 for he shall taste none of mine to-day.’ Gladly would 
 the abbot have had him go. away of himself, for he did 
 not think it right to dismiss him. Primasso had now 
 finished one loaf, and finding the abbot did not yet come, 
 he began with the second, which was again reported to 
 his lordship, who had sent to inquire as before. At 
 length the abbot not coming, and Primasso having eaten — 
 up his second loaf, now attacked the third. When this 
 news was carried to the abbot, he began to consider with 
 

 
 FIRST DAY 25 
 
 himself in this manner: ‘ What strange fancy has possessed 
 me to-day? What means this avarice, this scorn that I 
 now show? And who is it that I thus disdain? For many 
 years have I entertained all that would come, gentle or 
 simple, poor or rich, and, as it has sometimes happened, the 
 most paltry fellows imaginable; yet never before did I 
 grudge it to any, as I now do to this person: surely avarice 
 _ should have no influence over me in the case of a poor 
 man. For aught I know, he may bea most extraordinary 
 person, mean as he appears, and how unwilling soever 
 I have hitherto been to show him respect.’ Having argued 
 thus with himself, he would needs know ‘who he was, and 
 finding him to be Primasso, who was come only to behold 
 tis grandeur ; and knowing him to be a learned and worthy 
 person, he became quite ashamed, and was desirous of 
 making amends for his behaviour to him, by showing him 
 all possible respect. And having feasted him as much as 
 he cared for, he ordered him to be sumptuously apparelled, 
 and putting money into his pocket, he made him a pre- 
 sent of a horse, and left him at full liberty either to stay 
 with him, or to depart at pleasure; wherewith Primasso, 
 being highly satisfied, gave him his most hearty thanks, and 
 returned to Paris on horseback, although he came thither 
 on foot.” M. Cane della Scala, who was a man of good 
 understanding, without’ any further explanation, easily 
 understood what Bergamino meant to say, and, smiling 
 upon him, replied: ‘‘ Well have you set forth your 
 necessities and virtue, as well as my avarice; and truly 
 I never found myself so overpowered with that vice, as 
 now in your case: but I will banish it from me with the 
 Same correction that you have taught me.” So he ordered 
 his landlord to be paid his full charges, put on Bergamino 
 a suit of his best clothes, gave him money in his pocket, 
 and a good horse to ride on, and left it to his own choice 
 whether to depart, or stay there with him. 
 
30 THE DECAMERON 
 
 NOVEL VIII 
 
 : 
 
 Gulielmo Borstere, by a few smart words, checks the miserable 
 covetousness of M, Ermino dé Grimaldi, 
 
 LAURETTA, who sat next to Philostratus, hearing them 
 commend Bergamino’s wit and perseverance, and knowing 
 that it was now her turn, without waiting for any command, 
 commenced in this manner :— 
 
 The. last story puts me in mind how a courtier of wit 
 teproached, to good purpose, the covetousness of a certain 
 rich merchant ; which, although it may resemble the other, © 
 will not be the less agreeable, as it tended to as good an 
 end. 
 
 There lived, not long since, at Genoa, a gentleman named 
 Signior Ermino de’ Grimaldi, who, as was generally believed, 
 surpassed all the people of Italy in estate and wealth ; and, 
 as no,person in Italy could equal him in riches, so neither 
 was there in the whole world one like him for greediness 
 and sordid avarice. For, so far was he from being a friend 
 to others, that he even denied himself common necessaries ; 
 contrary to the custom of the Genoese, who delight to dress 
 and live well. On which occasion he had lost his true 
 name of Grimaldi, and was now known by no other than 
 that of Ermino Avarice. | 
 
 It came to pass, that, whilst by spending nothing, he 
 went on accumulating wealth, there came to Genoa, a well- 
 bred and witty gentleman called Gulielmo Borsiere, one 
 nothing like the courtiers of the present day ; who, to the 
 oreat reproach of the debauched: dispositions of such as 
 would now be reputed fine gentlemen, should more properly 
 style themselves asses, brought up amidst the filthiness and — 
 sink of mankind, rather than in courts. And as, in former 
 days, they spent their time in making up differences between — 
 gentlemen, or in bringing about alliances by marriage, 
 affinity, or friendship; and would divert themselves, and 
 those about them, with facetious and witty repartees, and at 
 the same time, like kind fathers, reprove and lash such 
 
 > 
 
FIRST DAY 31 
 
 as deserved it, although with little recompense: these 
 upstarts of the present age employ their whole life in 
 speaking ill of, and sowing dissensions among, their neigh- 
 bours, reporting scandals and lies, and this in the presence 
 of any one, upbraiding him with injuries, shame and de- 
 famation, true or not true, upon the least occasion ; till by 
 their false and deceitful flatteries, they bring gentlemen 
 
 at last to everything that is vile and wicked. And him we 
 see most caressed by his untoward masters, who uses the 
 
 most wicked expressions and commits the vilest actions, to 
 the eternal shame of the present world, and a demonstra- 
 tion that virtue is gone from among: us, and hath left us 
 wallowing in the sink of debauchery. But to return from 
 whence I have been led by a just resentment farther than I 
 intended. This Gultelmo, whom I before mentioned, was 
 much visited and respected by the better sort of people at 
 Genoa; when having made some stay here, and hearing 
 much talk of Ermino’s sordidness, he became desirous of 
 
 seeing him. Now Ermino had been informed of Gulielmo’s 
 
 _worthy character, and having, however covetous he was, 
 
 some small sparks of gentility, he received him in a courteous 
 manner, and entering into discourse together, he took him, 
 and some Genoese who came along with him, to see a fine 
 house which he ‘had lately built: and when he had showed 
 every part of it, he said: ‘Pray, sir, can you, who have 
 heard and seen so much, tell me of something that was 
 never yet seen, to have painted in my hall?” ‘To whom 
 Gulielmo, hearing him speak so simply, replied, ‘‘ Sir, 
 
 I can tell you of nothing which has never yet been seen, 
 
 that I know'of ; unless it be sneezing, or some thing of that 
 
 sort; but if you please, I can tell you of a thing which, I 
 believe, you never saw.” Said Ermino (little expecting 
 
 such an answer as he received), ‘‘I beg you would let 
 me know what that is. © Gulielmo immediately replied, 
 “Paint Liberality.” When’ Ermino heard this, such a 
 sudden shame seized him, as quite changed his temper 
 from what it had hitherto been, and he said, “Sir, I will 
 have her painted in such’a manner, that neither you, nor 
 any one else, shall ‘be able to say, hereafter, that I am 
 unacquainted with her.” And from that time, such effect 
 
32 THE DECAMERON 
 
 had Gulielmo’s words upon him, he became the most 
 liberal and courteous gentleman, and was the most re- 
 spected, both by strangers and his own citizens, of any 
 in Genoa. 
 
 NOVEL IX 
 
 The King of Cyprus was so much affected by the words of a gentlewoman 
 of Gascogne, that from being a victous prince he became very 
 virtuous. 
 
 THE queen’s last command rested on Eliza, who, without 
 waiting for it, began in this manner :— 
 
 It often happens that much pains have been taken, and 
 many reproofs spent, in vain upon a person when some- 
 times a word thrown in by chance, and without any such 
 design, has done the business; which appears plainly from 
 the novel recited by Lauretta; and I purpose, also, in 
 a very short story, to demonstrate the same. A good thing 
 said may often be of service, and ought to be regarded, © 
 whoever the person is that reports it. 
 
 During the reign of the first King of Cyprus, after the 
 conquest of the Holy Land, by Godfrey of Boulogne, it 
 happened that a gentlewoman of Gascogne went on a 
 pilgrimage to visit the holy sepulchre, and, on her return | 
 home, being arrived at Cyprus, she was ill-treated by a 
 parcel of villains, and making her complaint without re- 
 ceiving any redress, she resolved at length to go to the 
 king; but she was told, that she would only lose her 
 labour, for he was so careless in every respect, and so little 
 of a man, that, far from avenging the injuries done to 
 others, he suffered an infinite number of the most shameful 
 affronts offered to himself; insomuch that whoever were 
 offended at him might vent their resentment at any time in 
 the most opprobrious language. Which, when she had 
 heard, entirely despairing of redress, she yet proposed some 
 comfort to herself in her calamity, to upbraid him for his 
 meanness of spirit ; and coming all in tears before him, she 
 said, ‘“‘ My lord, I appear in your presence not expecting to 
 be revenged for the injuries I have sustained: but this 
 small satisfaction I entreat, that you would teli me how you © 
 
FIRST DAY 33 
 
 can bear those which I hear are committed towards your- 
 self, that ] may from thence be instructed patiently to bear 
 my own; which, God knows, were it in my power, I would 
 willingly consign to you, since you endure them’so well.” 
 The king, who till that hour had been dull and inactive, 
 as if he had been roused from a long sleep, began with 
 avenging that lady’s wrongs in the strictest manner, and 
 from that time forward was most zealous in the punishment 
 of every one who dared to do anything contrary to the 
 honour of his crown. 
 
 NOVEL X 
 
 Master Albert of Bologna puts a lady to the blush, who thought to have 
 done as much to him, because she perceived him to be amorously 
 inclined towards her. 
 
 AFTER Eliza had finished, the last charge remained to the 
 queen; who, in the most becoming manner, began as 
 follows :— 
 
 Most virtuous ladies, as the stars when the sky is. clear 
 are the ornament,of heaven, and as flowers in the spring are 
 the beauty of meadows; in like sort is an easy manner ot 
 speaking, and a facetious and pleasant discourse, set off 
 and embellished by choice and elegant expressions, which 
 by being short, are better suited to women than men, inso- 
 much as many words, when fewer would serve the purpose, 
 are most disagreeable in the former. For there are few 
 women now who understand anything that is smart and 
 witty when they hear it; or, if they do understand, scarcely 
 know how to make a reply ; which is much to the disgrace 
 of our sex. For that virtue which adorned the minds of 
 women in former times, is passed in our days into the 
 ornaments of the body; and she whose habit is most gaudy, 
 'and set off with embroideries and fantastic ornaments, is 
 |most esteemed ; not considering that, were you to load an 
 jass with that finery, it would be able to carry more than 
 jany one of them; and, therefore, in that particular, they 
 deserve nof so much respect as the ass.. I am ashamed 
 
 B 
 
34 THE DECAMERON 
 
 to mention these things, because, whilst I censure other 
 women, I am taxing myself. Such showy painted things, 
 what are they else but statues, dull and insensible; or if 
 they answer a question, they had better have been silent. 
 Truly, they would have you think, that their not knowing 
 how to converse with men of sense proceeds from their 
 simplicity, and purity of mind, and therefore they call their 
 own foolishness by the name of modesty ; as if there were 
 no other honest woman but she who converses with her 
 chambermaid, laundress, or kitchen-woman; and as if 
 nature designed them no other kind of conversation. Most 
 sure it is, that in this, as well as in other things, you are 
 to consider when, where, and with whom, you speak ; for 
 sometimes it happens, that a man or woman, intending by | 
 some jest or other to put a person to the blush, without 
 having compared their strength of wit with that of the other 
 person, may find it recoil upon themselves. . Therefore, 
 that we may be always upon our guard, and not verify the 
 proverb which is in every one’s mouth, that women always 
 choose the worst, I desire that this day’s last novel, which 
 is to come from myself, may make us all wise, to the end 
 that as we are distinguished from others by birth and 
 quality, we may not be behind them in discreetness of 
 behaviour. 
 
 It is not long since a famous physician was living at 
 Bologna (and perhaps may be so still), of extraordinary 
 note in his profession, called Master Albert, one of so 
 sprightly a disposition, though he was seventy years old, 
 that notwithstanding his natural heat and vigour had quite 
 forsaken him, yet disdained he not to receive the sparks of 
 love. For having seen, at an entertainment, a most beauti- 
 ful lady, a widow, called, as some say, Madam Malgherida 
 de’ Ghisolieri, he was no less smitten than if he had been a 
 younger person: nor could he rest at nights, unless he had 
 seen the fair by day. This made him pass backwards and 
 forwards, sometimes on foot, and sometimes on horseback, 
 so often by the door, that she, and some other ladies of 
 her acquaintance, could not help taking notice of it; and 
 would often make themselves merry to see’ a person of his 
 years and learning so ridiculously amorous; supposing love 
 
FIRST DAY 35 
 
 to be a passion peculiar to young people. Master Albert 
 continuing his marches to and fro by the house, it happened 
 on a festival, that this lady was sitting at the door with 
 some of her friends, and seeing him come at a distance, 
 they all agreed to receive him handsomely, and afterwards 
 to rally him on the affair of his love. Therefore, they rose 
 up and invited him into a pleasant room, where he was 
 entertained with rich wine and sweetmeats; and at length 
 they began to inquire of him, as modestly as possible, how 
 he could ever think of being in love with so fine a lady, 
 seeing how much she had been solicited by many brisk, 
 gay young gentlemen. Master Albert, perceiving that they 
 had drawn him in among them, only to make a jest of him, 
 put a merry countenance on the matter, and replied: 
 “Madam, it should seem no strange thing to any con- 
 siderate person, that I am in love, especially with you, 
 because you so well deserve it. And though the power be 
 taken away by age, yet is the will remaining, as also the 
 ‘judgment to distinguish those who are most worthy our 
 affection; and this in a greater degree, as age has more 
 knowledge than youth. ‘The hope that prompted me, who 
 am old, to love you, who are courted by so many younger 
 persons, is this; I have often, at an afternoon’s collation, 
 observed ladies eating lupines and leeks, and though in the 
 leek there be no goodness at all, yet is the head the least 
 hurtful, as well as the most agreeable to the taste: but you, 
 guided by a wrong appetite, will generally hold the head 
 between your fingers, and eat the stalk, which is not only 
 good for nothing, but has also a bad relish. Suppose, 
 therefore, you choose a lover in the same manner; I shall 
 be the happy person, and the rest of your lovers all dis- 
 carded.” 
 
 The lady was in some confusion, as well as her com- 
 panions; and she said to him, ‘Sir, you have given us 
 a very just and reasonable reprimand: I shall always 
 value your respect, as being a learned and worthy person ; 
 and, you may ever, as far as is consistent with my honour, 
 ‘command me.” Master Albert arose, gave the ladies 
 thanks, took his leave very merrily, and departed. Thus 
 she, never considering whom she jested with, met witb 
 
36 THE DECAMERON 
 
 her match; of which, if you are wise, you will hereafter 
 be careful. 
 
 The sun was now descending in the west, aint the heat 
 of the day much abated, when the novels were all ended ; 
 upon which the queen pleasantly said, “‘ Nothing more 
 remains to be done during my administration for the 
 present day but to give you a new queen to-morrow, 
 who must take her turn, according to the best of her 
 judgment, in ordering everything that may be necessary 
 for the continuance of our mirth. And though the day 
 ought to continue till it is night, yet, unless you take 
 time a little beforehand, you cannot so well provide for 
 what is to come; and, that there may be time enough to 
 prepare whatever the queen shall think proper for the 
 next day, I think the following days ought to begin at 
 this hour. In regard then to Him by whom all things 
 live, and for our own well-doing, I appoint Philomena 
 to be queen the second day.” And when she had thus 
 spoken, she arose from her seat, and having taken the 
 crown from her own head, she reverently placed it on 
 Philomena’s, humbly saluting her first herself, and after- 
 wards the rest of the company did the same, submitting 
 themselves cheerfully to her government.—Philomena saw 
 herself crowned with a gentle blush ; and calling to mind 
 what Pampinea had just now said, that she might not 
 seem remiss in her duty, she confirmed all the officers 
 which Pampinea had appointed; then she ordered the 
 morrow’s provision, as also the supper, so near approach- 
 ing (they being to continue there), and afterwards spoke 
 in this manner :— | 
 
 “My dear friends, although Pampinea, more through 
 her own courtesy than any merit of mine, has made me 
 your queen, yet am I not disposed to follow my own 
 judgment as to our manner of living, but rather to join 
 my opinion with yours; and, therefore, that you may 
 know what I intend to do, and so alter it at your 
 pleasure, I shall declare it in few words. If I have well 
 considered the method that has been taken to-day, it 
 seems agreeable enough, and till we either grow weary, 
 or find it inconvenient, I resolve not to change it. Hold- 
 
FIRST DAY 37 
 
 ing on, then, as we have begun, we will rise and divert 
 ourselves awhile by walking, and when the sun is down 
 we will sup in the open air, and after we have had some 
 songs and other diversions, it will be time to go to bed: 
 to-morrow morning, whilst it is cool and pleasant, we will 
 rise and take a walk where we like best, and return, as 
 we have done to-day, about dinner-time, and dance; and, 
 after reposing ourselves as before, come here again to 
 continue our novels, which to me seems full as enter- 
 taining as it may be useful. There are some things, 
 indeed, which Pampinea could not accomplish, by reason 
 of her late promotion, which I propose to _ perfect; 
 namely, to keep you within the bounds of some particular 
 subject, to which your novels are all to relate, and which 
 is to be given you beforehand, that you may have time 
 to think of some pretty story to the purpose; which, if 
 you please, shall be this:—-As from the beginning of the 
 world, people have been all along conducted by fortune 
 through the various chances of life, and will be so to the end 
 of it, you are all of you to relate a case where a person, 
 after going through a variety of troubles, beyond all hope 
 and expectation, at last meets with success.” They all 
 approved the order that was given, and determined to obey 
 it; Dioneus only excepted, who, after the rest were silent, 
 said: “Madam, I approve your order, as the rest have 
 done, and think it both pleasant and commendable ; but 
 one special favour I beg may be granted me, whilst this 
 company continues together, namely, not to let me be 
 constrained by the law you have made, to relate a story 
 according to the given theme, unless I please, but that I 
 may choose something I like better. And that you may 
 not think that I request this as if I were unfurnished with 
 discourses of this kind, I am content to be the last in every 
 day’s exercise.” The queen, knowing him to be a merry 
 companion, and well considering that he would not have 
 moved this request, but with a design to make the com- 
 _pany laugh, when they were weary of any particular subject, 
 agreed to what he desired, with the consent of them all. 
 They now arose, and went to a crystal stream, which fell 
 from a little hill into a vale shaded with trees, where, 
 
38 THE DECAMERON 
 
 washing both their hands and their feet, much mirth passed 
 among them, till supper drawing near, made them return 
 to the palace. When that was over, the queen ordered the 
 musical instruments to be brought, and that Lauretta 
 should begin a dance, Emilia singing to her, and Dioneus 
 playing upon the lute; with which Lauretta immediately 
 complied, and Emilia sung the following song in a very 
 fascinating manner. 
 
 SONG 
 
 I 
 
 With my own charms so blest am I, 
 Each other passion I defy ; 
 
 For ever as I gaze, and find 
 
 That good which still contents the mind 5 
 Nor former flame, nor future love, 
 
 The dear enjoyment can remove, 
 
 II 
 
 Nor does the good I thus possess 
 Become by long admiring less ; 
 No—greater far’s the joy I feel, 
 
 Than heart can think, or tongue reveal: 
 How great it is, they only know, 
 
 Who long have sweetly languish’d so. 
 
 Il 
 
 And I (the more I fix my eyes, 
 
 And feel the pleasing passion rise) 
 Each thought direct, and wish confine, 
 To make the promis’d blessing mine, 
 And hope ere long a greater joy : 
 Where is the nymph so blest as I? 
 
 The song being ended, in which they all joined, though 
 the words occasioned some speculation; and after a few 
 other little sonnets, a good part of the night being now 
 spent, the queen thought proper to put an end to the first 
 day ; lights being consequently called for, she ordered 
 every one to their respective chambers, to repose them- 
 selves till the next morning. 
 
THE SECOND DAY 
 
 ALREADY had the sun ushered in the new day, the birds 
 upon the blooming branches attesting it with their merry 
 songs, when the ladies and gentlemen arose, and went into 
 the garden; where they spent some time in walking, and 
 weaving chaplets of flowers ; and, as they had done the 
 day before, after taking a repast in the open air, and danc- 
 ing, they reposed themselves till the clock struck nine; at 
 which time they took their places, as the queen had ap- 
 pointed, in the same pleasant meadow around her. She 
 _ being of a most graceful person, and having on her a crown 
 of laurel, looked round in a most cheerful manner on the 
 whole assembly, and then signified to Neiphile that she 
 should begin; who, without offering any excuse, spoke as 
 follows :— 
 
 NOVEL I 
 
 Martellino, feigning himself to be a cripple, pretends to be cured by 
 being laid upon the body of St. Arrigo; but his roguery being dis- 
 covered, he gets soundly beaten, and is afterwards apprehended, and 
 in danger of being hanged, but at last escapes. 
 
 It often happens, that he who endeavours to ridicule other 
 people, especially in things of a serious nature, becomes 
 himself a jest, and frequently to his great cost; as you will 
 perceive by, what, in obedience to the queen’s command, I 
 am now going to relate: an affair, which had a very un- 
 lucky beginning, and which, beyond all expectation, ended 
 happily enough to one of our city. 
 
 There lived, not long since, at Triers, a German, called 
 Arrigo, who was a poor man, and served as a porter, when 
 any one pleased to employ him; yet was he reputed a 
 
 39 
 
40 THE DECAMERON 
 person of a good life; on which account (whether true or 
 false I know not) it was affirmed by the people of Triers, 
 that, at the very instant of his death, the bells of the great 
 church rang of their own accord, which was accounted a 
 miracle, and all declared that this Arrigo was a saint, and — 
 they flocked to the house were the corpse lay, and carried 
 it as a sanctified body to’ the great church; bringing thither 
 the halt, lame, and blind, expecting that, by the touch of 
 it, they would all recover. In so great’ a concourse ot 
 people, it happened, that three of our own city arrived there, 
 one of whom was named Stecchi, another Martellino, and 
 the third Marchese; persons that frequented the courts of 
 princes, to divert them as buffoons and mimics. None of. 
 these having ever been there before, and seeing the great 
 crowd of people running from all parts of the city, they 
 were much surprised at it; and hearing the cause, were 
 very desirous of seeing the corpse. They left their baggage, 
 therefore, at. the inn, and Marchese said, “ We will see this 
 saint; but I do not know how we shall contrive to get 
 near enough, for the street is full of soldiers and persons in 
 arms, whom the governor has stationed there, to prevent 
 any tumult in the city: and besides, the church. is so 
 thronged with people, that it will be impossible to get in.” 
 Martellino, who was eager to be a spectator, replied, “I 
 will find a way, notwithstanding, to get close to the very 
 body.” How,” said Marchese, “is that possible ?”— 
 “ T’ll tell you,” answered Martellino: ‘‘I intend to counter- 
 feit a cripple, whilst thou shalt support me on one side, and 
 Stecchi on the other, as if I were unable to walk by myself, 
 bringing me towards the saint to be cured; and you will 
 see everybody make way for us to go on.” They were 
 much pleased with the contrivance, and went accordingly 
 into a private place ; when Martellino distorted his hands, 
 fingers, arms, legs, mouth, eyes, and his whole countenance 
 besides, in such a manner, that it was frightful to behold 
 him ; and nobody that saw him, but would have imagined 
 that ‘he was really so lame and deformed. Being ‘carried 
 in that guise by Marchese and Stecchi, they directed’ their 
 way to the church, crying out in a most piteous manner all 
 the way, to make room for God’s sake! to which the people 
 
SECOND DAY 4) 
 
 condescended. Ina little time they attracted the eyes of 
 every one, and the general cry was, ‘“* Room, room !” till at 
 length they came where the body of St. Arrigo lay ; when 
 Martellino was taken from them by some persons that 
 stood around, and laid all along upon the body, to the end 
 he might, by that means, receive the benefit of a cure. 
 All the people’s eyes were now upon him, expecting the 
 event; when he, who was master of his business, first began 
 to stretch his fingers, then his hands, afterwards his arms, 
 and at last his whole body; which, when the people saw, 
 they set up such shouts in praise of St. Arrigo, that a clap 
 of thunder would hardly have been distinguished. Now it 
 happened that a Florentine was not far off, that knew 
 Martellino very well (not whilst his body was distorted, but 
 after his pretended cure), who fell a-laughing, and cried, 
 “Good God! who would not have taken him to have been 
 really a cripple?” Which some of the by-standers hear- 
 ing, they immediately said, ‘‘ And was he not so? ”—*“ No,” 
 _ answered the other, ‘“‘as God is my judge, he was always as 
 _ straight as any person here; but he has the art, as you have 
 now seen, of turning his body into what shape he pleases.” 
 There needed nothing further to set them all on fire; they 
 therefore pressed most violently on, crying out to seize the 
 villain, that blasphemer of God and His saints, who being in 
 no wise disordered comes here to make a jest of our saint 
 and us. Whereupon they dragged him by the hair of the 
 head, and threw him upon the ground, kicking him and 
 tearing the clothes off his back; nor was there a person 
 there that did not endeavour to give him a blow; whilst 
 _ Martellino kept crying out for God’s sake to have mercy ; 
 but all to no purpose: for the blows thickened faster upon 
 him. Marchese and Stecchi now began to be in some pain 
 for themselves, and not daring to help him, they cried out 
 with the multitude, ‘‘ Kill him! kill him!” contriving all 
 the time how to get him out of their hands: nevertheless 
 he had certainly been murdered, but for the following ex- 
 pedient. Marchese, knowing that the officers of justice 
 were at the door, ran to the lieutenant that commanded, 
 | crying out, “Sir, help me, for God’s sake; here’s.a fellow 
 | that has picked my pocket of a hundred florins ; I beg you 
 | B2 
 
 
 
42 THE DECAMERON 
 
 will assist me in getting them back again.” And immedi: 
 ately twelve of the sergeants ran where Martellino was in 
 the utmost jeopardy, and with the greatest difficulty got 
 him away, all trodden under foot and bruised as he was; 
 and carried him to the palace, followed by many ‘of’ the 
 people, who had been incensed against him; and who now 
 hearing that he was taken up for a cut-purse, and seeing no 
 other way of revenging themselves, declared that they had 
 also been robbed by him. On hearing these complaints, 
 the judge, who was an ill-tempered man, took him aside 
 and examined him; whilst Martellino answered him in a 
 jesting manner, making no account of their accusations. 
 At which the judge being provoked, ordered him to be tied 
 _by the neck, and soundly lashed, that he might make him 
 confess the crimes he was charged with, in order to hang 
 him afterwards. He being therefore bound down to the 
 ground, the judge asking him if those things with which he 
 was accused were true; and telling him that it would be in 
 vain to deny them: he then made answer and said, “* My 
 lord, Iam ready to confess the truth; but please to order 
 first all my accusers to say when and where I robbed them, 
 and I will then tell you truly what I am guilty of, and what_ 
 not.” ‘The judge readily consented, and having summoned 
 some of them before him, one said he had picked his 
 pocket eight days ago; another four days, and some made 
 answer that he had robbed them that same day. Martellino 
 replied, ‘‘ My lord, they are liars; for I had not been here 
 many hours (and would to God I had never come at all !) 
 before I went to view this saint, where I got abused as you 
 now see. That this is true, the officer who keeps your 
 book of presentations, as also my landlord, will testify for 
 me: therefore I beg you would not torture and put me to 
 death, at the instances of these people.” When Marchese 
 and Stecchi heard what passed before the judge, and that 
 their friend was severely handled, they began to be in great 
 fear about him, saying to themselves, that they had taken 
 him out of the frying-pan, to throw him into the fire: and 
 they ran from place to place, to find out their landlord, 
 whom they acquainted with what had happened : he, laugh- 
 ing heartily at their story, carried them to one Alexander | 
 
SECOND DAY 43 
 
 Agolanti, a person of great interest in the city, to whom 
 they related the whole affair, entreating him to have pity on 
 poor Martellino. Alexander, after much laughter, went to 
 the governor of the town, and prevailed upon him to have 
 Martellino brought into his presence. The messenger that 
 went for him, found him standing before the judge in his 
 shirt, all terrified, because he would hear nothing in his 
 favour (having an aversion perhaps to our country people), 
 and being probably resolved to hang him at all events: 
 and he refused, till he was compelled, to deliver him up. 
 Martellino being brought before the governor, told hir 
 everything that happened; and entreated him, as a special 
 favour, that he would‘let him go, saying, that till he came 
 to Florence, he should always think he had the rope about 
 his neck. The governor was highly diverted with the 
 relation ; and ordering every one a suit of apparel, beyond 
 all their hopes they escaped from the most imminent 
 danger, and got safe and sound home. 
 
 NOVEL II 
 
 Rinaldo d Asti having been robbed, comes to Castel Gulielmo, where hs 
 is entertained by a widow lady, makes good his loss, and returns 
 safe home, 
 
 Tue ladies all laughed immoderately at Martellino’s adven- 
 ture, as did the gentlemen likewise, but more especially 
 Philostratus, who, as he sat next to Neiphile, was ordered 
 by the queen to begin his novel; and he immediately 
 complied as follows :— 
 
 I am going to relate a story, consisting partly of misfor- 
 tune, and partly of love, which may be of use to such as 
 walk in love’s uncertain paths ; in which it happens to those 
 who have not said the Pater Noster of St. Julian, that they 
 often get a bad night’s rest, though they lie in a good bed. 
 
 In the time of Azzo, marquis of’ Ferraro, a certain 
 ‘merchant, named Rinaldo d’Asti, came’ to Bologna to 
 transact some affairs of his own; which being done, and he 
 on his return home, it chanced, as he came out of Ferrara, 
 
44 THE DECAMERON 
 
 and was riding towards Verona, that he fell in with some 
 persons, who seemed to be merchants also, but were in 
 reality highwaymen, and unguardedly joined them. They, 
 finding him to be a merchant, and supposing therefore that 
 he must have money about him, resolved as soon as an 
 opportunity offered, to rob him; and, that he should have 
 no suspicion, they rode on discoursing with him like persons 
 of reputation and character, showing themselves extremely 
 complaisant and courteous, insomuch, that he thought 
 himself happy in meeting with such good company, as he 
 was alone, and had only one servant. Talking of various 
 things, they began at last to speak of prayers, and one of 
 the rogues, there being three in number, turned towards 
 - Rinaldo, and said, ‘‘ And pray, sir, what sort of prayer do 
 you use when you are upon a journey ?”—‘“ In good truth,” 
 answered Rinaldo, “ I know little of those matters, and am 
 master of very few prayers ; but I live in an old-fashioned 
 way, and can tell that twelve pence make a shilling ; never- 
 theless, I always use, when I am upon a journey, before I 
 go out of my inn, to say one Pater Noster and one Ave 
 Maria for the souls of the father and mother of St. Julian, 
 and after that I pray to God and St. Julian to send me a 
 good lodging at night: and let me tell you, sir, very often 
 have I met with great dangers upon the road, from all 
 which I still escaped, and when night drew on I always 
 came to a good lodging; which favour I firmly believe St. 
 Julian, to whose honour I speak it, hath obtained of God 
 for me; nor do I think I should ever travel securely, or 
 succeed in my lodging at night, were | to forget this prayer.” 
 
 ‘‘ Then,” said the other, ‘‘ to be sure you offered up that 
 prayer this morning ?” | 
 
 ‘“‘ Most certainly I did,” answered Rinaldo. Said the 
 rogue to himself, having determined how to handle him, 
 “Thou wilt have need enough of it ; for, if I mistake not, 
 thy lodging is like to be none of the best ;” and afterwards 
 he added, ‘‘I have travelled much myself, yet did I never 
 say that prayer, though I have heard it often commended, 
 and I have always fared well, and now this night shall you 
 see which of us will get the better lodging; I must own, 
 however, that instead of it I have used the drupistz, or the 
 
SECOND DAY 45 
 
 intemerata, or the de profundis, which, as my grandmother 
 was wont to tell me, are of singular virtue.” 
 
 Thus they travelled along, discoursing upon many sub- 
 jects, and waiting for a fit time and place to put their,wicked 
 purpose in execution; when at length it happened, that 
 the time, growing late, and the place private, being at 
 the ford of a river near Castel Gulielmo, they made their 
 assault, and robbed and stripped him to the shirt ; and 
 leaving him there on foot they said to him, ‘ Go, see if thy 
 St. Julian will provide as good a lodging for thee to-night, 
 as we shall have:” so, passing the river, away they went. 
 The servant, like a rascal as he was, seeing his master 
 attacked, rode away without offering the least assistance, 
 and never stopped till he came to Castel Gulielmo ; where, 
 it being late when he got in, without giving himself any 
 further trouble, he took up his lodging. Rinaldo remained 
 there in his shirt, without shoes or stockings ; the weather 
 extremely cold, and snowing incessantly; not knowing 
 what to do, the dark ‘night coming on apace, and he all 
 over in a tremble, with his teeth chattering for cold, now 
 began to look round for shelter where he might continue 
 that night, for fear of being starved to death ; but seeing 
 none (the whole country being laid waste by the late war), 
 and being forced away by the cold, he trudged on towards 
 Castel Gulielmo, not knowing whether his servant was gone 
 thither or elsewhere, but supposing, if he got admittance, 
 that he should meet with relief. © But before he came within 
 a mile of the town, it grew quite dark ; and it was so late 
 when he got thither, that finding the gates locked, and the 
 bridge drawn up, he could obtain no entrance. Grieving 
 much at this, and now quite discouraged, he looked about 
 to see if he could find a cover from the snow: when by 
 chance he spied a house hanging a little way over the walls 
 of the castle ; under which he proposed to stand all night, 
 and then to depart ; there he found a door in the wall, but 
 fast locked ; and gathering some straw together which was 
 lying about, he sat down thereon, all pensive and sad, and 
 making loud complaints to St. Julian ; telling him, this was 
 -not-according to the confidence he had always reposed in 
 him. But St. Julian, who had a regard for him, soon 
 
46 THE DECAMERON 
 
 provided a better lodging.. There was a widow lady in that 
 castle, of great beauty, whom the Marquis Azzo loved as 
 his life, and kept in that house under which Rinaldo’ had 
 taken shelter. That very day the marquis was to come to 
 stay all night with her ; she having secretly provided a bath 
 for him, and a most elegant supper. Everything being 
 now ready, and only the marquis’s company wanting, an 
 express arrived with dispatches, which required him to take 
 horse instantly: he therefore sent to the lady to excuse 
 him, and posted away ; at which she was much. concerned, 
 and not knowing how to pass her time, resolved to go her- 
 self into the bath which she had provided for the. marquis, 
 and then to sup and go to bed. Now it happened, that the 
 bath was near to the door where poor Rinaldo was sitting ; 
 so that she being therein, heard all his complaints and 
 shiverings: whereupon she called her maid, and ordered 
 her to look over the wall at the door threshold, and inquire 
 who that person was there, and what he wanted. She 
 went, and by the clearness of the sky could just discern — 
 Rinaldo sitting in the manner before described ; and having 
 demanded of him. who he was, he made answer as well as 
 he could, trembling all the while so much that she could 
 scarcely understand him, telling her how he came thither, 
 and entreating her not to let him perish with cold.. The 
 girl was moved to compassion, and returning to her mistress, 
 related the whole story, who had pity on him likewise ; and 
 recollecting that she had the key of the door, which served 
 for the private admission of the marquis sometimes, she 
 said, ‘‘Go and open the door gently: we have victuals 
 enough, and nobody to sit down, and we may also spare 
 him a lodging.” The maid commended her great charity, 
 and having opened the door and found him almost: frozen 
 to death, she said, ‘“‘ Make haste, good man, and get thee 
 into this bath, which yet is warm ;” with which he immedi- 
 ately complied, without waiting for any farther invitation; 
 and he found himself so much refreshed by the warmth of 
 it, that he seemed restored from death to life. Then the 
 lady sent him some clothes, which had been her husband’s, 
 and which fitted him as well in all respects, as if they had’ 
 been made for him. Expecting her further commands, he 
 
SECOND DAY 4) 
 
 began to thank God and St. Julian, who had delivered him 
 from the prospect of a most terrible night, and brought him 
 at last where he was like to meet with good» entertainment. 
 The lady, having now reposed herself a little, ordered a 
 great fire to be made in the hall, and coming thither, she 
 inquired concerning the honest man, what sort of a person 
 he was? ‘To whom the maid replied, ‘‘ Madam, now he is 
 clothed, he seems to be a good handsome man, and well 
 behaved.”—*‘ Go then,” said she, ‘‘ and call him, and bid 
 him come to the fire,and he may also sup with me, for I 
 fear he has had but a sorry supper.” When Rinaldo came 
 into the hall, and saw the lady, who appeared to him to be 
 a woman of consequence, he made her the most. profound 
 reverence, showing all possible acknowledgments for the 
 favours he had received. And the lady, finding him to 
 answer the character she had received of him from her 
 maid, made him sit down freely by the fireside with’ her ; 
 and inquired concerning the misfortunes which had brought 
 him thither, of which he gave her a faithful account, and 
 obtained her easy credit, she having heard something of the 
 servant’s coming thither before: she then told him what 
 she knew of the matter, and how the fellow was to be met 
 with in the morning. Supper being now served up, they 
 washed their hands, and sat down together. He was tall in 
 person, and agreeable enough both in countenance and 
 behaviour, and a middle-aged man: she often, therefore, 
 cast her eye upon him, and finding him to suit her fancy, 
 as soon as supper was ended, advised with her maid whether 
 she might not fairly (since the marquis had put such a 
 slight upon her) make use of the opportunity which fortune 
 had thrown in her way. ‘The girl, who knew how to please 
 her mistress, readily concurred. The lady now returned to 
 the fire, where she had left Rinaldo by himself, and looking 
 pleasantly at him, she said, ‘‘ Why so thoughtful, sir ? does 
 . the loss ofyour horse and a few clothes affect you so much? 
 Comfort yourself ; you are in my house ; and I can tell you 
 farther, that, seeing you in my husband’s clothes, I could 
 not help thinking, several times to-night, that he himself 
 was present, and I was going more than once to have 
 saluted you.” Rinaldo was too great a connoisseur in love- 
 
48 THE DECAMERON 
 
 matters not to take her meaning. The affair, therefore, 
 was soon agreed, and to bed they went, and, in the morning, 
 to prevent the least suspicion, she gave him some old 
 clothes, and filled his pocket with money, begging of him 
 to keep it secret ; and having directed him where to find 
 his servant, she let him out at the same door he came in at. 
 He therefore, as soon as it was broad day, entered into the 
 castle as if he had come a great way off, where he found 
 the fellow, and soon clothed himself out of his portmanteau ; 
 and as he was going to mount his man’s horse, by great 
 fortune, it happened that the three rogues, who had robbed 
 him the day before, were taken up on some other account. 
 and brought into the castle: when by their own confession, 
 he got his horse, clothes, and money returned to him, and 
 lost nothing but a pair of garters, which they knew not 
 what was become of. Rinaldo now thanked God and St. 
 Julian, and, mounting his horse, arrived safe at his own 
 house, and the very’ next day the three villains ' were 
 exhibited in public, dancing on nothing. | 
 
 NOVEL II! 
 
 Three young gentlemen lavish away their fortunes, and a nephew of 
 theirs returning home in as desperate a condition, falls in com- 
 pany with an Abbot, whom he afterwards found to be the King of — 
 Englanda’s daughter, who marries him, and makes good his uncles’ 
 losses, resettling them in their former prosperity. 
 
 ALL admired the adventures of Rinaldo d’Asti, and com- 
 mended his devotion, giving thanks to God and St. Julian 
 who had succoured him in his great necessity. Nor was 
 the lady blamed (though they did not care to speak out) 
 for making use of the opportunity, that offered: whilst they 
 were laughing at these things, Pampinea, finding that she 
 was to speak next, after a little considering what she was to 
 say, and receiving the queen’s command, began at last in 
 this manner :;— | | 
 
 The more we speak of the acts of fortune, so much the — 
 more, to such as consider them attentively, there remains © 
 
SECOND DAY 49 
 
 to be spoken: which none need wonder at, who consider 
 
 that all things, which we foolishly call our own, are in her 
 power ; and that she blindly wills them from one to another 
 incessantly, and without any rule or method that can be 
 discovered by us. Which, though it be showed every day 
 in everything, and has also been enlarged upon in some 
 
 _ former novels, nevertheless, as the queen is pleased that 
 
 this should be our present subject, I shall add a story to 
 
 -what has been said already; which I think you will not 
 
 dislike. 
 
 There dwelt, formerly, in our city, a knight named 
 Tebaldo, who, as some report, was of the family of the 
 Lamberti ; though others say he belonged to the Agolanti: 
 but be that as it will, he was the most wealthy knight of all 
 that lived in his time, and had three sons; the eldest was 
 called Lamberto, the second Tebaldo, and the third Ago- 
 lante, all courteous and genteel young persons; though the 
 
 eldest was not above eighteen when their father died, 
 
 leaving them in possession of his vast wealth; who, finding 
 themselves.so rich, and having nobody to control them, 
 began to spend apace, by keeping vast numbers of servants, 
 and fine horses, and dogs, and hawks, with open house for 
 all comers, making continual tilts and tournaments, and 
 sparing no diversions that belong to gentlemen; indulging 
 themselyes besides in every youthful lust and passion. 
 They had not led this life long, before their riches began to 
 waste, and their rents not being sufficient to defray their 
 current expenses, they mortgaged and sold first one estate, 
 and then another; so that they saw themselves coming to 
 nothing, and then poverty opened their eyes, which had 
 been hitherto kept shut. One day, therefore, Lamberto 
 called his two brothers together, and set forth to them the 
 great repute in which their father had lived, and the wealth 
 he had left them, and how much they were now impover- 
 ished, through their inordinate expenses ; advising them, in 
 the best manner he was able, that, before matters grew 
 
 _ worse, they should sell the little that was left, and retire 
 
 from that quarter. His advice was followed ; and, without 
 
 taking any leave, or making the least stir, they left Flor- 
 ence, and went directly for England. Coming to London, 
 
 
 
Pe: ait ¥ 
 50 THE DECAMERON 
 
 they took a little house, and lived as frugally as possible, 
 letting out money at interest. And fortune was so kind to 
 them, that in a few years ‘they got a great deal of money: 
 ne 2 by which means, it happened, that first one»and then 
 another returned to Florence, where they recovered back a 
 great part of their estates, and purchased others to them, 
 and got married ; and keeping on their banking trade still 
 in England, they sent a nephew thither, whose name was 
 _ Alessandro, to manage their business. ‘The three brothers, 
 therefore, continued at Florence ; and, forgetting to what 
 misery they had been reduced by their former extravagance, 
 and ndtwithstanding they all had families, began to spend 
 _immoderately, having large credit from the merchants. 
 _ Their expenses were supported for some years by returns 
 from Alessandro, who had let out money to the barons 
 7 upon their castles, and other estates, which turned to good 
 - account, Whilst the three brothers continued spending in 
 this manner, and borrowing whenever they stood in need, 
 _ having their whole dependence upon returns from England, 
 --—s- contrary to every one’s expectation, a war broke out there 
 ---~—-between the king and his son, which divided the whole 
 kingdom, some taking part with one, and some with the 
 other ; ; on which account, the barons’ castles, which were 
 
 -_. in Alessandro’s possession, were seized on, rind nothing 
 now was left him that turned to any profit : but living in 
 hopes of peace every day, and then that he should have 
 both principal and interest, Alessandro still continued in 
 ‘the kingdom, whilst the three brethren at Florence abated 
 nothing of their extravagance, but continued borrowing 
 more daily. And no money coming for some years, as was 
 expected, they lost all their credit, and people being desir- 
 
 ous of getting what was their due, their effects were seized, 
 which not being found: sufficient, they were thrown into 
 prison for the remainder, ‘and their wives and children 
 dispersed up and down the country, in’a most distressed 
 condition, with no prospect but of misery for the rest of 
 
 the their lives. Alessandro, after waiting some years, and find- 
 . ing no likelihood of peace in England, but that he continued 
 _ there to no purpose, and in danger of his life, resolved’ for 
 Italy; and he set out by himself; and as he was going out 
 
 
 
SECOND DAY 51 
 
 of Bruges, he overtook a young abbot, clothed in white, 
 
 attended with a great equipage: two ancient knights fol- 
 lowed, related to the king. These Alessandro joined; and 
 
 having made himself known to them, was well received. 
 
 Travelling together, he modestly inquired who those 
 monks were that rode before, with such a retinue, and 
 
 _ whither they were going? When one of the knights made 
 
 answer, and said, ‘ He that rides first is a young gentleman, 
 a relation of ours, who is lately made abbot of one of the 
 
 richest abbeys in.England; and, because he is younger 
 than is required by the law for such a dignity, we are going 
 to Rome to entreat our holy father to dispense with his 
 want of years: but this is to be a secret.” The new abbot 
 riding sometimes before his company, and sometimes 
 behind (as is usual with persons on the road), got sight at 
 last of Alessandro, who was a graceful, well-behaved young 
 
 gentleman, and was so taken with him at the very first 
 _ view, that he never saw any one he liked better: and having 
 
 called him aside, he inquired who he was, whence he came, 
 
 _and whither he was going. _ Alessandro answered him very 
 
 ingenuously, and, at the same time, made him an offer of his 
 little service. The abbot was much pleased with his modest 
 and pretty manner both of speaking and behaviour; find- 
 ing, though his business. was mean, that he was a gentleman. 
 And being full of compassion for his losses, he began to 
 comfort him in a friendly manner, bidding him to be of 
 good courage, for if he were a worthy man, God might 
 exalt him to a higher pitch than that from which fortune 
 had cast him down; and desired him, as he was going 
 towards Tuscany, to make one in his company, because he 
 was likewise travelling thither. Alessandro returned thanks 
 for the encouragement he had given him, and said, he was 
 entirely at his service. The abbot riding on (having got 
 some new fancies in his head, since the sight of Alessandro) 
 chanced, after some days’ travelling, to come to a country 
 village, which afforded but bad accommodation; and, 
 because the abbot had a mind to lie there, Alessandro 
 made him alight at the house of a person with whom he 
 was acquainted, and provided hima bed in the least in- 
 commodious part of the house. And being now become 
 
s 
 
 52 THE DECAMERON 
 
 steward of the household, as it’ were, to the abbot, he 
 disposed of the company in different parts of the town, in 
 the most convenient manner he was able. And after the 
 abbot had supped, it being now midnight, and every one 
 gone to rest, Alessandro then inquired of the landlord 
 where he was to lie. Who made answer, ‘‘In good truth, 
 sir, you see my house is quite full, so that I and my family 
 must be forced to sleep on benches; yet there are some 
 granaries in the abbot’s chamber: I can carry a pallet-bed 
 for you thither, and you may rest as weli as you can.”— 
 *‘ But, landlord,” quoth Alessandro, “how can I be in the 
 abbot’s chamber, it being so small that there is no room 
 for any of his monks? If I had thought of it before the 
 curtains were drawn, the monks should have lain in the 
 granaries, and I would have gone where the monks are.” 
 Said the host, ‘The case is this; you may lie there, if you 
 please, as well'as anywhere in the world: the abbot is 
 asleep, and his curtains drawn; I can convey a little bed 
 thither softly, and you may rest very comfortably.” Ales- 
 sandro, finding that it might be done without disturbing the 
 abbot, consented, and accommodated himself there with as 
 little noise as possible. 
 
 The abbot, whom his love kept awake, heard what passed 
 between Alessandro and his landlord; and finding that 
 Alessandro was there, he began to reason with himself in 
 this manner: ‘‘ I have now a fit opportunity to compass my 
 desires ; if I let this pass, the like may never offer again.” 
 Resolving therefore to make use of it, and supposing that 
 all was quiet in the house, he called, with a low voice, 
 “« Alessandro!” and bade him come and lie down by him: 
 who, after many excuses, undressed himself, and went to 
 his bed. The abbot now laid his hand upon the other’s 
 breast, as a lover would do; which Alessandro was much 
 surprised at, and began to fear that he had some bad 
 design ; which, as soon as the abbot perceived, he could 
 not help smiling ; and having laid his bosom bare, he took 
 Alessandro’s hand and put it upon it, saying, ‘* Be not 
 afraid: convince yourself of what Iam,” Alessandro laid 
 his hand there, and found two breasts smooth and delicate 
 like polished ivory, which convinced him that it was a 
 

 
 SECOND DAY 53 
 
 woman: and he was going to have been more familiar ; 
 when she interrupted him, saying, ‘“‘ Before you come 
 nearer to me, observe what I am going to say: I am a 
 woman, and not a man, as you see, and was now travelling 
 to the pope, for him to dispose of me in marriage: but 
 whether it be your good fortune or my unhappiness, since I 
 first saw you, the other day, I could not forbear loving you, 
 and I assure you, no woman ever loved a man better than 
 I do you: I therefore am determined to marry you in pre- 
 ference to any other person; and if you will not accept of 
 me, go from whence you came.” Though she was unknown 
 to Alessandro, yet, when he considered the company that 
 | was with her, he supposed she must be a lady of distinction, 
 and her person he saw was beautiful; therefore, without 
 much consideration, he declared, that if she was willing, he 
 should be highly pleased. She then rose up in bed, and 
 turning towards a crucifix that stood upon the table, gave 
 a ring into his hand, and’ made him espouse her. The 
 ' mext morning they proceeded on their journey to Rome; 
 and in a day or two she, with the two knights and Ales- 
 sandro, were introduced to his holiness, and, after the 
 proper ceremony was over, she addressed herself to him in 
 this manner: “ Holy father, you know better than anybody 
 that they who desire to live honestly and well should avoid, 
 as much as in them lies, all occasions which may lead them 
 to act otherwise. For which reason have 1 come away, 
 with a great part of the treasure of my father, who is King 
 of England, and was about to marry me, young as I am, to 
 the King of Scotland, who is very old, to beg that your 
 holiness would dispose of me in marriage. Nor was it the 
 age of the King of Scotland that made me fly, so much as 
 the fear of doing, through my frailty, was I married to him, 
 what should be contrary both to the laws of God, and to 
 the honour of our royal house. As I was coming with this 
 intention, I accidentally beheld this young gentleman, 
 whose merit and behaviour make him worthy of the 
 greatest princess, although his family be less noble. Him 
 have I chosen, nor will I think of any other, however it 
 may seem to my father or any one else. The principal 
 inducement then to this journey is removed: but I chose 
 
54 THE DECAMERON 
 
 to proceed, that I might visit the holy places with which 
 this city abounds, and also your holiness, to the end that 
 the contract. of marriage, made only in the presence of God, 
 may be declared in yours, and so made public to the world: | 
 wherefore I humbly entreat your blessing, to make us more 
 
 capable of pleasing Him, whose vicar you are, that we may 
 live together to the honour of God and of you, and at length 
 die so.” Alessandro was greatly surprised, and overjoyed 
 when he heard his wife was the King of England’s daughter; 
 but the knights were enraged beyond measure, and, had it 
 not been in the pope’s presence, they had certainly offered 
 violence to Alessandro, and perhaps to the princess like- 
 wise. On the other hand, the pope was in amaze, both at 
 her dress and the choice she had made; but seeing what 
 was done could not be remedied, he was willing to satisfy 
 her request; and having comforted the two knights, whom 
 he saw in confusion, and reconciled them to the lady and 
 Alessandro, gave orders for what he would have done. And 
 when the day appointed was come, he made the lady appear 
 most royally dressed before all the cardinals, and other 
 great personages, who had been invited to a most magnifi- 
 cent feast, where she appeared so beautiful and courteous, 
 that every one was charmed with her: in like manner was 
 Alessandro richly apparelled ; in his aspect and behaviour 
 being more like a prince than a person brought up to trade, 
 and was much honoured by the two knights. The pope 
 saw the marriage celebrated with all imaginable grandeur ; 
 and, after receiving his benediction, they took their leave. 
 Alessandro and his lady were desirous, when they left Rome, 
 of seeing Florence, where fame had already carried the 
 news of their marriage; and they were received with the 
 utmost respect. She immediately took the three brothers 
 out of prison, paying all their debts, and settled them and 
 their wives in their former estates. This gained them the 
 goodwill of every one; and departing thence, they took 
 Agolante with them, and came to Paris, where the king 
 received them in a most honourable manner. From thence 
 the two knights went to England, where they prevailed so 
 far with the king, that he forgave his daughter, and received 
 them with all possible demonstrations of joy, making his — 
 
SECOND DAY 55 
 
 son-in-law a knight, and creating him Earl of Cornwall. 
 Alessandro’s behaviour and conduct were such, that he 
 accommodated matters between father and son, which was 
 of great service to the kingdom, and gained the love and 
 esteem of every one. Agolante recovered all that was due 
 to him, and returned to Florence immensely rich, being 
 first knighted by Count Alessandro, who lived happily with 
 _his princess; and it is reported that, through his prudence 
 -and valour, and the assistance of his father-in-law, he made 
 a conquest of Scotland, and was crowned king thereof. 
 
 NOVEL IV 
 
  Landoltho Ruffolo, falling into poverty, became a pirate, and was taken 
 by the Genoese, and suffered shipwreck ; but saved himself upon a 
 cask of jewels, and was taken out of the sea by a woman at Corfu, 
 and afterwards returned home very rich. 
 
 LAURETTA sat next to Pampinea, and finding her tale now 
 brought to a fair conclusion, began thus :-— 
 
 Most kind ladies, there is no greater act of fortune, in 
 my opinion, than to see one of low condition arrive at 
 princely dignity, as Pampinea has just now showed us in 
 the case of Alessandro. And though it be necessary that 
 whoever discourses on the subject proposed, should keep 
 within the very same terms, yet shall I not scruple to relate 
 a story, which notwithstanding it contained greater hard- 
 ships than the former, had not so glorious an end. I am 
 sensible that, in this respect, I shall be the less regarded ; 
 but, as I am able to give you no better, I hope you will 
 excuse me. 
 
 It is generally said, that the sea coast from Reggio to 
 Gaeta is the pleasantest part of Italy ; that part of it near 
 Salerno, which the inhabitants call the Coast of Malfi, is 
 full of little towns, gardens, rivulets, as also rich people 
 expert at merchandise; amongst the rest there is a town 
 called Ravello, in which were many wealthy persons, and 
 one especially, called Landolpho Ruffolo, who, not content 
 with his great store, but willing to make it double, was near 
 
56 THE DECAMERON 
 
 losing all he had, and himself also. This man, having 
 settled his affairs, as other merchants are used to do, | 
 bought a large ship, and freighting it all on his own 
 account, set sail for the island of Cyprus. He there found 
 many ships laden with the same commodities, in regard to 
 which it was necessary for him not only to make a quick 
 mart of his goods, but he was also farther constrained, if 
 he meant to dispose of them at all, to sell them for a trifle, | 
 to his great loss and almost ruin: grieving much thereat, 
 nor knowing what to do, seeing that from great wealth he 
 was reduced almost to poverty, he resolved either to die, 
 or to repair his losses from other people, before he would 
 return home poor, as he came from thence so rich. Meet- 
 ing with a mterchant, who bought his great ship of him, 
 with the money made of that and his other merchandise, 
 he purchased a light little vessel fit for a pirate, arming 
 and furnishing it with everything proper for that purpose, 
 intending to make other people’s goods his own, and 
 especially those of the Turks. And fortune was abundantly 
 more favourable to him in this way of life, than she had 
 been in merchandise; for, in the space of a year, he took 
 so many Turkish prizes, that he found he had not only got 
 his own again, but made it more than double. Being now 
 comforted for his former loss, and thinking he had enough, 
 and for fear of a second disaster, he resolved to make the 
 best of his way home with what he had acquired: and as 
 he was still fearful of trade, he had no mind to employ any 
 more of his money that way, but set sail in the little vessel 
 in which he had gained it. He was no sooner in the 
 Archipelago, but night drew on, and a sirocco or great 
 south-east wind arose, directly contrary to their intended 
 course, which made such a sea, that the ship could not 
 bear up against it, and they were glad to get into a bay 
 under the cover of a little island, to wait for better weather. 
 Landolpho had just entered the harbour when two Genoese 
 ships came in from Constantinople to avoid. the same 
 storm: and as soon as the men in them saw the small 
 bark, they blocked her up in the passage, and understand- 
 ing whom she belonged to, and that the owner was known 
 to be rich; as men addicted to plunder and rapine, they 
 
 s 
 
SECOND DAY 57 
 
 resolved to make it their own prize; landing some of their — 
 men, therefore, well armed with crossbows and other 
 weapons, they possessed themselves of a station, to prevent 
 any of the crew’s issuing out of the bark, unless they ran the 
 hazard of their lives, whilst the rest got into the long boat, and 
 the sea being favourable, they soon boarded Landolpho’s 
 vessel, and took all his people, and everything in it, with- 
 out the loss of a man, leaving him nothing but a waistcoat ; 
 and after they had cleared the vessel, they sunk her. The 
 day following, the wind being changed, they set sail, and 
 had a good voyage all that day; but night coming on, the 
 wind became boisterous again, and the storm was such 
 that the two ships were parted, whilst that wherein poor 
 Landolpho was, drove with the utmost violence upon the 
 coast of Cephalonia, and broke all to pieces. The poor 
 wretches that were on board. (the sea being covered with 
 _all sorts of merchandise, and ‘with chests, tables, &c., as is 
 common. injsuch cases), notwithstanding it was dark, and 
 the waves very great, endeavoured, such as were able to 
 swim, to lay hold of such things as they saw floating. 
 Amongst these was the unfortunate Landolpho, who, though 
 he had wished for death a thousand times the day. before, - 
 rather than to be. carried home a beggar; now he saw 
 death at hand, was sufficiently terrified, and got hold of a 
 plank, like the rest, in hopes that, by delaying his fate, God 
 would; send him some means for his escape: and riding 
 upon jt, as. well, as he could, being driven by the wind 
 backwards,and forwards, he supported himself till it was 
 daylight, and then looking round him he could see nothing 
 but clouds and water, and a chest driving towards him, 
 which came so near him sometimes, that he was afraid it 
 would dash against him; when he-:would endeavour, with 
 the little strength he had left, to put it by with his hand; 
 at length it-happened that a great blast of wind, sent it 
 with such violence against the board. whereon he was 
 sitting, that it was overset, and he-soused over head and 
 ‘ears in the water; but rising again, and swimming more 
 out of fear than any strength, he found himself at such a 
 distance, that he was afraid he could not recover it ; getting 
 therefore to the chest, which was nearer, he laid;his breast 
 
58 THE DECAMERON 
 
 upon it as well as be could, and put his arms round it, and 
 in this manner was he carried up and down, eating nothing, 
 because he had it not, and drinking more than he desired, 
 without knowing where he was, or seeing anything but 
 water for a day and a night. The next morning (whether 
 it was through God, or the force of the winds) Landolpho, 
 who was well nigh become a sponge, holding his arms 
 strongly about the chest, as we often see people seize upon 
 anything to avoid being drowned, drew near to the island 
 of Corfu, where, by good fortune, a poor woman was 
 scouring her dishes with salt water and sand, who, when 
 she saw him approach, and not perceiving him to be of 
 any shape or figure, cried out and retreated: as’ he was 
 unable to speak, neither could he see much; ‘but, as the 
 waves pleased, he was carried to the land, and then she 
 could distinguish the shape of the chest ; and looking more 
 narrowly, she saw an arm laid over it, and then a face, 
 when she supposed how the case was; and being moved 
 by compassion, stepped a little way into the sea, which was 
 now calm, and taking hold of the hair of his head, drew 
 both him and the chest to land, and with much trouble 
 unfolded his arms from the chest, which she set upon her 
 daughter’s head who was with her; and she carried him 
 like a little child to the town, and put him into a stove, 
 and chafed and washed him with warm water, by which 
 means the vital warmth began to return, and he got some 
 strength. In due time she took him out of the stove, and 
 comforted him with wine and good cordials, and kept him 
 some days till he knew where he was; she then restored 
 him his chest, and told him he might now provide for his 
 departure. He, who remembered nothing about it, ‘re- 
 ceived it from the hands of the woman, as supposing it 
 might serve for his expenses a small time, how little soever 
 it was worth; and finding it very light, was something dis- 
 heartened ; however, as she was out of the way, he broke it 
 open,.and found a great quantity of jewels, both such as 
 were set, and others, of which he had some judgment, and 
 knowing their value, he was now thoroughly comforted, 
 praising God for not having yet forsaken him; but as he 
 had been twice buffeted by fortune already, and being 
 
SECOND DAY 59 
 
 fearful of a third mishap, he judged that great caution was 
 requisite to bring these things safe home; he wrapped 
 them up, therefore, in old rags, as well as he could, and 
 told the woman that he had no further use for the chest, 
 but that she might keep it if she would give him a sack in 
 its stead, which she was very glad to do: and now return- 
 ing her a thousand thanks, he departed with his sack upon 
 his neck, and passed over in a bark to Brandizio, and s 
 from one sea to another, till he came to Trani, where he 
 met with merchants of his own town, who clothed him out 
 of charity, after he had told them all that had happened to 
 him, excepting that of the chest of jewels; they also gave 
 him a horse, and sent company with him to Ravello, whither 
 he said he was resolved to return ; and finding himself there 
 in safety, he thanked God for it: and now he inquired more 
 narrowly into his sack than he had done before, and found so 
 many valuable jewels, that, rating them at the lowest prices, 
 _ he was twice as rich as when he left home. Finding means 
 therefore to dispose of them, he sent a sum of money to 
 the woman at Corfu, who had taken him out of the sea, 
 and treated him so kindly; and also to the merchants at 
 Trani for clothing him; and he lived handsomely upon the 
 remainder (without having any more mind to trade) the 
 rest of his life. 
 
 NOVEL V 
 
 Andreuccio, of Perugia, coming to Naples to buy horses, met with three 
 remarkable accidents in one night ; from all which he escapes, and 
 returns with a ruby of value. 
 
 THE jewels found by Landolpho put me in mind, said 
 Flammetta, whose turn it was now to speak, of a story 
 which contains as many perils as the last, although it be 
 different in this respect ; viz., that the first happened in the 
 course of some years, whereas these fell out in the space of 
 one night, as you shall hear. There lived, as I have 
 heard, at Perugia, a young man named Andreuccio di 
 Pietro, a dealer in horses, who, hearing of a good market 
 at Naples, put five hundred florins of gold into his purse; 
 
 [ 
 
60 THE DECAMERON 
 
 and, having never been from home before, went with some 
 other dealers, and arrived thither on a Sunday in the 
 evening: and, according to the instruction he had received 
 
 from his landlord, he went into the market next morning, © 
 
 where he saw many horses to his mind; cheapening their 
 price as he went up and down, without coming to any 
 bargain. But to show people that he came with an 
 intent to buy, he unadvisedly pulled out his purse on all 
 ‘occasions ; insomucn, that a certain Sicilian damsel (who 
 was at every one’s service for a small matter) got a sight of 
 it, as she was passing along, without being observed by 
 him: and she said to herself, ‘‘ Who is there that would be 
 my betters, if that purse were mine?” and passed on. 
 Along with her was an old woman, of Sicily likewise, who, 
 as soon as she saw Andreuccio, ran to embrace him ; 
 which the young woman observing, without saying a word, 
 stepped aside to wait for her. He immediately knew her, 
 to her great joy, and without much: discourse there, she 
 having promised to come to his inn, he went on about his 
 business, but bought nothing all that morning, The young 
 woman taking notice first of the purse, and then of the old 
 _ woman’s knowledge of him, and contriving how to come at 
 all or part of the money, began to inquire of her, as cau- 
 tiously as might be, if she knew who that man was, or 
 whence he came, or what was his business, and also how 
 she happened to know him: which she answered in every 
 particular as fully as he himself could have done, having 
 lived a long time with his father in Sicily, and afterwards 
 at Perugia; telling her also the cause of his coming thither, 
 and when he was to return. Thinking herself now suffi- 
 
 ciently instructed, both concerning his kindred, and their — 
 
 names, she grounded her scheme upon it in the most artful 
 manner possible; and going home, she sent the old woman 
 out upon business for the whole day, to hinder her return- 
 ing to him; and in the meantime, toward the evening, she 
 dispatched a young woman, well-trained for such services, 
 to his lodgings, who found him, by chance, sitting alone at 
 the door, and inquiring of him whether he knew such a 
 ‘ person, he made answer, that he was the: man; upon 
 which she took him a little aside, and said, “Sir, a gentle 
 
SECOND DAY . 6x ° 
 
 woman of this city would gladly speak with you, if you 
 please.” On hearing this, he began to consider the matter , 
 and, as she seemed to be a creditable girl, he held it for 
 granted that the lady must be in love with him; thinking 
 himself as handsome a man as any in Naples: he answered, 
 therefore, that he was ready, and demanded where and 
 when the lady would speak with him. The girl replied, 
 “ She expects you at her own house as soon as it is agree- 
 able to you.’ 
 
 Without saying a ier: then to the people of the inn, he 
 bade her show him the way; and she brought him to her 
 house, in a certain street famous for such sort of guests: 
 but he, knowing nothing of the matter, nor at all suspect- 
 ing, but that he was visiting a place of repute, and a lady 
 that had taken a fancy to him, went into the house, and 
 going upstairs (whilst the girl called aloud to her mistress, 
 telling her that Andreuccie-was there), found her at the top 
 waiting for him. She-was_young and beautiful enough, 
 
 -and very well dressed. Seeing him appear, therefore, she 
 ran down two or three steps with open arms to meet him ; 
 -and taking him about the neck, ‘she stood some time with- 
 out speaking a word, as if prevented by her over-great 
 tenderness; at last, shedding abundance of tears, and 
 kissing him over and over, she said (her words being 
 interrupted as it were with transport), “‘O my Andreuccio ! 
 you are heartily welcome.” He (quite astonished at being 
 caressed in such a manner) teplied, “Madam, I am proud 
 of the, honour to wait upon you.” She then took him 
 by the ‘hand, and led him, without saying a word more, 
 through a large dining-room into her own chamber, which 
 was perfumed with roses, orange-flowers, and other costly 
 odours, where was also a fine bed, and other rich furniture, 
 far beyond what he had ever seen before, which convinced 
 him that she was some great lady: and sitting down 
 together upon a couch at the bed’s foot she addressed 
 herself to him in this manner: ‘“ Andreuccio, I am very sure 
 you must be under great astonishment both at my tears 
 and embraces, as being unacquainted with me, and perhaps 
 never having heard of me before: but you will now hear 
 what will surprise you more, namely, that I am your sister : 
 
62 THE DECAMERON 
 
 and I assure you, that since God has indulged me with the 
 sight of one of my brethren, as I wished to have seen them 
 all, I could die contented this very moment: if you be 
 unacquainted with the particulars of my story, I will relate 
 them. Pietro, my father and yours, as I suppose you must 
 know, lived a long time at Palermo, where he was much 
 respected for his behaviour and good-nature (and may be 
 so still) by all that knew him. Amongst others that liked 
 him on that account was my mother, a widow lady; who, 
 notwithstanding the regard due to her father and brothers, 
 as well as to her own honour, cohabited with him, till at 
 length I was born, and am now what you see. : Having 
 occasion afterwards to retire from Palermo, and ‘to return 
 to Perugia, he left me there an infant, with my mother, 
 and from that time, as far as I can learn, took no more 
 notice either of me or her; which, were he not my father, 
 I could blame him for; considering what ingratitude he 
 showed to my mother, to omit the love he owed to me his 
 child, begotten of no vile prostitute, who, out of her 
 abundant love, had put herself and all her wealth into his 
 hands, without having any farther knowledge of him. But 
 to what purpose? Ill actions, done so long since, are 
 easier blamed than amended: yet so it was; he left me;, 
 as I said, at Palermo, an infant, where, when I grew up,’ 
 my mother, who was rich, married me to one of the family 
 of the Gergenti; who, out of regard to me and her, came 
 and lived at Palermo, where, falling into the faction of the 
 Guelphs, and having begun to treat with our King Charles, 
 he was discovered by Frederick, King of Arragon, before 
 his scheme could take effect, and forced to fly from Sicily, 
 at a time when I expected to have been the greatest lady in 
 the island. Taking away what few effects we were able 
 ' (I call them few, with regard to the abundance we were 
 possessed of), and leaving our estates and palaces behind 
 us, we came at length to this place, where we found King 
 Charles so grateful, that he has made up to us, in part, the 
 losses we had sustained on his account, giving us lands 
 and houses, and paying my husband, and your kinsman, a 
 pension besides, as you will hereafter see: thus live I 
 here, where, thanks be to Heaven, and not to you, my 
 
SECOND DAY 63 
 
 dearest brother, I now see you.” Which when she had 
 said, she wept and embraced him again. 
 
 Andreuccio hearing this fable so orderly, so artfully 
 composed, and related without the least faltering or hesita- 
 tion; remembering, also, that his father had lived at 
 Palermo, and knowing, by his own experience, how prone 
 young fellows are to love; beholding too her tears and 
 affectionate caresses, he took all she had said for granted ; 
 and when she had done speaking, he made answer and 
 said, ‘‘Madam, it should not seem strange to you that 
 I am surprised: for, in truth (whether it was that my 
 father, for reasons best known to himself, never mentioned 
 you nor your mother at any time; or, if he did, that I have 
 forgot it), I have no more knowledge of you, than if you 
 had never been born. .And it is the more pleasing to me 
 to find a sister here, as I the less expected it, and am also 
 alone: nor is there any man, of what quality soever who 
 would not value you; much more, therefore, shall I, who 
 am but a mean trader. But one thing I beg you would 
 clear up to me, viz.. How came you to know that I was 
 here?” When she replied in this manner: 
 
 **A poor. woman, whom I often employ, told me so; 
 for she. lived, as she informed me, with our father a 
 considerable time, both at Palermo and Perugia; and were 
 it not that it appeared more reputable that you should 
 come to me at my house, than I go to you at another 
 ‘person’s, I had. come directly to you.” She then inquired 
 of him particularly, and by name, how all their relations 
 did? To all which he answered her fully ; believing more 
 firmly, when there was the more reason for suspicion. 
 Their discourse lasting a long time, and the season being 
 sultry, she ordered, in Greek, wine and sweetmeats for 
 aim ; and he making an offer afterwards to depart, because 
 t was supper-time, she would by no means suffer it; but 
 seeming to be under great concern, she embraced him, and 
 said, ‘Alas! now I plainly see how little account you 
 make. of me; that, being with a sister whom you never 
 iaw before, and in her house, which you should always 
 nake your home,.you should yet think of going to sup 
 ‘itan inn. Indeed you shall sup with me ; and though my 
 
 | 
 | i 
 
64 THE DECAMERON 
 
 husband be abroad, which I am much concerned.at, | 
 know, as a woman, how to pay you some little respect.” 
 He, not knowing what answer to make, said, “I love you 
 as much as it is possible for me to love a sister; but it 
 will be wrong not to go, because they will expect me 
 to supper all the evening.” She immediately . replied, 
 “We have a present remedy for that, I will send one 
 of my people to tell them not to expect you: but you 
 would favour me more, and do as you ought, if you would 
 send to invite your company hither to supper, and after- 
 wards, if you chose to go, you might all of you depart 
 together.” He said, he should not trouble her: that 
 evening with his companions, but she might dispose: of 
 him as she pleased. She now made a pretence of sending 
 to his inn, to tell them not to expect him to supper; and 
 after much other discourse, they sat down, and were 
 elegantly served with a variety of dishes, which she .con- 
 trived to last till it was dark night, and rising then from 
 table, he offered to go away; but she declared, that she 
 would by no means suffer it, for Naples was not a place to 
 walk in when it was dark, especially for a stranger: and as 
 she had sent to the inn concerning his supping with her, 
 so had she done the like about his bed. He believing this 
 to be true, and glad also: of being with her, was easily 
 prevailed upon. After supper, their discourse lasted a long 
 time, being lengthened out on purpose; and as it was now 
 midnight, she left him in her own chamber to take his 
 repose, with a boy to wait upon him; and:she, with her 
 companions, retired into another room. It was sultry hot, 
 on which account Andreuccio, seeing himself alone, stripped 
 into his doublet, and pulling off his breeches, he laid them 
 under his bolster, and having occasion to retire, he asked 
 the boy to show him a conveniency ; who pointed to a 
 comer of the room where there was a door and desired 
 him to enter it. He went in without the least suspicion, 
 and setting his foot upon a board, which not being nailed 
 at the other end to the rafter on which it was Jaid, ere | 
 flew up, and down they went together. 
 
 Heaven was so merciful to him, ies he got no 
 harm, though it was a great height, but was grievously 
 
 4 
 
SECOND DAY 63 
 
 daubed with the filth, of which the place was full. Now, 
 that you may better understand this, and what followed 
 also, I shall describe the place to you. Ina straight alley 
 (as you see often between two houses), on some tracings 
 reaching from one to the other, were some boards laid, 
 and a place to sit upon, and it was one of these boards 
 that fell down with him. Finding himself now at the 
 bottom, he called in great distress to the boy; but he, the 
 moment he heard him fall, ran to tell his mistress, who 
 hastened to his chamber, to see if his clothes were there, 
 and finding both them and the money, which he, out of a 
 foolish mistrust, always carried about him (and for the 
 sake of which she had laid this snare, pretending to have 
 been of Palermo, and the sister of this Perugian), she took 
 no further care, but made the door fast, out of which he 
 passed, when he fell. Finding the boy made no answer, 
 he called out louder, but to no purpose ; and now perceiv- 
 ing the trick, when it was too late, he climbed up the wall 
 which parted that place from the street, and getting down 
 from thence, he came again to the door, which he knew 
 full well; there did he knock and call in vain for a long 
 time ; lamenting much, and seeing plainly his. calamity ; 
 ‘Alas! (quoth he) in how little a time have I lost five 
 hundred florins, and a sister besides !” 
 
 And using many other words, he now began to batter 
 the door, and to call out aloud ; and he continued doing so 
 till he roused many of the neighbours, and, among the 
 
 rest, one of the women where he had _ been,, pretending 
 to be half asleep, opened the casement, and called out, 
 “Who makes that noise there?” 
 
 “Oh!” cried he, “don’t you know me, Iam Andreuccio, 
 brother to Madam Fiordaliso ;” when she replied, ‘ Prithee, 
 honest fellow, if thou hast had too much liquor, get thee to 
 bed, and come to-morrow. I know nothing of Andreuccio, 
 ‘nor what thy idle tale means; but go about thy business 
 (I say once again) and let us rest.”—-“* What! (said he), 
 don’t you know what I say ?,. You know well enough, if 
 you will: but if our Sicilian relationship) be so soon 
 forgotten, give me my. clothes which I left with, you, and 
 ‘Tl go with all my heart.” She then replied, with a sneer, 
 
 Cc 
 
66 THE DECAMERON 
 
 “The man is in a dream;” and shut the window at the 
 same time. 
 
 Andreuccio, convinced of his loss, through his great 
 grief became outrageous ; and, resolving to recover by force 
 what he could not by fair words, took a great stone, and 
 beat against the door harder than ever; which many of the 
 neighbours hearing who had been awaked before, and sup- 
 posing that he was some spiteful fellow, that did this to 
 annoy the woman, and provoked at the noise which he made ; 
 they called out, one and all (in like manner as dogs all 
 join in barking at a stranger), “It is a’shameful thing to 
 come to a woman’s house at this time of night, with thy 
 idle stories: get thee away, in God’s name, and let us 
 sleep; and if thou hast any business with her, come 
 to-morrow, and do not disturb us now.” Encouraged, 
 perhaps, by these last words, a bully in the house, whom 
 he had neither seen nor heard of, came to the window, 
 and with a most rough and terrible voice called out, ‘‘Who 
 is that below?” Andreuccio, raising up his head at this, 
 beheld an ill-looking rascal with a great black beard, 
 yawning and rubbing his eyes, as if he was just risen from 
 bed, and awaked out of his sleep. He made answer, there- 
 fore, not without a good deal of fear, ‘I am brother to 
 the lady within:” but the other (never waiting to let him 
 make an end of his speech) replied, ‘I’ll come down and 
 beat thee, until thou canst not stand, for a troublesome 
 drunken beast as thou art, disturbing everybody’s rest in 
 this manner ;” and he clapt to the window. 
 
 Hereupon some of the neighbours, who knew more of 
 the fellow’s disposition and character, called qut softly to 
 Andreuccio, and said, ‘* For Heaven’s sake, honest man, 
 go away, unless thou hast a mind to lose thy life ; it will 
 be much the best for thee.” Terrified therefore with his 
 voice and aspect, and persuaded also by these people, 
 who seemed to speak out of mere good will, Andreuccio, 
 quite cast down, and out of all hopes of receiving his 
 money, now directed his course towards that part of the 
 
 city, from whence he had been led by the girl the day 
 before (without knowing whither he was going) in’ order 
 to get to his inn. But. being offensive to himself, on 
 
SECOND DAY 67 
 
 account of the scent he carried about him, and desirous of 
 washing in the sea, he turned to. the left, through a street 
 called Catalana, and went towards the highest part of the 
 city, where he saw two people coming with a lantern, and 
 (fearing that they were the watch, or some ill-disposed 
 persons) stepped into an old house that was near, to hide 
 himself. / It happened that these people were going into 
 the veyy same place; and one of them having laid down 
 some iron tools there, which he carried upon his neck, they \ 
 had some discourse together about them. And as they 
 were talking, said one to the other, ‘‘ There is the most 
 confounded stink (whatever be the meaning of it) that ever 
 I smelt in my life.” When, holding up the lantern, they 
 saw wretched Andreuccio, and, in a good deal of amaze, 
 demanded who he was? He made no answer; and draw- 
 ing nearer with the light they asked what he did there in 
 that condition? He then related to them his whole adven- 
 ture; and they, easily imagining the place where the thing 
 had happened, said te one another, “This must certainly 
 have been in the house of Scarabon Firebrand ;” and then, 
 turning towards him, proceeded thus: ‘‘ Honest man, you 
 ought to be very thankful that you fell down, and could 
 not return into the house, for otherwise you would certainly 
 have been murdered as soon as ever you went to sleep, 
 and so have lost your life as well as your money. But 
 what signifies lamenting? You may as soon pluck a star out 
 of the firmament, as recover one farthing ; nay, you may 
 chance to be killed, should the man hear that you make 
 any words about it.” 
 
 Having admonished him in this manner, they said, 
 “See, we have pity on you, and if you will engage in a | 
 certain affair with us, which we are now about, we are very 
 sure that your share will amount to more than you have‘ 
 lost.” He, like a person in, despair, told them he was 
 willing.—VYhat day was buried the Archbishop of Naples, { 
 whose name was Signor Phillippo Minutolo, in rich ponti- 
 fical robes, and with a ruby on his finger worth upwards | 
 of five hundred florins of gold, whom they proposed to 
 strip and rifle; and they acquainted him with their inten- 
 ‘tion. He then, more covetous than wise, went along with 
 
Pim 
 
 68 THE DECAMERON 
 
 them; and, as they were going towards the cathedral, he 
 smelt so strong, that one said to the other, ‘Can we con 
 trive no way to wash this man a little, to make him sweeter ?” 
 And the other made answer, “We are not far from a well, 
 where there are usually a pulley and’ a great bucket; let 
 us go thither, and we may make him clean in an instant.” 
 Coming there, they found the rope, but the bucket was 
 taken away; they therefore agreed to tie him to the: rope, 
 and to put him down into the well, and- when he had well 
 washed himself, he was to’ shake the rope, and they would 
 draw him up. Now it happened that, after they had let 
 him down, some of the watch, being thirsty with the 
 heat of the weather, and having been in pursuit of some 
 persons, came to that well to drink, and as soon as 
 the two men saw them, they took to their heels; the 
 watch, however, saw nothing of them. Andreuccio now 
 having washed himself at the bottom of the well, began 
 to shake the rope; they therefore laid down their: clothes 
 and halberds upon the ground, and began to draw the 
 rope, thinking the bucket was fastened thereto, and full of 
 water: and when he found himself at the top, he let go the 
 rope, and clung fast to the edge of the well. They imme- 
 diately threw down the’ rope’ on seeing him, and ran 
 away, frighted out of their wits; which greatly surprise 
 
 him; and had he not’ held fast, he had fallen to the 
 bottom, and perhaps lost: his life. Getting out in this 
 manner, and beholding their’ weapons, which he knew 
 belonged not to his companions, he wondered the more; 
 and being in doubt what the meaning of it could be, 
 he went away without touching anything, lamenting ‘his 
 fate, and not knowing whither. As he was’ »walking 
 along, he met with his companions,'' who returned to 
 help him out of the well; and were’ surprised ‘to see 
 him, inquiring of him) who had helped him out. He 
 replied, that he could not tell them; and related the 
 whole affair, and what he had found by the well-side: 
 upon which they perceived how it happened, and laugh- 
 ing heartily, they acquainted him with the reason of 
 their running away, and who they were’ that had drawn 
 him up. Without making more words, it being now 
 
SECOND: DAY 69 
 
 midnight, they went to the great church, into which they 
 found an easy admittance, and. passed directly to the 
 tomb, which was of marble, and very magnificent; and 
 with their levers raised up the cover, which was very 
 heavy, so high that a man might go under, and propped 
 it; which being done, said one, “Who shall go in?”— 
 “ Not I,” cried the other, “but Andreuccio shall.”—*] 
 
 ' will not go in,” quoth Andreuccio; then they both turned 
 
 towards him, and said, ‘What! won’t. you go in? We 
 will beat. your brains out this. moment, if you don’t.” 
 Terrified at their threats, he consented, and being now 
 within, he began to consider with himself in this manner: 
 “These fellows have certainly forced me in here to 
 deceive me, and therefore, when I. have given them 
 everything, and am endeavouring to get out again, they 
 will certainly run away, and I shall be left destitute.” 
 For which reason. he resolved to make sure of his part, 
 
 _ beforehand; and remembering the ring of value which 
 
 he had heard them speak of, as soon as ever he got 
 
 / into the vault, he took it off the archbishop’s finger, 
 
 and secured it, giving them afterwards the pastoral staff, 
 mitre, and gloves, and stripping him to his shirt, he told 
 them there was nothing else. But they affirming that 
 there was a ring, bid him seek everywhere for it, whilst 
 he assured them that he could nowhere find it, and, 
 
 | pretending to look carefully about, he kept them some 
 
 time waiting for him: at length they, who were fully as 
 
 / cunning as himself, calling to him to search diligently, 
 
 suddenly drew away the prop which supported the cover, 
 
 and left him shut up in the vault. Which, when he 
 
 a oe 
 
 
 
 | perceived, you may easily suppose what condition he 
 
 was in. Many a time did he endeavour with his head 
 
 ‘ and shoulders to raise it up, but in vain; till, overcome 
 ‘ with grief, he fell down at last upon the dead body; 
 ‘ and whoever had seen him at that time, could scarcely 
 : have said, whether there was more life in one than the 
 / other. But when he came to himself he lamented most 
 | bitterly, seeing that he was now brought to the necessity 
 
 of one of these two evils, namely to die there with 
 
 » hunger, and the stench of the dead carcase, if no one 
 
70 THE DECAMERON 
 
 came to help him out: or, if that should happen, and 
 he be delivered, in that case to be hanged for a thief. 
 As he was in this perplexity, he heard the noise of many 
 persons in the church, whom he supposed were come 
 to do what he and his companions had been about, 
 which added greatly to his fear: but after they had 
 raised up the lid and propped it, a dispute arose which 
 should go in; and none caring to do it, after a long 
 contest, said a priest, “What are you afraid of? Do 
 you think he will eat you? Dead men cannot bite; I 
 will go in myself.” And immediately clapping his breast 
 to the edge of the vault, he attempted to slide down 
 with his feet foremost; which Andreuccio perceiving, 
 and standing up he caught fast hold of one. of his legs, 
 as if he meant to pull him in. The priest upon this 
 making a most terrible outcry, got out immediately; and 
 the rest being equally terrified, ran away, leaving the vault 
 open, as if they had been pursued by a hundred thousand 
 devils. Andreuccio, little expecting this good fortune, 
 got out of the vault, and so out of the church, the same 
 way he came in. And now daylight began to appear, 
 he wandered with the ring cn his finger he knew not 
 whither, till, coming to the seaside, he found the way 
 leading to his inn: there he met with his companions 
 and his landlord, who had been in pain all that night 
 for him; and having related to them all that had passed, 
 he was advised to get out of Naples with all speed; 
 with which he instantly complied, and returned to Perugia, 
 having laid out his money on a ring, whereas the intent of 
 his journey was to have bought horses. 
 
SECOND DAY ee 
 
 NOVEL VI 
 
 Madam Beritola was found on an island with two goats, having lost 
 her two sons, and went from thence to Lunigiana, where one of her 
 sons became servant to the lord thereof; and being found with his 
 daughter, was by him sent to prison; afterwards, when the country 
 of Sicily rebelled against King Charles, that same son was known 
 again by his mother, and was married to his master’s daughter ; 
 and his brother being found likewise, they both returned to great 
 estate and credit, 
 
 THE ladies and gentlemen were much diverted with the 
 adventures that befel Andreuccio, as related by Flammetta ; 
 when Emilia, perceiving the story to be at an end, began, 
 by the queen’s order, in this manner: 
 
 Very great and grievous are the changes of fortune, 
 which, as often as we discourse of, so often do they rouse 
 and awaken our understandings, which are but too easily 
 enchanted by her flatteries; and I am persuaded, that to 
 hear them recounted must be agreeable both to such as are 
 happy, and such as are miserable;.inasmuch as it is a 
 caution to the former, and affords matter of comfort to the 
 latter. Wherefore, though great things have been already 
 treated of, yet I do purpose to relate a story no less true 
 than lamentable: which, though it ended well, yet such 
 and so many were the bitter thwartings, that one would 
 scarcely imagine they could ever be sweetened by any sub- 
 sequent joy. 
 
 You must understand, then, that after the death of the 
 Emperor Frederick II. Manfredi was crowned king of 
 Sicily; with whom lived, in great favour, a Neapolitan 
 gentleman, whose name was Arrighetto Capece, and who 
 had, for his wife, a most beautiful and worthy lady of 
 Naples, called Beritola Caracciola. This gentleman having 
 the government of the island in his hands, and understand- 
 ing that King Charles I. had gained the battle of Benevento, 
 and slain Manfredi, finding also that the whole kingdom 
 had revolted to the conqueror, and reposing but little trust 
 in the scanty faith of the Sicilians, nor being willing to 
 ‘become a subject to the enemy of his former master, he pre- 
 
> 
 
 72 THE DECAMERON 
 
 ' pared secretly to leave the place ; which being discovered by 
 
 the inhabitants, he and many other of Manfredi’s friends 
 and. servants were delivered up prisoners to King Charles, 
 who took possession also of the island. In such a sudden 
 change of affairs, Madam Beritola, not knowing what was 
 become of her husband, and fearful of what was already 
 come to pass, to avoid reproach, left everything behind 
 her, and taking only a child of eight years old, called 
 Goffredi, and being with child of another, she embarked, 
 in the utmost distress, in a little vessel, for Lipari: there 
 she brought forth another son, whom she called Scacciato, 
 or the Expelled, and having provided a nurse, they went’on 
 board again with a design to return to her relations at 
 Naples. But it happened contrary to her expectation: for 
 the vessel, which was bound for Naples, was carried by a 
 contrary wind to the island of Ponzo; where, getting into a 
 little harbour, they waited for a more favourable season to 
 pursue their voyage: there they went on shore, and finding 
 a solitary place, she sat down all alone, to lament the fate 
 of her dear Arrighetto, and this she did every day; whilst 
 it happened, that: being employed in this meditation one 
 day, without any of the ship’s crew knowing where she was, 
 they were surprised by a pirate ship, and carried off. 
 Madam Beritola, when her daily lamentation was ended, 
 returned, as usual, to see her sons, and was surprised to 
 find nobody; but suspecting what must have’ happened, 
 and casting her eye towards the sea, she saw the ship at no 
 great distance, dragging her little vessel after it; on which 
 she plainly perceived that she had lost her children, as 
 well as her husband; and seeing herself there poor and 
 abandoned, nor expecting ever to meet with any of them 
 again, she fell down in a swoon upon the shore, calling 
 upon her husband and her children. There was no one 
 near, either with cold water or any other means, to bring 
 her to herself; so that her spirits might the more freely 
 wander at their pleasure; but when she was a little re- 
 covered, then did her tears and lamentations break out 
 afresh, whilst she called out for her children, and ran to 
 every cavern to find them; till, perceiving at last it was all 
 to no purpose, and dark night drawing on, yet hoping still, 
 
SECOND DAY 73° 
 
 without knowing why, she began then to take some care of 
 herself, and, leaving the sea-shore, returned to the cave 
 where she was used to make her lamentation: she passed 
 that night not without infinite pain and grief; and day- 
 light appearing, she, who had eaten nothing the evening 
 before, being now pinched with hunger, fed upon the green 
 herbs as well as she could ; sadly reflecting on what would 
 become of her the rest of her life: whilst she was full of 
 these melancholy reflections, she beheld a goat enter a 
 cave near her, and, after some little stay, come out 
 again. and. go into the woods: upon which she arose, and 
 went in where she saw the beast issue forth, and found 
 two young kids, yeaned perhaps that very day, which she 
 thought at that time the prettiest things in the world ; and 
 having milk yet in her breasts from her late delivery, she 
 took them carefully, and applied them to her bosom, and 
 they sucked as naturally as if she had been their mother, 
 and from that time made no distinction between one and 
 the other: and thus the lady thinking that she had now 
 met with company in this solitary place, feeding also on 
 herbs, and drinking of water, and lamenting: her husband 
 and children as often as she reflected on her) past life, be- 
 came at length disposed to live and die there, growing as 
 familiar with the goat as with her offspring. By this way 
 of life becoming almost wild, it happened, in some months, 
 that a vessel from Pisa arrived there by chance, and con- 
 tinued many days, on board of which was a gentleman 
 called Conrado de’ Malespini, with his most virtuous lady, 
 who had been upon a pilgrimage to visit all the holy places 
 in Puglia, and were now returning home; when, to divert 
 themselves, they went on shore with their servants and 
 some dogs, and being not far from the place where Madam 
 Beritola was, the dogs met with the two kids, who being 
 now large ones, were feeding abroad, and, as they were 
 closely pursued, fled for refuge to her in the cave: she 
 arose on seeing this, and getting a stick, beat the dogs 
 away; in the meanwhile Conrado and his lady, who were 
 following the dogs, came upon her, and beholding her all 
 swarthy, meagre, and hairy, were greatly surprised, and she 
 much more, at their appearance... When, by her entreaties, 
 C2 
 
714 THE DECAMERON 
 
 he had drawn his hounds back, they desired she would 
 acquaint them who she was, and what she did there: 
 whereupon she related to them all that had happened to 
 her, and her resolution to stay ; which, when Conrado had 
 understood, who knew her husband very well, he was 
 moved with pity, and endeavoured, by many arguments, to 
 draw her from her cruel design, making an offer either to 
 send her home, or to keep her at his own house in the 
 same rank as if she was his sister, where she might wait for 
 better times. When she would not comply with these kind 
 proposals, he left his wife with her, desiring that she would 
 order victuals to be brought, and let her put on some of. 
 her clothes, because her own were all ragged, and endeavour, 
 by every possible means, to bring her away. The lady 
 continued with her, and lamented her misfortunes, until 
 the victuals and clothes were brought, when she prevailed 
 upon her to clothe herself, and to eat; and after much 
 entreaty, she, declaring that she would never go any more 
 where she was known, persuaded her to depart with them 
 for Lunigiana, together with the two kids and goat, which 
 were now come back, showing all tokens of joy to her, to 
 the great wonder of the lady. 
 
 As soon as the weather was favourable, Madam Beritola 
 went on board with Conrado and his lady, being followed 
 by the goat and kids; and, because she wished to be 
 known by nobody else, she would be called by no other 
 name than that of the Goatherdess. The wind was favour- 
 able, and soon brought them into the river Magra, where 
 they got on shore, and went to their castle ; there she lived 
 with Conrado’s lady in a widow’s dress, like a waiting- 
 woman, behaving herself with all obedience and humility, 
 still loving and nursing her goats.—Let us now return to 
 the pirates, who had seized upon the little bark at Ponzo, 
 which brought Beritola thither, and leaving her there, as 
 having not been seen by them, they carried the rest of the 
 people away to Genoa, where, when the booty came to be 
 divided among the owners of the ship, it happened that, 
 amongst other things, the nurse and two children fell to 
 the share of one Guasparrino d’Oria, who sent them to his 
 own house, to be kept as servants. The nurse was ex 
 
SECOND DAY 75 
 
 ceedingly sorrowful at the loss of her mistress, and the low 
 state of life to which she saw herself and the children now 
 reduced, and wept for a considerable time; but when she 
 saw that tears were of no effect, and that they were slaves 
 together, poor as she was, yet was she wise and prudent, 
 and having comforted herself in the best manner she was 
 able, and considering their condition, she believed that if 
 they were known it might turn to their disadvantage ; and 
 hoping besides that their affairs might take a new turn, and 
 they regain their former condition ; for this reason she de- 
 termined to discover their names to nobody, unless she saw 
 a proper time for it: and she told every one who inquired 
 about them, that they were her sons, and the eldest she 
 called not Goffredi, but Jeannot di Procida; as for the 
 younger, she did not regard changing his name; and she 
 told Goffredi, frequently, the reason why she had done so, 
 and to what dangers he would be exposed should he be 
 known, which the child, who was sensible enough, carefully 
 observed. 
 
 They continued in the house of Guasparrino many 
 years, poorly clad, and worse shod, employed in the most 
 servile offices, which they bore with great patience: but 
 Jeannot, being now in his sixteenth year, and having a 
 spirit much beyond the condition of a servant, despising 
 the meanness of his station, he left Guasparrino, and 
 went on board the ships which were bound for Alexandria ; 
 and travelling afterwards into divers parts, could in no 
 way advance himself. In the end, about three or four 
 years after his departure from Guasparrino, being grown 
 tall and comely in his person, and having understood that 
 his father, whom he thought to have been dead, was yet 
 alive, but kept in prison by King Charles; despairing now 
 altogether of his fortune, he wandered up and down as a 
 vagabond, till he came to Lunigiana, where by chance he 
 became servant to Conrado de’ Malespini, and was much 
 liked as such. He seldom saw his mother, she being 
 commonly with Conrado’s wife, nor did he know her any 
 more than she recognised him; so much had time altered 
 both since they last saw one another. Living thus in the 
 service of Conrado, it happened that a daughter of his, 
 
76 THE DECAMERON 
 
 whose name was Spina, being the widow of one Nicholas 
 de Grignano, returned home to her father’s; and being a 
 very agreeable young lady, and only sixteen years of age, 
 soon cast her eyes on Jeannot, and he on ‘her, in such a 
 manner, that they became enamoured of each other ; which 
 love of theirs was not long without taking effect, and was 
 carried on many months before it was discovered. For 
 which reason, growing too secure, they were now not so 
 cautious as they ought to have been in such an affair; and, 
 as they were walking one day into a pleasant grove, well 
 planted with trees, leaving the rest of their company behind, 
 they passed on before; and supposing that the others 
 were far enough off, they made choice of a fine bed of 
 flowers for their amorous amusement.  Dallying there too 
 long, though the time seemed short to them, they were 
 surprised first by the mother, and afterwards by Conrado 
 himself ; who, being grieved beyond measure ordered three 
 of his servants to seize, and carry them bound to a certain 
 castle of his ; resolving out of his extreme rage and passion, 
 to put them both to a shameful death. The mother, 
 though she was much troubled, and thought her daughter 
 worthy of punishment for the crime she had committed, 
 yet, perceiving what her husband’s intention was, she could 
 not bear that he should proceed to such extremities, and 
 begged that he would not, in his old age, be so far hurried 
 away with passion, as to murder his own daughter, and to 
 stain his hands with the blood of a servant; but rather 
 show his resentment, in a different manner, ‘namely, by 
 committing them to close imprisonment, there to pine and 
 lament the folly they had committed. By these and other 
 persuasions the good lady prevented his putting them to 
 death ; and he now gave orders to have them sent to 
 separate prisons, where they should be well watched, and 
 kept with little food and great severity, till he should farther 
 resolve what to do with them. What their life now was in 
 captivity and continual tears, with more fasting than was 
 needful for them, any one may easily 1 imagine. 
 
 Jeannot and La Spina remaining in this comfortless con- 
 dition, and a whole year being spent’ without Conrado 
 taking any further notice of them, it happened that Peter. 
 
SECOND DAY 79 
 
 King of Arragon, by means of John di Procida, caused the 
 island of Sicily to revolt, and gained it from King Charles; 
 on which account Conrado, who was of the Ghibeline 
 faction, made great rejoicings, which Jeannot being in- 
 formed of by some of his keepers, fetched a deep sigh, and 
 said: “‘ Alas! for these fourteen years have I been wander- 
 ing through the world, waiting only for this event; and 
 now the thing is come to pass, that I may be destitute of 
 all hope, I am in prison, from which I never expect to 
 depart with life!”—‘‘ And what,” said the keeper, “ hast 
 thou to do with the affairs of princes? Or what business 
 hast thou with Sicily?” When he replied, ‘My heart is 
 fit to burst, when I call to mind the rank my father held 
 there ; for though I was but an infant when I fled from 
 thence, I can very well remember his being governor under 
 King Manfredi.”—“ And who was thy father, then?” con- 
 tinued the keeper. ‘‘ My father,” replied he, ‘‘I may now 
 safely discover, since I now see myself out of all danger 
 from such a discovery: his name was, and is still, if he be 
 living, Arrighetto Capece; and I am not Jeannot, but 
 Goffredi; and I make no doubt, if I was at liberty, but by 
 returning to Sicily I might obtain great promotion.” The 
 honest man, without asking any more questions, reported 
 all this, as soon as he had an opportunity, to Conrado, 
 who, seeming to the keeper to take no notice of it, went 
 directly to Madam Beritola, and inquired of her whether 
 she ever had a son by Arrighetto, who was called Goffredi. 
 The lady replied, in tears, that if her eldest son was living, 
 he was so called, and was now twenty-two years of age. 
 Conrado hearing this, immediately concluded it must be 
 the same person, and if this should prove so, a method 
 occurred how he might at the same time show mercy, and 
 take away his daughter’s disgrace and that of his family, by 
 making her his wife: he consequently called Jeannot 
 secretly before him, and examined him particularly with 
 respect to his past life; and finding, by many manifest 
 tokens, that he was truly Goffredi, the son of Arrighetto 
 Capece, he thus addressed him: “ Jeannot, you know how 
 great an injury you have done me in the person of my 
 daughter ; for, as I always treated you well, you ought te 
 
 — Sere =a. 
 
78 THE DECAMERON 
 
 have considered my honour and interest in all things as 
 became a servant: many people there are, who, had they 
 been used by you in this manner, would have put you to 
 an ignominious death, which my pity for you would not 
 permit. Wherefore, seeing, as you inform me, that you are 
 honourably descended both by father and mother, I will 
 put an end to your trouble, if you yourself are willing, and 
 releasing you from your captivity, restore at once both your 
 honour and my own. You know that my daughter La 
 Spina, whom, unluckily for you both, I found in dalliance 
 with you, is a widow, and of a good fortune: you are no 
 stranger either to her temper or family ; concerning your 
 own circumstances, at present, I shall say not a wora. 
 Therefore I am disposed, if you are so inclined, that as 
 you have dishonourably made her your mistress, you now 
 make her honourably your wife, and, accepting you for 
 my son, I give you leave to remain with me as long as you 
 both please.” 
 
 Imprisonment had made great alteration in the person of 
 Jeannot ; but the greatness of mind which he possessed 
 from his birth, was not at all impaired, any more than the 
 affection he still bore towards his mistress: and though he 
 most earnestly desired what Conrado had now so frankly 
 offered, and saw himself entirely in his power; yet could 
 he by no means dissemble what his brave soul prompted 
 him to speak on this occasion, and therefore he replied in 
 this manner: “Sir, neither a desire of power, a thirst of 
 wealth, nor any other motive, could ever induce me to plot 
 like a traitor against your life or estate. I have loved 
 your daughter, do still, and always shall love her, because I 
 hold her worthy of it: and if I have committed a crime, it 
 is a crime inseparable from youth. Would people but once 
 call to mind that they have been young themselves, and 
 compare our offences with their own, those offences would 
 appear less grievous. I have always wished for what you 
 now offer, and should have requested it long since, could I 
 have thought it would have been granted me; it is now the 
 more pleasing, as it was less expected: but if you intend 
 nothing of what you say, feed me no longer with expectation, 
 but rather send me back to my prison, where, use meas you 
 
SECOND DAY 79 
 
 please, I shall always love and honour you for her sake.” 
 Conrado was astonished at hearing this, and esteeming him 
 to be of a generous disposition, and fervent in his affection 
 towards the lady, he valued him the more; wherefore he 
 raised him up, and embraced him, and without more delay 
 sent for his daughter: her confinement had made her pale 
 and meagre, and quite a different person from what she 
 used to be: there, by mutual consent, were the espousals 
 solemnised ; and after some days, without anybody knowing 
 what was done, having furnished them with everything that 
 was proper, and now thinking it a fit time to please the two 
 mothers, he called. his own wife and the Goatherdess to- 
 gether, and to the latter he said, “‘ What would you say now, 
 if I should show you your eldest son married to one of my 
 daughters?” She replied, ‘‘I can only say this, that ] 
 shall think myself more obliged to you, if possible, than 
 I am at present, as you will restore to me what is dearer 
 than my own life; and by doing it in that manner, you will 
 in some measure recall all my lost hopes ;” and with these 
 words she began to weep. To his wife he then said, ‘And 
 what will you think if I show you such a son-in-law ?”— 
 ‘Whether he be a gentleman or a peasant,” answered she, 
 “if you like it I shall be pleased.” — ‘‘ Well,” replied 
 Conrado, ‘‘I hope in a few days to make you two happy 
 women.” When the young couple had in a measure re- 
 covered their former looks, and had furnished themselves 
 with suitable apparel, he one day asked Goffredi, if it would 
 not add greatly to his joy could he have a sight of his 
 mother? ‘I cannot believe,” replied he, ‘‘that her mis- 
 fortunes have suffered her to live so long ; but if it should be 
 so, nothing could be more desirable; for, by her assistance, 
 I might reasonably expect to recover my estate in Sicily.” 
 Conrado then sent for both the ladies, who expressed 
 the utmost satisfaction at beholding the bride, wondering 
 nevertheless what inspiration had guided Conrado to this 
 extraordinary courtesy in marrying her to Jeannot; whilst 
 Beritola, considering what she had heard from Conrado, 
 began to observe him very attentively ; and by a hidden 
 virtue, which had roused in her some resemblance of her 
 son’s features in his infancy, without waiting for any other 
 
80 THE DECAMERON 
 
 proofs, she threw her arms about his neck, whilst excess of 
 maternal joy and pity denied her the power of utterance ; 
 but, as if they had locked up all her senses, she swooned 
 away in his arms. He, remembering to have seen her 
 often in the castle without knowing her, was all amaze- 
 ment; yet now, by mere instinct of nature, immediately 
 called her to mind; and, blaming himself for his long in- 
 sensibility, embraced her in a most tender and affectionate 
 manner. Beritola had no sooner recovered her senses, 
 by the help of Conrado’s wife and daughter, who ad- 
 ministered cold water and other necessary helps for such 
 purpose, but she again began to embrace her son, using 
 many kind and tender expressions full of maternal affection ; 
 he likewise expressing the same dutiful reverence to her. 
 These affectionate greetings were repeated over and over, 
 to the great joy of the beholders, whilst they recounted to 
 each other their several misfortunes ; and Conrado, having 
 signified to his friends, who heard it with great joy, the new 
 alliance made by him, and appointed a magnificent enter- 
 tainment, suitable to the occasion, Goffredi addressed him- 
 self to him in the following manner: “Sir, you have made 
 me a happy man on many accounts, and treated my mother 
 always with the utmost respect; wherefore, that nothing 
 may be left undone which it isin your power to do, I humbly 
 beg you would oblige my mother and myself, and grace our 
 entertainment with the presence of my brother, who now 
 lives as a servant in the house of Signor Guasparrino d’Oria, 
 who, as I told you before, took us as a privateer ; and, at 
 the same time, that you would also send a proper person to 
 Sicily, to learn the state of the country, and to inform him- 
 self concerning my father, whether he be alive or dead. If 
 he be alive, then to know fully in what state or condition he 
 is, and to come afterwards to us, and give us an account.” 
 The motion made by Goffredi was so pleasing to Conrado, 
 that without more delay he sent two discreet persons, one to 
 Genoa, and the other to Sicily: he who went to Genoa, 
 having met with Guasparrino, entreated him, on the part of 
 Conrado, to send him Scacciato, or ¢he Expelled, and his 
 nurse, relating everything that Conrado had done with 
 regard to Goffredi and his mother; which, when Guas- 
 
SECOND DAY 81 
 
 parrino had heard, he was greatly surprised, and he replied: 
 “True it is, that Iam ready to oblige Signor Conrado to 
 the utmost of my power; I have had such a boy as you 
 speak of, and his mother, about fourteen years, whom I 
 shall willingly send him; but tell him from me not to 
 be too hasty in giving credit to what Jeannot shall say (who 
 calls himself Goffredi), because he is a more wicked boy 
 than he may imagine.” Having said this, and made the 
 messenger welcome, he sent privately for the nurse, and 
 questioned her about the thing ; who, having heard of the 
 rebellion in Sicily, and understanding that Arrighetto was 
 yet living, now laid all fear aside, and told him everything as 
 it had happened, and the reason for her acting in the manner 
 she had done.. Guasparrino, finding the accounts which 
 the nurse and messenger gave to be entirely the same, 
 began now to give credit to it ; and inquiring more narrowly 
 into all the circumstances, for he was a very cautious person, 
 and finding them to fall exactly right, he grew ashamed of 
 himself for his vile treatment of his captive, and to make 
 him amends, since he knew of what consequence his father 
 had been, and now was, he gave him his daughter in 
 marriage, a beautiful young lady of about eleven years of 
 age, and with her a very large fortune. ‘The time of feasting 
 being over, he went on board a galley, well armed, taking 
 with him his son and daughter, with the messenger and 
 nurse, and arrived at Lerici, where he was received by 
 Conrado, and conducted from thence, with all his atten- 
 dants, to ‘a castle of his, which was at no great distance, 
 where a most noble banquet was prepared for them. Now, 
 as to the joy of the mother in meeting again with her son ; 
 of the two brethren in seeing one another; and of all three, 
 in beholding their faithful nurse ; as well as the satisfaction 
 also which was. manifested by all towards Guasparrino and 
 his daughter, and by them again to the whole company, and 
 by the whole company to Conrado, his wife, children and 
 friends: this was beyond expression, and therefore I refer 
 it to your more able imagination. And, that it might be 
 rendered still more complete, it pleased God, a most liberal 
 giver when He makes a beginning, to add the good news of 
 the life and prosperity of Arrighetto Capece: for even as 
 
82 THE DECAMERON 
 
 they were feasting, and the concourse great both of lords 
 and ladies, it chanced that the first course was scarcely set 
 upon the table, before the messenger arrived who had been 
 dispatched to Sicily, and brought an account, amongst other 
 things, concerning Arrighetto, that, being closely confined 
 by King Charles, when the insurrection first began inthe 
 country, the people ran to the prison, and having slain the 
 guards, they set him at liberty, and appointed him their 
 leader, he being Charles’s principal enemy; and under his 
 conduct they afterwards routed and slew many of the 
 French, on which account he became a great favourite with 
 King Peter, who had reinstated him in all his former 
 possessions. The messenger further announced that he 
 was received with the utmost joy by him, for the most 
 welcome news, concerning his wife and son, of whom he 
 had not received the least intelligence since he had been a 
 prisoner; and that he had sent a yacht to bring them back, 
 which was now at hand, with a great number of gentry on 
 board to bear them company. This was most welcome 
 news; and Conrado immediately rose, with some of his 
 friends, and went to meet the gentlemen and ladies, who 
 were sent to Beritola and Goffredi, and after giving them a 
 most hearty welcome, he introduced them to the banquet, 
 which was not half over; there they were beheld by the 
 lady and by Goffredi with such joy, that the like was 
 scarcely ever known; and before they would sit down, they 
 paid their compliments on the part of Arrighetto in the best 
 manner they were able, both to Conrado and his lady, for 
 the honour conferred. on his wife and son, as well as upon 
 himself, with the offer of anything that lay in his power for 
 them to command. Turning also to Guasparrino, whose 
 kindness came unlooked for, they assured him, that as soon 
 as Arrighetto knew what he had done for the Lxfelled, 
 similar acknowledgments would be made to him. After 
 which they sat cheerfully down with the new-married people. 
 Nor was it that day only that Conrado feasted his son-in- 
 law. with all his relations and friends, but he continued 
 to do so for some time, till at length they desired to depart ; 
 and taking leave in a most affectionate manner of Conrado 
 and his lady, and also of Guasparrino, they went on ship- 
 
SECOND DAY 83 
 
 board together; namely, Beritola and the two new-married 
 couples, with their attendants; and the wind proving fair, 
 they soon got to Sicily, where they were received by 
 Arrighetto with incredible joy ; and it is reported that they 
 lived for a long period together in the utmost felicity, with 
 thankful hearts to Heaven for the mercies received by 
 them. 
 
 NOVEL VII 
 
 The Sultan of Babylon sends one of hts daughters te be married to 
 the King of Algarve, who, by divers accidents in the space of four 
 years fell into the hands of nine different men in different places. 
 At length, being restored to her father, she went to the King of 
 Algarve as a@ maid, and, as at first she was intended, to be hts 
 wife. 
 
 THE novel related by Emilia did not perhaps extend itself 
 so far in length, as it moved compassion in the hearts 
 of the young ladies for the accidents that had befallen 
 Beritola, which had caused them all to weep: but it being 
 now ended, the queen ordered Pamphilus to follow, who, 
 in obedience to her commands, thus proceeded : 
 
 It is no easy matter for us, most gracious ladies, to have 
 a thorough knowledge of everything we do: for we often 
 find that many, supposing if they were rich that they 
 should then live securely and at ease, not only offer up 
 their prayers to God, but studiously incur all kinds of 
 danger and fatigue to become so; which, when effected, 
 has been the occasion of their losing their lives by the 
 hands of such people as have thirsted after their wealth, 
 who, before they had attained to such riches, were their 
 entire friends: others, who from a low estate, have made 
 their way to a throne, amidst a thousand dangerous en- 
 counters, and through the blood of their brethren and 
 friends, expecting to find supreme felicity therein, have, 
 besides the infinite cares and anxieties which they have 
 experienced in that station, found to their cost, at last, 
 that poison is often mingled in the golden cups of princes, 
 
 Many people there are who covet some bodily accom» 
 
34 THE DECAMERON 
 
 plishment, as strength, beauty, &c., with which they who 
 are endowed are taught, that death, or a most calamitous 
 life, is often occasioned thereby. But because I would 
 not speak of all our frail desires, I dare affirm, that there is 
 not one of them which we can fix upon with any certainty 
 of being happy by that choice; the safest way then is, to 
 leave all to the good providence of God, who best knows 
 our wants, and is most able tu supply them. Men offend 
 in coveting many things; but you ladies sin chiefly on 
 one poifit, namely, in the desire of beauty ; insomuch, that 
 not being satisfied with that share of it which nature has 
 given you, you call in the assistance of art, to improve it. 
 it is upon this account that I shall relate what happened 
 to a beautiful Saracen lady, who, in the space of four years, 
 was, for her beauty, married nine several times. 
 
 It is now a long time since there lived a Sultan of 
 Babylon, called Beminedab, who was fortunate in all his 
 affairs. Amongst other children, both male and female, 
 he had a daughter named Alathiel, who, in the opinion of 
 all that saw her, was the fairest lady in the whole world. 
 And because the King of Algarve had afforded him great 
 assistance in a defeat occasioned to a most numerous army 
 of Arabians that had assailed him, and -had demanded her 
 afterwards in marriage, he consented as a most special 
 favour: and providing a ship, well equipped for the pur- 
 pose, with all necessary provisions, and sending an honour- 
 able train both of lords and ladies to bear her company, 
 he commended her to the protection of Heaven, and took 
 his leave. The sailors, as soon as a fit opportunity offered, 
 hoisted ‘their sails, and leaving the port of Alexandria, 
 sailed prosperously many days; when, having passed the 
 island of Sardinia, and now seeming to be near the end of 
 their voyage, on a sudden, contrary winds arose, which 
 were so boisterous, and bore so hard upon the ship, that 
 they often gave themselves over for lost. Nevertheless, 
 for two days together, they tried all the means they could 
 devise, amidst an infinite number of tempests, to weather 
 it out; but all to no purpose, for every blast was worse 
 than the former. And not being able to comprehend by 
 marinal judgment where they were, or to see to any distance 
 
SECOND DAY 85 
 
 on account of the clouds and dark night, being now not 
 far from Majorca, they felt the ship split; and perceiving 
 no hopes of escaping, every one caring for himself only, 
 they threw a little boat into the sea, reposing more con- 
 fidence of safety that way than by abiding any longer in 
 the broken ship. The men therefore that were in the 
 ship went into it, one after another; although those who 
 were first down made strong resistance with their drawn 
 weapons against other followers; and thinking to avoid 
 death by this means, they ran directly into it; for tne boat, 
 not being able to bear them all, sunk straight to the bottom, 
 and the people therein all perished. The ship being driven 
 furiously by the winds, though it was burst and half full of 
 water, was at last stranded near the Island of Majorca, no 
 other person remaining on board but the lady and her 
 women, all lying as it were lifeless, through the terror 
 occasioned by the tempest. It struck with such violence, 
 that it was fixed upon the sand about a stone’s throw 
 from the shore; where it continued all that night, the 
 winds not being able to move it. When daylight appeared, 
 and the storm was something abated, the lady, almost dead, 
 lifted up her head, and began, weak as she was, to call 
 first one, and then another of her servants; but all to no 
 purpose, for such as she called for were far enough from 
 her: wherefore, receiving no answer, and seeing no one, 
 she was greatly astonished; and raising herself up as well 
 as she could, she beheld the ladies that were of her com- 
 pany, and some other of her women, lying all about her; 
 and trying first to rouse one, and then another of them, 
 she scarcely found any that had the least understanding 
 left; so much had sickness and. fear together affected 
 them, which added greatly to her consternation. Never- 
 theless, necessity constraining her, seeing that she was 
 alone, she knew not where, she shook those that were 
 living till she made them get up, and perceiving that they 
 were utterly ignorant of what was become of all the men, 
 and seeing the ship driven upon the sands, and full of 
 water, she began with them to lament most grievously. 
 It was noonday before they could descry any person from 
 on shore, or elsewhere, to afford them the least assistance. 
 
86 THE DECAMERON 
 
 At length, about that time, a gentleman, whose name was 
 Pericon da Visalgo, passing that way, with many of his 
 servants, on horseback, upon seeing the ship, imagined 
 what had happened, and immediately sent one of them 
 on board, to see what was remaining in her. The servant 
 got into the ship with some difficulty, and found the lady 
 with the little company that was left her, who had all 
 hidden themselves, through fear, under the deck of the 
 ship. As soon as they saw him, they begged for mercy ; 
 but not understanding each other, they endeavoured, by 
 signs, to inform him of their misfortune. The servant 
 carried the best account he could to his master of what he 
 had seen; who ordered the ladies, and everything that was 
 in the ship of any value, to be brought on shore, conducting 
 them to one of his castles, where he endeavoured to com 
 fort them under their misfortunes by this generous enter- 
 tainment. By the richness of her dress he supposed her 
 to be some person of great consequence, which appeared 
 more plainly by the great respect that was paid to her by 
 all the women: and although she was pale and in disorder, 
 through the great fatigue she had sustained, yet was he 
 much taken with her beauty; and he resolved, if she had 
 no husband, to make her his wife; or, if he could not 
 have her as such, still not to lose her entirely. Pericon 
 was a man of stern looks, and rough in his person; and 
 having treated the lady well for some time, by which means 
 she had recovered her beauty, he was grieved that they 
 could not understand each other, and that he was unable 
 to learn who she was; yet, being passionately in iove, he 
 used all the engaging arts he could devise to bring her 
 to a compliance, but all to no purpose; she refused all 
 familiarities with him, which inflamed him the more. This 
 the lady perceived, and finding, after some stay there, by 
 the customs of the place, that she was among Christians, 
 and where, if she came to be known, it would be of no 
 great service to her; supposing also, that, at last, Pericon 
 would gain his will, if not by fair means, yet by force; she 
 resolved, with a true greatness of spirit, to tread all mis- 
 fortune under foot, commanding her women, of whom she 
 had but three now alive, never to disclose her quality, 
 
SECOND DAY 87 
 
 unless there should be hopes of regaining their liberty ; 
 recommending it farther to them to maintain their chastity, 
 and declaring her fixed resolution never. to comply with 
 any one besides her husband; for which they all com- 
 mended her, promising to preserve their honour, as she 
 had commanded them. Every day did his passion increase 
 so much the more as the thing desired was more near, and 
 yet more difficult to be obtained: wherefore, perceiving 
 that entreaty was to no purpose, he resolved to try what 
 art and contrivance could do, reserving force to the last. 
 And having once observed that wine was pleasing to her, not 
 having been accustomed to it, as being forbidden by her 
 country’s law, he determined to surprise her by means of 
 this minister of Venus. And seeming now to have given 
 over his amorous pursuit, which she had used her best 
 endeavours to withstand, he provided one night an elegant 
 entertainment, at which she was present, when he gave it 
 in charge to the servant that waited upon her, to serve her 
 with several wines mingled together, which he accordingly 
 did; whilst she, suspecting no such treachery, and pleased 
 with the rich flavour of the wine, drank more than suited 
 with her modesty, and forgetting all her past troubles, 
 became gay and merry ; so that, seeing some women dance 
 after the custom of Majorca, she also began to dance after 
 the manner of the Alexandrians; which when Pericon 
 observed, he supposed himself in a fair way of success, and 
 plying her still with more wine, continued this revelling 
 the greatest part of the night. At length, when the guests 
 departed, he went with the lady into her chamber, who 
 having at that time more wine than modesty, undressed 
 herself before him, as if he had been one of her women, 
 and got into bed. He instantly followed, and accomplished 
 his purpose. They afterwards cohabited together without 
 any reserve, till at length, fortune, unwilling that she who 
 was to have been the wife of a king, should become the 
 mistress of a nobleman, prepared for her a more barbarous 
 and cruel alliance. 
 Pericon had a brother, twenty-five years of age, of a most 
 complete person, called Marato ; who having seen her, and 
 flattering himself, from her behaviour towards him, that he 
 
 | 
 
88 THE DECAMERON 
 
 was not displeasing to her: supposing also. that: nothing 
 obstructed his happiness, except the guard which his brother 
 had over her; he consequently contrived a most cruel de- 
 sign, which was not long without its wicked effect. . There 
 was by chance a ship in the haven at that time, laden with 
 merchandise bound for Chiarenza in Romania, of which two 
 young Genoese were the masters, who only waited for the 
 first fair wind to go out: with them Marato made a contract, 
 to receive him with the lady the following night. When 
 night came, having ordered how the» thing should: be 
 managed, he went openly to the house, nobody having 
 the least mistrust of him, taking with him some trusty 
 friends, whom he had secured for that service, and con- 
 cealed them near the house: in the middle of the night, 
 therefore, he opened the door to them, and they slew 
 Pericon as he was asleep in bed with the lady; seizing 
 upon her, whom they found awake and in tears, and 
 threatening to kill her if she made the least noise. They 
 took also everything of value that belonged to Pericon; 
 with which Marato and the lady went instantly on board, 
 whilst his companions returned about their business. |The 
 wind proving fair, they soon set sail, whilst the lady reflect- 
 ing on both her misfortunes, seemed to lay them much to 
 heart for a time; till being over persuaded by Marato, she: 
 began to have the same affection for him that she had enter- 
 tained for his brother ; when fortune, as if not content with’ 
 what she had already suffered, prepared another change of 
 life for her. Her person and behaviour were such, as to 
 enamour the two masters of the ship, who neglected all 
 other business to serve and please her ; taking care all the 
 while that Marato should have no cause to suspectiit. And 
 being apprised of each other’s love, they hada consultation 
 together about it, when it was agreed to have her in common 
 between them, as if love, like merchandise, admitted of 
 partnership; and observing that she was narrowly watched 
 by Marato, and their design thereby frustrated, they took 
 the opportunity one day, as the ship was under full sail, and 
 he standing upon the stern looking towards the sea, to go 
 behind and throw him overboard; whilst: the ship had 
 sailed on a full mile before it was known that he had fallen 
 
SECOND DAY 89 
 
 m: as soon as the lady heard of it, and saw no likely 
 means of recovering him again, she fell into fresh troubles, 
 when the two lovers came quickly to comfort her, using 
 many kind and tender expressions, which she did not under- 
 stand; though indeed she did not then so much lament 
 Marato as her own private misfortunes. After some little 
 time, imagining that she was sufficiently comforted, they 
 fell into a dispute together which should have the first en- 
 joyment of her; and from words they drew their swords, 
 and came to blows, the ship’s crew not being able to part 
 them, when one soon fell down dead, the other being 
 desperately wounded ; which occasioned fresh uneasiness 
 to the lady, who now saw herself left alone, without any one 
 to advise and help her: she was fearful also of the resent- 
 ment of the two masters’ relations and friends: but the 
 entreaties of the wounded survivor, and their speedy arrival 
 at Chiarenza, saved her from the danger of death. She went 
 on shore with him there, and they continued together at an 
 inn; whilst the fame of her beauty was spread all over the 
 city, till it reached the ears of the Prince of Morea, who 
 was then by chance at Chiarenza. He was impatient to get 
 a sight of her; and after he had seen her, was so charmed, 
 that he could think of nothing else: and being told in what 
 manner she came hither, he began to contrive means how 
 to obtain her; which when the man’s relations understood, 
 they immediately sent her to him, to. her great joy, no less 
 than the prince’s, now thinking herself freed from all danger. 
 The prince perceiving her rare accomplishments, joined to 
 a matchless person, though he could have no information 
 concerning her, yet concluded that she must be nobly 
 descended; and such was his fondness for her, that he 
 treated her not as a mistress but a wife. She now recollect- 
 ing what she had already suffered, and being pretty well 
 satisfied with her present situation, began to be easy and 
 cheerful, whilst her charms increased to that degree, that 
 she was the chief subject of discourse throughout Romania. 
 _Hereupon the Duke of Athens, a young and gay person, a 
 relation also to the prince, had a mind to see her; and came 
 one day thither under pretence of a visit to him, as usual, 
 with a noble retinue, when he was handsomely entertained. 
 
 ~ 
 
go THE DECAMERON 
 Talking together, after some time, concerning the lady’s 
 
 \N great beauty; the duke asked whether she was such as 
 
 fame had reported; to which the prince replied, “she far 
 exceeds it; but let your own eyes convince you, and not 
 my. bare assertion.” The duke soliciting the prince very 
 earnestly to gratify his curiosity, they went into her apart- 
 ment together, when she received them with great good 
 manners and cheerfulness, being apprised of their coming ; 
 and though they could not have the pleasure of conversing 
 together, as she understood little or nothing of their lan- 
 guage, yet they looked upon her, the duke more especially, 
 as a prodigy of nature, scarcely believing her to be a mortal 
 creature ;.and, without perceiving how much of the amorous 
 poison he had taken in by intently gazing upon her, and 
 meaning only to gratify himself with the sight of her, he 
 soon became over head and ears in love. After they had 
 parted from her, and he had time to reflect, he began to 
 think the prince the happiest person in the universe, in 
 being possessed of such a beauty; and, after much musing 
 upon it, having more regard to his lust than to his honour, 
 he resolved at all adventures to deprive him of that bliss, 
 and to secure it for himself: and having a heart to put what 
 he had resolved into execution, setting all reason and justice 
 aside, his mind was wholly taken up in devising a fit stratagem 
 for his purpose. One day, therefore, according to a most 
 wicked agreement, which he had made with a valet-de- 
 chambre belonging to the prince, whose name was Ciuriaci, 
 he gave secret orders to have his horses and things got 
 ready for a sudden departure; and the following night, 
 taking a friend with him, and being both completely armed, 
 they were introduced by that servant into the prince’s 
 chamber, whom they found in his shirt, looking out of a 
 window towards the sea, to take the cool air, the weather 
 being very hot, whilst the lady was fast asleep. Having 
 then instructed his friend what he would have done; he 
 went softly up to the window, and stabbed him with a 
 dagger through the small of his back, and threw him out. 
 Now the palace was seated upon the sea-shore, and very 
 lofty ; and the window at which the prince stood looking 
 from, was directly over some houses, which the force of the 
 
SECOND DAY 91 
 
 waves had beaten down, and which were but little frequented ; 
 on which account, as the duke had before contrived it, there 
 was no great likelihood of its being discovered. The duke’s 
 companion when he saw that was over, took a cord which 
 he carried with him for that purpose, and seeming as if he 
 was going to caress Ciuriaci, threw it about his neck, and 
 drew it so tight, that he prevented his crying out, whilst the 
 duke came to his assistance, and they soon dispatched, and 
 threw him down after the prince. This being done, and 
 plainly perceiving that they were not heard or seen by the 
 lady, or any one else, the duke took a light in his hand, and 
 went on softly to bed, where she lay in a sound sleep, and 
 he stood beholding her for some time with the utmost 
 admiration ; and if she appeared ’so charming before in her 
 clothes, what was she not without them? Not at all dis- 
 mayed with his late-committed sin, his hands yet reeking 
 with blood, he crept into bed to her, she taking him all the 
 while for the prince. 
 
 After he had been with her for some time, he ordered 
 his people to seize her in such a manner, that she could 
 make no outcry ; and going through the same back door at 
 which he had been introduced, he set her on horseback, 
 and carried her away towards Athens. But, as he was 
 married, he did not choose to bring her thither, but left her 
 at one of his country seats, a little way out of town, where 
 he secretly kept her, to her great grief; allowing her, in a 
 most genteel manner, everything that was necessary. 
 
 The prince’s servants waited till nine o’clock that morn- 
 ing expecting his rising; but hearing nothing of him, and 
 thrusting open the chamber doors, which were only closed, 
 and finding nobody within, they concluded that he and the 
 lady were gone privately to some other place to divert 
 themselves for a few days, and therefore thought no more 
 about the matter. The next day it happened, by great 
 chance, that a fool going amongst those ruinous houses 
 where the dead bodies were lying, took hold of the cord 
 that was about Ciuriaci’s neck, and dragged him along after 
 him: which surprised many people to whom he was known ; 
 who, by fair words and much persuasion, prevailed upon 
 the fellow to show them where he had found him: and 
 
92 THE DECAMERON 
 
 there, to the great grief of the whole city, they saw. the 
 prince’s body also, which they caused to be interred with 
 all due pomp: and reverence. Inquiring afterwards who 
 should commit so horrid a deed, and perceiving that the 
 Duke of Athens was not to be found, but was gone privately 
 away, they judged (as it really was) that he had done it, and 
 taken the lady with) him. Immediately they elected the 
 prince’s brother to be their sovereign, inciting him. to 
 revenge so horrid a fact, and promising to assist him to the 
 utmost of their power. He being afterwards fully assured 
 of the truth of what they had but before surmised, collected 
 together all his relations, friends, and vassals, and muster- 
 ing a powerful army, directed his course against the duke: 
 who had no sooner heard of these preparations, but he also 
 levied a great army, and many princes came to his relief. 
 Amongst the rest, Constantius, son to the Emperor of 
 Constantinople, and. Emanuel the nephew, attended by a 
 goodly body of troops, who were kindly received by the 
 duke, and the duchess more especially, being their sister- 
 in-law. Things tending every day more and more to a war, 
 the duchess had them both one day into her chamber, 
 when, with abundance of tears, she recounted to them the 
 whole history and occasion of the war, and the ill-usage she 
 had received from the duke on account. of this woman, 
 whom she imagined he kept privately; and complaining 
 very earnestly to them, she conjured them, for his honour, 
 and her own ease and comfort, to give her their best assist- 
 ance. The two young lords knew all this matter before, 
 and therefore, without asking many questions, they com- 
 forted her as well as they could, and informing themselves 
 where the lady was kept, they took their leave. Hearing 
 much talk of her beauty, they became very desirous of 
 seeing her, and entreated the duke to. show her to them; 
 who, never remembering what had happened to the prince, 
 promised to do so; and ordering a magnificent entertain- 
 ment to be prepared in a pleasant garden belonging to the 
 palace where the lady was kept, the next day he took them, 
 and some more friends, to dine with her. Constantius, 
 being seated at the table, began, full of admiration, to gaze 
 upon her, declaring to himself that he had never seen any- 
 
SECOND DAY 93 
 
 hing like her, and that the duke, or any other person, was 
 excusable, who, to possess so.rare a beauty, should commit 
 any act of baseness or treason: and looking still more and 
 more upon her, and evermore commending her, it happened 
 just to him as it had done to the duke; for, going away 
 quite enamoured of her, he had given over all thoughts of 
 the war, contriving only how to steal her away from the 
 duke, at the same time that he concealed his love from 
 every one. Whilst he was in this agitation, the time came 
 when they were to march against the prince, who was now 
 advancing near the duke’s territories; upon which. the 
 duke, with Constantius and the rest, according to the 
 resolution that was taken, marched out of Athens to secure 
 the frontiers, and to prevent the prince’s passing any 
 further. Continuing there for some days, and Constantius 
 having still the lady at heart, and concluding, now the 
 duke was absent, that he might more easily compass his 
 intent, he, that there might be a pretence for his return, 
 feigned himself extremely sick: and, with the duke’s 
 consent, leaving:the command of his troops to Emanuel, 
 he returned to Athens to his sister’s, where, after some 
 days, having encouraged her to talk of her husband’s base- 
 ness in keeping a mistress, he: at last said, that if she 
 would give her consent, he would rid her: of, that trouble, 
 by ‘removing? the lady out» of the way. The duchess, 
 supposing that this was spoken out of pure regard to, her, 
 and not to the lady, replied, that she should be very glad if 
 it'could be ‘done in such a manner as: the duke should 
 never know that she was in .any way accessory; which 
 Constantius fully promised, and she accordingly agreed 
 that he should do it as he thought most advisable. He 
 provided, therefore, with all secrecy, a light vessel, and sent 
 it one evening near to the garden where the lady was kept, 
 having first informed some of his people that were in it, 
 what he would have them do; and taking others with him 
 ‘to the house, he was kindly received by the servants in 
 waiting there, and by the lady also herself, who took a walk 
 with him at his request, attended by the servants belonging 
 to them both, into the garden; when, drawing her aside 
 towards a‘door which opened to the sea, as if he had 
 
94 THE DECAMERON 
 
 business to communicate from the duke, on a signal given, 
 the bark was brought close to the shore, and she seized 
 upon and carried into it, whilst he, turning back to the 
 people that were with her, said—“ Let no one stir or speak 
 a word at the peril of their lives; for my design is not to 
 rob the duke of his lady, but to take away the reproach of 
 my sister.” ‘To this none being hardy enough to return an 
 answer, Constantius, boarding the vessel, bid the men ply 
 their oars, and. make the best oftheir way, which they 
 accordingly did, so that they reached: Egina by the next 
 morning. There they landed, and reposed himself awhile 
 with her, who had great reason to curse her beauty. From 
 thence they went to Chios, where, for fear of his father, and 
 to prevent her being taken away from him, he chose.to 
 abide as a place of security: and though she seemed 
 uneasy for a time, yet she soon recovered, as she had done 
 before, and became better reconciled to the state of life 
 wherein bad fortune had thrown her. 
 
 In the meantime Osbech, king of the Turks, who was 
 constantly at war with the emperor, came by chance to 
 Smyrna, and hearing how Constantius lived a lascivious 
 life at Chios, with a mistress that he had stolen, and no 
 provision made for his safety, he went privately one night 
 with some armed vessels, and made a descent, surprising 
 many people in their beds before they knew of his coming 
 upon them, and killing all that stood upon their defence; 
 and after he had burnt and destroyed the whole country, 
 he put the’prisoners and booty which he had taken on 
 board, and returned to Smyma. Upon taking a view of 
 the prisoners, Osbech, who was a young man, saw this lady, 
 and knowing that she was Constantius’s mistress, because 
 she was found asleep in his bed, he was much pleased at it, 
 and took her for his own wife, and they lived together very 
 happily for several months. Before this thing happened, 
 the emperor had been making a treaty with Bassano, King 
 of Cappadocia, who was to fall on Osbech on one side, 
 whilst he attacked him on the other; but they could not 
 come to a full agreement, because Bassano made a demand 
 of some things which he was unwilling to grant; yet now, 
 hearing of what had befallen his son, and being in the 
 
SECOND DAY 95 
 
 utmost concern, he immediately closed with the King of 
 Cappadocia, requesting him to march with all expedition 
 against Osbech, whilst he was preparing to invade him on 
 his part. When Osbech heard of this, he assembled his 
 army before he should be surrounded by two such mighty 
 princes, and marched on to meet the King of Cappadocia, 
 leaving his lady behind, with a faithful servant of his, at 
 Smyrna; they soon came to a battle, wherein his army was 
 entirely routed, and himself slain. Bassano remaining 
 victorious, he proceeded on to Smyrna, the people making 
 their submission to him all the way as he went. But now 
 Osbech’s servant, whose name was Antiochus, who had the 
 lady in charge, although he was in years, yet seeing her so 
 beautiful, and forgetting the regard which was due to his 
 lord, soon became in love with her himself; and, as he 
 understood her language, it was a great comfort to her, 
 because she had been forced to live for some years like a 
 deaf and dumb person, for want of understanding other 
 ‘people, or being understood by them. This gave him great 
 advantages, and whilst his master was warring abroad, he 
 spared no pains to gain her consent, in which he succeeded : 
 and when they understood that Osbech was'slain, and that 
 Bassano carried all before him, without waiting for his 
 coming upon them, they fled away privately, taking with - 
 them what belonged to Osbech of any value, and came to 
 Rhodes. They had not been there long before he was 
 taken extremely ill; and having a merchant of. Cyprus 
 along with him, who was his great friend, and finding him- 
 self at the point of death, he resolved to bequeath to him 
 the care of his lady and wealth also; and calling them both 
 to him, he spoke as follows: “I find myself declining 
 apace, which grieves me much, because I had never more 
 pleasure in living than at present; yet one thing is a 
 great comfort to me, viz., that I shall die in the arms of 
 ‘those two persons whom’ I love and value beyond all the 
 rest of the world ; namely, in yours, my dearest friend, and 
 in that lady’s, whom I have loved, ever since I have known 
 ‘her, more than my own life. I am uneasy, indeed, when I 
 consider that I leave her here a stranger, and destitute both 
 ‘of help and advice, and should be infinitely more so if you 
 
 
 
 
96 THE DECAMERON 
 
 were not with us, who, I know, will take the same care of 
 her, on my account, as you would: of myself; therefore 
 I entreat you, in case I should die, to take my affairs 
 and her together, under your protection, and to act, 
 with regard to both, as you think will be most for 
 the comfort of my departed soul.— And you, my 
 dearest love, let me beg of you never to. forget me, 
 that I may boast, in the next world, that I have been be- 
 loved by the fairest lady that ever nature formed ; assure 
 me of these two things, and I shall die. satisfied.” The. 
 merchant and lady were both much concerned, and pro- 
 mised to fulfil his desires, if he should chance to die; and 
 soon afterwards he departed this life, when they took care 
 to have him decently interred ; which being done, and the 
 merchant having dispatched all his affairs, and wanting to 
 return home in a Catalan ship that was, there, questioned 
 the lady, to know what she intended to do, because it 
 became necessary for him to go back to Cyprus: she made 
 answer, that she was willing to go with him, hoping that, 
 for the love he bore towards his friend, he would regard 
 her as his own sister. He replied, that he was ready to 
 oblige her in everything; and, that he might the better 
 defend her from all injuries whatever, till they came to 
 Cyprus, she should rather call herself his wife. Being on 
 board the ship, they had a cabin and one little bed allotted 
 them, agreeable to the account they had given of them- 
 selves, by which means that thing was brought about, which 
 neither of them intended when they came from Rhodes ; 
 for they forgot all the fine promises they had made to 
 Antiochus, and before they reached Baffa, where the 
 Cyprian merchant dwelt, they began to consider themselves 
 as man and wife. Now a certain gentleman happened 
 to arrive at Baffa about that time, on his own, private 
 affairs, whose name was Antigonus, one advanced. in years, 
 and of more understanding than wealth: for by meddling 
 much in the affairs of the King of Cyprus, he had found 
 fortune very unkind to him. Passing one day by the house 
 where she lodged, the merchant being gone about his 
 business to Armenia, and seeing her by chance at the 
 window, he took. more than ordinary notice of her, on 
 
SECOND DAY 97 
 
 account of her beauty ; till at length he began to recollect 
 he had seen her somewhere before, but could by no means 
 remember where. She, also, who had long been the sport 
 of fortune, the time-now drawing near when her sorrows 
 were to have an end, as ‘soon as she saw Antigonus, 
 remembered that;she had seen him in no mean station 
 in her father’s service. at Alexandria. And having now 
 great hopes of regaining her former dignity by his: advice 
 and assistance, she took. the opportunity of the merchant’s 
 absence to send for him.| Being come to her, she modestly 
 asked him whether he was not Antigonus of Famagosta, as 
 she really believed. -He answered, that he was, and added 
 —“ Madam, Iam convinced that I-know you, but: I cannot 
 call to mind where it is that I have seen you; therefore, if 
 it. be no offence, let me entreat you to tell me who you are.” 
 The lady, perceiving him to be the same person; wept ‘very 
 much, and throwing her arms, about his neck, asked him, 
 at last, as,one, confounded. with surprise, if he had never 
 seen her at Alexandria? When: he immediately knew her 
 to be Alathiel, the sultan’s daughter, whom they supposed 
 to have been drowned; and being about to pay homage 
 to her, she would not suffer him to do it, but made him 
 sit down... He, then, in a most humble manner, asked her 
 where she had been,’ and from whence: she now) came; 
 because for some years it was believed, through all Egypt, 
 that she was drowned. | She replied, ‘*I had-much rather it 
 had so happened than to have led sucha: life.as I have 
 done; and I believe my: father, if he knew it, would wish 
 the same.” With these words the tears ran down her 
 cheeks in great abundance: and. he replied, “‘ Madam, do 
 not afflict yourself before it is:necessary to do so; tell me 
 only what has happened to you;perhaps it may be of such 
 1 nature, that, by the help of God, we may finda remedy.” 
 —“ Antigonus !” replied the fair lady, ‘‘I think when I see 
 rou that I behold my father : moved therefore with the like 
 luty and |tenderness that I owe to him, I shall reveal to you 
 vhat I might, have kept secret: there are few persons that 
 should desire to meet with sooner than yourself. to: advise 
 ne; if, therefore, when you have heard my whole story, 
 ou think there,is.any probability of restoring me to my 
 | D 
 
98 THE DECAMERON 
 
 former dignity, I must beg your assistance: if you think 
 there is none, then I conjure you to tell’no person living 
 that you have either seen or heard anything about me.” 
 After which, shedding abundance of tears during the whole 
 relation, she gave a full account of what had befallen her, 
 fromthe time of her shipwreck to that very hour. Anti- 
 gonus showed himself truly concerned at what he had 
 heard, and (thinking some little time about it) he said 
 to her :—‘‘ Madam, ‘since it has never been known, in all 
 your misfortunes, who you were, I will restore you to your 
 father, to whom you shall be more dear than ever, and 
 afterwards you shall be married to the King of Algarve.” 
 She inquiring how that could be brought about, he let her 
 know in what manner he intended to do it. Therefore, 
 that no delay might intervene to prevent it, he returned 
 directly to Famagosta, and waiting upon the king, he thus 
 addressed him:—-“‘ My liege, you may, if you please, do. great 
 honour to yourself, and service to me, who am impoverished 
 on your account, and without any expense.” The king 
 desiring to know by what means, Antigonus thus answered : 
 —‘* A young lady has just come to Baffa, daughter to the 
 sultan, who was generally thought to have been drowned, 
 and who, to preserve her honour, hath undergone great 
 calamities, and is now reduced, and desirous of returning to 
 her father: if, therefore, you will be so good as to send 
 her home under my conduct, it will redound greatly to your’ 
 honour, and prove much to my advantage, nor can the 
 sultan ever forget the favour.” The king, moved by a 
 truly royal spirit, replied, that he was well pleased with the 
 proposal, and immediately sent in great state for her to 
 Famagosta, where she was received with all honour and 
 respect, both by him and the queen; and being questioned 
 by them concerning her misfortunes, she made such answers 
 as she had been before taught by Antigonus. ~ ’ 
 
 In a few days afterwards, at her own request, she was 
 sent with a great retinue both of lords and ladies, and 
 conducted all the way by Antigonus, to the sultan’s court ; 
 where, with what joy they were all received, it is needless 
 here to mention. When they had rested awhile after their 
 iourney, the sultan became desirous to’ know how it hap- 
 
SECOND DAY 99 
 
 pened that she was now living, and where she had been 
 all’ this time; without his’ being ever able to hear a word 
 about her. When she, who had all’ Antigonus’s lectures 
 perfectly by heart, gave her fathér the following narration: 
 “Sir, about twenty days after my departure from you, our 
 ship was split in the night by a violent tempest, and driven 
 on the western coasts ; nor did I ever learn what befell the 
 men that were in it: I only remember this, that when 
 daylight appearéd, and I seemed recovered, as it were, from 
 death to life, certain peasants of the country spying the 
 ship’s wreck, came to plunder’it; whilst I was carried first 
 on shore, with two of my women, who were immediately 
 borne’away by’ some young fellows, and taken different 
 ways, so that I could never learn what became of either of 
 them. I also was seized by two of them, making the best 
 defence I could; and: as they were dragging me towards 
 the wood by the hair of my head, four persons on horse- 
 back came riding by, when they immediately left me and 
 fled. But the gentlemen on‘ horseback, who appeared to 
 possess some authority, came to me, and we spoke to each 
 other, without knowing what either'of us said. At last, 
 after conferring together, they set me upon one of their 
 horses, and carried me to a monastery of religious women, 
 according ‘to their laws, where’ I was received with great 
 honour and respect. And after I had been there for 
 some time, and learnt a little of their language, they began 
 to inquire of me who I was, and from whence I came; 
 whilst I (fearful of telling the truth, lest they should have 
 turned me out as an enemy to their religion) made them 
 believe that I was daughter to a gentleman of Cyprus, who 
 sending me to be married to one of Crete, we happened 
 to be driven thither by ill weather, and shipwrecked. 
 Conforming to their customs in many things, for fear of the 
 worst, I was asked, at length, by the chief among them, 
 whom they call Lady Abbess, whether I desired to return 
 to Cyprus; and I answeréd, that I desired nothing more. 
 But she, tender of my honour, would never trust me with 
 ‘any persons that were going to Cyprus, till: about two 
 months ago, certain French gentlemen with their ladies 
 came this way, one of whom was related to the abbess; 
 
100 THE DECAMERON 
 
 who, understanding that.they were going to visit the holy 
 sepulchre at Jerusalem, where.he, whom. they: believe. to. 
 be God, was buried, after he had been put to death by the 
 Jews, recommended me. to them, and desired. that,.they 
 would deliver me to my father at Cyprus... What respect 
 and civilities I received. both from the gentlemen and _ their 
 ladies, would be, needless to mention... Accordingly we 
 went on ship-board, and,,came in a few days to Baffa, 
 where, when I. saw myself. arrived, a stranger to, every 
 person, nor, knowing what to. say to these gentlemen, who 
 were to present.me to my. father; behold (by: the, great 
 providence of God), whom should I. meet with upon. the 
 shore, but Antigonus, the, very. moment, we were landed. 
 I called to him in, our language (that none of them might 
 understand us) and desired him to own meas his daughter. 
 He easily. understood my., meaning, and ‘showing. great’, 
 tokens. of joy, entertained. them as well.as his, narrow 
 circumstances would allow, and brought me to the King of 
 Cyprus, who. received and sen¥,me hither, with such marks 
 of respect as I.am no way able to.relate; if there be any- 
 thing omitted in this relation, Antigonus,,.who, has, often. 
 heard the whole from me, will, report it.” _Antigonus,, then 
 turning to the sultan, said, ‘‘ My lord,, according both to 
 her own account, and the information of the gentlemen. and 
 their wives, she has said nothing but truth. One part: only 
 she has omitted, as not suiting. with her great modesty,to. 
 report, namely, what the; gentlemen and their ladies. told, 
 me, of the most virtuous life that she had led amongst those 
 religious women, and their great concern at parting ; which, 
 if I were fully to recount,to you, would. take up; both,this. 
 day.and night too. Let.it. suffice then that, I have said. 
 enough (according to what I could both hear.and see) to 
 convince you that you have. the fairest, as well.as the most 
 virtuous daughter of any prince in the world.” ‘The jsultan, 
 was overjoyed with this relation; begging) over and over, 
 that God would pour down His:blessings ;on,.all who. had, 
 showed favour to his daughter; and particularly the King: 
 of Cyprus, who, had sent her home so, respectfully : and, 
 having bestowed great gifts upon Antigonus, he.gave ‘him. 
 leave to return to Cyprus; sending letters, as also a special 
 
SECOND DAY 101 
 ambassador to the king, 'to thank him on her account. 
 And ‘now, desiring’ that what he had formerly proposed 
 Should take'effect ; namely, that she should be married to 
 the King of Algarve, he wrote to give him a full relation of 
 the whole matter; adding, that’ he should send for her, 
 ‘if he desired thé match to’ proceed, ‘The king was much 
 pleased with the news, and sent in great state, and received 
 her as his queen: whilst she, who had passed’ through the 
 hands of eight men, now camé to him as a pure virgin, and 
 ved Liston with him the'rest of their lives. 
 
 ‘NOVEL. VIII 
 
 T. he fours We heing falsely accused, was banished from France, 
 
 and left his two children in different parts of England, Return- 
 ing afterwards privately out of Ireland, he found them settled in 
 great repute; Srom thence he goes as a common servant into the 
 King of &rance’s army, and his innocence being made public at 
 last, he is restored to his former dignity. 
 
 Tue” ladies sighed very much upon hearing the various 
 accidents that had befallen‘the fair lady ; but who can say 
 what it'was that gave occasion to those sighs? Perhaps 
 there weré some ladies’ present who sighed more because 
 they had ‘not been so often married as she, than ‘out of any 
 pity for the poor woman. But be that as it will, having 
 laughed much at’ Pamphilus’s conclusion, and the queen 
 perceiving the story to be now at an end, laid her next 
 charge upon Eliza, who began in this manner :— 
 
 We have chosen'a most spacious field for the subject 
 of this day; nor is there a person among us who could 
 not run ten courses ‘as well as one: so copious are the 
 great and wonderful changes of fortune! And, therefore, 
 amongst such ‘an infinity of things, as I am to recount one, 
 let it’ be as follows : 
 
 “When the Roman empire was translated from the Frenck 
 to the Germans, an utter enmity and continued war arose 
 between the two nations: wherefore the King of France 
 ‘and his son, as well for the defence of their own kingdom, 
 as the annoyance of their adversaries, raised a great and 
 
rc2 THE DECAMERON 
 
 powerful army, consisting of all their kindred and allies, 
 besides the force of their own kingdom, to go against the 
 enemy. But before they set. out upon their expedition, 
 they chose not to leave the state without a governor; and 
 knowing Gualtier, Count d’Angiers, to be a wise and worthy 
 person, and one entirely devoted to their interests, and also 
 expert in military affairs, although he.seemed rather. de- 
 signed for a life of ease and inactivity than martial toils, 
 they made him viceroy during their, absence, and then set 
 forward on their expeditions. The count: began to execute 
 his office with all due conduct and discretion, on all occa- 
 sions, with the queen and her daughter-in-law ; and honour- 
 ing them as his mistresses and superiors, although they 
 were left subject to his guidance and authority. Now he 
 had a very graceful person, was about forty years of age, 
 and as good-natured and agreeable as man could be; nor 
 could the world show, a more complete gentleman in all 
 respects than himself. Whilst the king therefore and his 
 son were employed in the above-mentioned war, it hap- 
 pened, that Gualtier’s lady dying, and leaving him two 
 children, a boy and a girl, and he being much at the ladies’ 
 court, consulting with them, on the affairs of the kingdom, 
 that the king’s son’s wife cast her eyes upon him, and in 
 regard both to his person and virtue became secretly in 
 love. Considering herself to be young,,and,he now a 
 widower, she concluded that her desires would be more 
 readily gratified, and that nothing obstructed it but the 
 shame of making the discovery, which she soon overcame. 
 Being one day alone, and thinking it a fit. opportunity, she 
 sent for him, under pretence of other business. The count, 
 whose thoughts were quite different, came immediately to 
 her, and sitting down together upon a couch, he inquired 
 the reason of her sending for him at that time ; she, after 
 some silence, incited at length by her passion, trembling 
 also, and blushing with extreme shame, with words broken 
 and confused, declared her mind in this manner: “ My 
 dear lord and friend, it cannot have escaped your most 
 acute judgment, how great the frailty is of both, the sexes, 
 and for diverse reasons, of one more than the other: there- 
 fore the very same offence, before an equitable judge, will 
 
SECOND, DAY 103 
 
 be differently punished according to the different quality of 
 the offenders. Besides, who will not say that.a poor man 
 or woman, who have no other subsistence but what they 
 earn by their daily labour, are not more blamable, should 
 they be seduced. and carried away by love, than a lady of 
 wealth and leisure, who has nothing to think of but how 
 to, divert and please herself? Every one must allow it: 
 this will be a sufficient excuse, therefore, in such a case, 
 for a lady who gives way to such a passion, supposing her, 
 at the same time, to make choice of a wise and worthy 
 person on whom she fixes her affection. These circum- 
 stances, thus. concurring in myself, not to mention my 
 youth, and, the absence of my husband, plead strongly in 
 my behalf, and, if they have their due weight with you, I 
 may expect that. you will afford me that advice and assist- 
 ance I now require from you. I. must confess, that, not 
 being able, on account of my husband’s distance from me, 
 to resist my most. earnest. desires, living also a life of ease 
 and indolence, as you see, I have suffered myself to be 
 quite led aside by them; which, though it would redound 
 but little to my credit should it be known, yet, so long as 
 it is a secret between us, there can be no room for reproach, 
 and let me tell you, that love has been so gracious to me, 
 that far from taking away my understanding, it has rather 
 enlightened it, by presenting you to me as an object worthy 
 of my affection; a person whom I esteem as the most 
 accomplished nobleman this day in France, and one at pre- 
 sent without a wife, as I am without a husband: wherefore 
 I entreat you, by the tender regard I have for you, that you 
 would vouchsafe to show the same towards me, and pity 
 my youth, which consumes for your sake, even as ice melts 
 before the fire.” At these words the tears poured down 
 her cheeks so fast, that she was prevented from saying any- 
 thing further ; therefore, hanging down her head, and over- 
 come as it were with her lamentation, she reclined at length 
 upon his bosom. The count being a person of the strictest 
 honour, began to reprimand her fond and idle love; and 
 when she would have thrown her arms round his neck, he 
 pushed her from him, protesting that he would be cut in 
 “pieces before he would so wrong his lord and master bim- 
 
104 THE DECAMERON 
 
 self, or suffer others to do it. The lady hearing this, forgot 
 the love she had for him, and in a most vehement rage 
 exclaimed, “Villain as thou art, and shall’ my request be 
 despised by thee in this manner? As thou deSirest to 
 make me suffer, know that I will either cause thy death, or 
 force thee to leave thy country.” And with these words, 
 tearing all her hair and’ clothes, she cried ‘out, most’ vio- 
 lently, ‘Help! help! the Count d’Angiers is about to offer 
 violence.” He, seeing this, and fearing more from the 
 envy of the court than his'own conscience, supposing also 
 that more credit would be given to her wicked story than 
 to his innocence, hastened out of the chamber as fast as he 
 could, and fled to his own house, when, ‘without delay, he 
 set fis children on horseback, and made the best of ‘his 
 way to Calais. Upon the clamour of the lady many flocked 
 thither, who, seeing her in that condition, and hearing the 
 cause of her outcry, not only believed what she told them, 
 but concluded that the count’s genteel ‘behaviour and 
 assiduity at court were merely to effect this purpose; they 
 ran therefore in the utmost fury to his house to seize him, 
 and not finding him there they stripped it of PSone Dark of 
 value, and pulled it down to the ground. ’ 
 
 This ‘disagreeable néws soon reached the ears of the 
 king and prince in the camp, who, being greatly disturbed 
 at it, sentenced him and all his descendants to perpetual 
 banishment, offering a great reward to that person who 
 should bring him either dead or alive. ‘The count, uneasy 
 that by the flight he had incurred the imputation of guilt, 
 arrived at Calais with his children, without making ‘himself 
 known-to any person; from ‘whence he ‘went directly for 
 England, and came to London in mean apparel, having by 
 the way taught his children these two things ; first, to bear 
 their misfortunes patiently, to which fortune had reduced 
 them without any fault of theirs: and in the second ‘place, 
 to be exceedingly cautious never to reveal from ‘whence 
 they came, or whom they belonged to, if they had the least 
 regard for his life. His son, named Lewis, was about nine 
 years of age, and his daughter Violante, seven ; and they 
 both attended more to their father’s admonition than could 
 have been expected from their youth, as will appear by the 
 
SECOND DAY 105 
 
 sequel. Thinking it best for their greater security to change 
 their names, he called the boy therefore Pierrot, and the 
 girl Jeannette, and then went like common French beggars 
 about the city asking charity. Now it happened, that, as 
 they were waiting at a church door one morning, a certain 
 great lady, who was wife to one of the king’s principal 
 officers of state, cast her eyes upon them, and asked him 
 where they came from, and whether those were his children? 
 He replied, that he came from Picardy, and that the mis- 
 behaviour of his eldest son, who proved a very unhappy 
 young man, had obliged him to quit his country with these 
 two other children. The lady, who was of a compassionate 
 temper, was pleased with the looks of the girl, and she said 
 to him, ‘‘Honest man, if thou be content to leave thy 
 daughter with me, I like her countenance so much, that I 
 would willingly take her; and if she behave well I will in 
 due time provide her a husband, so that she shall live com- 
 fortably all her life.” He was rejoiced at the offer, and with 
 tears in his eyes resigned the child up to the lady, recom- 
 mending her to her in a most affectionate manner. Thus 
 having disposed of his daughter, and well knowing to whom, 
 he resolved to stay there no longer, but going across the 
 island, begging all the way, and his son along with him, not 
 without the utmost fatigue, being not used to travel on foot, ' 
 he came at length into Wales, where dwelt another great 
 lord, an officer also and servant of the king, to whose palace, 
 which afforded relief to all, they repaired for support: there 
 it happened, that the lord’s son and some other young noble- 
 men were diverting themselves with running, leaping, and 
 some other youthful exercises; and Pierrot, making one 
 among them, outdid them all in every sport. Which when 
 the nobleman perceived, he was mightily pleased with him, 
 and inquired whom he belonged to; and it being told him 
 that he was a poor man’s son, who came there to beg alms, 
 the lord requested that he would give him to him. The 
 count, who desired nothing so much, freely consented, 
 though their parting was a little grievous; and having now 
 provided for both his children, he determined to stay ‘no 
 ‘longer in England, but, as soon as he had an opportunity, 
 she passed into Ireland, and came to Stanford, where he 
 D2 
 
106 THE DECAMERON 
 
 hired himself to a certain knight, who belonged to the 
 retinue of an earl in that county, and did the duty of a 
 common servant for many years. In the meantime Violante, 
 now called Jeannette, who continued with the lady at Lon- 
 don, increased in beauty, and every other accomplishment, 
 as well.as in stature ; insomuch that she became the delight 
 both of the lord and lady, as well as of every one that knew 
 her; whilst the lady, who had no other notion, of her quality 
 than what she had received from herself, was thinking of 
 marrying her according to her supposed rank; when it 
 pleased God, the just rewarder of people’s merits, seeing 
 that she was nobly born, and punished only for other 
 people’s wickedness, to order it otherwise. The lady had 
 an only son. by her lord, of whom they were, both exceed- 
 ingly fond, and deservedly so, on account of his excellent 
 disposition and character; who, being about six years older 
 than Jeannette, and beholding her extraordinary beauty and 
 merit, was sO much in love, that he cared for no other 
 woman. Supposing, however, that she was of low extrac- 
 tion, he was afraid to demand her of his father and mother, 
 and, through fear of being reprimanded for placing his affec- 
 tions so low, he kept it smothered in his breast; for which 
 reason it preyed more upon him than if he had divulged it, 
 till at length he fell into a grievous fit of sickness, Here- 
 upon several physicians were sent for, who had regard to 
 one symptom after another, till, not being able to make out 
 what his disorder was, they gave:/him over, This occasioned 
 the utmost affliction both to his father and mother, who 
 were continually requesting him to tell them the secret 
 cause of his malady; to which he either made no answer 
 but by sighs, or else that he found himself continually 
 wasting. 
 
 Now one day it happened that a certain young physician, 
 though profound in science, was sitting by his bedside, and 
 feeling his pulse, when Jeannette, who attended carefully — 
 upon him, out of respect to his mother, chanced to come at 
 that very instant into the room; upon seeing her the young 
 gentleman, without uttering a word, or making one sign, 
 conceived more strongly in his heart the passion of love, 
 when his pulse began to beat higher than usual, which the 
 
SECOND DAY 107 
 
 physician soon perceived, and, being surprised, kept his 
 fingers some time upon it, to see how long that difference 
 would last. As she went out of the room again it abated ; 
 wherefore, thinking that he had now found out in some 
 measure what the disorder was, pretending, also, as if he 
 wanted to speak to Jeannette, and still holding him by the 
 hand, he had her called back: she returned instantly, when 
 the pulse beat as before, which ceased at her departure. 
 The physician, now fully satisfied, got up, and taking the 
 father and mother apart, he spoke in this manner to them: 
 —‘*The welfare of your son is not in the power of the 
 physicians, but it lies in the hands of Jeannette, whom I 
 find, by certain tokens, that he is desperately in love with ; 
 although, by what I can perceive, she knows nothing of it. 
 You see now what you have to do, if you value his life.” 
 The lcrd and lady were well enough pleased to hear there 
 was one way to save their son’s' life, though the fear of being 
 obliged to do what they most dreaded gave them concern ; 
 namely, their marrying her to him; therefore, after the 
 physician was ‘departed, they went together to their son, 
 when the lady said to him as follows:—‘‘I could never 
 have believed, my dear, that you would have concealed any 
 of your wants from me, especially since your not’ being 
 gratified in that respect has been attended with such evil 
 consequences ;' for you might have been confident, as you 
 may still, that there is nothing which I would not do for 
 your ease and welfare, as much as for my own. But since 
 you have done so, God has been more merciful ‘to you than 
 you would be to yourself; for I know now that it is all 
 occasioned by love, whoever the person is: and why should 
 you have been ashamed to tell me? It is natural to one of 
 your age; and were you a stranger to love, I should think 
 you of little worth.—Then lay yourself open to me, and cast 
 away all that drooping and melancholy, which has brought 
 this disorder upon you, assuring yourself, that there is no- 
 thing you can desire of me, wherein I will not gratify you to ~ 
 the utmost of my ability for I love you as dearly as my own 
 fe. Away, then, with this bashfulness, and tell me plainly 
 f I can be of service with regard to this love of yours ; and 
 f you find me not in earnest, then believe me to be the 
 
108 THE DECAMERON 
 
 cruellest of mothers.” The young gentleman changed 
 colour at hearing these words; but considering afterwards 
 that none could sooner serve him than his mother, he 
 spoke, without the least reserve, to this effect: ‘‘ Madam, 
 nothing has made me keep my love a secret so much as 
 what I have observed in many people, when they grow into 
 years, they forget that they ever were young: but now I 
 find you considerate in that point, I shall not only confess 
 your suspicion to be true, but will also name the person to 
 you, provided you will, according to promise, use your best 
 endeavours in my behalf; and by that means you may save 
 my life.” The lady, thinking to serve him in a different 
 manner from what he himself intended, bade him speak out, 
 and she would endeavour that he should have his will. He 
 then replied :—‘‘ Madam, the beautiful and agreeable be- 
 haviour of Jeannette, and her not pitying me, or being even 
 sensible how much I love her, which I have yet revealed to 
 no person living, have brought me to this condition. If 
 therefore you make not your word good to me, you may 
 depend upon it my life is short.” She, thinking it a more 
 proper time to comfort than reprove him, said, with a smile, 
 *‘ And have you then languished so long for this? ‘Have a 
 good heart, and when you grow better leave the matter to 
 me.” The young spark, full of hopes, began now to show 
 speedy symptoms of amendment, to the mother’s great com- 
 fort, who was contriving how to perform her promise; and 
 one day, calling Jeannette to her, she began by way of dis- 
 course, to ask her if she ever had a sweetheart?, She 
 blushed, and replied, ‘‘ Madam, it 111 becomes a poor young 
 woman like myself, who is driven from her own house, and 
 subject to other people’s will and pleasure, to think of love.” 
 She then rejoined: “If you, have no lover, I will procure 
 one for you, that you may live with some comfort; for so. 
 pretty a girl as you are should never be without.” Jeannette 
 said, ‘‘ Madam, as you have taken me from my father, and 
 brought me up like your own child, I am obliged to do all: 
 in my power to please you: but in this particular, I think I 
 am in the right not to doit. If you mean to give me a 
 husband, him I shall respect, but no one else. For, of all 
 that my ancestors possessed, there is nothing now remain: 
 
SECOND DAY 109 
 
 ing to me but their virtue, and this I intend to keep as long 
 as I live.” This was quite contrary to her intention, as to 
 the promise she had made her son; though, like a prudent 
 lady, she seemed to commend her for it, and said, ‘‘ But if 
 the king, who is young, should have a fancy for you, would 
 you deny him?” She immediately replied, his Majesty 
 might use force, but he should never have her consent, but 
 upon terms of honour. ‘The lady, seeing what her resolu- 
 tion was, said no’more; but resolved to put her to the 
 proof; saying to her son, that, when he got well, she would 
 put them into a room together, and he might do with her as 
 he pleased; for it was performing a base. office for her to 
 proceed any further in that way for him. This was by no 
 means pleasing to the young gentleman, who relapsed 
 immediately upon it: which the lady perceiving, she laid 
 open her intention to Jeannette, and found her more 
 resolute than ever. “Her husband being made acquainted 
 with the whole matter, it was agreed by them (though much 
 against their inclinations), that he should marry her; pre- 
 ferring their son’s life, with a wife much beneath him, to his 
 death without one. This was soon put in execution to 
 Jeannette’s great joy ; who gave thanks to Heaven for its 
 mercy vouchsafed towards her; but all the while she would 
 make no other discovery of herself, than that she was 
 daughter to a person in Picardy. They lived afterwards 
 very happily together. Let us now return to Pierrot, whom 
 we left in Wales with a great officer belonging to the king of 
 England: he grew much in favour with his lord, and being 
 graceful and manly in person, and more expert at all military 
 exercises than any one in the country, was known every- 
 where by the name of Pierrot the Picard; and as God had 
 been gracious to his sister, so was He no less kind and 
 merciful to him; for the plague happened to break out in 
 that country, which swept away half the people, and a great 
 part of those who were left had fled for refuge into other 
 lands, so that the nation appeared quite desolate. In this 
 mortality, the lord and lady, with their son, brethren, and 
 nephews, and near relations, all died, and there was none of 
 the family left besides an only daughter, just of age to 
 marry, and a few servants. As soon as the plague was 
 
110 THE DECAMERON 
 
 over, she took him for her husband, on account of his 
 extraordinary merit, and made him lord of all her in- 
 heritance. » And it was not long before the, »King of 
 England, hearing of the late lord’s death, and knowing 
 Pierrot’s worth and valour, substituted him in his. place, 
 and gave him the same power and command. Such was 
 the fate of the two innocent children of the Count d’Angiers, 
 whom he had left destitute. 
 
 It was now eighteen years since he came from Paris, and 
 having suffered great hardship during his abode in Ireland, 
 and as he was at present grown old, he was willing. to know 
 what was become of his children. Being quite altered as 
 to his person, and finding himself more robust and active 
 than in his youth, which he had spent in ease and indo- 
 lence; he left the service where he had been for so long 
 a time, and set forward in a mean dress for England: 
 coming, therefore, to the place where he had left Pierrot, 
 he found him to be a great and mighty lord, and in perfect 
 health, which gave him the utmost satisfaction ;- but yet he 
 was resolved not to discover himself, till, he should know 
 what was become of Jeannette. Travelling: still on for 
 London, and inquiring cautiously there concerning. the 
 lady with whom he had left his daughter, he discovered 
 that Jeannette was married to her son, which pleased him 
 infinitely, esteeming all his past sufferings as nothing, since 
 he had found both his children alive and in prosperity. 
 Desirous now of seeing her, he repaired to the house like 
 a poor man, and being taken notice of by James Lamiens 
 (for that was the husband’s name), he had pity on him, and 
 ordered one of his servants to give him relief. Jeannette 
 had several children by him, the eldest of whom was about 
 eight years old, all very beautiful; and seeing the count 
 begin to eat, they came about him, and. were as much 
 pleased with him, as if by some secret instinct they had 
 known ‘him to be their grandfather; whilst he, knowing 
 them to be his grandchildren, showed a thousand little 
 fondnesses towards them, which made them unwilling to 
 leave him, when their governor would have called them 
 away. On-hearing this, Jeannette came out of her cham- 
 ber, and threatened to whip them, if they would not obey 
 
SECOND DAY ? IL 
 
 their master ; this set the children a crying, and they said 
 they had much rather stay with the» honest man who 
 loved them better than their master did‘; which made the 
 lady and count both laugh heartily. He arose, not as a 
 father, but like a poor man, *to pay reverence to his 
 daughter, as to a great lady; feeling great pleasure at the 
 sight of her, whilst she had not the least knowledge of 
 him: so much was he altered, having grey hairs, a long 
 beard, and a black and meagre countenance, that he was 
 nothing like the same person. The lady, now seeing how 
 unwilling the children were to go away, ordered their 
 master to let them stay a little. In the meantime, her 
 husband’s father came home, and being told: this circum- 
 stance by the master, and holding her always in great 
 contempt, he said, ‘Let them stay with a mischief to 
 them! they only show from whence they are descended ; 
 they are beggars by the mother’s side, therefore no wonder 
 that they herd with beggars.” The count was much 
 grieved at hearing these words, but was forced to bear 
 this injury, as he had done many others. The lady’s 
 husband ‘had taken notice all this time of the children’s 
 fondness towards the count, and was mneasy at it; yet so 
 tender was he of them, that rather than make them uneasy, 
 he gave orders that if the honest man was willing to stay 
 in his service, he should be received... He replied, that 
 he should be glad of it, but was only able to look after 
 horses, which he had been used to all his life. Hehada 
 horse ‘assigned him, therefore, to take care of, and when 
 his business was over, he used to play with the children. 
 Whilst fortune had thus disposed of the Count d’Angiers 
 and his children, it came to pass, that, after making many 
 ‘treaties. with ‘the Germans, the King of France died, and 
 was succeeded by that son, whose wife had occasioned the 
 count’s banishment; and the last truce being now expired, 
 a bloody war broke out afresh, when the King of England, 
 who was his kinsman, sent him large supplies of people, 
 under the command of Pierrot, one of his generals, and 
 James Lamiens, son to another of his generals, with whom 
 went the count as a servant; when he did: more service, 
 both by his’ valour and good counsel, than was expected 
 
{12 THE DECAMERON 
 
 from him... In the course of the war, the Queen of France 
 chanced to be taken ill, and finding herself past all hopes 
 of recovery, made a confession of ‘all her sins to the Arch- 
 bishop of Rouen, esteemed by all as a most:holy person : 
 and, amongst other things, she mentioned the great wrong 
 she had done to the Count-d’Angiers ; nor was she content 
 with speaking this to him only, but she also declared it 
 before many other worthy persons; desiring their inter- 
 cession with the king, that, if he or his children were any 
 of them living, they might be restored to their former 
 condition: soon after this she died, and was honourably 
 interred. This confession being reported ‘to the king, 
 after much concern for the injury done to so great a man, 
 he issued out a proclamation, that if any person could give 
 tidings of the count, or his children, they should be well 
 rewarded, since the queen had declared him innocent of 
 
 _ the crime for which he had fled his country; and that his 
 
 Majesty meant to exalt him to the same, or even greater, 
 honours than he had before. When the count heard this, 
 he went immediately to James Lamiens, and desired him 
 to go along with him to Pierrot; saying; he would then 
 show them what the king desired. Being all met together, 
 the count declared to. Pierrot that he was now resolved to 
 discover himself; for, ‘‘ Pierrot,” says he, “ James Lamiens, 
 who is here present, has married your sister, and has 
 had no fortune with her: therefore I intend that he shall 
 have the benefit of the king’s proclamation, both for your- 
 self, as son to Count d’Angiers, for Violante your sister 
 and his wife, lastly for myself, who am the Count d’Angiers 
 and your father.” 
 
 Pierrot, hearing this, and looking steadfastly upon him, 
 soon called him to mind, and fell down with tears at his 
 feet: whilst James Lamiens was surprised with so much 
 wonder and joy together, that he scarcely knew what to 
 say; and blushing for the little respect he had showed — 
 him, he humbly asked pardon, which the count readily 
 granted: and when they had talked over their several 
 fortunes, sometimes in tears, and then again in joy, they 
 would have had him put on suitable apparel, which he would 
 by no means consent to, being desirous that James Lamiens 
 
SECOND DAY 113 
 
 should first secure the reward, and, by presenting him in 
 that garb, make the shame for his ill usage so much the 
 greater. James hereupon went with the count and Pierrot 
 before the king, offering for the promised reward to pro- 
 duce both the count and his children. The king then 
 ordered a most magnificent present to be brought, telling 
 him it was his own upon those conditions. James then 
 stepped back a little, and presented the count as his 
 servant, and Pierrot, saying, ‘‘ Behold, sir, the father and 
 son; as for the daughter, she is my wife; but with the 
 leave of Heaven, you shall see her before it is long.” The 
 king, on hearing this, looked earnestly at the count, and, 
 notwithstanding his being so much changed, soon called 
 him to mind, and, with tears in his: eyes, raised him from 
 the ground, on which he was kneeling, and kissed and 
 shook him by the hand: he welcomed Pierrot also:in a 
 most friendly manner; and ordered that the count should 
 have clothes, servants, horses, and everything suitable to 
 his quality, which was accordingly done. The king showed 
 great respect also'to James Lamiens, and inquired particu- 
 larly about everything that had befallen them: to whom, 
 atter he had received the reward for making the discovery, 
 the count said: ‘ Receive this royal bounty at the hands 
 of his Majesty, and remember to tell your father, that your 
 children and my grandchildren are not meanly descended 
 with regard to their mother.” James received the presents, 
 and sent for his wife and mother to Paris; and Pierrot 
 also brought his lady, and they were received by the king, 
 along with the count, with the utmost joy, who restored 
 them all they had lost, with large additions of fortune. 
 They had afterwards permission to return home, leaving 
 the count at Paris, where he ‘continued to his dying day in 
 more repute and glory than ever. 
 
114 THE DECAMERON 
 
 NOVEL IX 
 
 Bernard of Genoa is imposed upon by one Ambrose, loses his money, and 
 orders his wife, who is quite innocent, to be put to death. She 
 makes her escape, and goes in man’s dress into the service of the 
 Sultan ; there she meets with the deceiver ; and, sending for her 
 husband to Alexandria, has him punished; she then resumes her 
 former habit, and returns with her husband rich to Genoa. 
 
 E1iza having discharged her duty by the last moving story, 
 the queen, who was of a most graceful person, taking the 
 next turn upon herself; spoke with a smile to this effect :— 
 
 We must make good our agreement with Dioneus; and 
 therefore, as only he and I remain to: speak, I shall begin 
 with my story, and leave him to the last; as he has desired. 
 It is a common saying, that the deceiver lies at the mercy 
 of the deceived: which I think can only be proved true by 
 circumstances of that kind, which have happened in the 
 world; this then I propose to show you, hoping a relation 
 of this sort will not be disagreeable, to the end you may be 
 upon’ your guard against such as would deceive you. 
 
 There happened together in an inn at Paris some Italian 
 merchants, who had come thither upon their different occa- 
 sions, and meeting at supper one night, and. conversing 
 merrily of one thing after another, they came at last to talk 
 of their wives, whom they had left behind them :, when one 
 of them said, in a jesting way, “I do not know what my 
 wife does with herself, but Iam sure if'I meet with any 
 thing that pleases me, I forget my love for her, and. make 
 use of the opportunity.”——“‘ And so do I,” quoth another ; 
 ‘for whether I believe it or not, my wife will do as she 
 pleases.” A third was of the same opinion, and all seemed 
 to agree that their wives at home lost no time in their 
 absence. Only one man among them all, named Bernard 
 Lomellin, of Genoa, avowed the contrary ; declaring that he 
 had a wife, in whom were centred all the virtues that could 
 adorn either sex: that she was young and beautiful in her 
 person ; that she was mistress of her needle; that no man- 
 servant waited with more dexterity at his master’s table, 
 than he was served by her, she being thoroughly discreet 
 
SECOND DAY 1T5 
 
 and well bred: that, besides her skill in horsemanship, and 
 the management of a hawk, there was no merchant under- 
 stood’ accounts better: and coming at length to what 
 began the dispute, he declared, with an oath, that no 
 woman upon earth could be more virtuous and chaste than 
 she was ; for he firmly believed, were he to be absent from 
 her ten years, she would have to do with no other person. 
 Amongst the merchants who had been talking upon this’ 
 subject, was a young fellow called’: Ambrose of Piacenza, 
 who made the greatest jest inthe world of what Bernard said 
 last in praise of his wife, asking him, whether the emperor 
 had given him this privilege, exclusive of the rest of. man- 
 kind? Bernard, a: little agitated, said, not the emperor, 
 but God Almighty, who was something more powerful than 
 the emperor, had bestowed this favour upon him. Ambrose 
 replied,:  I:make not the least doubt, but that you think 
 you speak truth: but in my opinion, you have not enough 
 considered the nature of things: for if you had, I do not 
 believe your understanding so mean not to find many 
 reasons to make you think more coolly of the matter. 
 Wherefore, that you may not imagine that we, who have 
 spoken so much at large concerning our wives, suppose 
 them of a different make from yours, but that we have, 
 merely, regard to the natural propensity of all, I shall beg 
 leave to reason a little with you upon this subject. I have 
 always understood, that man is the most noble of God’s 
 creatures, and that woman is in the next degree to him: 
 now as man is allowed to be more perfect, he must con- 
 sequently have more resolution and constancy. In like 
 manner, women are always more wavering and fickle, as 
 I could show by several reasons, which I shall omit at 
 present. If therefore man, who is allowed to have the most 
 stability, cannot (I will not say resist a woman, that should 
 entreat him) -but even desire, and do all that lies in his 
 power, to get into the company of a woman that he likes, 
 and this not once in a month, but a thousand times every 
 day, what can you think a woman, naturally weak, can do 
 against the entreaties,’ flatteries, gifts, and a thousand other 
 means, which an artful lover knows how to use? Do you 
 think she can resist? Affirm it as you will, I can never 
 
116 THE DECAMERON 
 
 think you in earnest. You say your wife is flesh and blood, 
 and therefore subject to the same desires with other women ; 
 and her strength to resist those desires must be the same : 
 be she then ever so virtuous, itis possible for her to do like 
 other women: and if it be possible, you should never have 
 denied it in that positive manner, and maintained the 
 contrary, as you have done.” 
 
 Bernard replied, and said, ‘I. am a merchant, and not a 
 philosopher, and shall answer you as such; I tell you, there- 
 fore, that what. you say, may be the case of women of little 
 understanding, and who have no sense of shame; but such 
 as are wise have that regard for their honour, that they 
 become more firm than men, who are not so tender in that 
 point; and such an one is my wife.”—“ Truly,” said 
 Ambrose, “if for every fault of this kind they were to have 
 a horn spring out of their foreheads, to bear testimony 
 against them, I believe few would be guilty; but so far 
 from having a horn grow, if they be wise, there is nothing 
 to make the least discovery ; and as shame and loss of 
 character happen only when things are made public, there- 
 fore what they can accomplish in secret, they rarely fail to 
 do: or, if they abstain, it is through their folly. Take this 
 then for a rule—that woman only is chaste who has never 
 been asked ; or she who herself has asked and been refused. 
 And though I am convinced of this by natural and just 
 reasons, yet I should not speak as I do, if I had not tried 
 the humours and affections of many different women. Let 
 me also tell you, that if I was in company with your most 
 virtuous wife, I should not doubt my obtaining the same 
 favour from her that I have gained from many others.” 
 Bernard was provoked at this, and said, ‘‘ There is no end 
 of disputing ; you assert and I assert, which is all nothing: 
 but since you’say they are so easily warped, and have such 
 an opinion of your own power that way ; to convince you of 
 my wife’s virtue, I will forfeit my head, if you ever bring her 
 te a compliance, upon condition, that, if you should not 
 prevail over her, you only lose a thousand florins of gold.” 
 Ambrose replied, with a good deal of warmth, “ What 
 service will your life be to me, if I should win it? But 
 if you have a mind ta put the thing to the trial, deposit five 
 
SECOND DAY 17 
 
 thousand florins, which are of less value: than your life, 
 against one thousand of mine; and as you fix no time, I 
 will oblige myself to go to Genoa, and in less than three 
 months, from the day of my departure, to gain my will 
 of your wife, and to bring such tokens of that back with 
 me, as you yourself shall confess to be just; provided you 
 will give me your word, that you will neither come to Genoa 
 in that time, nor write to her about that matter.” Bernard 
 said he liked the wager; and though the other merchants 
 endeavoured all they could to prevent it, as well knowing 
 what mischief might ensue; yet the two merchants were 
 so warm, that, in spite of all their friends could do, they 
 immediately signed the articles to\that purpose. Bernard 
 therefore stayed behind, whilst Ambrose made the best of 
 his way to Genoa; where he continued a day or two, 
 informing himself, as cautiously as possible, of the name of 
 the street where the lady lived, as also of her character, 
 when he soon heard all that Bemard had related to be true, 
 and a great deal more; which made: him conclude that he 
 had come thither upon a very foolish errand: but meeting 
 with a poor woman who frequented the house, to whom the 
 lady was very kind, he wrought so far upon her, by means 
 of a bribe, that he was carried in a chest, made according 
 to his own direction, not only into the house, but even into 
 the lady’s bed-chamber ; where it was to be left for some 
 days, for the greater security, as if the good woman was 
 going abroad. 
 
 When night came, and the lady, as he supposed, was 
 asleep, he opened the chest with certain instruments, which 
 he had carried with him for that end, and went softly into 
 the room, where a light was burning, by which he observed 
 carefully the form and situation of the chamber, and also 
 the pictures, and everything remarkable init; which he 
 endeavoured to keep in his memory. Coming then to the 
 bed-side, and seeing the lady and a little girl that was in 
 bed with her both fast asleep, he found her as beautiful as 
 if she had been dressed ; but yet he could perceive no sign 
 to carry away concerning her, unless it was a mole upon her 
 left breast: with which being pretty well satisfied, and not 
 daring, from the lady’s known character, to presume farther ; 
 
118 THE DECAMERON 
 
 after being there the greatest part of the night, he took 
 a purse, and also a gown, with a ring and girdle}; all which 
 he put into his chest, and went into it again, making it fast 
 as before, where he continued two nights, without the 
 lady’s perceiving anything of the matter. The third day 
 the woman came for the chest; according to her appoint- 
 ment, and carried it back, when Ambrose satisfied her 
 according to promise, and hastened away to Paris with 
 those tokens before the limited time. There he summoned 
 the merchants together, who were: present when ‘the wager 
 was laid, declaring to Bernard’ that he had won, having 
 brought the tokens which he had promised to produce. 
 First, then, he described the chamber and the paintings, 
 and showed those things, which he said he had received 
 from herself. Bernard owned that the chamber was as 
 he had described it; and he remembered, also, that the 
 things which: he had brought belonged to his wife; but he 
 added, that he might have an account of the room, as weil 
 as procure the other things, from some of the servants ; 
 therefore, if he could say nothing more, this did not seem 
 sufficient to entitle him to the wager. When Ambrose 
 replied, ‘‘ Truly this ought to satisfy'you; but since you 
 would have me. say something more, know then, that 
 Madam Zineura your wife has a mole upon her left breast.” 
 When Bernard heard this, he was struck'to the very heart, 
 and his countenance changed in such a manner, as to con- 
 vince them, if he had not said another word, that Ambrose 
 spoke truth ; and after some time he replied, “Gentlemen, 
 what Ambrose says is true; and as I own myself to have 
 lost he may come when he pleases, and I will pay’ him.” 
 The money therefore was paid the next day, and Bernard 
 set out for Genoa most cruelly incensed against his wife; 
 and being come to a country-house of his about twenty 
 miles off, he sent a servant whom he could trust, with a 
 couple of horses and a letter to her; wherein he acquainted 
 her with his return, and that he would have her come away 
 along with the servant ; whom he had charged, at the same 
 time, as soon as he came toa fit place, to put her to death, ' 
 and repair to him. His servant delivered the letter to his 
 mistress, who received the news with great joy; and the 
 
SECOND DAY 11g 
 
 next morning she set forwards with him. As they travelled 
 along, talking of divers things by the way, they came into 
 a solitary vale surrounded with trees, which the servant 
 thought. a fit place for the execution of his master’s orders; 
 therefore, drawing a knife out of his pocket, and taking the 
 lady by the arm, he said, ‘‘ Madam, commend your soul to 
 God, for here you must die.” She, in.the utmost astonish- 
 ment, begged for God’s sake that, before he put her to 
 death, he would tell her what she had done to offend. him 
 in that manner. ‘‘ Madam,” said the servant, “you have 
 done me no harm ; and as to your husband, I can only say 
 this, that he ordered me to kill you by the way, without 
 showing you the least mercy; threatening otherwise to 
 hang me up. You know full well my obligations to him, 
 and that I must not resist his commands; I am sorry for 
 you, God knows, but I cannot help it.” The lady wept, 
 and said, *“‘Alas! do not murder me, who have never 
 injured you, for the sake of another person: God is my 
 witness, who knoweth all things, that I never did anything 
 to deserve this. from my husband ; but, setting that aside, 
 you may, if you please, serve God, your master, and myself, 
 in this manner; namely, do you take my clothes, leaving 
 me only your-hat and doublet, and carry them to, my lord 
 and yours, telling him that you have killed me; and I 
 swear, by that life for which I shall be indebted to you, 
 that I will go where neither he, you, nor any person in 
 this country, shall ever hear more concerning me.” The 
 servant, who. was loth to put her to death, was easily pre- 
 vailed upon; and leaving her his coat and hat, and some 
 money which she had about her, and entreating her not to 
 make any stay, went straight to his master, telling him that 
 he had obeyed his commands, and left the body to be 
 devoured by wolves. After some time Bernard returned to 
 Genoa, and the fact being discovered, he was much blamed 
 for what he had done. The lady being left alone, as soon 
 as night came on, she disguised herself as well as she could, 
 and went to a neighbouring village, where she procured 
 what she wanted of an old woman, and she mended and 
 cut the doublet shorter, and turned her shift into a pair of 
 trousers; and having cut her hair and appearing in every 
 
120 THE DECAMERON 
 
 respect like a common sailor, she went to the seaside, 
 where she met a Catalonian gentleman, named Sefior 
 Encararch, who being just come on shore to refresh ‘him- 
 self at a spring of fresh water, she fell into discourse with 
 him, and, agreeing to enter into his service, went on board, 
 calling herself Sicurano da Finale. There she had obtained 
 better clothes, and she proved so expert and diligent a 
 servant, that he was greatly pleased with her. Soon after- 
 wards this gentleman sailed to Alexandria, carrying. with 
 him a number of falcons as a present to the sultan, who 
 often entertained him at his table; and taking particular 
 notice of the behaviour of Sicurano, who waited always 
 upon her master, he begged her of the gentleman much 
 against his will; and in a little time she was in as great 
 favour with the sultan as she had been with her former 
 master. Now ata certain time of the year there was to be 
 _a fair at Acre, which was under the ‘dominion of the sultan, 
 and where there was a great resort both’ of Christian and 
 Turkish merchants, for whose greater security the sultan 
 used to send one of his ordinary officers with a band of 
 soldiers. And the time now drawing near, he resolved to 
 send Sicurano for that purpose, being well skilled in the 
 languages ; and she arriving at Acre as captain of the guard 
 for the merchants, discharged her duty with great care and 
 diligence, conversing daily with Sicilian, Pisan, Genoese, 
 Venetian, and other Italian merchants, whom she was 
 chiefly acquainted with, because they were of her own 
 country. As she was one day therefore in a shop belong- 
 ing to some Venetian merchant, amongst some other toys, 
 she cast her eye upon a purse and girdle, which she soon 
 knew to be her own; but without making any such dis- 
 covery, she asked whom they belonged to, and whether 
 they were to be sold?’ Now it happened that Ambrose 
 was come thither with a great stock of goods, along with 
 these merchants on board their ship, and hearing that the 
 captain of the guard made inquiry whom those things 
 belonged to, he stepped forwards, and said, with a laugh, 
 ‘Sir, they are mine, and not to be sold; but if you like 
 them, they are at your service.” . Sicurano seeing him 
 laugh, supposing it was at some action or behaviour of 
 
SECOND DAY 121 
 
 hers, and therefore, with a more settled countenance, she 
 said, “I suppose ‘you laugh to see me, a man professing 
 arms, inquiring after such womanish toys,”—*“ Sir,” replied 
 Ambrose, “I do not laugh at that; but I laugh only at the 
 manner by which I obtained them.” Sicurano then replied, 
 “Good sir, if it be not too much trouble, tell me how that 
 was.” “Sir,” quoth Ambrose, ‘a lady of Genoa, called 
 Zineura, wife to one Bernard Lomellin, gave them to me 
 one night when I lay with her, and desired I would keep 
 them for her sake. I laugh therefore at Bernard’s folly, 
 who laid me five thousand florins’to one thousand, that I 
 could not obtain my will of her ; which I did, and won my 
 wager ; whilst he, who deserved to have been punished for 
 his brutality more than she, who did no more than what all 
 women do, returned to Genoa, and by what I can find; had 
 her put to death.” Sicurano now found out the grounds 
 of Bernard’s displeasure ; and as she perceived this man 
 had been the cause of it, she determined not to let him go 
 unpunished : but seeming to be pleased with his story, she 
 became more acquainted with him; and when the fair was 
 ended, she took him ‘with her to Alexandria, and made him 
 hire a shop, and ‘lodged money in his hands, which turned 
 to such account that he was very willing to stay there. 
 Sicurano, desirous of making her innocence appear to her 
 husband, agreed with some Genoese merchants, under 
 some pretence or other, to have him brought thither ; and 
 being come in a poor and wretched plight, she had him 
 privately toa friend’s house to be taken care of, till it should 
 be time to put her purpose in execution. Now Sicurano 
 had made Ambrose tell the story before the sultan, who 
 “seemed pleased with it; but as soon as her husband was 
 come, she determined to wait no longer; and taking a fit 
 opportunity, she prevailed upon the sultan to send for 
 Ambrose and Bernard both before him, and in the presence 
 of Bernard, to make the other confess by force, if he would 
 not own it otherwise, how the affair was, which he had 
 boasted of concerning Bernard’s wife. Accordingly, they 
 were brought face to face, and the sultan, witha stern 
 countenance, commanded Ambrose before a number of 
 people, to speak the truth, namely, how he had won of 
 
122 THE DECAMERON 
 
 Bernard the five thousand florins. Sicurano, also, who was 
 present and in whom Ambrose put a good deal of confi- 
 dence, declared, with a great deal of anger in her looks, 
 that he should be severely chastised if he did not: being 
 terrified therefore on both sides, and in some measure 
 compelled ; expecting also to restore only the five thousand 
 florins without any other punishment, he related the whole 
 affair. Which being done, Sicurano, as minister to the 
 sultan, turned to Bernard, and said, ‘“‘ What did you then 
 to your wife, on account of this lie?” He replied, ‘‘ Being 
 outrageous with the loss of my money and the shame to 
 which I was exposed, for the injury I thought I had sus- 
 tained from her, I ordered one of my servants to murder 
 her, and, as he informs me, she was immediately devoured 
 by wolves.” | 
 
 These things being related in presence of the sultan, and 
 _ many other witnesses, without his knowing Sicurano’s pur- 
 pose, she said, therefore, ‘‘ My lord, you now see plainly 
 what great reason the poor woman has to boast of her 
 gallant and husband; for the one deprives her of her good 
 character with lies, and ruins her husband at the same 
 time; whilst the other, showing greater regard to that 
 person’s falseness, than to the virtue of his wife (of which 
 he might have. been assured by long experience), has her 
 murdered, and devoured by wolves. Besides, such is the 
 respect. that they both bear towards her, that she is now 
 known to neither of them, though they have been long 
 entertained by her. But, that you may more perfectly 
 understand what both have deserved, and if, at my request, 
 you will punish the deceiver, and excuse the person who 
 was deceived, she shall forthwith appear before you and 
 them.” The sultan, who was disposed to show favour to 
 Sicurano in everything, agreed that the lady should appear ; 
 at which Bernard was much surprised, supposing she was 
 dead ; whilst Ambrose, foreseeing what was likely to happen, 
 began to think of something worse than repayment of the 
 money, not knowing whether he had most reason to fear 
 or hope in consequence of her appearing there; and he 
 waited her coming with the utmost consternation. The 
 sultan having thus given leave, Sicurano threw herself at 
 
SECOND DAY 123 
 
 his feet, and, laying aside her manly voice, and: demeanour, 
 she said, “My lord; I am ‘the miserable and. unfortunate 
 -Zineura, who, for the space of. six. years, have wandered 
 over the world in man’s disguise, being most basely aspersed 
 by that villain Ambrose, and given up to a servant by that 
 most cruel and unjust man, to be murdered and devoured 
 by wolves.” And, showing her breast, she made it appear 
 that she was the same woman. ‘Turning then to Ambrose, 
 she resolutely demanded, when it was that he had lain with 
 her, as he ‘had formerly vaunted? But he, knowing her 
 again, was so struck with shame, that he could not utter a 
 word. The sultan, who had all along taken her for a man, 
 was so surprised at what he heard and saw, that it appeared 
 to him more like a dream than truth: but upon recollecting 
 himself, and seeing everything plainly made out, he most 
 highly commended the: life, constancy, and behaviour: of 
 Zinéura, heretofore called Sicurano ; and ordering proper 
 apparel and: attendants for her, pardoned Bernard, at her 
 request, the death he had justly merited ; who, now know: 
 ing her again, kneeled down and begged pardon, which she 
 readily granted, however unworthy he was of it, and em- 
 braced him as her husband. The sultan then ordered 
 Ambrose to’ be tied to a stake, in the most eminent part of 
 the city, and his naked body to be smeared over with 
 honey, and to’ hang’ there till he should drop in pieces; 
 which ‘sentence was:soon put in execution. He next gave 
 charge’ that all his substance should be given to Zineura, 
 which did not ‘amount to less than’ ten thousand double 
 ducats; and making a most sumptuous feast in honour of 
 Bernard, as her husband, and Zineura as a most: worthy 
 lady, he presented her with plate and money, to the amount 
 of ten thousand’ ducats more ;) and providing a ship for 
 them, when the feast was’ over, he gave them leave to depart 
 to Genoa ;,which they did with great joy, and: were received 
 with the utmost respect, especially Zineura, who was thought 
 to be dead; and the same esteem was continued towards 
 ‘her as longas she'lived. As for Ambrose, he was not only 
 destroyed the very day he was impaled, by wasps and 
 hornets, with which the country abounds, but he was eaten 
 to the very bones; which, being bound together by the 
 
424 THE DECAMERON 
 
 hee -ginews, remained hanging there’ for some time, as a-testi- 
 mony of his villainy. “And thus it is ‘that! the deceiver lies 
 Poy) atthe mercy of the deceived. | pith! 
 
 a a 
 Ps 
 
 df - 
 - | ; ’ A s i 7 ; 
 
 
 
 NOVEL be 
 
 ak 
 
 i Papantns da Monaro carries away the wife of Stink Ricciardo: di 
 
 . Chinzica,, who, understanding where she was, went thither, and 
 
 ia) growing acquainted with Paganino, he demanded her back, which 
 
 the other consents to, provided she is willing: she refuses.to return; 
 and upon Ricciardo’s death became the wife of a a ed 
 
 Att the company: commended ithe queen’s' story, and 
 especially Dioneus, who. was the only person left to speak 
 for that day; and,\ having said: much in praise of it, he 
 
 - began to this effect :—Ladies, part of the queen’s' novel has 
 
 made me change my intention, with regard to what I meant 
 
 __ to relate for another; which is the brutishnéss of Bernard 
 
 (though it happened well for:‘him), and of. all: such as him- 
 self, who’ think as ‘he did;*namely, that whilst they are 
 travelling about from place to place, and diverting them- 
 selves sometimes with one lady and ‘sometimes with another, 
 
 _ they conclude that their wives sit with their hands: before 
 
 them all the while, as-ifwe do not know to’ the:contrary. 
 I ‘shall therefore show you how great: the: folly is of call 
 such people; and‘of those especially, who, supposing them- 
 
 4 selves: to be more. powerful than. nature hath really formed 
 them, think» to’ cover’ all by fabulous demonstrations ; 
 and endeavour to make other persons’ constitutions and 
 
 _ tempers square with their own, however contrary itomay be 
 
 - to their natural bent and inclination.» ‘There ‘lived once at 
 Pisa, a certain judge; endowed with greater genius of mind 
 than bodily ability, whose name was Signior Ricciardo di 
 _Chinzica ;. who, .being persuaded that there) was no more 
 in marrying than-in pursuing his:studies, determined, as he 
 was very rich,'to have a very young and a very handsome 
 wife ; whereas, had he known how to advise himself)as well 
 as he did other people, he ishould» have avoided both the 
 one and the other. Accordingly, Signior Lotto Gualandi 
 
- SECOND DAY 125) 
 
 bestowed his daughter upon him, whose name was Bar- 
 tolomea, one of the briskest and most. beautiful ladies in 
 all. Pisa, though: there are. few of them all) that, are not as 
 red as ,a fox ;.and having brought her home) in great state, 
 he made. shift to. pass the wedding night. Being a better 
 judgé/now: of his own strength, he began to teach her a new 
 calendar, showing -her that there was scarcely. a day inthe 
 year but what,was dedicated to some saint or other, and 
 some, days, had more saints than one; j in reverence .o 
 whom,.as he proved. by many reasons, a‘man and his wife 
 ought to keep asunder}at. those times. Adding, also, that 
 those saints’ days had their fasts; besides the four seasons 
 of the+year, the vigils of the apostles, and. a thousand other 
 holidays, with, Fridays,) Saturdays,,and Sundays, and ail 
 Lent ;,as-also certain observations of ‘the moon, and many 
 other exceptions; as, thinking, perhaps, that it was con- 
 venient) to keep as) many holidays with regard to his. wife, 
 as to:his pleadings in court. And im this manner he lived, 
 to her great discontent, scarcely conversing. with her once a 
 month, and keeping a strict:watch over her, for fear:some 
 other person should teach her what belonged to working- 
 days,’ as he had: done to holidays. In the meantime, it 
 happenéd that the season growing, extremely hot, he wished 
 to go, for his diversion, to.one of his country-seats, near the 
 Black: Mountain, and; to take his lady with him for a few 
 days ;\and,.to,make it more agreeable to her, they went out 
 together one day afishing, when he and the fishermen were 
 in one boat, and she was)in another, along with some ladies, 
 who, went to-see the sport... Being drawn by their diversion 
 many: miles into. 'the sea; without) perceiving it, and whilst 
 they were very, intent looking von, they were. surprised by a 
 privateer, belonging to one’ Paganino, da Monaco, a famous 
 pirate, who.seized) that vessel which had the women: on 
 board; and, seeing this fair lady,;:+he carried her into his 
 own ship ‘in sight, of her husband, who had. now reached 
 the, shoré ;: and without meddling with anything else, sailed 
 directly away. » How sorrowful Ricciardo was at seeing this 
 ‘you: may, easily. imagine, who was’ jealous of the. very air 
 itself!: and, accordingly he made many fruitless complaints, 
 both at-Pisa and elsewhere,,of the villainy:of these corsairs, 
 
126 THE DECAMERON 
 
 without knowing whoit. was that had taken i in Or 
 whither she was carried. 
 
 Paganino now. was’ much pleased with the aay, seeing 
 her so handsome; and being without a wife, resolved to 
 keep her as such ; ‘and perceiving that she was under some 
 concern, he used many kind and tender expressions, till she 
 soon forgot the calendar she had learned ; and, long before 
 she reached Monaco, the judge’and his’ laws’ were quite 
 gone out of her head, and she lived with all the comfort: in 
 the world with Paganino.*’ In some time, it’ came’ 'to 
 Ricciardo’s ears what was become of his wife, and ‘he ‘con- 
 sequently set off with the utmost impatience, to fetch her’ 
 back, supposing no other person so proper as himself, and 
 resolved to give any sum of money for her ransom. .* Being 
 arrived there, he'saw her and. she him ; and that night she 
 told Paganino of it, informing, him what she meant to do. 
 _ The next morning Ricciardo meeting with Paganino, they’ 
 soon became acquainted together; Paganino seeming. all: 
 the time: to know nothing: of him, but waiting to see what 
 he meant to do. As soon as’ a fit: opportunity offered 
 Ricciardo began to set’-forth the occasion’ of his'coming 
 thither, and, in as handsome.a manner? as: he could,: to 
 desire he would take what ransom he thought 'fitjand 
 restore him his wife. Paganino answered very courteously 
 —‘ Sir, you are heartily welcome; but the case, in’ short, 
 is this; I have a young woman in the house with me 
 (though whether she is your wife, or any other person’s,’ 
 that I cannot tell; for I neither ‘knew you nor -her before: 
 she lived with me), if you are her husband, as you say, I’ 
 will: bring you to her, since you’ seem to’ be a gentleman, 
 and she must certainly know you. If she agrees with your 
 story, and is willing you should take her away, *your 
 behaviour has been such, that’ I ‘shall desire.no other 
 recompense than what'you are pleased to give me. But if 
 it should prove otherwise, I must tell you, that you “offer 
 me great wrong to/attempt to take her from me; for Iam” 
 a young man, and know what to do with a wife as well as. 
 another person ; especially such an one as she, whovis the 
 most agreeable woman’ I ever saw.” | Ricciardo replied, 
 “‘ Most certainly, sir; she is my wife; and, if you please to- 
 
SECOND DAY 127 
 
 take me where she is, you will soon be convinced of it, for 
 she will immediately throw her arms about my neck, there- 
 fore I desire it may be as you have proposed.”—“ Let us 
 go then,” quoth Paganino: and when they were come into 
 the house, and sat down together in the hall, he ordered 
 her to be called, and she being dressed, and ready for that 
 purpose, came to them, taking no more notice of Ricciardo, 
 than she would have done of any other stranger that should 
 come into the house with Paganino, which, when the judge 
 perceived, who expected she would have seen him with 
 great joy, he was much surprised and began to say to him- 
 self, Surely the grief I have sustained for the loss of her, 
 has so changed my looks, that she does not know me 
 again.” He therefore said to her, ‘My love, it has cost 
 me dear to take you a fishing, for I was never so grieved in 
 my whole life, as since I lost you; and yet you seem not 
 to know me; so cruelly are you silent. Do not you see 
 that I am your Ricciardo, come to pay whatever ransom 
 the gentleman might demand, in whose house we now are 
 together, to have you back with me? And he is so kind 
 as to offer to restore you at what price I shall fix myself.” 
 The lady then turning to him, said with a smile, “ Do you 
 speak to me, sir? Take care you do not mistake your 
 person, for I do not remember ever in my whole life, to 
 have seen you before.” He replied, “Do you take care 
 what you say; look well at me; if you will remember, you 
 may plainly see that I am your husband Ricciardo di 
 Chinzica.” The lady made answer, ‘‘ You will excuse me, 
 sir, it is not so modest as you may suppose, to gaze much 
 upon you ; but I have looked enough to know, that I never 
 saw you in my whole life till now.” Ricciardo supposed 
 that she did this through fear of Paganino, and that she 
 was unwilling to confess before him; for which reason he 
 desired, as a favour, to talk alone with her in the chamber. 
 _Paganino replied that he was willing, provided he would 
 not offer to kiss her against her will. He ordered her then 
 to go upstairs with him, to hear what he had to say, and to 
 answer him as she thought proper. And ‘being retired 
 | together, he began to say to her, ‘‘ Alas, my life, my soul, 
 ‘the sweet end of all my wishes! do not you know your 
 
 
 
128 THE DECAMERON 
 
 Ricciardo, who loves you more than. himself? .How 
 can this be? Am I so altered, my jewel? ..Look upon 
 me a little.” She began to laugh, and, without letting 
 him proceed farther, said, “I am. not. so. forgetful, 
 you are very sensible, not to know that you are Ricciardo 
 de Chinzica, my husband; but during ,the ;time I was 
 with you, it very ill appeared that you had any. know- 
 ledge of me;. for were you really as wise as you would be 
 thought, you must haye perceived that Iwas. young and 
 lively, and consequently not to be imposed. upon by the 
 mere form of matrimony, but if you prefer the study of the 
 laws, you ought never to have married: though, in truth, 
 you seem rather a proclaimer of feasts and fasts, than. a 
 judge; yet, let me tell you, should you allow your labourers 
 in the field as many holidays as you take yourself at home, 
 you would never reap one grain of:corn. I have met with. 
 a person whom I like very well, who. keeps none of your 
 Fridays and Saturdays, nor your feasts, vigils, and long 
 Lents; him, therefore, I intend to abide with while my 
 youth continues, and to let the. fasting part alone till I 
 grow old. Therefore you may go about your business, and. 
 keep as many of those days without me as.you please.” He 
 was exceedingly troubled at this, and said, after she had 
 done speaking, “ My dear love, what words are these that I 
 hear come from you? Have you no regard for your parents’ 
 honour, and your own?. Had you rather abide here in a 
 mortal sin, as this man’s harlot, than at Pisa as my wife? 
 He will soon grow weary of you, and turn you off with 
 great contempt; but I shall always love you,.and when I 
 die, leave you mistress of my house... Can an inordinate 
 and shameful appetite make you careless of your honour, 
 and of me, who love you more. than my own life? Do not. 
 say so, my dearest! .. Go along with me; now I know what. 
 the grievance is, I will endeavour to redress it; my.joy! my 
 treasure! change your mind, and depart with me, for I have, 
 never known a happy day since you were taken from me.” 
 
 —‘‘Sir,” she replied, ‘‘I.desire nobody to be careful of my. 
 honour but myself; my parents should have had regard. to 
 that when they made me your wife, and if they. were Care- 
 léss of me at that time. why should I now, be mindful of, 
 
SECOND DAY 124 
 
 them? And as for my living in a mortal sin, never trouble 
 your head about that: I am here considered as Paganino’s 
 wife, but I lived at Pisa rather like a mistress to you; there 
 was so much to do between us with respect to the times of 
 the moon, the quadratures and conjunctions of the planets ; 
 whereas here we mind no such thing. , But you sav you will 
 strive to do better. it is impossible, our complexions are so 
 widely different. Go home, therefore, and try to keep your- 
 self alive, for that is as much as you are able to do: and as 
 for his discarding me, should that ever happen (which at 
 present seems far from his thoughts), I will never return to 
 you; for the world will afford me some resting-place or 
 other. In the meantime, I tell you once more, that here 
 we have no feasts and fasts, and here I intend to stay: 
 therefore either go directly about your business, or I will 
 call out that you design to force me.” The judge was now 
 in a sad perplexity; and being thoroughly sensible of his 
 folly in marrying so young a person, he left the room, and 
 had some talk with Paganino, which signified nothing ; in 
 the end, therefore, he was forced to leave his wife, and he 
 returned to Pisa, where he ran raving about the streets, 
 making no answer to any friend that accosted him, except 
 that his,strumpet would keep no holidays; and soon after- 
 wards he died. Which news came no sooner to the ears 
 of Paganino, but he married her out of respect to the 
 love she had for him; and they lived happily together, 
 banishing all fasts, Lents, and such things from their 
 houses. Wherefore, it seems plain to me, my dear ladies, 
 that Bernard quite mistook the cause in his dispute with 
 Ambrose. 
 
 This story made them laugh till their sides ached, and all 
 agreed that Dioneus was in the right, and that Bernard was 
 a monster. But the queen now considering that it grew late, 
 and that they had all finished their stories, and her govern- 
 ment was at an end, according to their agreement at the 
 beginning, she took the garland from her own head, and 
 put it upon Neiphile, saying pleasantly to her, ‘‘ Hereafter 
 ‘the government of this little people be yours: ” and she sat 
 down. Neiphile, blushing at the favour done her, appeared 
 
 ite a rose in April, with her eyes, though a little cast down, 
 : E 
 | 
 
120 THE DECAMERON 
 
 sparkling like the morning star. After the murmur of the 
 company was a little abated, applauding the choice, and she 
 bad resumed her courage, she spoke to this effect :—“ As I 
 am now your queen, I shall keep to the method which has 
 been hitherto observed, and which you have approved of by 
 your concurrence, and tell you in a few words what I would 
 farther have done. You all know that to-morrow will be 
 Friday and the next day Saturday, both of which are incon- 
 venient days, on account of laying in provisions. Moreover, 
 Friday is a day to be reverenced, on account of our Saviour’s 
 passion: therefore I hold it fit that'we rather pray that day, 
 than attend to novels. Now concerning Saturday, it is 
 usual to make everything clean on that day: many people 
 also observe it as a fast, in honour of the holy Virgin, as well 
 as the ensuing Sabbath, whereon no labour may be done. 
 Wherefore, as we cannot go on exactly in the same manner 
 as we first began, I hold it best to suspend the relation of 
 any more novels: and as.we shall then have been here four 
 days, except we would admit of some new guests, who might 
 probably come to us, it will be convenient to go to another 
 place, which I have already fixed upon, and where I have 
 made provision for you. On Sunday evening, when we 
 shall be there assembled, let our next argument still be the 
 mutability of fortune, which I intend shall be as follows: 
 namely, of such persons as have acquired, by their diligence, 
 something greatly wanted by them, or else recovered what 
 they had lost. Let every one think of something to say 
 upon this subject which may be useful, or at least entertain- 
 ing ; savirig always his privilege to Dioneus.” They all 
 commended what the queen had ordered, and agreed it 
 should be done: she afterwards called the master of the 
 household, to give directions for that night’s entertainment, 
 and ‘for what else was necessary during her royalty: which 
 being over, she gave the company leave to go wherever they 
 pleased. They took a walk therefore into the garden, where 
 they amused themselves till supper-time : and having supped 
 with great cheerfulness and mirth, and being risen from 
 table, Emilia began a dance by the queen’s command’ 
 whilst the following song was sung by Pampinea, the rest 
 joining in a chorus. 
 
SECOND DAY ee 
 
 SONG 
 
 I 
 
 Of all I want or wish possest ; 
 Which of us here should sing but I? 
 
 Come, gentle Cupid, heavenly guest, 
 The constant source of all my joy. 
 
 Il 
 
 And teach my late desponding lyre 
 No more in plaintive notes to mourn, 
 
 But mirth and am’rous joy inspire, 
 Whilst in your pleasing flames I burn, 
 
 Ill 
 
 You first before my eyes have plac’d 
 An ardent lover gay and young: 
 
 With every manly virtue grac’d, 
 And soft persuasion on his tongue. 
 
 IV 
 
 But what crowns all my hope is this, 
 Our hearts and wishes fondly join ; 
 
 That mutual and the same our bliss, 
 His love’s sincere and fixed as mine. 
 
 Vv 
 
 Cupid, ’tis to your gift I owe 
 That in this world I’m amply blest ; 
 _. May Heaven, in whom I trust, bestow, 
 %W that to come, eternal rest ! 
 
 They sung many other songs also, and led up several 
 more dances, playing divers kinds of music: but the queen 
 judging that it was now time to go to bed, they went, with 
 a light before them, to their respective chambers, bestow- 
 ing the two following days in the manner which she had 
 before prescribed to them; and waiting with impatience 
 ‘for Sunday. 
 
THE THIRD DAY 
 
 THE rising sun had now changed the complexion of the 
 morning from scarlet to yellow, when the queen arose, on 
 Sunday, and had all her company called up; whilst the 
 master of the household had sent, long before, many things 
 that were necessary, as also people to order what should be 
 done: and seeing the queen now upon the march, he had 
 everything else packed up, and removed bag and baggage ; 
 the company of ladies and gentlemen following behind. 
 The queen marched on with an easy pace, attended by her 
 ladies and the three gentlemen, and conducted by the 
 music of nightingales and other tuneful birds, along a path 
 not much frequented, but enamelled with various flowers, 
 which began to open their bosoms to the ascending sun; 
 and, directing their course full’ west, chatting merrily with 
 her company all the way, in a little more than two miles 
 she brought them to a most beautiful palace, seated upon 
 an eminence in the middle of a large plain. When they 
 were entered therein, and had seen the great hall and 
 the chambers, most elegantly fitted up, and furnished with 
 everything that was proper, they greatly extolled it, judging 
 its lord to be truly a magnificent person. Going afterwards 
 below stairs, and observing its spacious and pleasant court, 
 the cellars stored with the richest wines, and delicate 
 springs of water everywhere running, they commended it 
 yet more. From thence they went to rest themselves in an 
 open gallery (which overlooked the court) set out with 
 ali the flowers of the season; whither the master of the 
 household brought wine and sweetmeats for their refresh- 
 ment. | | 
 
 They were now shown into the garden, which was on one 
 
 side of the palace, and walled round about; which seemed 
 132 
 
THIRD DAY 133 
 
 so full of beauties at their first entrance, that they were 
 more attentive in viewing every part. All round and 
 through the midst of it were large straight walks covered 
 with vines, which seemed to promise a plenteous vintage; 
 and being all in blossom, they gave so delicious a scent, 
 joined with other flowers then blowing in the garden, that 
 they thought themselves amongst the spiceries of the east. 
 The sides of these walks were closed with white and red roses 
 and jessamine, in such a manner, as to exclude the morn- 
 ing, and even the midday sun. What variety of plants and 
 how elegantly disposed,,it would be needless to mention, 
 since there was nothing belonging to. our climate which was 
 mot there in great abundance. In the middle of this 
 garden, what seemed more delightful than anything else, 
 was a plot of ground like a meadow; the grass of a deep 
 green, spangled with a thousand different flowers, and set 
 round with orange and cedar trees, whose branches were 
 stored with ripe fruit and blossoms, at the same time 
 affording a most pleasing object to the eye, as well as a 
 grateful odour to the smell. In the centre of this meadow 
 was a fountain of white marble, beautifully carved; and 
 (whether by a natural or artificial spring, I know not) trom 
 a figure standing on a column in the midst of the fountain, a 
 jet of water spouted up, which made a most agreeable 
 sound in its fall; the water which came from thence ran 
 through the meadow by a secret passage; when, being 
 received into canals, it appeared again, and was carried 
 to every part of the garden, uniting In one stream at its 
 going out, and falling with such force into the plain, as to 
 turn two mills before it got thither. The sight of this 
 garden, its form and contrivance, with the fountains and the 
 springs proceeding from it, pleased the gentlemen and 
 ladies so much, that they spared not to say, if there\was 
 a paradise on earth, 1t could be in no other form, nor was 
 it possible to add anything toit. Whilst they were walking 
 about, therefore, diverting themselves with weaving chaplets 
 of flowers, and listening to the various melody of the birds, 
 who seemed to vie with each other, a new beauty pre- 
 sented itself to them, which they had before taken no 
 notice of; namely, they perceived the garden to be full of a 
 
(34 THE DECAMERON 
 
 hundred different creatures: in one place they saw rabbits 
 issuing forth ; from another quarter they saw hares: here 
 were goats lying down, and there were deer grazing, with 
 many others passing backwards and forwards at their 
 pleasure, as though they were tame. When their senses 
 had sufficiently feasted on these several beauties, the table 
 was spread by the side of the fountain, and, after half-a- 
 dozen songs and some dances, they sat down to eat, being 
 served in a sumptuous manner with everything that was 
 nice and elegant ; and when they had done feasting, they 
 began again to sing and dance, till the queen commanded 
 them to give over, and permitted such as were so dis- 
 posed to take their ease. Accordingly some departed ; and 
 others, charmed with the pleasantness of the place, stayed 
 to read or piay at chess. At nine they arose, and went 
 into the meadow to the fountain side, and being seated 
 there as usual, they waited for the time when’ they should 
 begin their novels upon jthe subject which the queen had 
 proposed ; the first who was ordered to speak was Philo- 
 stratus, who then addressed them. 
 
 NOVEL 1 
 
 Masetto da Lamporecchio, pretending to be dumb, ts taken in to be gardener 
 to a monastery of nuns; what happens in consequence. 
 
 THERE are many people so simple as to imagine, that, after 
 a young lady puts on the veil, she is no longer subject to 
 the passions of other women; as if by becoming a nun she 
 were converted into stone: and if they hear anything con- 
 trary to this opinion, are as much offended as though some 
 very heinous and unnatural crime were committed; never 
 thinking of themselves, who cannot be satisfied, although 
 they have the liberty of doing as they will; nor considering 
 the prevalency of leisure and solitude. In like manner, 
 there are others who think that the spade and pickaxe, 
 with hard. labour and gross feeding, quench all lustful 
 appetites, depriving the people of all sense and understand- 
 ing ; but how much they are both mistaken, I shall, at the 
 
THIRD DAY 135 
 
 queen’s command, now show you, keeping close | to the’ 
 subject which she has given us. 
 
 There was formerly in our neighbourhood (and may be 
 still) a monastery of nuns, famous for their sanctity (which 
 shall be nameless, because I would not lessen their char- 
 acters), in which were only eight young ladies with an 
 abbess ; there was also a gardener to look after the garden, 
 who not being satisfied with his salary, made up his accounts 
 with their steward, and returned to Lamporecchio, from 
 whence he came. Amongst many others who were to 
 welcome him home was a young fellow called Masetto, 
 who inquired of him where he had been all that time? 
 The honest man (whose name was Nuto) told him. The 
 other inquired again in what capacity he served the monas- 
 tery? When he replied, ‘‘I had the care of the garden, 
 and used to go to the wood for faggots; I drew water for 
 them also, with such-like services; but my wages were so 
 small that they would scarcely find me shoes ; and besides 
 they are all so young and giddy, that I could do nothing 
 to please them ; for when I have been in the garden, one 
 would cry do this, and another do that, and a third would 
 take the spade out of my hand, and tek, me that thing is in 
 a wrong place, and they have given me so much trouble 
 altogether, that I have left them; though the steward 
 desired, at my departure, that if I met with a proper person, 
 to send him; but let me be hanged if I do.” When 
 Masetto heard this, he had a great desire to be amongst 
 them, supposing, by what Nuto had said, that he might be 
 able to gain his ends, and that it might be moretdifficult if 
 he let the other into the secret. Therefore he said to him, 
 ‘“You do very right to come away: what has a man to do 
 among so many women? He might as well de with as 
 many devils: for it is not once in ten times they know 
 what they would be at.” After they had done talking 
 together, Masetto began to contrive what method he should 
 take to get introduced; and being assured that he could 
 do all the work that Nuto had mentioned, he had no fears 
 upon that account: all the danger seemed rather in his 
 youth and person; whether for that reason ne might not 
 be rejected. After much reflection, he reasoned thus with 
 
136 THE DECAMERON 
 
 himself: “I live far enough off, and nobody knows me: 
 suppose I feign myself dumb, they will certainly receive 
 me then.” Resolved on this, without saying a word where 
 he was going, he took an axe upon his shoulder, and went 
 like a poor man to the monastery; and finding the steward 
 in the monastery court, he made signs like a dumb person 
 for a little bread, and that he would cleave wood if they — 
 had any occasion. The steward gave him something to 
 eat, and afterwards showed him divers pieces of wood, 
 which Nuto was not able to rend, but which he, in a little 
 time (being very strong) split all t6 pieces. The steward, 
 having occasion to go to the wood, took him along with 
 him; where, making him fell several trees, by signs he made 
 him load the ass with them, and drive him home before 
 him: this he did very well; and the steward wanting him 
 for other things, he continued there for several days, till at 
 length the abbess saw him, who asked the steward what 
 the man did there? ‘‘ Madam,” he replied, ‘‘thisis a poor 
 man, deaf and dumb, who came the other day to ask 
 charity, which I gave him, and he has done many things 
 for us since: I believe, if he knows anything of a garden, 
 and could be prevailed upon to stay, that he might be of 
 good service, for we want such a person, and he is strong, 
 and will do what work we please: besides, there will be no 
 fear of his seducing any of the young ladies.”—‘“‘ Why, 
 truly,” quoth the abbess, ‘‘you say right: do you see if 
 he knows how to work, and try to keep him; and make 
 much of him, giving him a pair of shoes, and an old coat, 
 and let His belly be filled with victuals.” Which the 
 steward promised to do. Masetto, who was at no great 
 distance, but seemed busy in sweeping the court, heard all 
 this, and said merrily to himself, “Yes, if you let me stay 
 here? T’ll do your business, with a witness.” Now the 
 steward perceiving that he knew how to work, inquired of 
 him by signs whether he was willing to stay ; and the other 
 made him to understand that he was willing; therefore, 
 taking him into the garden, he showed him what he wished 
 to have done, and went about other business relating to 
 the monastery. Now the nuns used to come every day 
 to tease and laugh at him. saying anything before him, 
 
 Lv Say 
 
THIRD DAY £37 
 
 imagining that he heard them not. Which the abbess 
 took no notice of, not apprehending the least danger ; 
 and one day being laid down to rest himself, two nuns, 
 who were walking in the garden, came to the place where 
 he pretended to be asleep: and as they stood»looking upon 
 him, one, who was a little more forward than the other, said, 
 “Could I be assured of your secrecy, I would tell you of « 
 thought I have often had in my head, which might be of 
 service to yourself.” Said the other, ‘‘You may speak 
 safely, for I never will disclose it.” When the first nun 
 began in this manner: \‘‘ We are kept here in strict confine- 
 ment, and not a man suffered to come near us, but our 
 steward, who is old, and this dumb man: ' wherefore I 
 have often had a mind to gratify a certain curiosity with 
 this fellow; for he is the fittest in the world for our 
 purpose, being such an idiot, that he cannot expose us if 
 he would: what is your opinion?” “Alas!” quoth the 
 other, “what is that you say? Wo not you know that we 
 have promised our virginity to God?” ‘Oh! but sister,” 
 she replied, ““how many things do we promise every day, 
 which we never perform? If we have promised, there 
 will be others found that shall be mor’ punctual.” ‘ But,” 
 said the other lady, “if we should be with child, what 
 would become of us then?” She replied, ‘‘ You think of 
 the worst before it happens: it will be time enough then to 
 talk of that; there are a thousand ways of managing in such 
 a case, that nobody will ever be the wiser, unless we our- 
 selves make the discovery.” She was now prevailed upon, 
 and said to her friend, “How shall ‘we contrive this 
 matter?” The other replied, “You see it is about nine 
 o’clock, and I believe our sisters are all asleep ; let us look 
 round the garden, and if nobody be in it, what have we to 
 do, but for one of us to lead him into yonder arbour, ‘whilst 
 the other keeps watch?” This'was done accordingly, and 
 they used to serve one another in the same manner, till at 
 length they were discovered by the other nuns, who all 
 took the same liberty: and last of all the lady abbess 
 herself, excited by the same curiosity, had him conveyed 
 into her chamber, and kept him there several days; till 
 having satisfied his inclinations, he now resolved to depart. 
 Bee 
 
 \ a 
 
138 THE DECAMERON 
 
 One night, therefore, he broke his long silence, ar.d ac- 
 quainted her with his intentions of going away. She was 
 in the utmost astonishment to hear him speak, and said, 
 ‘‘ What is the meaning of this? I thought you had been 
 dumb.”—‘“ Madam,” replied he, “so I was, but not natu- 
 rally; I had a long disorder, which deprived me of my 
 speech, and which was restored to me but this night, for © 
 which I am very thankful.”—The lady was too prudent to 
 let him depart, for fear of his scandalising the monastery ; 
 and in some little time, the steward happening to die, he 
 was appointed to succeed him: and the people were made 
 to believe that their prayers, together with the merits of 
 the saint to whom the monastery was dedicated, had 
 effected this miracle. The affair was carried on so pri- 
 vately afterwards among them, that there was no suspicion 
 of that sort till after the death of the abbess, when Masetto, 
 being now in years, and wealthy, was desirous of going 
 home: and their manner of living being no longer a 
 secret, his desire was the more readily complied with. 
 Thus, taking no care of his children, but bequeathing 
 them to the place where they were bred and born, he 
 returned to his native country, having taken such advantage 
 of his youth, as amply to provide for the ease of his old 
 age. 
 
 NOVEL II 
 
 An equerry belonging to King Agilulf lies with his queen: of which the 
 king maping a secret discovery, set a mark upon him by shearing 
 the hair off his head: upon which he who was so shorn, cut that of 
 his fellow-servants in like manner, and so escaped further punish- 
 ment. 
 
 PHILOSTRATUS having concluded his novel, which made 
 the ladies sometimes blush and sometimes smile, the queen 
 ordered Pampinea to follow, who began pleasantly in this 
 manner :—There are some people so indiscreet in appear- 
 ing to know what they had better be unacquainted with, 
 that they think, by reproving other people’s inadvertencies, 
 to lessen their own shame; whereas they make that vastly 
 greater. This I shall show to be true, by its contrary ; 
 
‘IRD DAY 139 
 
 setting forth the c1 ich a certain fellow (of no more 
 account than Mase!'«) made use of to outwit a very wise 
 and worthy prince. ~.ilulf, king of Lombardy, fixed the 
 seat of his kingdom, «s his predecessors had done, at 
 
 Pavia; having taken wife Teudelinga, late queen of 
 Vetari, who was king of Lombardy likewise ; a beautiful 
 and most virtuous lady, but unhappy in having a lover. 
 The affairs of the kingdom being now in a prosperous way, 
 by the good management of King Agilulf, it happened that 
 one of the queen’s equerries (a man of low extraction, 
 though in other respects, far above the station wherein he 
 was placed ; comely and also graceful in his person as the 
 king himself) fell immoderately in love with her. His low 
 rank did not prevent his seeing the inconvenience with 
 which this passion might be attended; therefore he was 
 so wise as to make discovery of it to no one; not even so 
 much as, by his looks, to herself. And though he lived 
 without the least hopes of ever attaining his desire, yet he 
 could not help glorying in having fixed his affections so 
 high; and being entirely captivated, he took more than 
 ordinary care (far beyond the rest of his fellow-servants) to 
 do everything that he thought would piease her. Whence 
 it happened, that if she had a mind to ride out at any time, 
 she oftener rode the horse that he had the care of than 
 any other; which he esteemed a singular favour, never 
 stirring from the stirrup; and could he but touch her 
 clothes, he was then the happiest man in the world. But 
 as we often see that love most violent where there is the 
 least probability of success, so it happened to this groom; 
 for his passion was such, he being without the least hope 
 whatever, that he often resolved, as he was unable to dis- 
 close it, to die. Considering in what manner, he resolved 
 at length that it should be done in a way to convince ‘her 
 that it was for her sake: yet he was willing first to try his 
 fortune, if it were possible, to obtain his desire, not by 
 speaking, or even writing to her, to make her sensible of 
 
 _ his love (for he knew both were to no purpose), but choos- 
 
 ing rather to do it by stratagem; which was some way or 
 other to personate the king, and so to get admittance into 
 ber chamber. 
 
£40 THE DECAMERON 
 
 In order then to see what dress and manner his Majesty 
 used to go to the queen, he hid himself often in the night 
 in a great room in the palace, that was between the king’s 
 apartment and that of the queen; and one night he saw 
 the king come out of his chamber, wrapped in a large 
 mantle, with a lighted torch in one hand, and a wand in 
 the other, and go to the queen’s lodging-room, when, with- ‘ 
 out speaking a word, he would knock two or three times 
 at the door with his stick, and it was immediately opened, 
 and the torch taken out of his hand; which being observed 
 by him, and seeing the king returf in like manner, he de- 
 termined to do the same. Accordingly, he procured such 
 a mantle as that of the king, with a torch and wand; and 
 having first washed himself very clean, that the smell of 
 the stables might not make a discovery to the queen of 
 what he was, he hid himself as usual till every one was 
 asleep, which he thought a fit time either to succeed in 
 his desires, or to bring’ upon himself, by a most daring 
 cause, that death he had long wished for. Therefore he 
 struck a light, with which he kindled his torch, and folding 
 himself well in the mantle, he went to the door, rapping 
 twice with his stick. The door was immediately opened 
 by a damsel half asleep, who took the light out of his hand, 
 and set it in a corner of the room, while he stripped off 
 his mantle, and got into the queen’s bed. ‘There he had the 
 full gratification of his wishes, without a word being spoken 
 on either side (for he knew the king’s temper at certain 
 times, and especially when he was disturbed, was such, 
 that he would neither speak himself nor be spoken to) ; 
 and having stayed as long as he thought it was safe to 
 stay, he took his mantle and torch, and stole softly to his 
 own bed. He was scarcely got therein, before the king 
 came to the queen’s chamber, at which she was much 
 surprised, and had the boldness then to say to him, “ My 
 lord, what is the meaning of your returning so quickly? 
 It is but this moment that you left me, and then you 
 stayed longer than usual.” The king, at hearing this, con: 
 cluded that she had been imposed upon by somebody or 
 other, who had assumed his person and manner: but, like 
 a wise man, when he found that she was entirely ignorant_ 
 
THIRD DAY 141 
 
 of it, as well as every one else, he resolved that she should 
 continue so: not like a great many simple people, who 
 would have been apt to say, “I never was with you to. 
 night before: who was it that was here? How did he 
 come? In what manner did he go away?” All which 
 must have given the lady great uneasiness, and the thing 
 would have been,in every one’s mouth: whereas by his 
 discreet silence, he avoided both the one and the other. 
 Seeming then more at ease in his looks and talk, than he 
 was really in his mind: he said to her, ‘‘And is my 
 coming again to you, so soon, disagreeable? however, I 
 will leave you for to-night.” Being now highly incensed 
 against the villain that dared presume to do him that 
 injury, he left the room, resolving to find him out if it 
 were possible ; for he concluded he must be in the house, 
 as there seemed no way for him to have got out. Taking 
 a small light therefore in a lantern, he went into a long 
 chamber in his palace, which was over the stables, where 
 all his family lay in different beds: and supposing, who- 
 ever he was, that he should find a difference in the beating 
 of his heart and pulse, he began to examine them all from 
 one end to the other. They were every one asleep, except 
 that person who had been with the queen, who seeing the 
 king come into the room, and supposing what the occasion 
 was, thought it best to counterfeit sleep, and to see what 
 he meant to do. His Majesty had now laid his hand upon 
 many of them without finding cause to suspect any one, 
 till coming to that person, he immediately said to himself, 
 “This is the man.” Being desirous that nobody should 
 know anything of his designs, he at present did nothing 
 more but just cut off, with a pair of scissors that he had 
 in his pocket, a part of his hair, which they wore very long 
 at that time, in order to know him again the next morning ; 
 and so returned directly to his chamber. The man was 
 wise enough to know what was the intent of this; therefore, 
 without delay, he took a pair of scissors which they used 
 for their horses, and clipping all the people’s hair above 
 their ears in like manner, went to bed again without being 
 _ perceived by any one. In the morning the king arose, and 
 
 ordered, before the palace gates were opened, that his 
 
142 THE DECAMERON 
 
 whole family should come before him, which accordingly 
 they did, standing with their heads uncovered; when he 
 began to view them one after another, to find out the 
 person whom he had marked; and perceiving that many 
 of them had their hair cut alike, he began to wonder, and 
 said to himself, ‘This fellow, though he be of low condi- 
 tion, is of no common understanding.”» Therefore, seeing 
 that he could in no way find out the person, without mak- 
 ing a great stir and noise; and unwilling also to incur a 
 shame of that sort, for the sake of a little revenge, he 
 thought it best to let the person know, by a word or two, 
 that he was observed, and to admonish him for the future. 
 Then turning to them all, he said, “Whoever he is, let. 
 him do so no more; and all go about your business.”/ 
 Another person would have put them to the rack, to find 
 out what would be much better concealed, and which, 
 when discovered, what revenge soever was taken, would, 
 instead of lessening, have enhanced the disgrace, and 
 brought dishonour upon the lady. They all wondered at 
 hearing the king’s words, and asking one another what 
 could be the meaning of them; but nobody was wise 
 pnough to understand them, except the man aimed at; 
 who kept it to himself as long as the king lived, never 
 daring to run the like risk any more. 
 
 NOVEL III 
 
 A lady, under pretence of confessing, and a pure conscience, being in 
 love with a young gentleman, makes a sanctified friar bring them 
 together, without his knowing anything of her intention. 
 
 Tur boldness and great subtlety of the groom were as 
 much commended as the king’s extraordinary discretion ; 
 when the queen, turning to Philomena, bade her follow, 
 who began pleasantly in this manner :— 
 
 I design to acquaint you with a trick, that a certain lady 
 put upon a friar, which will be so much more agreeable to 
 us lay-people, as they are a set of folks who think them- 
 selves both better and wiser than other people; whereas, 
 
THIRD DAY 143 
 
 it is bigte otherwise, they being for the most part such 
 persons as are unable to raise themselves in the world, and 
 therefore take shelter in places where they may be main 
 tained in laziness and luxury. This then I shall do, not 
 so much out of compliance with the order enjoined me, as 
 to show you, that even the religious themselves, to whom 
 we over-credulous women yield too implicit a faith, may 
 be, and often are, tricked and imposed on, not by the men 
 only, but even by us. 
 
 In our city (more full of craft and deceit, than friendship 
 and faithful dealing) there lived not long since a lady whose 
 beauty and good behaviour made her equal to most of her 
 sex: her name, as well as that of every other person con- 
 cerned in this novel, I shall beg leave to conceal, out of 
 regard to some persons that might be offended, who may 
 now pass it over with a smile: this lady, I say, knowing 
 herself to be nobly descended, and being married to a 
 tradesman, who was a clothier, she could by no means 
 bring down her spirit, which made her deem a man of that 
 rank, however rich he was, as unworthy of a gentlewoman: 
 and observing that he had not the least understanding in 
 anything out of his own business, she determined not to 
 admit of his embraces any farther than she was obliged, but 
 to make choice of a gallant that should be more worthy 
 of her. Accordingly she fell in love with a gentleman, of 
 suitable years, to that degree, that unless she saw him every 
 day, she could get no rest at night. But he, knowing 
 nothing of the matter, had not the least regard to her; 
 whilst she was so cautious that she would neither trust to 
 letters nor messages for fear of danger; and knowing that 
 he was much acquainted with a certain friar, one of a gross 
 person, yet esteemed by all as a very religious man, she 
 judged that he would be the fittest agent to go between 
 her and her lover. After thinking which would be the 
 properest method to take, she went one day to that church 
 to which he belonged, and having called him aside, she 
 told him, that, when he was at leisure, she had a mind to 
 confess. 
 
 The friar, seeing her to be a person of distinction, imme- 
 diately gave leave, and when that was over, she said, “I 
 
144 THE DECAMERON 
 
 ‘ 
 am come to you, father, for your advice. and assistance 
 
 [ have informed you of my relations and my husband, who 
 loves me more than his own life, and who, as he is very 
 rich, obliges me in everything that I ask for; for which 
 reason I love him more than I do myself; but, setting 
 apart what I would do for him, were I capable of so much 
 as harbouring a thought which should be contrary to his 
 nonour and will, I should judge.no woman more deserving 
 of death than myself. Now there is a person whose name 
 i am a stranger to, but who seems to be of some figure, 
 and, if I mistake not, an acquaintance of yours, a well- 
 looking man, with brown clothes ; who, being unacquainted, 
 perhaps, with my upright intentions, seems to lay constant 
 wait for me; nor can [| stir out of door, or so much as to 
 the window, but he is always there: I wonder he is not 
 after me now: which gives me infinite concern, because 
 such things often bring scandal upon us. Sometimes I 
 have thoughts of letting my brothers know; but then j 
 consider that men frequently deliver messages in such a 
 manner, that words ensue, and from words, blows: there- 
 fore, to prevent both scandal and mischief, I have hitherto 
 held my tongue, reso}ving to acquaint you, rather than any 
 other person, both because you are his friend, and as it is 
 your duty to correct such abuses, not only in friends, but 
 also in strangers. I entreat you then, for God’s sake, that 
 you would exhort him to leave off those ways; there are: 
 other ladies enough, who may be of that stamp, and would 
 be proud of a gallant; but I am another sort of person, 
 and such a thing gives me the greatest uneasiness.” Hay- 
 ing said this, she hung down her head, as if she was going 
 to weep. The holy father immediately understood who the 
 person she meant was ; and having commended her for her 
 good disposition, believing it was all true that she said, he 
 promised to take care that she should have no more dis- 
 turbance of that kind; and knowing her to be rich, recom- 
 mended works of charity, and alms-giving to her, mention- 
 ing his own particular necessities. The lady then said, ‘1 
 beg of you, sir, if he should deny it, to tell him without 
 any scruple, that I informed you myself, and am very uneasy 
 about it.” Having now confessed, and remembering what 
 
THIRD DAY x45 
 
 _he had told her concerning charity, she put a sum of money 
 into his hand, desiring he would say mass for the souls of © 
 her deceased friends ; and rising from his feet, she departed 
 to her own house. In some little time, the gentleman 
 came, according to custom, to the friar; who, after talking 
 awhile to him upon indifferent matters, took him aside, 
 and reproved him in a gentle manner, for his design upon 
 the lady: he was much surprised, having never taken any 
 notice of her, and but seldom passed by the house, and 
 would have excused himself, but the other would not suffer 
 him; and said, “‘ Never pretend to be surprised, nor spend 
 your breath in denying it, for it is to no manner of pur- 
 pose: this is no common report, she herself told me; such 
 behaviour is very unbecoming in you: and, let me tell you, 
 if there is 2 woman in the world averse to such follies, it is 
 she: therefore, for her comfort, and your credit, I exhort 
 you to refrain, and let her live in quiet.” The gentleman, 
 more quick of apprehension than the friar, easily took the 
 lady’s meaning; and seeming to be out of countenance, 
 promised to concern himself with her no more: accord- 
 ingly, he took his leave, and went directly towards the 
 lady’s house, who was generally looking out for him at 
 the window, and who now appeared so gracious and well 
 pleased at the sight of him, that he found himself not 
 mistaken: and from that time he used frequently to pass 
 that way, under the pretence of other business, to her great 
 satisfaction. 
 
 In some time, when the lady perceived that she was as 
 agreeable to him, as he had been to her, and being willing 
 to give him some further proofs of her affection, she re- 
 turned to the friar, and throwing herself at his feet in the 
 church, she began to lament most grievously. He seeing 
 this, asked, with a great deal of concern, what new accident 
 had happened? When she replied, “It is only that cursed 
 friend of yours, whom I complained to you of the other 
 day : I think in my conscience, he is born to be a perpetual 
 plague to me, and to make me do what I should never 
 think of otherwise; nor shall I ever dare afterwards to lay 
 myself at your feet.”—-‘‘ What,” said the friar, “and does 
 he continue still to give you trouble? ”-——“ Indeed, sir,” 
 
oo 146 THE DECAMERON 
 A ech she, “since I have made my complaint to you, he 
 seems to do it out of mere spite; and for once that he 
 | used to come this way before, he now passes at least seven 
 times. And would to God those walks and wanton gazes 
 i ~ would content him ; for he is now grown so audacious and 
 ~ impudent, that no longer since than yesterday, he sent a 
 _ woman to my house with his nonsense; and, as if I had 
 _ wanted purses and girdles, he sent me a purse and girdle; 
 at which I was, and am still, so much offended, that, had 
 not the fear of God, and regard to you, prevented me, I 
 \had certainly done some wicked thing or other. But I 
 eat | kept my temper, nor would I do or say anything, till I had 
 _ first made you acquainted. Moreover, having returned 
 those things to the woman that brought them, with the 
 intent that she should carry them back; and after giving 
 her an angry farewell, fearing afterwards lest she might 
 _ keep them herself, and tell him I had received them, as 
 I am told those people often do, I called her back, and 
 took them out of her hand in great rage; and have now 
 brought them to you, that you may give them to him 
 again, and tell him, that I want nothing that belongs to 
 him ; for, thank God and my husband, I have purses and 
 girdles enough. Therefore, good father, I now tell you, 
 that if he does not desist, I will immediately acquaint my 
 husband and my brothers ; ; for, happen what will, I had 
 much rather that he should suffer, if it must be so, than 
 that I myself should bear any blame on his account.” 
 Having said this, she took a rich purse and girdle from 
 under her gown, shedding abundance of tears, and threw 
 _ them into the friar’s lap: who, believing all she had told 
 him, was disturbed beyond measure, and said, “I do not 
 _ wonder, daughter, that you make yourself uneasy for these 
 _ things, nor can I blame you; but I much commend you 
 for following my instructions. I reproved him the other 
 _ day, and he has ill performed what he promised: however, 
 I will give him such a reprimand for what he has done 
 _ before, and now also, that he shall be no more a plague 
 to you; for Heaven's sake, then do not suffer yourself to 
 be hurried away by passion, so as to tell any one; because 
 it may be of bad consequence. Never fear any blame to 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
THIRD DAY 147 
 
 yourself, for I will bear testimony of your virtue both to 
 God and man.” 
 
 The lady seemed now to be a little comforted; and 
 leaving this discourse, as well knowing the avarice of him 
 and his brethren, she said, ‘‘ Holy father, for some nights 
 past, many of my relations, have appeared to me in a 
 vision, demanding alms ; especially my mother, who seemed 
 to be in such affliction, that it was terrible to behold: I 
 believe it is her concern to see me in all this trouble, 
 through this most wicked fellow; therefore I desire, for 
 the sake of their souls, that you would say the forty masses 
 of St. Gregory, that God may deliver them from that fiery 
 penance;” and having said this, she put into his hand a 
 florin of gold. The holy father received it very cheer- 
 fully, confirming her devotion by good words and divers 
 examples, and, having given her his blessing, let her depart. 
 When she was gone, never thinking how he was imposed 
 upon, he sent for his friend ; who, finding him a little out 
 of temper, supposed he had been discoursing with the lady, 
 and he waited to hear what he would say; who accordingly 
 began with his former reproofs, chiding him severely for 
 what the lady had now complained of, concerning his offered 
 present. The honest gentleman, who as yet could not guess 
 where all this tended, seemed faintly to deny his sending a 
 purse and girdle, that he might not be entirely discredited 
 by the good man, if it should have happened that the lady 
 had given him any such thing: at which the friar, in a good 
 deal of passion said, ‘‘ How can you deny it, you wicked 
 man? Behold, here it is; she herself brought it me with 
 tears: see if you know it again.” The gentleman appeared 
 quite ashamed, and said, ‘‘ Yes, indeed I know it; I con- 
 fess I have done very ill, and, I promise you, now I know 
 her disposition, that you shall have no more complaints 
 upon that score.” After many such words, the simple 
 friar gave him the purse and girdle; and, exhorting him 
 to do so no more, let him go about his business. The 
 gentleman, now convinced of the lady’s goodwill towards 
 him, and that this was her present, went overjoyed to a 
 place where he might obtain the sight of her, and showed 
 her both the purse and girdle, which gave her great satis: 
 
148 THE DECAMERON 
 
 faction, as her scheme seemed now to take effect. As 
 nothing was at present wanting to complete it but the 
 husband’s absence, it fell out soon after, that he was 
 obliged to go to Genoa; and no sooner had he mounted 
 his horse, and was departed, but she went again to the 
 holy man, and, after making great complaints and lamen- 
 tations, she said, ‘‘Good father, I tell you plainly that I 
 can no longer suffer this; but, as I promised to do 
 nothing without first consulting you, I am come to excuse 
 myself to you; and to convince you that I have great 
 reason to be uneasy, I will tell you what your friend, that 
 devil incarnate, did this very morning. I know not by 
 what ill fortune he came to know that my husband went to 
 Genoa yesterday, but so it is; this morning he came into 
 my garden, and got upon a tree to my window, that looks 
 into the garden; which he opened, and would: have come 
 into the chamber, when I arose, and was beginning to cry 
 out, and should have done so, had he not begged of me, 
 for Heaven’s sake and yours, to be merciful; telling me 
 who he was: upon which I ran and shut the window. 
 Now judge you if these things are to be endured; it is 
 upon your account only, that I have suffered them so 
 long.” The friar was the most uneasy man in the world at 
 hearing this: ‘‘ And are you sure,” said he, “that it was 
 that person, and no other?” “Bless me!” quoth she, 
 “do you think I could be so mistaken? I tell you it 
 was he; and if he should deny it, don’t believe him.” 
 “ Daughter,” quoth the friar, ‘‘I can say no more than 
 it was a most vile, audacious action, and you have done 
 your duty: but I beg of you, as God has preserved you 
 hitherto from dishonour, and you have followed my advice 
 twice before, that you would do so now: leave it then 
 to me, without saying a word to any of your relations, and 
 see if I cannot manage this devil unchained, whom I 
 always took for a saint. If I can reclaim him from this 
 lewdness, it will be well; if not, along with my benediction, 
 I shall give you leave to do as you shall think most 
 proper.” ‘‘For this once, then,” quoth she, “I will give 
 no trouble; but do you take care that he be not offensive 
 for the time to come, for I promise you to come no more 
 
THIRD DAY 149 
 
 upon this account ;” and, without more words, she went 
 away, seemingly very uneasy.’ She was scarcely got out of 
 the church, but in came the gentleman, when he took him 
 aside, using all the opprobrious language that could be 
 used to a man, calling him both villain and traitor; whilst 
 he who had undergone these rebukes twice before, stood in 
 great perplexity, waiting for him to speak first; but at last 
 he said, ‘‘Why, what have I done to deserve this treat- 
 ment?” When the friar replied, “ Mark the impudence of 
 the fellow! he speaks neither better nor worse, than if 
 these things had happened some years ago, and were now 
 out of his mind. Pray, have you forgotten whom you 
 injured this morning? Where were you a little before 
 daybreak?” ‘That I cannot tell,” replied the other; 
 ‘but you soon heard of it, wherever I was.” ‘‘ You say 
 right,” quoth he, “I did hear of it: I suppose you thought 
 yourself sure, now the husband is from home. A very 
 pretty fellow truly! he gets into people’s gardens in the 
 night, and climbs up the walls by the help of the trees! 
 You think, I suppose, that you shall be able to seduce the 
 lady by your importunity, that you get up to the windows 
 at nights in that manner. There is nothing she so much 
 detests as yourself, and yet you will persist. Truly, you 
 are much the better for what has been said to you; but i 
 assure you, she has hitherto held her peace purely at my 
 request, and not out of the least regard to you: but she 
 will conceal it no longer: and I have now consented, if you 
 give her any further disturbance, to let her take her own 
 course. What would become of you, should she tell her 
 brothers of it?” The honest man now perceived what he 
 had to do, and, having quieted the friar with large promises, 
 took his leave, and the following night got into the garden, 
 and so up by the tree into the window, which was open, 
 and where the lady stood expecting him. She received him 
 with much joy, giving many thanks to the holy father for 
 showing him the way; and from that time they had 
 frequent opportunities of being together, without standing 
 in any further need of such a mediator. 
 
150 THE DECAMERON 
 
 NOVEL IV 
 
 A young scholar, named Felix, teaches one Puccio how he may be saved, 
 by performing a penance which he shows him: this he puts into 
 execution ; and, in the meantime, Felix amuses himself with his 
 
 wife. 
 
 WHEN Philomena had finished her story, which was much 
 commended by Dioneus, the queen, casting her eyes on 
 Pamphilus, said: ‘Do you continue this amusement by 
 some story that shall be agreeable.” He replied that he 
 was very willing, and began thus :— 
 
 Some people there are, who, whilst they endeavour to 
 get to heaven themselves, inadvertently send others thither ; 
 which was the case with a neighbour of ours, as you shall 
 hear. Near to St. Brancazio, as I am informed, there lived 
 an honest man, and one of good substance, whose name 
 was Puccio di Rinieri, who, being spiritually minded, and 
 having much converse with the Franciscans, was usually 
 called Friar Puccio. This man, I say, regarding only his 
 religious affairs, and having no family besides a wife and 
 a maid-servant, used to be constantly at church, spending 
 his whole time in saying his Pater Nosters, hearing 
 sermons, and going to masses; and for fasting, and all 
 kinds of holy discipline, he was as devout as the best. His 
 wife, whose name was Isabella, a lady of about twenty- 
 eight years of age, and as fresh as a rose, was sick of all 
 this fasting, and would gladly have been at rest many times 
 when he was recounting to her the holy life of our Lord, the 
 preachings of Father Anastasius, and the lamentations of 
 Mary Magdalen. Now at that time there returned from 
 Paris a monk belonging to the convent of St. Brancazio, a 
 comely young man, of good parts and learning, with whom 
 our Puccio contracted an acquaintance; and being able to 
 solve all his scruples, and appearing to be very religious, 
 Friar Puccio would frequently invite him to his house, both 
 to dine and sup, whilst his wife showed him great civility 
 on her husband’s account. 
 
 Coming often to the house in this manner, he soon cast 
 
THIRD DAY 151 
 
 his eye upon Puccio’s wife, and as he perceived himself no 
 way disagreeable to her, he took the first opportunity of 
 making a discovery of his inclinations; but though he 
 found her disposed to a compliance, he could in no way 
 contrive the means, for she would go nowhere out of her 
 own house, and there it could not be, for Puccio was never 
 far from home, which threw him into a kind of despair. 
 At last it came into his head how the thing might be 
 carried on in the house without any suspicion, though the 
 husband was there all the time; and being one day 
 together, he spoke to Puccio in this manner: “I under- 
 stand, brother Puccio, that all your desire is to become 
 holy, but it seems to me as if you took quite a roundabout 
 way, whilst there is a much shorter path, which the pope 
 and the other great prelates know and follow, yet are 
 unwilling it should be divulged, for the sake of the 
 clergy, that live chiefly on the charities of the people, who 
 then would have no further need to give them alms. Now 
 as you are my friend, and have entertained me well at your 
 house, if I thought you would tell no person, and would 
 regard it, I should reveal it to you.” Puccio was extremely 
 impatient to know the secret, swearing by all that was 
 sacred, never to divulge it without his consent, and 
 promising, if possible, to observe it. “As you make this 
 promise,” quoth the other, “1 will tell you. You must 
 understand then, that the holy doctors of the Church 
 maintain that penance, in the manner I am going to lay 
 down, is necessary to happiness. But take notice, I do not 
 say that, after this penance, you will be no more capable of 
 sinning. No; all the sins committed before that time shall 
 be forgiven, and the sins afterwards shall not be numbered 
 to your damnation; but you may wash them away with 
 holy water, like other venial sins. A man then must begin 
 this penance by a strict confession of all his sins; after 
 which, fasting and abstinence are necessary for forty days ; 
 during which space you must refrain even from your own 
 wife. Besides this, you must have some place in your own 
 house where you may look towards heaven all night long, 
 Thither you are to go in the evening, where a table is to be 
 fixed in such a manner that, as you stand upon your feet, 
 
152 THE DECAMERON 
 
 the small of your back must lean upon it, whilst your arms 
 are extended like a crucifix; and if you can make them 
 reach to any peg of wood, it is so much the better. In 
 this manner you are to gaze towards heaven, without. 
 altering your posture till the morning ; and, if you had been 
 a scholar, you should have repeated some prayers which I 
 would have taught you; but as you are not, you must say 
 three hundred Pater Nosters, with so many Ave Marias, 
 in honour of the Trinity; and, fixing your eyes upon 
 heaven, you are still to remember God, the Creator of 
 heaven and earth, and to bear in mind Christ’s passion, 
 standing in the manner that he was nailed to the cross; 
 and, when the bell sounds in the morning, you may throw 
 yourself upon your bed to sleep. You must afterwards go 
 to church, and hear three masses at least, and say fifty 
 Pater Nosters and the like number of Ave Marias; and 
 when this is done, you may go fairly and honestly about 
 any business you shall have to do; afterwards get your 
 dinner, and be at church in the evening, where you must 
 say a few prayers which I shall give you in writing, without 
 which all would signify nothing, and in the evening return 
 as before ; and if you follow this method, as I have formerly 
 done, I hope, before the expiration of your penance, that 
 you will perceive wonderful things of the eternal beatitudes; 
 supposing, at the same time, that you are thoroughly 
 devout.” Puccio then replied, ‘This is no such long and 
 grievous affair, and, with God’s permission, I will begin 
 next Sunday ;” and, taking his leave, he went and related 
 the whole to his wife: she immediately understood what 
 the meaning was of his standing in that place till the morn- 
 ing, and made answer, “That she was satisfied with that, 
 or anything else that he should do for the good of his 
 soul; and, to render his penance more effectual, she meant 
 to keep him company with fasting, but with nothing else.” 
 So far they were agreed: and, when Sunday came, he 
 entered upon his course, whilst: the monk came. every 
 evening to sup with her, bringing with him plenty of meat 
 and drink, and he stayed with her always till morning, 
 when it was Puccio’s time to come to bed. Now the room 
 that he had fixed upon for his penance was next to that 
 
THIRD DAY 153 
 
 where the lady lay; and one night having just got through 
 a hundred of his Pater Nosters, he thought he heard some- 
 thing of a noise in the next room; and, making a full stop 
 there, he called out to know what was the meaning of it. 
 She made answer and said, laughing to herself, ‘‘ You 
 know very well I can never sleep when I go to bed fasting, 
 and that is the case now.” Poor Puccio imagined that her 
 not sleeping was really occasioned by her going to bed with- 
 out her supper: therefore he said, very honestly and kindly 
 to her, “I have always bid you not to fast; but since you 
 would doit, even try and rest as well as you can.” She 
 replied, ‘‘ Do you take care of the affair you are now upon, 
 never fear but I shall do well enough.” In this manner 
 they went on, during the whole time of penance, and they 
 contrived means of being frequently together afterwards ; 
 so that, to make my first and last words agree, whilst 
 Puccio was aiming only to get to heaven himself, he made 
 the monk, who had showed him the way, extremely happy, 
 as well as the lady. 
 
 NOVEL V 
 
 Ricctardo, surnamed the Beau, makes a present of a fine horse to Fran- 
 cisco Vergellest, upon condition that he should have the liberty of 
 speaking to his wife: and she making him no reply, he answers for 
 her, which accordingly has its effect. 
 
 THE ladies all smiled at Pamphilus’s story, when the queen 
 laid her next commands upon Eliza, who began pretty 
 smartly, according to her usual manner, to this effect :— 
 
 There are many people who know so much, that they 
 think others know nothing at all; and who whilst they are 
 designing to overreach others, are themselves outwitted : 
 therefore, I hold that person very unwise, who puts another 
 man’s wits to the test, without any occasion: but as all of 
 you may not be of my opinion, I will tell you what hap- 
 pened to a knight of Pistoia. 
 
 In the town of Pistoia there lived, not long since, a 
 knight, named Francisco, of the family of the Vergellesi; 
 a rich and prudent man in all respects, but covetous beyond 
 
154 THE DECAMERON 
 
 measure, who being made provost of the city of Milan, and 
 having furnished himself with everything necessary for such 
 a high office, excepting a fine horse, he was at a loss where 
 to meet with one that should please him. In the same 
 town lived also a young gentleman, called Ricciardo, of no 
 great family, but rich enough: a person so neat always and 
 exact in his dress, that he was called the Beau; and who 
 had long admired and followed the lady of Francisco, but 
 hitherto without success. Now he was possessed of one 
 of the most beautiful horses in all Tuscany, which he set 
 a high value upon; but as it was known what a respect he 
 bore towards Francisco’s wife, Francisco was given to under- 
 stand, that, if he would ask it of him, the other would 
 gladly make him a present of the horse upon that account. 
 He, therefore, moved by his avarice, requested the Beau to 
 sell him his horse, expecting, at the same time, that he 
 should receive him as a gift. The other was much pleased 
 with this, and said, ‘Sir, all. you have in the world could 
 not purchase the horse; but you may have him for nothing, 
 provided I may first have leave to say a word or two to 
 your wife in your presence, at such a distance from every 
 one that I may not be overheard. Francisco, overswayed 
 by his covetous temper, and thinking to make a jest of the 
 other, answered, that he was willing, as soon as he pleased ; 
 and leaving him in the hall, he went upstairs to his wife, 
 to tell her how easily he was going to get the horse; and 
 to enjoin her to hear what the beau had to say, but to make 
 him no answer, little or much. She blamed him for it, but, 
 being bound to obey, she went with him into the hail, to 
 hear what the other had to offer: who, taking her to the 
 farthest part of the room, began in this manner: “I make 
 no doubt, most worthy lady, but that you have long per- 
 ceived how great a slave I am to the force of your beauty, 
 which far exceeds that of all the ladies I ever beheld: not 
 to mention your personal accomplishments, enough to 
 vanquish the most resolute and insensible of men; there- 
 fore, it would be needless to tell you, by words, that my 
 love is the most fervent that a man can possibly have for a 
 woman; and so it shall continue whilst life shall actuate 
 these frail limbs; and even to eternity, if we love in the 
 
THIRD DAY 155 
 
 next world as we do in this. Be assured, then, that you 
 can call nothing your own, so much as me and mine: and 
 to give you proofs of this, I should take it as a singular 
 favour, if. you would command me such a service as it is 
 possible for me to perform, seeing there is nothing I should 
 refuse for your sake. To you, therefore, whose I am, and 
 on whom all my peace and happiness depend, I address 
 myself for relief, humbly hoping, as I am wounded to the 
 heart by your beauty, that your merciful goodness will not 
 suffer me to perish. For suppose I should die, you could 
 not help saying to yourself, Alas! why did I not show some 
 pity to my poor Beau. Which remorse would be greatly 
 to your disquiet: think, therefore, before it be too late: for 
 it is in your power to make me either the happiest or most 
 miserable of men. I hope, however, that the love I bear 
 you will not be rewarded with death; but that you will 
 speak one word of comfort to raise my drooping spirits, 
 which are ready to take flight, whilst Iam now before you.” 
 Here he ended, and with tears streaming from his eyes, and 
 fetching some deep sighs, sat expecting the lady’s answer ; 
 whilst she, who had been hitherto unmoved, notwithstand- 
 ing all his tilts, balls, serenades, and such-like gallantries, 
 was now heartily affected with his last most tender ex- 
 pressions; and began to feel that passion to which she 
 had been hitherto a stranger; and though she was silent, 
 out of regard to her husband’s commands, yet could she 
 not avoid disclosing, by her sighs, what she had much 
 rather have declared by words. 
 
 The Beau, having waited some time, and. finding she 
 made no answer, at first wondered very much; but he soon 
 began to suspect that it was a trick of her husband’s: and 
 looking earnestly at her, and observing the sparkling of her 
 eyes, cast now and then towards him, and some secret 
 sobbings which she strove in vain to. stifle; he began to 
 take courage, and immediately hit on a new method, 
 namely, to answer himself in the same manner as if she had 
 spoken; which he did to this effect :—‘ Dear sir, I have 
 most assuredly been a long witness of the great love you 
 bear towards me, and am now further convinced of it from 
 your words, with which I am well satisfied, as indeed I 
 
156 THE DECAMERON 
 
 ought: and if I appeared displeased or hard-hearted, do not 
 imagine that I was really so; I always loved you far beyond 
 every other person, but that behaviour was necessary, for 
 fear of other people, and to preserve my own character: the 
 time is now come that I have it in my power to repay your 
 love: then have a good heart; in a few days my husband 
 goes to be provost at Milan, and as you have given him 
 your favourite horse for my sake, I promise you, upon my 
 word, that then you shall have admittance, and (that I may 
 have no occasion to speak to you again upon the subject, 
 till the very time) take notice, that, as soon as you shall 
 perceive two handkerchiefs hanging out of the window, 
 which looks toward the garden; be careful nobody sees 
 you, and come to me through the door into the garden, 
 where I shall be expecting you.” Having said this, as for 
 the lady, he answered in his own person as follows: ‘‘ Dear 
 madam, I am so transported with your reply, that I scarcely 
 know how to return you due thanks ; but, were I able, no 
 time would be sufficient to do it in the manner I could 
 wish, and as I ought: I leave it therefore for you to imagine, 
 as I find it impossible to be described: you may depend, 
 however, on my being punctual to what you have proposed, 
 and I shall always have a due sense of the great favour 
 conferred upon me. Nothing now remains, my dearest 
 love, but till that time to bid you adieu.” Notwithstanding 
 all that he had spoken, she said not one word: upon which 
 he arose, and made towards the knight, who was coming to 
 meet him; and said to him with a smile, ‘‘ Well, what 
 think you, sir, have I performed my promise or not ?”—By 
 no means (answered he) for you promised I should speak 
 to your lady, and you have given me a statue to talk to.” 
 The knight was much pleased with this, and if he had a 
 good opinion of his lady before, he had now a better. 
 Afterwards he said, ‘‘ You allow, I suppose, that the horse 
 is mine.” The Beau replied, ‘‘ Most certainly I do; but 
 could I have thought no better success would have ensued 
 on the bargain, I would have given him without any con- 
 sideration ; for, as it is, you have bought him, and I not 
 sold him,” The knight laughed heartily, and being now 
 provided with a horse, he set out in a few days for Milan, 
 
THIRD DAY 157 
 
 when he entered upon his office. The lady being then at 
 liberty, began to think a little of the Beau’s words, and the 
 regard he had for her; and seeing him often pass by her 
 house, she said to herself, ‘‘ What am I about? Why dol 
 lose all this time? My husband is at Milan, and will not 
 return these six months, and when shall'‘I meet with such 
 another lover? There is none here that I need be afraid 
 of. Ido not see why I may not make use of the oppor- 
 tunity, whilst I. may have it. Nobody will know it, or if 
 they should, it is better to do it and repent, than to repent 
 and not.to do it.” Having therefore resolved, she put two 
 handkerchiefs out of the window, as the Beau had said. 
 This he saw with a great deal of joy, and that very night 
 went privately to the garden-door, which was open, as was 
 also the door into the house, where he found the lady wait- 
 ing for him: and though this was their first meeting, it was 
 not the last, for, during the husband's stay at Milan, and 
 even after his return, they found means of being frequently 
 together, to the mutual joy of both parties. 
 
 NOVEL VI 
 
 Ricctardo Minutolo.ts tn love with the wife of Philippello Fighinolfi ; 
 and knowing her to be zealous of her husband, makes her believe 
 that he was to meet his wife that night at a bagnio. Accordingly 
 she goes thither; and, imagining she had been with her husband ali 
 the time, finds herself at last with Ricciardo. 
 
 Exiza had now concluded her story; and, having com- 
 mended the Beau’s ingenuity, the queen laid the next 
 charge upon Flammetta, who began, with a smile, as 
 follows :— 
 
 It.may be convenient to quit our own city at present, 
 which, as it abounds in everything, is no less fruitful in 
 examples relating to most subjects; and to recount, as 
 Eliza has done, what has come to passin other countries: 
 therefore, passing over to Naples, I shall set forth how one 
 of those sanctified ladies, who seemed averse to all love 
 intrigues, was, by the dexterous management of her lover, 
 
158 THE DECAMERON 
 
 brought to taste the fruits of love, before she had known 
 the flower of it; which will both divert you as to what is 
 already past, and caution you in certain points for the time 
 to come. 
 
 There lived at Naples, one of the most ancient and 
 pleasant cities in all Italy, a young gentleman of great 
 wealth, as well as nobly descended, called Ricciardo 
 Minutolo; who, notwithstanding he had a beautiful lady 
 for his wife, was enamoured of another, who was thought 
 to surpass all the women in Naples, and was called Catella, 
 being the wife of a young gentleman, named Philippello 
 Fighinolfi, whom she loved and valued above all things. 
 Now Ricciardo being in love with this lady, and doing 
 everything which he thought might gain her affections, but 
 to no manner of purpose, he fell into despair; and as he 
 was unable to get the ascendency over his passion, he had 
 no pleasure in living, at the same time that he knew not 
 how to die. Continuing in this disposition, he was one 
 day advised by the ladies of his acquaintance to give it over 
 as a vain pursuit, seeing that Catella regarded nothing so 
 much as her own husband, of whom she had that entire 
 jealousy that she was fearful of every bird that flew over 
 his head, lest it might snatch him from her. Ricciardo, 
 hearing of this jealous disposition, began now to conceive 
 hopes of success; and making a pretence of laying all such 
 views aside, he gave it out that he had taken a fancy to 
 another lady, towards whom he used the same gallantries 
 as he had before done to Catella: and in a little time it 
 was universally believed that it was no longer Catella that 
 he fancied, but this second lady ; insomuch that she began 
 now to put off that reservedness which had hitherto appeared 
 in her behaviour, and to show the same openness and affa- 
 bility to him as to her other neighbours. 
 
 Now it happened, the season of the year being ‘sultry, 
 that some companies of gentlemen and ladies went to 
 divert themselves on the seashore, where they were to 
 dine and sup; and Ricciardo knowing that Catella was 
 gone thither with a party of people, he went likewise with 
 a set of his friends; and, after much importuning, as if he 
 was not fond of continuing there, he was persuaded to join 
 
“THIRD DAY 159 
 
 companies with Catella and her friends there they all 
 began to banter him concerning this new love of his, whilst 
 he seemed so much affected with it, that they talked the 
 more upon that subject. At length, being dispersed up 
 and down, as is usual in those places, and Catella remaining 
 only with a few friends where Ricciardo was, he threw in 
 a word, as it were, relating to an intrigue of her husband’s, 
 which gave her a violent fit of jealousy, and she grew 
 extremely impatient to know the truth of it: in a little 
 time, therefore, she began to entreat Ricciardo, that, for the 
 sake of the lady whom he loved most, he would make that 
 matter clear to her, relating to Philippello. ‘‘ You have 
 conjured me,” he replied, ‘‘by a person, on whose account 
 I can refuse nothing that is asked me, only you must 
 promise never to speak a word to him, or any other person 
 about it, till you find it really so, which I will show you how 
 you may be satisfied of, as soon as you please.” She was 
 now more strongly possessed of the truth of it, and promised 
 to be silent. Taking her then apart, that they might not 
 be overheard, he thus addressed her: ‘‘ Madam, if I now 
 loved you in the manner I formerly did, I could not endure 
 to tell you what must occasion so much uneasiness; but 
 as that is at an end, I shall be less fearful of making a full 
 discovery. I do not know whether your husband was 
 provoked at my loving you; or whether he had any sus- 
 picion of my being respected by you; but be this as it will, 
 he has taken an opportunity, when I had the least cause 
 to be jealous, of attempting to do by me, what he might 
 suspect I meant to do to him; namely, to seduce my wife , 
 for which purpose he has tried frequent messages, with 
 which she has constantly made me acquainted; and 
 returned such answers to them as [I directed her: and 
 this very morning I found a woman in close conference 
 with her, and imagining who she was, I asked my wife what 
 the woman wanted. When she told me that she came from 
 Philippello; ‘who from such answers,’ continued she, ‘as 
 you have made me send, from time to time, begins to have 
 hopes of prevailing ; and he now says that he wants me to 
 come to a resolution, and that he can so order it, that we 
 may meet privately at a bagnio; and he begs and entreats 
 
160 ~ THE DECAMERON 
 
 me most earnestly to be there; and were it not that you 
 have made me hold him in suspense with such frivolous 
 answers, I should have dealt with him in such a manner, 
 that he should never have troubled me more.’ I bore all 
 the rest patiently, but now he has proceeded too far, and 
 accordingly I resolved to tell you, that you might see how 
 he has rewarded your most faithful love, for which I was 
 just at death’s door; but, lest you should think this all 
 groundless, and that yourself may be an eye-witness of it, 
 I ordered her to tell the woman that she would meet him 
 there at nine o’clock; when everybody would be asleep ; 
 with which answer she went away well pleased. Now I 
 would not have you suppose that I intend to send her 
 thither; but, were I in your place, I should go instead of 
 her, and after you have been some time together, I would 
 then make a discovery of myself to him; by which means 
 you will shame him from being ever guilty of the like prac- 
 tices hereafter, and, at the same time, prevent the injury 
 which is designed both to yourself and me.” 
 
 Catella, without considering who it was that told her 
 this, or what his designs might be, gave credit to it, as 
 jealous people usually do to such-like stories; and calling 
 to mind other circumstances to confirm it, she said, with a 
 great deal of passion, that she would certainly do so, and 
 that she would so confound him, that he should never dare 
 to look women in the face more. 
 
 Ricciardo was highly pleased, and now thinking that his 
 scheme was likely to take effect, he confirmed her in that 
 resolution, desiring her nevertheless not to mention what 
 she had heard, which she accordingly promised. The next 
 morning, then, he went to the woman who kept the bagnio, 
 which he had mentioned to Catella, and begged her assist- 
 ance in the affair, which she easily agreed to; and they 
 contrived how it might be best effected. There was a 
 dark room in the house, where she made up a bed, as he had 
 directed her, and as soon as he had dined he went thither 
 to wait for Catella. Whilst she, giving more credit to his 
 words than she ought, returned home full of spleen; when 
 it happened, by chance, that Philippello came home likewise 
 very thoughtful, and perhaps might not show that fondness 
 
THIRD DAY r61 
 
 towards her that he usually did, which ‘made her suspect 
 the more; and she said to herself, “‘ Truly he is taken up 
 with thinking of the lady whom he is to meet to-morrow, 
 but I will prevent it:” and she was considering all night 
 long what she should say to him at their meeting. Ina 
 word, at nine o’clock she took a friend with her, and went 
 directly to the bagnio, and seeing the good woman, she 
 inquired if Philippello was there. She having learned the 
 lesson from Ricciardo, said, “ Are you the lady that is to 
 speak to him here?” Catella answered, “Iam.” ‘ Then,” 
 said she, “goin there.” Catella, who went to seek what 
 she would not willingly have found, was conducted into the 
 room where Ricciardo lay: her face being covered with a 
 veil, and she made fast the door, whilst he arose and went 
 to meet her, saying, with a low voice, ‘‘ My dear, I am 
 glad to see you.” In the meantime she made no answer, 
 for fear of a discovery. At length, when she thought it a 
 proper time to show her resentment, she broke out in the 
 following manner: ‘‘ Miserable women as we are! How 
 ill placed is the love that we bear to our husbands! For 
 these eight years have I loved you more than my whole 
 life ; whilst you, most wicked man, give yourself up entirely 
 to another woman. Whom do you think you are now 
 with? You are with her whom you have so often deceived 
 with your false fiatteries, pretending affection, when you 
 have placed it elsewhere. You villain, I am Catella, and 
 not Ricciardo’s wife. Do you know my voice or not? I 
 am, I tell you; and I think it long till I bring you into the 
 light, to confound you with shame as you deserve. Alas! 
 whom have I loved in this manner for so many years! 
 Who, but this wretch, who, supposing himself in bed with 
 another woman, hath showed more fondness than he ever 
 did to me since we were matried. Why do not you answer, 
 you villain? Are you struck dumb at what I have said? 
 I have a good mind to pull your eyes out of your head. 
 You thought it had been all a secret; but you are mis- 
 taken.” Ricciardo was pleased at hearing these words, 
 and returned no answer but by his caresses; whilst she, 
 resuming her complaints, said, “If you think to wheedle 
 me in this manner you are mistaken; I will never rest till 
 - 
 
162 THE DECAMERON ‘ 
 
 I have exposed you to all our neighbours and friends. 
 Am I not as handsome as the wife of Ricciardo?::Am I 
 not as good a gentlewoman as she? Hands offs. touch 
 me not. I know full well that your fondness, since I have 
 made the discovery, is all forced; but if I live you shall 
 repent it. I see no reason why I should not ‘send to 
 Ricciardo, who once entirely loved me, and yet could 
 never boast that I vouchsafed to give him one kind. look ; 
 and who knows what mischief may then ensue?, You 
 thought you had been with his wife all this time, and you 
 are equally guilty as if you really had; therefore, were I 
 to prove criminal with him you could not blame me.” 
 Her complaints were long and outrageous; till at: length 
 he began to think that if she was suffered to depart in this 
 mood, it might be of bad consequence, therefore he re- 
 solved to undeceive her: and holding her so fast in his 
 arms, that she could not get away, he said to her, “ My 
 life, do not make yourself uneasy, that which I:could not 
 have by dint of love, I have obtained by stratagem: I am 
 your Ricciardo.” She hearing this, and knowing his voice, 
 would have leaped out of bed, but could not; and as she 
 was going to cry out, he laid his hand upon her mouth, 
 and said, “ Madam, what has been now done cannot be 
 undone again, were you to cry all your life long; and if it 
 be made public by any means, two things must happen. 
 The first, which is of great concern to you, is, that your 
 honour and good name will be called in question; for 
 though you ‘should allege your being deceived, I wiil 
 contradict it, and say that you came hither for reward, and 
 because I would not give you as much as you expected, 
 for that reason you made all this disturbance; and you 
 know that people are always more ready to believe what is 
 bad, than what is good, of ahother, on which account my 
 story would find the most credit. In the second place a 
 mortal enmity must ensue betwixt me and your husband ; 
 and things may be carried so far, that he may kill me, or I 
 him, which would give you great uneasiness: therefore, my 
 dearest life, do not lessen yourself and make mischief be- 
 tween us. You are not the first nor will you be the last that 
 is imposed upon. It is not to deprive you of your honour, 
 
THIRD DAY 163 
 
 but it is the abundant regard I have for you that has put 
 me upon using this device: and from henceforth myself, 
 and all I am worth, shall be at your service; as you are 
 discreet then in other things, I hope you will be so in 
 this.” 
 
 She expressed the utmost grief whilst he was speaking 
 these words; but yet she listened so far to what he said, 
 as to be convinced that it was reasonable ; when:she replied, 
 “I do not know how God will enable me to bear both the 
 injury and the trick you have put upon me; I will make 
 no noise here, where I have been brought by my own 
 foolishness’ and: over great jealousy; but this you may 
 depend upon that I shall never be at quiet till I see my- 
 self revenged one way or other: therefore let me go; you 
 have gained your point, and have done what you pleased; 
 it is time to leave me, leave me then I beseech you. 
 Ricciardo, who saw the anguish of her heart, had resolved 
 not to part with her before he made peace; using all the 
 kind and tender expressions he could think of to mollify 
 her; and he prevailed so far at last, that her former 
 insensibility was turned into extreme love. 
 
 NOVEL VII 
 
 Tedaldo, having a misunderstanding with his mistress, leaves Florence. 
 he returns thither afterwards in the habit of a pilgrim, and makes 
 himself known to. her; when he convinces her of her mistake, and 
 saves her husband from being put to death for hts murder, for 
 which he had been condemned. He then reconciles him to “his 
 
 ~ brethren, and lives upon good terms with her for the future. 
 
 FLAMMETTA, who, having been commended by all, was now 
 silent; when, to prevent loss of time, the queen gave im- 
 mediate orders:to Emilia, who began thus: 
 
 I choose to return to our own city, which the two ladies 
 _who:spoke last had departed from ; and to relate how one 
 of our own Citizens regained his lost mistress. 
 
 There lived at Florence a young nobleman, called 
 | Tedaldo Ele, who, being in love with a lady named Monna 
 
164 THE DECAMERON 
 
 Ermellina, wife to one Aldobrandino Palermini, was on 
 account of his good qualities, deserving of success. But 
 ill fortune was still in his way; for after the lady showed a 
 liking to him, all at once she refused to see him, and 
 would receive no more messages from him, which threw 
 him into utter despair; but as his love was a secret, the 
 cause of his melancholy was unknown. Divers means 
 were used to regain the love, which had been lost without 
 any fault of his; but finding all in vain, he resolved to 
 separate himself from the world, that he might deprive her, 
 who had been the cause of his malady, of the pleasure of 
 seeing him in that condition. Getting, therefore, together 
 what money he could privately raise, without saying a word 
 of his intention to more than one friend, he went away, 
 and came to Ancona, calling himself Philippo di Sanlodeccio, 
 and he hired himself to a merchant, with whom he went on 
 shipboard to Cyprus; who was so taken with his behaviour, 
 that he not only allowed him a good salary, but took him 
 as partner, entrusting the greatest part of his affairs to his 
 management; which he ordered so discreetly, that, in a 
 few years, he became a wealthy and famous merchant. 
 Whilst he was in this employ, though he would some- 
 times call to mind his cruel mistress, and be desirous of 
 seeing her again; yet such was his resolution, that for six 
 years together he got the better of his passion in this 
 conflict ; till one day it happened, whilst he was at Cyprus, 
 that he heard a song composed by himself sung there; in 
 which was largely set forth the mutual love which they 
 bore to each other; and concluding from thence, ‘that it 
 was impossible she should ever forget him, he had such a 
 desire to see her, that he could no longer forbear it ; and, 
 settling his affairs, he departed with only one servant to 
 Ancona, and consigned all his effects to a merchant at 
 Florence, an acquaintance of his old friend at Ancona ; 
 whilst he travelled privately with his servant like a pilgrim, 
 just returned from the holy land. Being now arrived at 
 Florence, he went to an inn, which was kept by two 
 brethren, near where his mistress lived; when the first 
 thing he did, was to go to the house to endeavour te 
 see her; but he found the windows and doors all made 
 
THIRD DAY 165 
 
 fast, which made him suspect that she was either dead or 
 else had changed her dwelling. From thence he proceeded 
 in a sorrowful manner towards the house where his brethren 
 lived, when he saw four of them in mourning standing. at 
 the door, which surprised him very much; and knowing 
 himself so much altered since he had been away, that he 
 could not be easily known again, he applied himself to a 
 shoemaker, and inquired the reason of their being in 
 black? who replied, ‘‘ About fifteen days ago, a brother of 
 theirs, called Tedaldo, who has been long absent, was 
 murdered ; and I understand they have proved in court, 
 that he was killed by one Aldobrandino Palermini, who is 
 arrested for it, because he had taken a fancy to his wife, 
 and returned privately to be with her.” ‘Tedaldo wondered 
 much that any one should be so like himself, as to be 
 taken for him; being troubled also for Aldobrandino, and 
 finding that. his mistress was alive and well; it being now 
 night, he returned full of thought to his inn, and having 
 supped along with his servant he was put to bed in a 
 garret. There, what with his trouble, the badness of the 
 bed, and perhaps his light supper, he was kept awake till 
 midnight ; when he thought he heard some persons come 
 from the top of the house, and he saw a light appear 
 through the chinks of the door. Therefore, going softly 
 to peep, he beheld a pretty young woman holding a candle, 
 whilst three men were coming towards her, downstairs ; 
 and, after some laughing together, one of them said, “ We 
 are now safe, God be thanked, since Tedaldo’s death is 
 proved by his brethren upon Aldobrandino Palermini, who 
 has also confessed, and sentence is now passed; but yet it 
 behoyes us to keep it private; for should it be known, 
 hereafter, that we are the persons, we should be in the 
 same danger that he is now in.” Having said this to the 
 woman, who seemed pleased with it, they came downstairs, 
 and went to bed. ‘Tedaldo, upon hearing what passed, 
 began to reflect how great and many were the errors to 
 _ which the mind of man was subject; first, thinking of his 
 _ brethren who had mourned for a stranger, and buried him 
 | by mistake for himself, and had afterwards taken up an 
 ' innocent person upon a bare suspicion, who was accordingly 
 
166 THE DECAMERON 
 
 condemned through false witnesses ; considering also the 
 blind severity of the law, and the ministers and dispensers 
 of it, who, whilst they are solicitous to find out the truth, 
 do often, by their horrid tortures, confirm a falsity; and, 
 instead of serving the cause of God and justice, are rather 
 the executioners of iniquity and the devil. After this he 
 thought of Aldobrandino, and what was to be done to 
 save his life. 
 
 In the morning then he went alone to the lady’s house, 
 and by chance finding the door open, he entered, when he 
 beheld her sitting upon the ground in a little room, making 
 sad lamentation. ‘* Madam,” said he to her, “do not 
 trouble yourself; your peace is at hand.” She, lifting up 
 her head, replied with tears, “‘ Honest man, thou seemest 
 to be a stranger, what knowest thou either of my peace or 
 affliction?” ‘Madam, I am a messenger sent by God 
 from Constantinople, and am just now arrived, to turn your 
 tears into joy, and to save your husband’s life.” She made 
 answer, “If you are but now arrived, and come from 
 Constantinople, what do you know either of me or my 
 husband?” He then related to her the trouble of her 
 husband, how long they had been married together, with 
 many other circumstances, to which she was no stranger ; 
 at which, being surprised, she fell down upon her knees, 
 supposing him to have been a prophet; praying him, that 
 if he was come for Aldobrandino’s sake, to make all pos- 
 sible dispatch, for the time was short. He, showing himself 
 to be a mighty religious person, said, “ Raise yourself up, 
 madam, and attend to what I am going to say. This 
 trouble is now come upon you on account of a sin formerly 
 committed ; therefore you must take care how you do the 
 like for the time to come, lest a greater calamity befall you.” 
 * Alas!” quoth she, “Sir, I have been guilty of more sins 
 than one; then tell me particularly what sin you mean, 
 and I will do all in my power to amend.” ‘“‘ Madam,” re- 
 turned he, “I do not ask for information: I know what 
 sin it is: Ido it only that you may have the greater remorse 
 by confessing. But to come to the point. Had you ever 
 a lover?” The lady was in great amaze at this, supposing’ 
 nobody had known anything of the matter; though, from 
 
THIRD DAY 167 
 
 the time that person was slain, who had been buried for 
 Tedaldo, something of that kind had been talked of, occa- 
 sioned by some words imprudently let fall by Tedaldo’s 
 friend, whom he had entrusted with the secret ; and fetching 
 a deep sigh, she said, “‘I perceive Heaven has revealed to 
 you all the secrets of mankind, therefore I shall make no 
 scruple of telling you mine. I did love, I confess, that 
 unhappy young man whose death is now laid to my hus- 
 band, and which has given me also infinite concern ; for 
 though I might appear a little harsh to him, yet neither 
 hath his parting, long stay, nor miserable death, been able 
 to drive him from my heart.” The other then said, “The 
 poor man who is dead never loved you, though Tedaldo 
 did. But tell me what was the reason of your quarrelling 
 with him?» Did he ever give you any offence?” She 
 replied, ‘‘ Most certainly he did not; but it was all owing 
 to a wicked friar, who, after I had mentioned to him, at 
 confession, my love for that person, and our familiarity 
 together, so terrified me, with denouncing eternal damna- 
 tion to such practices, that I immediately resolved to break 
 off all acquaintance with him, and from that time rejected 
 all his solicitations ; though I really think, had he persisted 
 a little longer, for I suppose he went away in despair, I 
 might have relented at last, because I had a true value 
 for him.” ‘ Madam,” quoth the stranger, ‘“‘this is the sin 
 which now sticks close to you. It was of your own accord 
 that you first loved Tedaldo; there was no force in the 
 case; you were agreeable to each other, and acquaintance 
 begot more love. Why, therefore, was he discarded in that 
 cruel manner? These things should always be considered 
 beforehand; and you should never engage when you are 
 likely to repent. Now, with regard to these friars, you 
 must understand that, being one of them, I must be sup- 
 posed to know something of their ways; and therefore if I 
 speak a little more freely concerning them, it will be more 
 excusable, as it is all for your good. Formerly they were 
 religious good men; but they who call themselves so now- 
 a-days, and would be thought such, resemble the others in 
 nothing but their hoods; nor in those things entirely: for 
 the first friars wore them coarse and scanty, to show their 
 
£68 THE DECAMERON 
 
 great contempt of all temporal things, when they wrapped 
 their bodies in such mean habits; but now they are made 
 full shining, and of the finest cloth that can be got: and, 
 resembling in their cut the pontifical robes, they strut with 
 them, like so many peacocks, in churches and all public 
 places ; and as a fisherman strives to take as many fish as 
 possible with one cast of his net, so do these with their 
 large folds envelop and captivate young maids, who have 
 vowed chastity, widows, and other simple people: and this 
 is their whole care and study: so that, to speak properly, 
 they have not preserved the hoods of their predecessors, 
 but only the colour of them. Formerly, also, they were 
 solicitous for people’s salvation, but now they desire only 
 women, and as much money as they can get; for which 
 purpose they terrify the ignorant with idle stories, making 
 them believe, that their sins are all to be purged away with 
 alms-giving and saying masses; for which purpose one 
 sends bread, a second wine, and a third money, all for the 
 souls of their departed friends. It is most certain that 
 prayers, and giving of charities, are both pleasing to God: 
 but if people knew what sort of folks they were bestowed 
 upon, they would sooner throw what they part with in that 
 manner to the hogs. They know full well, that rich people 
 are not so manageable as the poorer sort, for which reason 
 they are for engrossing wealth to themselves. They cry 
 down luxury, whilst they wallow in all kinds of debauchery. 
 They condemn usury and evil gains, in order to purchase 
 some great benefice or bishopric, with what is given them 
 by way of restitution; and which, being detained from 
 them, would occasion (they say) that person’s damnation. 
 And when they are told of these, and many other of their 
 wicked practices, all the answer they make, is, ‘Do as we 
 say, not as we do’; as if it were possible for the sheep to 
 have more resolution and constancy than the shepherd. 
 But they would have you do as they say, namely, fill their 
 purses with money; entrust them with all your secrets; be 
 chaste, patient, forgivers of injuries, and never to speak an 
 ill word, which are all very good things; but for what 
 reason? why, truly, that they may then do what, if we 
 acted otherwise, they could not! We all know, without 
 
THIRD DAY 169 
 
 money there could be no sloth or idleness. If you spend 
 your money for your own diversion, they could not have it 
 for their maintenance: if you visit the women, they would 
 want the opportunity of being with them themselves: unless 
 you are patient, and a forgiver of injuries, they would not 
 dare to come into your house to corrupt your family. But 
 why do I go through so many particulars? Let them first 
 set the example, and then teach others. Suppose, how- 
 ever, what the friar told you to be true, namely, that it is 
 a great crime to break the matrimonial vow: is not murder 
 as bad? If, then, after Tedaldo had fallen into such 
 despair, as to leave his country, he had laid violent hands 
 upon himself, would not you have been the occasion of it ? 
 Now, by your own confession, he deserved no such usage 
 at your hands. This therefore is, the crime, which is at- 
 tended with its due punishment; for, as you broke your 
 engagement without reason ; in like manner without reason, 
 is your husband in danger of his life upon his account, and 
 yourself in great trouble. All that you can do then to be 
 free, is to promise, and to be as good as your word, that if 
 _ ever he returns from his long banishment, you will reinstate 
 him into the same degree of favour, that he enjoyed before 
 you were over-persuaded by that mischievous friar.” 
 
 When he had made an end.of speaking, she replied in 
 this manner:—‘“ Good sir, I allow what you say to be 
 right: to be sure, they are a set of very bad people, though 
 hitherto I had a quite different opinion of them: I own 
 myself also much to blame with regard to Tedaldo, and 
 would do as you say: but hows it possible? He is dead ; 
 and what need is there then of making any promise about 
 him?” The stranger made answer, “Madam, I know he 
 is not dead, but alive and well, provided he has your good 
 graces.” She then replied, ‘Be careful of what you say, 
 I saw him before our door stabbed in several places, and 
 I lamented much over him; which, I suppose, gave occa- 
 sion to the scandalous story that was raised about us.”— 
 ‘* Madam,” quoth he, ‘say what you please, I assure you 
 he is not dead; and, if you will promise what I desire, I 
 hope you will soon see him.”—-“ That,” she replied, “I will 
 do with all my heart ; nothing cam give me greater pleasure 
 
 F 2 
 
170 THE DECAMERON f 
 
 than to see my husband at liberty, and Tedaldo living.” 
 He now thought it a fit time to make a discovery of him- 
 self, and to give her more assurance concerning her’ hus- 
 band; therefore he said, “‘ Madam, for your greater comfort, 
 I have one secret to entrust you with, which you must keep 
 as you value your husband’s life.” ‘Then taking a ring out 
 of his pocket, which she had given him the last night of 
 their being together, he showed it to her, saying, “‘ Madam, 
 ‘do you know this?” She instantly remembered it, and 
 replied, “‘ Yes, sir, I gave it formerly to Tedaldo.” He 
 then arose from his seat,,.and, throwing off his hood, said, 
 ‘And do you know me?” When she saw him she was 
 quite confounded, finding him to be Tedaldo, and was as 
 much afraid as she would have been of a ghost; considering 
 him not as returned from Cyprus, but as newly risen from 
 the dead. He then said to her, “Doubt not, Madam; I 
 am your Tedaldo, alive and well; 1 never was dead, as 
 you and my brothers believe.” The lady began now to be 
 a little better reconciled to him, and ‘throwing her arms 
 about. his‘ neck, she cried, ‘‘ My dear Tedaldo, you are 
 welcome home.”” He embraced her, and said, “ Madam, 
 we have no time now for these greetings; I must go and 
 take care of your husband, of whom I hope that before to- 
 morrow you will hear such news as will please you; and if 
 I succeed according to my expectation, I will come and 
 spend this evening with you; when I shall be able to 
 give you a more full account than my time will permit at 
 present.” 
 
 Resuming his former habit, therefore, sl taking his 
 leave of her, he went to the prison to Aldobrandino, who 
 lay expecting nothing but death; and being admitted by 
 the favour of the keeper as a confessor, he sat down by 
 him, and spoke in this manner: ‘‘I am a messenger of 
 God (who has regard to your innocence) to bring you 
 tidings of your deliverance; for his sake, then, I request 
 one little favour, which, if you grant, I make no doubt but 
 that before to-morrow night, you will hear of a pardon.” 
 Aldobrandino replied, ‘‘Sir, you are a stranger to me, but 
 I must suppose you to be a friend, since you are so 
 solicitous about my deliverance. With regard to this fact, 
 
THIRD DAY 171 
 
 however, which has been sworn upon mnie, I, am entirely 
 innocent, I may have been bad enough in other respects, 
 for which this may be a judgment upon me. Then ask 
 what you please, be the request of ever such consequence, 
 I promise to grant it, if I can obtain my liberty.” He 
 made answer, ‘“‘What I require is only a pardon for 
 Tedaldo’s four brethren, who have brought you into this 
 trouble, supposing you were concerned in murdering their 
 brother, whenever they ask it of you.” Aldobrandino 
 replied, ‘‘ Nobody knows the sweets of revenge, and how 
 eagerly it is coveted, but they who have received the 
 injury; nevertheless, I forgive them, and if I obtain a 
 pardon I will do it in such a manner as shall be most 
 agreeable to you.” He was pleased with this, and bid him 
 have a good heart, for that before the next day at night he 
 should be assured of his liberty; and from thence went 
 straight to the signiory, and taking one of the lords aside, 
 he. said to him, ‘‘Sir, it is the business of every one te 
 endeavour to find out the truth, especially such as are in your 
 station, in order that people may not suffer wrongfully ; and 
 that they who deserve punishment may have it; which, 
 that it may tend to your honour and the confusion of 
 the guilty, is what now brings me before you. You know 
 you have proceeded with severity against Aldobrandino, 
 thinking you had proved the murder upon him of 
 Tedaldo. This I aver to be false, as I shall prove to you 
 before midnight, delivering the very murderers into your 
 hands.” The worthy lord, who was under great concern 
 for Aldobrandino, gave ear to the stranger’s story, and 
 about midnight the two brothers and their maid were 
 taken by his means, being let into the house by him; 
 when they all confessed the fact, namely, that they had 
 slain Tedaldo without knowing him. Being asked the 
 reason, they declared that it was because he would have 
 forced one of their wives when they were abroad. After 
 this was known, he had leave to depart, and he went 
 privately to the lady’s house to give her a full account 
 of what had passed; he afterwards spent the night with 
 her, when there was a firm and thorough reconciliation. 
 In the morning, having acquainted her with what he meant 
 
Sf 
 
 172 THE DECAMERON 
 
 to do, and enjoined her secrecy, he went as soon as time 
 came to attend to the affair of Aldobrandino; when the 
 lords, upon a full inquiry, released him, and sentenced the 
 others to lose their heads where the fact was committed. 
 Aldobrandino being discharged, and knowing that it was 
 all owing to the stranger, he and his friends invited him 
 to their houses to make what stay he pleased, and showed 
 him all possible respect; the lady especially, who well 
 knew to whom she was so obliging. And now, thinking it 
 time to bring about a reconciliation between Aldobrandino 
 and his brethren, who had gained so much ill-will since his 
 discharge that they were forced to go armed, he demanded 
 his promise. Aldobrandino answered that he was willing. 
 He therefore made him provide a great entertainment, to 
 which his relations and their wives were to be invited, and 
 the four brethren with their wives, and that himself would 
 ask them as to his feast. Accordingly he went to the four 
 brethren, and after much entreaty prevailed upon them, in 
 order to regain Aldobrandino’s friendship, to ask pardon ; 
 and when that was done, invited them the next day to 
 dine there, giving them his word for their security. 
 
 At dinner-time, therefore, the next day, Tedaldo’s four 
 brethren, all in mourning, with some of their friends, came 
 first to Aldobrandino’s house, who was expecting them ; 
 when, laying their arms down upon the ground, in presence 
 of all the guests who had been invited to bear them com- 
 pany, and offering themselves to his mercy, they humbly 
 asked his pardon. He received them with abundance of 
 tears, and saluting them one after another, forgave the 
 injury he had suffered. After this their sisters and their 
 wives came also, and were graciously received by Ermellina 
 and the other ladies. And the entertainment being now 
 served up, and everything agreeable, excepting a confirmed 
 silence, occasioned by the late sorrow, which was repre- 
 sented by the habit of Tedaldo’s relations; on which 
 account the stranger's contrivance and invitation appeared 
 unseasonable to many people. This he soon perceived, 
 and resolved, when he saw a fit time, to remove: accord- 
 ingly, when the dessert was served up, he arose and said, 
 ‘Nothing seems wanting to make this a merry meeting but 
 
THIRD DAY 173 
 
 the presence of Tedaldo, whom, as you have had so long 
 with you without knowing him, I mean now to show you.” 
 —Throwing off then his monk’s disguise, he appeared in 
 a green silk doublet, and was known by all to their great 
 surprise, who gazed upon him for a considerable time 
 before they could be convinced that he was the very 
 person; which he perceiving, related many circumstances 
 concerning both themselves and him for their further 
 satisfaction. Upon which the brethren and the rest of the 
 men all ran and embraced him, as did all the women 
 except Ermellina; which, when Aldobrandino saw, he said, 
 ‘‘What’s the meaning of this, Ermellina? Why don’t you 
 welcome Tedaldo home, when everybody.else has done 
 it?” She replied, in the hearing of them all, that no one 
 could rejoice more sincerely than herself, at she was 
 obliged to him for her husband’s life; but the scandalous 
 words that had been given out concerning her when that 
 person was taken for Tedaldo had made her cautious. 
 Aldobrandino replied, ‘‘ Away with these idle stories ; do 
 you think I regard them? He has sufficiently cleared 
 himself by his regard for my life: do then as the rest have 
 done.” She wanted nothing so much, and was therefore 
 not slow in obeying her husband’s order. Aldobrandino’s 
 liberality was so agreeable to all present, both men and 
 women, that their former misunderstanding was quite 
 forgotten. After Tedaldo then had received every one’s 
 compliments, he tore the mourning off all his kindred, and 
 ordered other clothes to be immediately brought; and 
 having put them on, they concluded the feast with singing, 
 dancing, and such like diversions. From thence they went 
 to Tedaldo’s house, where they supped, and they continued 
 feasting many days. Whilst the people for some time 
 looked upon him with the utmost amazement as one risen 
 from the dead, and perhaps his very brethren might have 
 still entertained some doubt about him if one thing had 
 not happened, which made it clear who the person was 
 that was slain, and which was as follows:—Some sorry 
 fellows of Lunigiana were going one day past the house, 
 and seeing Tedaldo at the door, they stopped and said, 
 “How do you do, Fativolo?” Tedaldo replied, before 
 
174 THE DECAMERON 
 
 some of his brethren, ‘“You mistake your man.” They, 
 hearing him speak, were out of countenance, and asked 
 pardon, saying, “‘ Never two people were more alike 
 than you and a companion of ours, called Fativolo da 
 Pontriemoli, who has been come hither these fifteen days, 
 and we can’t learn what has befallen him. We wondered 
 indeed how he came by this dress, for he was a soldier, as 
 we are.” The eldest brother, hearing this, inquired more 
 particularly as to his clothes, and finding all circumstances 
 agree, it now appeared plainly that it was Fativolo, and 
 not Tedaldo, that was slain, and this set every one right 
 with regard to that affair. Thus Tedaldo returned home 
 tich, and continued his acquaintance with the lady without 
 any further interruption. May the like good fortune happen 
 to us all. 
 
 NOVEL VIII 
 
 Ferondo, by taking a certain drug, is buried for dead, and by the abbot, 
 who has an intrigue with his wife, ts taken out of the grave and 
 put into a dungeon, when he ts made to belteve that he is in pur- 
 gatory: being raised up again, he rears a child as his own, which 
 the abbot had got by hts wife. 
 
 Emiui4’s long novel was now brought to a conclusion 
 (though it did not appear long to the company, on account 
 of the variety of incidents with which it was stored), when 
 the queen gave a nod to Lauretta, who began in this 
 manner :— 
 
 I am going to relate a thing which has more the appear- 
 ance of fiction than truth, and which I call to mind, from 
 what has just been told us, of one person’s being mourned 
 for, and buried instead of another. I purpose then to tell 
 you how a living person was buried as though he had been 
 dead ; how afterwards it was believed by himself, as well 
 as other people, that he was risen from the dead, and 
 not actually living all the time; and how one obtained the 
 name of a saint upon that score, and was adored as such, 
 when he deserved rather to have been severely punished. 
 
 There was in Tuscany a certain abbey, and is at present, 
 
THIRD DAY — 175 
 
 situated in a lonesome place; of which a certain monk 
 was chosen abbot, who was religious enough in every re- 
 spect, excepting the affair of women, and this he managed 
 so well, that: he was never. suspected ;. therefore he was 
 reckoned ‘pious in all points. Now it happened, that a 
 rich countryman was acquainted with this abbot, one of 
 mean parts and understanding, but whose simplicity would 
 sometimes afford matter of mirth; and in the course of 
 their acquaintance, the abbot found that he had a hand- 
 some wife, with whom he grew most violently in love; but 
 being informed that Ferondo, however stupid in other 
 things, was prudent enough as to his care of her, he almost 
 despaired of success; yet he managed sovartfully, that he 
 prevailed upon Ferondo to bring her sometimes for their 
 amusement to his gardens at the abbey, when he would 
 discourse to them of the beatitudes of eternal life, and of 
 the pious works of many righteous people departed hence ; 
 which had that:effect upon the lady, that she had a great 
 desire to confess to him: for this purpose she desired 
 leave of her husband, which was granted. Coming then 
 to confession, greatly to his good liking, and sitting at his 
 feet, she began, before she entered upon her subject, to 
 this effect :—*‘‘ Sir, if God’had given mea different sort of a 
 husband from what I now have, or if he had given me 
 none at all, yet with your instruction it would be easy for 
 me perhaps to pursue the path which you have pointed out 
 to eternal life: but: when I:consider what sort of a person 
 I am tied to, I must look upon myself as a widow, and yet 
 in this respect worse than married, as I can have no other 
 husband as long as he lives. Besides, he is so unreasonably ' 
 jealous, that I live in constant misery with him: therefore, 
 before I proceed to confession, I must beg a little of your 
 advice in this particular ; for, till I find some remedy here, 
 confession, or any other good work, will be of little effect.” 
 This touched the abbot in the: most sensible part; and 
 now thinking that fortune had opened a way to what he 
 had so long aimed at, he replied :—‘ Daughter, I can 
 easily believe how grievous it is for a pretty young lady, as 
 you are, to have a fool for: your husband, and it is worse 
 to have a man that is iealous; therefore, you must suffer 
 
176 THE DECAMERON 
 
 extremely that have both one and the other. But to be 
 plain with you, I see no advice that can avail, or remedy, 
 but one; namely, to cure him of that jealousy. The 
 remedy, in such a case, I know well how to apply, provided 
 you will keep it a secret.”—‘ Father,” quoth the lady, 
 ‘never fear; I would die before I would make a discovery 
 contrary to your injunction: but how is it possible?” The 
 abbot replied, “If we desire he should be cured, it will be 
 necessary for him to go first into purgatory.”—‘ What, go 
 there alive?” quoth the lady.—‘‘He must die first,” 
 answered the abbot, “and then go thither; and when he 
 shall have suffered enough to cure him of his jealousy, we 
 shall use a few prayers to bring him to life again, and it 
 shall be done.”—‘' Then I must remain a widow?” said 
 the lady.—‘‘ For a time,” he replied, ‘when you must be 
 exceedingly careful not to be prevailed upon to marry 
 elsewhere, for that would be a very bad thing, and as you 
 must return to Ferondo, when he comes to life again, he 
 would be more jealous than ever.”——“ Well,” quoth she, 
 ‘so long as there is a cure, and I am not to be a prisoner 
 all my life, do as you will, I am: content.”—“ But,” con- 
 tinued he, ‘‘ what reward shall I have for this service? ” 
 ——‘ Father,” she replied, ‘‘ whatever lies in my. power to 
 give; but what can such an one as myself offer worthy the 
 acceptance of a person like you?” He made answer, 
 ‘‘ Madam, it is in your power to do as much for me, as it 
 is mine for you. As I am ready then to perform what 
 shall be for your ease and comfort, so should you be 
 mindful of me in a point where my life and welfare are 
 both concerned.”—‘‘ If it be so,” quoth she, “I am very 
 ready.” —“‘ Then,” said he, “you must grant me your love, 
 for which I entirely languish.” She was startled at this, 
 and said, ‘‘Alas! my father, what is it you would have? I 
 took you always for a saint. Do holy men request such 
 favours of ladies who come to them for advice?” The 
 abbot replied: ‘‘ My dearest life, let this not’ surprise you; 
 my sanctity is not the less on this account, because that 
 abides in the soul, and what I ask of you is only a sin of 
 the body. But however that may be, the force of your 
 beauty is such that constrains me to do thus: and I must 
 
THIRD DAY 177 
 
 tell you that you have reason to value yourself upon it, as 
 it captivates the saints, who are employed in contemplating 
 the beauties of heaven. Besides, although I am an abbot, 
 IT am yet a man, and not old; nor should you think much 
 of this, but rather be desirous of it, because all the time he 
 is in purgatory I will supply his place, and it will never be 
 so much as suspected, because every one has the same 
 opinion of me that you yourself just now declared. Then 
 refuse not what is thus offered you; there are enough that 
 would be glad of it. Moreover, I have jewels and other 
 things of value, which I intend shall all be yours. Do, 
 therefore, my dearest love, what I would willingly do for 
 you.” The lady had her eyes fixed on the ground, not 
 knowing how to deny him, and yet to grant the favour 
 seemed not so well: he, perceiving that she began to listen, 
 and did not immediately reply, supposed the conquest 
 half made, and continued using such sort of arguments as 
 before, till he convinced her that it would bea good action ; 
 therefore she said at last with a blush, that she was willing 
 to comply, but not till her: husband was sent to purgatory. 
 The abbot was well enough satisfied with this, and replied, 
 **He shall go thither directly, only do you take care that 
 he comes hither to-morrow, or next day, to make some 
 stay with me.” Upon saying this, he put a fine ring into 
 her hand, and dismissed her. She was overjoyed with the 
 present, supposing she should have many more such ; and 
 returning to her friends, related wonderful things of the 
 abbot’s great sanctity, and they went together to her own 
 house. Ina few days Ferondo went to the abbey, and as 
 soon as the abbot saw him he prepared a drug, which came 
 to kim as a present from a great person out of the East, 
 and which was used, when he had a mind to throw any 
 one into a trance; so that by giving more or less he could, 
 without doing them any harm, make them sleep as long as 
 he pleased: insomuch, that whilst its effect lasted, you 
 would imagine them to be dead; of this he took as much 
 as would operate for three days, and mixing it up witha 
 glass of wine, without his perceiving it, gave it to him to 
 drink. He afterwards walked with him into the cloisters 
 with several of the monks, and they began to be merry 
 
178 THE DECAMERON 
 
 together as usual. In some little time it began to work, 
 and he was taken with sudden drowsiness, and he nodded 
 as he stood, and at last fell down in a profound sleep. 
 
 The abbot seemed much concerned at the accident, 
 making them unbutton his collar and throw cold water in 
 his face, in order to bring him to himself, as though it had 
 been occasioned by’some fumes from his stomach, or such- 
 like disorder: but when they found’ all was in vain, and 
 perceiving, by touching his pulse, no signs’ of life remain- 
 ing, it was concluded by all that he was certainly dead: 
 accordingly they sent to acquaint his wife and relations, who 
 immediately came thither, and having lamented over him 
 for a time, he was buried by the abbot’s direction, with his 
 clothes on, in one of their vaults. She went back to her 
 own house, giving out, that she resolved never to stir a step 
 from a little son she had: by him; and continuing there, 
 she took upon herself the management of the child, as well 
 as estate, which he had left behind. © The abbot, when. 
 night came, carried a monk of Bologna with him, whom 
 he could trust, and who was just come thither upon a visit ; 
 and taking Ferondo out of the vault, they brought him into 
 a dungeon, which served as a prison for the monks that 
 had committed any fault; when, stripping him of his 
 clothes, they dressed him in the habit of a monk, and left 
 him upon a bundle of straw, till he should come to him: 
 self; whilst the monk, being instructed by the abbot as to 
 what he would have done, was to wait there without any- 
 body’s knowing anything of the matter, till) he had. his 
 senses. ‘The next day the abbot went, attended by some 
 of his monks, to pay his visit of condolence to the widow, 
 whom he found in her weeds very sorrowful ; and, after a 
 little consolation, he put her softly in'mind of her promise. 
 She, finding herself now at liberty, and seeing another 
 valuable ring on his finger, gave her consent,‘and it was 
 agreed that he should come the next night. When that 
 time came, therefore, he put on Ferondo’s clothes, and 
 taking his faithful monk along with him, went thither, and 
 stayed till the morning ; and this practice he followed so 
 long, that he was frequently seen passing backwards and 
 forwards by the neighbours who all agreed, that it was 
 
THIRD DAY 279 
 
 Ferondo who walked there, doing penance, and many 
 strange stories were reported among the simple country 
 people about it, which were carried to the lady, who knew 
 full well what kind of ghost it was. ‘The monk, as soon as 
 he perceived Ferondo growing a little sensible, came in, 
 making a most terrible’ noise; and having a rod in his 
 hand, began to chastise him severely.. Ferondo, crying 
 very much, could say nothing else but, ‘‘ Where am I?” 
 The other replied, “‘Thou art in purgatory.” ‘ How!” 
 said Ferondo, ‘‘and am I then dead?” “ Most surely,” 
 answered the monk. Upon which he began to lament for 
 himself, his wife, and child, uttering the strangest things 
 in the world; whilst the monk gave him something to 
 eat and drink, which Ferondo seeing, said, ‘“‘ What? do 
 dead people eat?” The monk replied, “Yes, and what I 
 now bring, thy wife sent this morning to church, to have 
 mass said for thy soul.” ‘God bless her! 1» quoth 
 Ferondo, “we always lived happily together.” When, 
 finding himself hungry, he began to eat and drink, and the 
 wine being very bad, he said, ‘‘ Alas! why did she not give 
 the priest some of that wine nearest to the wall?” No 
 sooner had he filled his belly than he had the same dis- 
 cipline over again: when he roaring out amain, ‘said, 
 “What is all this for?” The monk answered, ‘‘ Because 
 -thou art jealous of thy wife, who is one of the best of 
 women.” ‘ Alas!” quoth’ he, “you say true; she was a 
 most dear creature; but I did not know that it was a sin 
 to be jealous.” ‘*Oh!” said the monk, ‘‘ you should have 
 taken care of that whilst you were in the other world ; and 
 if it should happen that you return thither, remember what 
 I now say, and be jealous no more.” ‘ Then,” replied 
 Ferondo, “do people ever return thither again, after they 
 have been dead?” “Yes,” said the other, “if God so 
 pleases.” “Oh!” quoth Ferondo, “if that should be my 
 case, I would be the best husband in the world; I would 
 never beat her, or say an angry word, unless it were for the 
 bad wine she has sent me, and letting me have no candles, 
 that I am forced to eat in the dark.” “She sent candles 
 enough,” answered the monk, “but they are all burnt out 
 at the mass.” “ Well,” quoth Ferondo, “‘you say very 
 
180 THE DECAMERON 
 
 true, and when J go back she shall do as she pleases: but 
 pray tell me who you are that do all this unto me?” The 
 monk replied, “I am now dead; but I was of Sardinia, 
 and am condemned to this office, because I formerly com- 
 mended a certain master of mine for being jealous.” 
 * But,” said Ferondo, “is nobody here then besides. us 
 two.” ‘ Yes,” replied he, “thousands; but you can no 
 more see or hear them, than they can hear or see us.” 
 “Then,” quoth Ferondo, ‘‘ how far may we be distant from 
 our own countries?” ‘‘ Many thousands. of leagues,” 
 answered the other. ‘Why truly that is far enough,” 
 quoth Ferondo, ‘“‘then we must certainly be out of the 
 world.” In this manner was Ferondo kept there for ten 
 months, whilst the abbot continued his visits to the wife; 
 till at last she proved with child, when it was thought con- 
 venient that he should be delivered out of purgatory. 
 The next night, therefore, the abbot went into the dungeon, 
 and called upon Ferondo, with a counterfeited voice, 
 saying, “* Take courage, Ferondo: it is now ordered that thou 
 return into the other world, when thou shalt have a son by 
 thy wife, whom thou shalt name Benedict ; because, through 
 the prayers of the holy abbot, and thy most virtuous wife, 
 and the intercession of St. Benedict, this favour is granted 
 thee.” He was overjoyed at hearing this, and_ said, 
 ‘‘Thanks be to St. Benedict, my wife, and the abbot; 
 I shall ever love and honour them.” Accordingly, in the 
 next wine that was sent him, the abbot mingled as much of 
 the former drug as would make him sleep four hours; 
 when they put his own clothes upon him, and he was 
 carried into the vault where he had been interred. By 
 break of day then he came to himself, and seeing a 
 glimmering of light through a crevice of the vault, which 
 he had been utterly deprived of for ten months, he began 
 to suppose himself alive, and he cried out aloud, saying, 
 “Open the vault and let me forth.” At the same time he 
 lifted up the cover with his head, it being of no great 
 weight, and was making his way out, whilst the monks, 
 having just ended their morning service, ran thither, and 
 knowing Ferondo’s voice, and seeing him arise out of the 
 vault, they were so terrified that they fled to tell the abbot, 
 
THIRD DAY 181 
 
 who, seeming to them to be just risen from prayer, said, 
 ** Fear not, my sons; take the crucifix and holy water, and 
 follow me, that we may see what kind of miracle this is.” 
 Ferondo was quite pale, as might be supposed, having 
 been so long confined without seeing any light; but as 
 soon as the abbot appeared, he fell at his feet, saying, 
 ‘Your prayers, most holy father, as it has been revealed 
 to me, and those of my wife, with the intercession of St. 
 Benedict, have delivered me out of purgatory, and brought 
 me to life again, for which I shall ever be thankful.” 
 “Then go,” quoth the abbot, “as this mercy is bestowed 
 upon you, and comfort your wife, who has been in the 
 utmost trouble ever since you departed from us.” He, 
 seeming also to hold the thing in great veneration, ordered 
 the monks to sing devoutly the J/iserere. In the mean- 
 time, Ferondo returned to his house, where every one that 
 saw him fled, as if they had seen some terrible sight, 
 affirming that he was risen from the dead. His wife also 
 expressed the utmost consternation. In some little time, 
 however, after they were convinced of his being alive, they 
 began to ask him questions concerning the souls of their 
 departed friends, when he made the finest stories in the 
 world about purgatory! relating to them, also, what had 
 been revealed to him before his resurrection. From that 
 time he lived comfortably with his wife; and at length 
 they had a son, whom they called Benedict Ferondo. 
 Ferondo’s resurrection, and what he himself reported about 
 it, every one giving entire credit to his words, added greatly 
 to the character of the abbot’s extraordinary sanctity. 
 Ferondo also was cured of his jealousy; and his wife had 
 the pleasure of the abbot’s company, as often as they 
 could conveniently meet together. 
 
182 THE DECAMERON 
 
 NOVEL IX 
 
 Giletta de Narbonne cures the King of France of a complaint, and 
 demands the Count de Rousstlon in marriage, as her reward; he 
 marries her against his will, and goes in a pet to Hlorence, where 
 he fell in love with a young lady, and lay with his own wife, when 
 he thought himself in bed with hts mistress. She had two sons 
 by him, and, by that means, matters were accommodated at last 
 between them. 
 
 THERE remained now only the queen to speak (saving his 
 privilege to Dioneus); therefore she began, without being 
 called upon, in this manner :— 
 Who can say anything now to please, since we have 
 heard Lauretta’s story? It is well for most of the company 
 she was not the first; for few would have. been thought so 
 agreeable after her; and so I believe it will be with regard 
 to such as are yet to. speak ; however, I shall keep to the 
 subject, and give you my story, such as it is. 
 
 There lived in France a gentleman named Isuard Count 
 Roussilon, who, because he was in a bad state of health, 
 kept always a physician in his house, called Master Gerard 
 de Narbonne. .Now the count had an only son, whose 
 name was Beltram, a fine youth, who was brought up along 
 with other children of his own age, amongst whom was a 
 daughter to this physician, called Giletta, who had an 
 infinite esteem and love (more than was common at such 
 an age) for him; whilst he, on account of his father’s 
 death, and his being left to the king’s care, was obliged to 
 go to Paris, which gave her the utmost concern: soon 
 afterwards her father dying also, she would gladly, if she 
 could have found a fit pretence, have gone thither to have 
 seen him; but such care was taken of her, as she was an 
 heiress, that it was impossible. Being now of age to marry, 
 and being unable to forget her first love, though she had 
 many offers, to whom her guardians would willingly have 
 disposed of her, she rejected them all, without assigning 
 any reason. In the meantime, her love growing more 
 violent every day, as she heard an extraordinary character 
 of him, news was brought that the King of France had 
 
THIRD DAY 183 
 
 a dangerous complaint which succeeded a swelling in his 
 breast, from its not being well cured, that gave him extreme 
 trouble; nor could he meet with a physician, though he 
 had tried many, that was able to heal it; but, on the 
 contrary, they had made it worse, insomuch that he was 
 determined to have no more advice. This was agreeable 
 enough to the young lady, not only as it afforded a pre- 
 tence for her going to Paris, but also, if the disorder proved 
 of the kind suspected, she had great hopes of getting 
 Beltram for her husband; upon which, mixing up such 
 sort of drugs as her father was wont to use in cases of that 
 nature, she hastened away to Paris, when the first thing she 
 did, after she had obtained a sight of Beltram, was to wait 
 upon, the king, to-desire he would acquaint her with his 
 malady.. His Majesty most graciously condescended to 
 grant her request: when she was instantly convinced she 
 was able to make a cure, and said, “Sir, if you will give me 
 leave, I hope, without any pain or trouble, to restore your 
 health in eight days.” The king could not help making © 
 a jest of this, saying to himself, ‘‘What! shall a woman 
 undertake to do that which has baffled all the best physicians 
 in the world?” He thanked her, therefore, for her good 
 intention, and told her that he resolved to try no more 
 medicines. The lady then replied, ‘Sir, you ridicule my 
 art, because you see me young, and a woman; but I must 
 remind you, that I do not pretend to this from my own 
 knowledge; but I rely upon the help of God, and the 
 judgment of Master Gerard de Narbonne, who was a most 
 eminent physician in his time, and my father.” The king, 
 hearing this, said to himself, ‘‘ Perhaps she is sent from 
 God to my assistance: why do I not, therefore, make trial 
 of her, as she promises to cure me, without any trouble, in 
 so short a time?” | He said, therefore, to her, ‘But sup- 
 pose you should prove mistaken, what would you forfeit 
 for making me break my resolution?” She replied: ‘If 
 your Majesty pleases, you may set a guard upon me; and 
 if you are not cured in eight days, then burn me alive: but 
 if I succeed, and you get well, what reward am I then to 
 have?” The king, made answer: ‘‘You seem to be a 
 maiden, I will dispose of you in marriage to a person of 
 
184 THE DECAMERON 
 
 great account.” “Sir,” quoth she, “I accept your offer of a 
 husband, but I will name the person, excepting all of your 
 royal house.” He immediately promised, and she began to 
 administer her medicines ; and before the limited time she 
 had wrought a thorough cure. He then said, ‘‘ Fair maid, 
 you have well earned a husband.” “Then, sir,” she replied, 
 “T have gained the Count de Roussilon, whom I have 
 loved ever since I was a child.” The king thought her 
 demand very great, but, as he had given his word, he would 
 not depart from it. He sent for him, therefore, and said 
 to him, ‘‘Beltram, you are now of age to take upon you 
 the government of your own country ; I consequently will 
 that you return thither, and take a wife whom I shall re- 
 commend to you.” ‘And who is the lady, sir?” replied 
 Beltram. ‘It is she,” said the king, ‘‘who has cured’ me 
 with her medicines.” Beltram knew and liked her well 
 enough, only that he thought her extract too low for his 
 quality; upon which he said, with some disdain, ‘* And 
 does your Majesty then mean to give mea doctress for my 
 wife? Surely I may do much better for myself.” ‘ Then,” 
 quoth the king, ‘‘ would you have me worse than my word? 
 She requested to have you, and I promised, upon condition 
 that I was made well.” ‘* My liege,” replied he, ‘*you may 
 take away what I now possess, or you may add to it if you 
 please ; but this I assure your Majesty, that I will never 
 consent to such a match.” ‘It is my pleasure to have it 
 so,” continued the king; “she is a prudent and beautiful 
 lady, and you may be happier with her, than if you were 
 married to one of greater quality.” Beltram then held his 
 peace ; and the king ordered a magnificent entertainment 
 in honour of the nuptials, and, when'the day came, Beltram 
 espoused her, much against his will, in the king’s presence, 
 which being done, he took his leave of his Majesty, as if he 
 was going to keep his wedding in his own country ; but, 
 instead of that, he went a quite different way, and came 
 to Tuscany, where he heard that the Florentines were 
 at war with the Senesi, when he willingly joined them, 
 and, having a command given him, he continued some 
 time in their service. The bride, not at all pleased with 
 his behaviour, went to Roussilon, in hopes of gaining his 
 
THIRD DAY 185 
 
 affections by her prudent management, where she was 
 received as their lady and mistress, and, finding everything 
 in disorder, on account of her husband’s long minority, she 
 used such care and diligence in restoring all to its wonted 
 tranquillity, that she gained the favour and goodwill of her 
 subjects, who blamed the count highly for his neglect of 
 her. When that was done she sent two knights to him, 
 to desire to know if it was on her account he stayed away 
 from home; and to tell him that she was willing to go 
 elsewhere to please him. But he answered roughly, that 
 she might use her pleasure: “ For,” said he, “I will go to 
 her only when she shall have this ring upon her finger, and 
 a son, begotten by me, in her arms.” Now he valued the 
 ring at a high rate, and never parted with it from his finger, 
 because of some secret virtue which he supposed it to 
 have. The knights looked upon the condition as implying 
 two impossibilities ; and, perceiving that he was not to be 
 moved from his resolution, they returned, and reported 
 his answer. The lady was much afflicted at this, and began 
 to consider if there were no way to effect these two 
 points, and consequently regain her husband. Taking her 
 measures then accordingly, she assembled all the principal 
 people of the country, when she recounted to them, in a 
 most tender and affectionate manner, all that she had done 
 for the love of the count, and what ensued thereupon ; and 
 she let them know, that it never was her intention, by 
 staying amongst them, to keep him in perpetual banish- 
 ment: wherefore she resolved to spend the remainder of 
 her life in pilgrimage, for the good of her soul; and her 
 desire was, that they would take the government upon 
 them, and inform the count that she had quitted posses- 
 sion, and left the country with a design never more to 
 return. As she was speaking these words, they all began 
 to weep, and they entreated her much to change her re- 
 solution, but to no purpose. Taking her leave, then, and 
 being attended with only a maid-servant and a relation, 
 they set forward together like pilgrims, having provided 
 themselves well with money and jewels; and, without any- 
 body’s knowing whither they were gone, they made no stop 
 till they came to Florence; there, by chance, they met 
 
 
 
 ¥, 
 

 
 2 ” 
 
 ty i 136 THE DECAMERON 
 
 with an inn that was kept by a widow, where she stayed, 
 _ with a desire of learning some news concerning her lord. 
 
 _ The next day it happened that he passed by the house 
 _ on horseback, along with his troop, when, though she knew 
 
 _ him very well, yet she asked the landlady who he was? 
 
 “Tt is a gentleman, a stranger,” answered she, “one of the 
 
 _ city, who is in love with a gentlewoman of small fortune in 
 _ this neighbourhood: she bears a good character, but is yet 
 
 | best-natured men in the world, and much respected in this 
 | 
 | 
 | 
 
 unmarried, on account of her scanty circumstances, and 
 lives with her mother.” The countess, upon hearing this, 
 began to consider more fully of what she meant to do; 
 
 and, inquiring the person’s name and where she lived, she 
 
 2 = 
 
 a oN Ss 
 
 went one day to the house, and, after the usual salutation, 
 told the old lady that she had a mind to speak to her: the 
 other arose, and said, with all her heart. They then went 
 into archamber by themselves, and sitting down together, 
 the countess began in this manner: ‘‘ Madam, you seem to 
 
 _ be as little obliged to fortune as myself; but perhaps it is 
 
 now in your power to do us both a kindness.” » ‘The other 
 replied that she should be very willing, if it could be done 
 honestly. The countess added, “I put myself entirely into 
 your hands; if you deceive me, you frustrate the purposes 
 of both.”—‘*Speak out,” said the lady; ‘‘you shall find 
 I never shall deceive you.” She then related her whole 
 story, from beginning to end, part of which the old lady 
 had heard from common report: and she added, “ You 
 _now hear the two things which I am to compass to gain 
 
 my husband, with regard to which there is no person in the 
 
 _ world can serve me besides yourself, if it be true, as I am 
 told, that he is violently in love with your daughter.”— 
 
 | “Madam,” quoth the lady, ‘‘there is some appearance of 
 the count’s liking my daughter; but whether there be any- 
 thing real, that I cannot pretend to say. But what has this 
 
 
 
 ‘ to do with your affair? ”—‘‘ That,” answered she, ‘‘ I shall 
 
 soon tell you. But you must first hear what I intend to do 
 ‘in consideration of this service of yours. I understand 
 "that you have a daughter of age to marry, whom you are 
 ‘forced to keep at home with you, for want of a fortune to 
 
 “ her: now my design is, to advance’ such a sum of 
 
 14 
 
THIRD DAY 187 
 
 money as you yourself shall think sufficient to marry her 
 reputably.” The lady liked the offer very well, but yet, 
 having the spirit of a gentlewoman, she replied: ‘“‘ Tell me 
 what you want to have done, and if it appear fair and 
 honest, I will do it most willingly, and leave the reward 
 to you.” The countess then said: “You must give the 
 count to understand, by some person whom you can trust, 
 that your daughter is ready to oblige him as soon.as she 
 can be assured that he has that real love for her which he 
 pretends, and which she knows not how to credit, unless 
 he’ sends her the ring that he usually wears, and which, 
 she hears, he sets such a value upon, This ring you must 
 give to me, and then you may let him know that your 
 daughter is at his service, and that he may come privately 
 hither as soon as he pleases, when you must put me to ‘bed 
 to him instead of your daughter. Perhaps I may prove 
 with child; so that, by having his ring on my finger, and 
 a son of his in my arms, which were the two conditions 
 required, I may live with him afterwards as my husband, 
 
 and you may be the happy instrument of it.” The lady | 
 
 was in some doubt at first, fearing some scandal might 
 befall her daughter; but considering afterwards how fit it 
 was that the good lady should have her husband, she there- 
 fore promised her assistance, and in a few days obtained 
 the ring, much against his will, and afterwards put the lady 
 to bed to him instead of her daughter. Accordingly it 
 happened that she became with child of two sons, as the 
 event made manifest, which, as soon as she perceived, she 
 said to the lady, ‘‘ Madam, my end is now answered, I have 
 nothing more to do but to satisfy you for your trouble.” 
 She replied: ‘‘If you are contented, it is well; I did it out 
 of no expectation of reward, but only as it appeared to me 
 
 quite a right thing.”—-‘‘ Madam,” continued the countess,’ 
 
 ‘JT am entirely pleased, and I intend to make you a recom- 
 pense suitable to your great merit.” She then, moved by 
 her necessity, desired, with the utmost modesty, a hundred 
 pounds for her daughter’s portion: whilst the other, know- 
 ing her great worth, and hearing her humble demand, gave 
 her five hundred, and jewels to the amount of as much 
 more, for which she was very thankful; and, to take away 
 

 
 188 THE DECAMERON 
 
 ‘ all pretence of the count’s coming any more to her house, 
 
 removed with her daughter to her friends in the country. 
 In some time, Beltram, hearing that his countess had de- 
 parted out of his territories, went thither, at the request of 
 
 his subjects; whilst she stayed at Florence till her time of 
 
 labour came, when she was brought to bed of two sons, 
 
 - very like their father, whom she took care to have well 
 
 nursed; and, in due time, without being discovered by 
 any person, she came to Montpelier, where she made some 
 stay, to rest herself and to make inquiry concerning her 
 husband: when, hearing that he was to make a great feast 
 at Roussilon, on the day of All Saints, she went thither in 
 
 
 
 _ the same pilgrim’ s dress as she at first set out in; and, just 
 
 as the guests were going to sit down at table, she pressed 
 forwards through the midst of the crowd, both of gentle- 
 men and ladies, with her two children in her arms, till, 
 coming where the count was, she threw herself at his feet, 
 _ Saying with tears, ‘‘ My lord, Iam your unhappy wife, who 
 have undertaken a long pilgrimage, in order that you might 
 
 return to your own house. I conjure you, in the presence 
 _ of God, that you abide by the two conditions enjoined me 
 
 by the two knights whom I sent fo you. Behold, not one 
 son only of yours in my arms, but two; and see, here is the 
 ring.” The count was confounded with admiration, know- 
 
 _ ing the ring and seeing the children to be like him, and said : 
 
 ‘How can this be?” She then related the whole story 
 
 ire. before all the company: whilst he, knowing her to speak 
 _ the truth, perceiving also her constancy and good manage- 
 
 ment, and beholding two such pretty children, to satisfy 
 
 also his promise, as well as to oblige the whole company, 
 
 ~~ 
 
 who requested him to take her as his wife; upon all these 
 
 considerations, I say, he laid his inveterate hatred aside, 
 and raised her up and saluted her, acknowledging her for 
 his lawful countess and the two babes for his children: he 
 ordered also suitable apparel to be brought for them, to the 
 great joy of the whole court ; whilst the feasting continued 
 not that day only but many others; and from that time he 
 showed her all due respect, and they continued happy 
 together as long as they lived. 
 
 
 
THIRD DAY 189 
 
 NOVEL X 
 
 A libech, a young girl desirous of becoming a Christian, travels to a desert 
 to consult some holy men as to the best means of serving and pleasing 
 God, Rusticus, a devout hermit, informs her that the Devil had 
 escaped from hell, that nothing could be more acceptable to God than 
 his being sent back again, and teaches her how to accomplish tt 
 which she does with his pious assistance, to her great satisfaction. 
 
 DionEvus who had listened attentively to the story just re- 
 lated by the queen, perceiving that she had finished, and 
 that it only remained for him to tell his, did not wait for 
 their commands, but smiling, thus commenced :— 
 
 Most gracious ladies, you may not have heard how the 
 devil, having broke loose, was again replaced in hell, and 
 I will, with very little deviation from the drift of all that 
 has been spoken to-day, tell you how it occurred, as the 
 knowledge of it may, peradventure, enable you to save 
 your souls. _ Although love dwells in gorgeous palaces, and 
 sumptuous apartments, more willingly than in miserable 
 and desolate cottages, it cannot be denied but that he 
 sometimes causes his power to be felt in the gloomy re- 
 cesses of forests, among the most bleak and rugged moun- 
 tains, and in the dreary caves of a desert; to comprehend 
 which, we must believe that all things are subject to his 
 power. Asa proof of the foregoing observations, I proceed 
 with the following history. 
 
 In the city of Capsa, in Barbary, there resided formerly 
 a very rich man, who had, among other children, a daughter 
 named Alibech, who was young, handsome, and docile. 
 This girl was not a Christian, but hearing the Christian 
 faith, and the serving of God much praised by the Chris- 
 tians who were in that city, demanded of one of them in 
 what manner, and how with the least interruption or 
 trouble she could. serve God. She was informed that they 
 served him best, who despised and fled from the vanities 
 and things of this world, as did those who retired to the 
 solitudes in the deserts in Thebais. The young girl, who 
 was all simplicity, and not more perhaps than fourteen 
 
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 a 
 
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 Pera! 
 Fig te 
 
 TIT Re pene 
 
 MEN a och 
 
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 etapa oy 
 
 SE en 
 
i ‘Z el 
 she Sapa” Bip 
 
 “90 THE DECAMERON 
 "years of age, nor governed by a reasonable desire, but by 
 
 the headstrong impulses of youth, without disclosing her 
 
 
 
 _ intention, started secretly the next morning for the desert 
 of Thebais. She arrived with great fatigue (her resolution 
 having continued firm) at one of the solitary places, where, 
 having discovered a little dwelling, she entered it, and 
 found a holy man who marvelled much to see the like of 
 _her, in such a place, and inquired the object of her journey. 
 She replied, that inspired by God, she came to dedicate 
 _herself to his service, and also to seek some one who could 
 _ instruct her how she must serve Him. The holy man seeing 
 her young and so beautiful, fearing that the devil might 
 tempt him, if he detained her, commended highly her 
 _ great devotion, and having given ‘her some roots and herbs, 
 ~ some wild apples and dates to eat, and some water to drink, 
 said to her: “My child, not far from hence there lives a 
 holy man who in such matters as you seek, is a greater 
 _ master than I am, go you then to him ;” and he put her 
 in the way, by which she came to the ‘cell of an hermit, 
 named Rusticus, who was young and sufficiently pious and 
 good. She made the same request to this one that she 
 / had to the other; and he, wishing to make a grand experi- 
 ment of his firmness, instead of following the example of 
 _the other by sending her away, retained her in this habita- 
 tion, and at night made a bed of palm branches in one 
 corner, that she might repose herself thereon. This done, 
 the temptations of the flesh waited not a moment to oppose 
 _ themselves to the strength of the: hermit ; who finding that 
 _ he had been too long deceived by them, without receiving 
 _too great an assault, gave himself up for. conquered, and 
 ‘setting aside divine thoughts, prayers, and discipline, began 
 to ruminate on the youth and beauty of the fair pilgrim, 
 and to devise by what ways and means he should accom- 
 plish his purpose, in order that she might not consider him 
 a dissolute man. Having in the first place, by certain in- 
 _ terrogatories, ascertained that she was as simple as she 
 appeared to be, and never had knowledge of man, it 
 occurred to him that, under the pretext of ‘serving God, he 
 could bring her to his desires.. He therefore began to 
 explain to her, that the devil was the greatest enemy of 
 
 
 
 
 
THIRD DAY 19) 
 
 our Lord, and that the service most pleasing to God, 
 was to send the Devil back again to hell, where our 
 Lord had condemned him. She demanded of him how 
 this was to be: done, which he immediately proceeded to 
 explain.? 
 
 Alla quale Rustico disse: Tu il saprai tosto, e perd farai 
 quello che a me far vedrai ; e cominciossi a spogliare quegli 
 pochi vestimenti, che aveva, e rimase tutto ignudo, e cosi 
 ancora fece la fanciulla, e posesi in ginocchione a guisa, 
 che adorar volesse ; e dirimpetto a se fece star lei. . E cosi 
 stando, essendo Rustico, piu che mai, nel suo. disidero 
 acceso, per lo vederla cosi bella, venue la resurrezion della 
 carne; la quale riguardando Alibech, e maravigliatasti, disse: 
 Rustico, quella che cosa e, che io ti veggio, che cosi si pigne 
 in fuori,e non |’ ho io? O figliuola mia, disse Rustico, 
 questo e il diavolo, di che io t’ ho parlato, e vedi tu ora: 
 egli mi da grandissima molestia, tanta, che io appena la 
 posso sofferire. Allora disse la giovane.. O lodato sia 
 Iddio, che 10 veggio, che io sto meglio, che non stai tu, 
 che io non ho cotesto diavolo io. Disse Rustico, tu di 
 vero ; ma tu hai un’ altra cosa, che non I’ ho io, et haila 
 in iscambio di questo. Disse Alibech: O che? A cui 
 Rustico disse: Hai |’ inferno; e dicoti, che io mi credo, 
 che Dio t’ abbia qui mandata per la salute dell’ anima mia ; 
 percioche, se questo diavolo pur mi dara questa noia, ove 
 tu vogli aver di me tanta pieta, e sofferire, che io in inferno 
 il rimetta; tu mi darai grandissima consolazione, et a Dio 
 farai grandissimo piacere, e servigio; se tu per quello fare 
 in queste parti venuta se’, che tu di.. La giovane di buona 
 fede rispose O padre mio, poscia che io ho |’ inferno, sia 
 pure quando vi piacera mettervi il diavolo. Disse allora 
 Rustico: Figliuola mia benedetta sia tu: andiamo dunque, 
 e rimettiamlovi si, che egli poscia mi lasci stare.. E cosi 
 detto, menate la giovane sopra uno de’ loro letticelli, le 
 ’nsegno, come star si dovesse a dover incarcerare quel 
 maladetto da Dio. La giovane, che mai piu non aveva 
 
 1 The translators regret that the disuse into which magic has fallen, 
 makes it impossible to render the technicalities of that mysterious art 
 into tolerable English ; they have therefore found it necessary to insert 
 several passages in the original Italian. 
 
192 THE DECAMERON 
 
 in inferno messo diavolo alcuno, per la prima volta senti 
 an poco di noia; perche ella disse a Rustico. 
 
 Per certo, padre mio, mala cosa dee essere questo diavolo, 
 e€ veramente nimico di Iddio che ancora all’ inferno, non 
 che altrui duole quando, egli v’ e dentro rimesso. Disse 
 Rustico: Figliuola, egli non averra sempre cosi: e per 
 fare, che questo non ayvenisse, da sei volte anziche di su 
 il letticel si movesero, ve ’l rimisero; tantoche per quella 
 volta gli trasser si la superbia del capo, che egli si stette 
 volentieri in pace. Ma ritornatagli poi nel seguente tempo 
 piu volte, e la giovane ubbidente sempre a trargliela si 
 disponesse, avvenne, che il giuoco le comincio a piacere; 
 e comincio a dire a Rustico. Ben veggio, che il ver 
 dicevano que valenti uomini in Capsa, che il servire a Dio 
 era cosi dolce cosa, e per certo io non mi ricordo, che mai 
 alcuna altra ne facessi, che di tanto diletto, € piacere mi 
 fosse, quanto e il rimettere il diavolo in inferno; e percio 
 giudico ogn’ altra persona, che ad altro che a servire a 
 Dio attende, essere una bestia. Per la qual cosa essa 
 spesse volte andava a Rustico, e gli diceva. Padre mio, 
 io son qui venuta per servire a Dio, e non per istare oziosa ; 
 andiamo a rimittere il diavolo in inferno. La qual cosa 
 faccendo, diceva ella alcuna volta. Rustico, io non so 
 perche il diavolo si fugga di ninferno, che s’ egli vi stesse 
 cosi volentieri, come |’ inferno il riceve, e tiene; egli non 
 sene uscirebbe mai. Cosi adunque invitando spesso la 
 giovane Rustico, et al servigio di Dio confortandolo, si la 
 bambagia del farsetto tratta gli avea, che egli a talora 
 sentiva freddo, che un’ altro sarebbe sudato; e percio 
 egli incomincio a dire alla giovane, che il diavolo non 
 era da gastigare, ne da rimettere in inferno, se non quando 
 egli per superbia levasse il capo; e noi, per la grazia, di 
 Dio, l’ abbiamo si sgannato, che egla priega Iddio di starsi 
 in pace: e cosi alquanto impose di silenzio alla giovane. 
 La qual, poiche vide che Rustico non la richiedeva a 
 dovere il diavolo rimittere in inferno, gli disse un giorno. 
 Rustico, se il-diavolo tuo e gastigato, e piu non ti da noia 
 me il mio ninferno non lascia stare: perche tu farai bene, 
 che tu col tuo diavolo aiuti ad attutare la rabbia al mio 
 inferno; come io col mio ninferno ho ajutato a trarre la 
 
THIRD . DAY 193 
 
 superbia al tuo diavolo Rustico, che di radici d’ erbe, e 
 d’ acqua vivea, potea male rispondere alle poste, e dissele, 
 che troppi diavoli vorrebbono essere a potere |’ inferno 
 attutare: ma che egli ne farebbe cio, che per lui si potesse ; 
 e cosi alcuna volta le sodisfaceva: ma si era di rado, che 
 altro non era che gittare una fava in bocca al leone. Da 
 che la giovane, non parendole tanto servire a Dio, quanto 
 voleva, mormorava, anzi, che no. Ma mentre che tra il 
 diavolo di Rustico, e l’inferno d’ Alibech era, per troppo 
 disiderio, e per men potere, questa questione. 
 
 Some time after a dreadful fire broke out in the city of 
 Capsa and destroyed the father of Alibech, in his own 
 house, with the rest of his children, by which circumstance 
 she became sole heir to very considerable property. There 
 was in this city a young man named Neherbal, who had 
 spent in wanton extravagance all his wealth, and knowing 
 that Alibech was alive, immediately commenced a search 
 after her, in hopes of finding her before her property was 
 dissipated by others. His exertions were such that he 
 found her and brought her to Capsa against her own 
 consent, but to the great relief of poor Rusticus. Neherbal 
 took Alibech to wife, but being in conversation with some 
 ladies of the city before that she had slept with her hus- 
 band, they asked in what manner she served God in the 
 desert. She said she served God by replacing the Devil 
 into hell, and that Neherbal had been guilty of a great 
 crime in having taken her away from such service. The 
 ladies wished to know in what manner she replaced the 
 Devil in hell. Alibech, as well by words as by gestures, 
 endeavoured to show them, which made them burst into 
 a fit of laughter, and say to her, be not melancholy, my 
 child, for they know well enough how to do that here. 
 Neherbal will serve God well with you. They related this 
 among themselves throughout the city, and it became in 
 time a common proverb, ‘‘that the most agreeable service 
 we could render God, was to replace the Devil in hell.” 
 The proverb has passed from thence across the sea to us, 
 and exists to the present day. 
 
 By this, you young ladies, to whom the grace of God is 
 necessary, may learn to put the Devil into hell, because it 
 
 G 
 
194 THE DECAMERON 
 
 is very agreeable to God; it affords exquisite pleasure to 
 both parties embarked in such devotions; and much good 
 will grow out of it and follow it. 
 
 Dioneus having finished his story, and the queen know- 
 ing her sovereignty to be now at an end, took the crown 
 from her head, and placed it upon Philostratus, saying, 
 ““We shall soon see whether the wolves govern the sheep © 
 better than the sheep have hitherto governed the wolves.” 
 He returned, with a smile, ‘‘You have no more right to 
 call us wolves, than you have to call yourselves sheep: 
 however, I take upon me the command.” Giving the proper 
 orders then to the steward, as to what he would have done, 
 he turned about to the ladies, and said :—“ It has been my 
 misfortune, ever since I was able to judge of anything, to 
 be always in love with one or other of you ladies: nor 
 has it availed me in the least that I have been humble, 
 obedient, and desirous of pleasing to the utmost of my 
 power; for I have constantly been discarded at last for 
 some other lover, going still from better to worse, and so 
 I expect to continue till I go to my grave. Therefore I 
 intend that our subject for this day shall be something 
 suitable to my own case; namely, concerning those persons 
 whose amours have had an unfortunate conclusion.” Having 
 said this, he gave them leave to depart. The garden was 
 so pleasant, that every one chose to walk thither, especially 
 as the sun was going down, where some diverted them- 
 selves with observing and running after the kids, rabbits, 
 and other creatures, that were skipping about them. 
 Dioneus and Flammetta sat together singing the song of 
 Gulielmo and the Lady of Virtue. Philomena and Pam- 
 philus played at chess. And thus they were all differently 
 employed till the time of supper, which came upon them 
 a little unexpected: when, the table being spread by the 
 side of the fountain, they supped with a great deal of 
 pleasure. As soon as the cloth was taken away, Philo- 
 stratus, not to go out of the path which had been followed 
 by the queens who had gone before him, commanded 
 Lauretta to begin a dance with a song, who replied, ‘‘ May 
 it please your Majesty, I know nothing of other people’s 
 songs, nor my own at present, which would. please so 
 
THIRD .DAY 195 
 
 agreeable a set of company: but, if you will accept of 
 such an one as I can call to mind, I will do it with a great 
 deal of pleasure:” when the king made answer, ‘‘ Nothing 
 of yours can be disagreeable; sing such as you have.” She 
 then began with a musical voice, but in a desponding 
 manner, thus: 
 
 SONG 
 CHORUS 
 
 Who can with so much cause complain, 
 As I, who love and sigh in vain? 
 
 I 
 
 He whose almighty word hath taught to move 
 The heavens, and every star above ; 
 Hath made me as you see, 
 All brisk and debonair, that I might be 
 A pattern of perfection priz’d 5 
 Yet I’m despised. 
 
 Who can, &c. 
 II 
 
 I heretofore 
 Was by a fond admirer made to prove 
 The soft persuasive force of love ; 
 Swift passed the hours of transport thus divine, 
 Whilst all his wishes, all his thoughts were mine 
 But he’s no more, 
 
 Who can, &c. 
 III 
 
 One more morose and vain 
 Next made his court ; 
 But from report 
 He jealous soon became ; 
 And falsely left me in distress, 
 Tho’ conscious then I was, 
 That charms like mine, for gen’ral view designed, 
 Were to that lover’s wishes still confin’d : 
 
 Who can, &c. 
 
196 THE DECAMERON 
 
 IV 
 
 For ever be that day accurst, 
 When to commence a bride, 
 
 I laid my sable weeds aside, 
 
 Which dress so well became me first 3 
 Thrice happy damsel, had I died 
 Before that fatal change I tried, 
 
 Who can, &c. 
 Vv 
 
 And thou, my dearest lover, once, and friend, 
 Who, with the saints above, 
 
 Enjoy’st the fruits of virtue and of love, 
 
 My pray’r attend ! 
 
 Amidst the sweet repose, which now you find, 
 Think on me, poor distressed maid ; 
 And nature’s final debt when paid, 
 
 May we then meet, and be for ever joined. | 
 
 Who can with so much cause complain, 
 As I, who love and sigh in vain? 
 
 When this song was ended, lighted torches were brought, 
 and set upon the grass; and they continued, till the stars 
 began to go down, singing and making merry. Then the 
 king thought it time for them to depart, and, wishing 
 one another good night, they retired to their respective 
 chambers. 
 
THE FOURTH DAY 
 
 THE sun had now driven all the stars from the heavens, 
 and dispelled the vapours of the night from the earth, when 
 Philostratus arose, and ordered all the company to be 
 called. They walked then into the garden, and dined, 
 when the time came, where they had supped the preceding 
 night. ‘Taking a nap afterwards, whilst the sun was at its 
 height, they returned at the usual time to the fountain side. 
 Here Philostratus commanded Flammetta to begin, who 
 spoke in a soft agreeable manner, as follows. 
 
 NOVELI 
 
 Tancred, Prince of Salerno, puts his daughter's lover to death, and 
 sends his heart to her in a golden cup; she pours water upon tt 
 which she had poisoned, and so dies. 
 
 Our king has given us a most melancholy subject for 
 this day’s discourse ; considering, that as we came hither 
 to be merry, we must now recount other people’s mis- 
 fortunes, which cannot be related without moving com- 
 passion, as well in those who tell as in those who hear 
 them. Perhaps it is designed as an alloy to the mirth of 
 the preceding days. But whatever his reason may be for it, 
 I have no business to make any alteration with regard to 
 his pleasure, I shall, therefore, mention an unhappy story 
 to you, worthy of your most tender compassion. 
 
 Tancred, prince of Salerno, was a most humane and 
 generous lord, had he not in his old age defiled his hands 
 in a lover’s blood. He, through the whole course of his 
 life, had one only daughter ; and happy had he been not to 
 
 197 
 
198 THE DECAMERON 
 
 have possessed her. No child could be more dear to a 
 parent than she was, which made him loth to part with 
 her in marriage: at length, not till she was a little advanced 
 in years, he married her to the Duke of Capoa, when she 
 was soon left a widow, and came home again to her father. 
 She was a lady of great beauty and understanding, and 
 continuing thus in the court of her father, who took no 
 care to marry her again; and it seeming not so modest 
 in her to ask it, she resolved at last to have a lover 
 privately. Accordingly she made choice of a person of 
 low parentage but noble qualities, whose name was Guiscard, 
 with whom she became violently in love: and by often 
 seeing him, and evermore commending his manner and 
 behaviour, he soon became sensible of it, and devoted him- 
 self entirely to the love of her. Affecting each other thus 
 in secret, and she desiring nothing so much as to be 
 with him, and not daring to trust any person with the 
 affair, contrived a new stratagem in order to apprise him of 
 the means. She wrote a letter, wherein she mentioned 
 what she would have him do the next day for her ; this she 
 put into a hollow cane, and giving it to him one day, 
 she said, pleasantly, ‘‘ You may make a pair of bellows of 
 this for your servant to blow the fire with this evening.” 
 He received it, supposing very justly that it had some 
 meaning: and, taking it home, found the letter; which, 
 when he had thoroughly considered, and knew what he 
 had to do, he was the most overjoyed man that could 
 be; and he applied himself accordingly to answer het . 
 assignation, in the manner she had directed him. On one 
 side of the palace, and under a mountain, was a grotto, 
 which had been made time out of mind, and into which no 
 light could come but through a little opening dug in thé 
 mountain, and which, as the grotto had been long in 
 disuse, was grown over with briars and thorns. Into 
 this grotto was a passage by a private staircase, out of one 
 of the rooms of the palace, which belonged to the lady’s 
 apartment, and was secured by a very strong door. © This 
 passage was so far out of every one’s thoughts, having been 
 disused for so long a time, that nobody remembered 
 anything about it: but love, whose notice nothing can 
 
FOURTH DAY 199 
 
 escape, brought it fresh into the mind of the enamoured 
 lady; who, to keep this thing entirely private, laboured 
 some days before she could get the door open; when, 
 having gone down into the cave and observed the opening, 
 and how high it might be from thence to the bottom, 
 she acquainted him with the fact. Guiscard then provided 
 a ladder of cords; and casing himself well with leather, to 
 be defended from the thorns, fixing one end of the ladder 
 to the stump of a tree which was near, he slid down by the 
 help of it to the bottom, where he stayed expecting the 
 lady. The following day, therefore, having sent her maids 
 out of the way, under pretence that she was going to lie 
 down, and locking herself up alone in her chamber, she 
 opened the door and descended into the grotto, where they 
 met to their mutual satisfaction. From thence she showed 
 him the way to her chamber, where they were together the 
 greatest part of the day, and, taking proper measures for 
 the time to come, he went away through the cave and she 
 returned to her maids. The same he did the next night, 
 and he followed this course for a considerable time, when 
 fortune, as if she envied them their happiness, thought fit 
 to change their mirth into mourning. Tancred used some- 
 times to come into his daughter’s chamber, to pass a little 
 time away with her; and going thither one day after dinner, 
 whilst the lady, whose name was Ghismond, was with her 
 maids in the garden; and, being perceived by no one, nor 
 yet willing to take her from her diversion, finding also the 
 window shut and the curtains drawn to the foot of the bed, 
 he threw himself down in a great chair, which stood in 2 
 corner of the room, leaning his head upon the bed, and 
 drawing the curtain before him, as if he concealed himself 
 on purpose, when he chanced to fall asleep. In the mean- 
 time, Ghismond, having made an appointment with her 
 lover, left the maids in the garden and came into her 
 chamber, which she secured, not thinking of any person 
 being there, and went to meet Guiscard, who was in the 
 cave waiting for her, and brought him into her chamber; 
 when her father awoke, and was a witness to: all that 
 passed between them. This was the utmost affliction to 
 him, and he was about to cry out, but upon second thoughts 
 
200 THE DECAMERON 
 
 he resolved to keep it private if possible, that he might be 
 able to do more securely, and with less disgrace, what he 
 had resolved upon. The lovers stayed together their usual 
 time, without perceiving anything of Tancred, who, after 
 they were departed, got out of the window into the garden, 
 old as he was, and went, without being seen by any one,’ 
 very sorrowful to his chamber. The next night, according 
 to his orders, Guiscard was seized by two men.as he was 
 coming out of the cave, and carried by them in his leathern 
 doublet to Tancred, who, as soon as he saw him, said, with 
 tears in his eyes, ‘‘ Guiscard, you have ill requited my kind-. 
 ness towards you by this outrage and shame which you 
 have brought upon me, and of which this very day I have 
 been an eye-witness.” When he made no other answer 
 but this: ‘‘Sir, love hath greater power than either you 
 or I.” Tancred then ordered a guard to be set over him. 
 And fhe next day he went to his daughter's apartment as 
 usual, she knowing nothing of what had happened, and, 
 shutting the door that they might be private together, he 
 said to her, weeping, ‘‘ Daughter, I had such an opinion of 
 your modesty and virtue that I could never have believed, 
 had I not seen it with my own eyes, that you would have 
 violated either, even so much as in thought. My reflecting 
 on this will make the pittance of life that is left very grievous 
 to me. As you were determined to act in that manner, 
 would to Heaven you had made choice of a person more 
 suitable to your own quality; but for this Guiscard, he is 
 one of the very meanest persons about my court. This © 
 gives me such concern that I scarcely know what to do. 
 As for him, he was secured by my order last night, and his 
 fate is determined. But, with regard to yourself, I am 
 influenced by two different motives; on one side the 
 tenderest regard that a father can have for a child, and on 
 the other the justest vengeance for the great folly you have 
 committed. One pleads strongly in your behalf, and the 
 other would excite me to do an act contrary to my nature. 
 But, before I come to a resolution, I would hear what you 
 have to say for yourself.” And when he had said this, he 
 hung down his head and wept like a child. 
 
 She, hearing this from her father, and perceiving that 
 
FOURTH DAY 201 
 
 their amour was not only discovered, but her lover in 
 prison, was under the greatest concern imaginable, and 
 was going to break out into loud and grievous lamenta- 
 tions, as is the way of women in distress; but getting the 
 better of this weakness, and putting on a settled coun- 
 tenance, as, supposing Guiscard was dead, and being 
 resolved firmly in her own mind not to outlive him, she 
 spoke therefore with all the composure in the world to this 
 purpose: “Sir, to deny what I have done, or to entreat 
 any favour of you, is no part of my design at present; for 
 as the one can avail me nothing, so I intend the other 
 shall be of little service. I will take no advantage of. your 
 love and tenderness towards me; but shall first, by an 
 open confession, endeavour to vindicate myself, and then 
 do what the greatness of my soul prompts me to. ’Tis 
 most true that I have loved, and do still love, Guiscard: 
 and whilst I live, which will not be long, shall continue to 
 love him; and if such a thing as love be after death, even 
 that shall not dissolve it. To this I was induced by no 
 frailty, so much as his superior virtue, and the little care 
 you took to marry me again. I preferred him before all 
 the world: and as to the meanness of his station, to which 
 you so much object, that is more the fault of fortune, who 
 often raises the most unworthy to a high estate, neglecting 
 those of greater merit. We are all formed of the same 
 materials, and by the same hand. The first difference 
 amongst mankind was made by virtue; they who were 
 virtuous were deemed noble, and the rest were all ac- 
 counted otherwise. Though this law therefore may have 
 been obscured by contrary custom, yet is it discarded 
 neither by nature nor good manners. If you then alone 
 regard the worth and virtue of your courtiers, and consider 
 that of Guiscard, you will find him the only noble person, 
 and the others a set of poltroons. With regard to his 
 worth and valour, I appeal to yourself. Who ever com- 
 mended man more for everything that was praiseworthy, 
 than you have commended him? and deservedly in my 
 judgment; but if I was deceived, it was by following your 
 opinion. If you say, then, that I have had an affair with 
 a person base and ignoble, I deny it; if with a poor one, 
 G2 
 
202 THE DECAMERON 
 
 it is to your shame, to let such merit go unrewarded 
 Now concerning your last doubt, namely, how you are to 
 deal with me; use your pleasure. If you are disposed to 
 commit an act of cruelty, I shall say nothing to prevent 
 such a resolution. But this I must apprise you of, that 
 unless. you do the same to me, which you either have done, 
 or mean to do to Guiscard, my own hands shall do it for 
 you. Reserve your tears then for women: and if you 
 mean to act with severity, cut us off both together, if it 
 appear to you that we have deserved it.” The prince 
 knew full well the greatness of her soul: but yet he could 
 by no means persuade himself that she would have resolu- 
 tion enough to do what her words seemed to threaten. 
 Leaving her then, with a design of being favourable to 
 her, and intending to wean her affection from her lover 
 by taking him off; he gave orders to the two men, who 
 guarded him, to strangle him privately in the night, and 
 to take his heart out of his body, and bring it to him. 
 Accordingly they executed his commands, and the next 
 day he called for a golden cup, and putting the heart into 
 it, he had it conveyed by a trusty servant to his daughter, 
 with this message: ‘‘ Your father sends this present to 
 comfort you, with what was most dear to you; even as he 
 was comforted by you, in what was most dear to him.” 
 She had departed from her father, not at all moved as to 
 her resolution, and therefore had prepared the juices of 
 some poisonous plants, which she had mixed with water, 
 to be at hand if what she feared should come to pass. 
 When the servant had delivered the present, and reported 
 the message according to his order, she took the cup with- 
 out changing countenance, and seeing the heart therein, 
 and knowing by the words that it must be Guiscard’s, she 
 looked steadfastly at the servant, and said, ‘‘ My father has 
 done very wisely ; such a heart as this requires no worse a 
 sepulchre than that of gold.” And upon this she lifted it 
 to her mouth and kissed it, thus continuing: “‘ All my life 
 long, even to this last period of it, have I found my father’s 
 love most abundant towards me, but now more than ever; 
 therefore return him in my name the last thanks that I 
 shall ever be able to give him for such a present.” Look- 
 
FOURTH DAY 203 
 
 ing then towards the cup, which she held fast in her hand, 
 she said: “Alas! the dearest end and centre of all. my 
 wishes! Cursed be the cruelty of him, by whom these 
 eyes now see you; although my soul hath long viewed and 
 known you. You have finished your course; such an one 
 indeed as fortune has thought fit to allot you; you are 
 arrived at the goal to which we all tend; you have left the 
 miseries of this world far behind, and have obtained such 
 a sepulchre from your very enemy as your merit required. 
 Nothing remained to make your obsequies complete, but 
 the tears of her who was so dear to you whilst you were 
 living: and which, that you should not now want, Heaven 
 put it into the mind of my relentless father to send you to 
 me. And you shall have them, though I had proposed to 
 die unmoved, and without shedding a tear; and when I 
 have done, I will instantly join my soul to yours: for in 
 what other company can I go better and safer to those 
 unknown regions? as J make no doubt your soul is hover- 
 ing here, expecting mine.” When she had done speaking, 
 she shed a flood of tears, kissing the heart a thousand 
 times; whilst the damsels who were about her knew neither 
 what heart it was, nor what those her words imported: but 
 being moved with pity, they joined with her, begging to 
 know the cause of her grief, and endeavouring all they 
 could to comfort her. After she had lamented as much 
 as she thought proper, she raised up her head, and wiping 
 her eyes, said, “‘Thou heart most dearly beloved, all my 
 duty is now performed towards thee ; nothing more remains 
 but for my soul to accompany thine.” Upon this she bade 
 them reach the vessel of water, which she had prepared 
 the day before, and pouring it into the cup with the heart, 
 which she had sufficiently washed with her tears, she drank 
 it all off without the least dread or apprehension, and 
 threw herself upon the bed with the cup in her hand, com- 
 posing her body as decently as she could, and pressing her 
 lover’s heart to hers, she lay without uttering a word more, 
 expecting death. The maids, when they saw this, though 
 they knew not what it was she had drunk, sent to acquaint 
 Tancred ; who, fearing what had really happened, came 
 into the room soon after she had laid herself down, and 
 
204 THE DECAMERON 
 
 finding it was too late, began to lament most grievously : 
 she then said to him, “Sir, save these tears against worse 
 fortune that may happen, for I want them not. Who but 
 yourself would mourn for a thing of your own doing? 
 But if any part of that love now remain in you, which you 
 once had for me, the last request I shall make is, that as 
 you would not suffer us to be happy together whilst living, 
 that our two bodies (wherever you have disposed of his) 
 may be publicly interred together when dead.” Extreme 
 grief would suffer him to make no reply: when finding her- 
 self drawing near her end, she strained the heart strongly 
 to her breast, saying, ‘‘ Receive us, Heaven, I die!” ‘Then 
 closing her eyes, all sense forsook her, and she departed 
 this miserable life. Such an end had the amours of Guis- 
 card and Ghismond, as you have now heard; whilst the 
 prince, repenting of his cruelty when it was too late, had 
 them buried in one grave in the most public manner, to 
 the general grief of all the people of Salerno. 
 
 NOVEL II 
 
 Friar Albert makes a woman believe that an angel is in love with her, 
 and in that shape deceives her. Afterwards, for fear of her rela- 
 tions, he throws himself out of the window, and takes shelter in a 
 poor man’s house; who exposes him the mext day in the public 
 market-place in the form of a wild man; when he ts discovered by 
 two friars, and put into prison, 
 
 THE story related by Flammetta drew tears several times 
 from the eyes of all the company; but it being now finished, 
 the king, looking gravely, said, ‘I would have given my 
 life willingly to have enjoyed but half the pleasure which 
 these lovers met with. Nor need you wonder at that, be- 
 cause I undergo a thousand deaths daily, without the least 
 pleasure whatever in return. But letting my fortune alone 
 for the present, it is my will that Pampinea proceed; who, 
 if she goes on as Flammetta has begun, I shall expect 
 to receive some small degree of comfort more to my 
 affliction.” , 
 
 Pampinea, finding herself fixed upon for the next, and 
 
FOURTH DAY 205 
 
 having more regard to the inclination of the company, 
 which she very well knew, than the king’s command, and 
 more desirous of diverting them than of satisfying his 
 melancholy temper, resolved upon a novel which would 
 make them laugh, keeping still to the subject proposed :— 
 It is a common saying, said she, that a wicked man, whe 
 has the reputation of being virtuous and good, may do 
 many bad things, and nobody believe it. This affords 
 ample matter for discourse, and a fit handle for me to 
 show how great the hypocrisy is of some of the religious, 
 who have their garments long and large; their faces made 
 pale artificially, and on purpose; their language meek and 
 humble, to get men’s goods from them ; yet sour and harsh 
 enough in reproving them of those vices of which they 
 themselves are guilty ; whilst they pretend that they them- 
 selves merit heaven as much by receiving as the others do 
 _ by giving. Who also, not as if they were to get thither 
 _ by their own endeavours, but as though they were the 
 possessors and lords of it, portion out to every person that 
 dies a better or worse place therein, according to the sum 
 of money. bequeathed to them; deceiving themselves in 
 the first place, if they really mean what they say, and those 
 afterwards who put their trust in them. Of whom, might 
 I have the liberty of speaking all I know, I could quickly 
 disclose to many simple people what wickedness is too 
 often concealed under that holy habit. I could wish, 
 however, that the same success might attend the hypocrisy 
 of them all, as befell a certain friar, who was concerned in 
 some of the best families in Venice, the relation of which 
 may prove some diversion to you, after your grief for the 
 death of Ghismond. 
 
 There lived at Imola a man of a very bad life, called 
 Berto della Massa, whose evil works had gained him such 
 a character there, that nobody could believe him even when 
 he spoke the truth, Finding, therefore, that all his quirks 
 and cunning would stand him in no further stead at Imola, 
 he removed, in a kind of despair, to Venice, the common 
 receptacle of all sorts of wickedness, when he resolved to 
 manage in a quite different manner from what he had 
 done; and, as if he felt some remorse of conscience for 
 
206 THE DECAMERON 
 
 his past life, pretending also to be seized with uncommon 
 zeal and devotion, he turned friar, calling himself Father 
 Albert of Imola. In'this habit he seemed to lead a mighty 
 sanctified life, highly commending penance and abstinence, 
 and eating no flesh and drinking no wine; but then it was 
 when he could get neither to please him. Besides this, 
 when he was officiating at the altar at any time, if he was 
 taken notice of by many people, he would be sure to weep 
 over our Saviour’s passion, having tears enough at com- 
 mand whenever he pleased. To be short, what with his 
 preaching and crying together, he had so far insinuated 
 himself into the good graces of the people of Venice, that 
 there was scarcely a will made but he was left executor ; he 
 had the care also and disposal of many people’s money ; 
 and was the great adviser and confessor to the greatest 
 part both of men and women ; so that from a wolf he became 
 the shepherd, and the fame of his sanctity was greater than 
 ever was that of St. Francis. Now it happened that a vain 
 simple lady, named Lisetta de Ca Quirino, wife to a mer- 
 chant, who was gone a voyage to Flanders, came one day, 
 with some other women, to confess to this holy friar; and 
 being asked, as she was confessing, if she had a lover; 
 replied, putting on an angry countenance, “‘ What! father, 
 have you no eyes in your head? Where do you see a 
 woman so handsome as myself? I could have lovers 
 enough; but my beauty is designed for none of them; it 
 is fit only to appear in heaven itself.” Using many more 
 expressions of that sort, enough to give any one a surfeit 
 to hear them, Father Albert immediately saw her blind 
 side, and thought her fit game for his purpose, but deferred 
 using any flattering speeches till a more convenient oppor- 
 tunity; to show himself, however, holy for that time, he 
 began to reprove her, telling her it was vain-glory, and so 
 forth. Whereupon she called him brute, and told him he 
 could not distinguish beauty when he saw it. He then, 
 not to provoke her too far, took her confession, and dis- 
 missed her. A little time after, taking a friend with him 
 whom he could trust, to the house, he went with her to 
 one side of the hall, where nobody could see them, and 
 falling down upon his knees, said, ‘“‘ Madam, I must beg, for 
 
FOURTH DAY 207 
 
 Heaven’s sake, that you would forgive me for blaspheming 
 your beauty as I did last Sunday; since I was so chastised 
 the following night for it, that I could not rise out of my 
 bed before to-day.” ‘‘ And who,” quoth the foolish lady, 
 ‘chastised youin that manner?” ‘I will tell you,” replied 
 Albert; “as I was saying my prayers that night, according 
 to my usual manner, suddenly a great light shone around 
 me, and, as I turned about to see what it was, a beautiful 
 youth appeared, with a staff in his hand, who took hold of 
 my hood, and threw me down upon the floor, and beat 
 me in such a manner that I was almost killed. Upon my 
 asking what all that correction was for, he made answer, 
 ‘Because thou didst so saucily presume to reprove the 
 celestial beauty of Madam Lisetta, whom I love above all 
 things in the world.’ ‘And who are you then?’ I de- 
 manded. He replied, ‘I am an angel.’ ‘I humbly beg 
 then,’ quoth I, ‘that you would forgive me.’ He answered, 
 ‘I do forgive you, upon condition that you go the very 
 first opportunity to her, and obtain her pardon: and unless 
 she thinks fit to excuse you, I shall return, and give you 
 such discipline as you shall feel as long as you live.’ What 
 he said more I dare not speak, unless I have your forgive- 
 ness.” The simple woman, who was puffed up till she was 
 fit to burst with vanity, gave ear to this ridiculous story, 
 and said, ‘I told you, Father Albert, that my beauties 
 were of the celestial kind; I am sorry for what you have 
 suffered, and heartily forgive you; but tell me what the 
 angel said besides.” ‘‘That I will,” said he; “but one 
 thing I must enjoin you, namely, that you tell it to no 
 person living, unless you have a mind to ruin all; for you 
 are certainly the happiest woman on the face of the earth. 
 He told me, then, that he had such a regard for you, that 
 he should frequently come to visit you, if he thought you 
 would not be too much terrified. He bid me tell you, 
 therefore, that he should come some evening in human 
 shape, and would know from you when you would choose 
 to see him, and whose form and person you would have 
 him assume.” She replied that she approved of it very 
 well, that she should be alone this evening, and that what- 
 ever form and manner he came in, she should not be 
 
208 THE DECAMERON 
 
 afraid. ‘‘ Madam,” he continued, ‘‘ you talk well, it shall 
 be done as you have agreed; but I have a favour to beg, 
 which will cost you nothing, it is that he may put on my 
 person: my soul will be in a kind of trance in the mean- 
 time, as it will be then disengaged from the body.” “I 
 consent with all my heart,” answered she; ‘it will be some 
 amends for the blows you have received.” § “ But,” said 
 he, “the door must be open, otherwise, as he comes in 
 human shape, he would not be able to enter your house.” 
 She promised it should be done, and when night came he 
 went to a woman’s house, that he used to frequent when 
 he had such affairs in hand, where, getting his sham wings 
 and other accoutrements ready, he came flying at last into 
 the lady’s chamber. He stayed with her all that night, 
 and at break of day went out in the same manner as he 
 came in; whilst the lady was so proud of her gallant, that 
 she could not help boasting of it to one of her neighbours, 
 who was so tickled with the story, that she told it amongst 
 a whole company of gossips, who again reporting it to 
 others, in less than two days it was known all over Venice. 
 Her relations heard of it, amongst the rest, who, for several 
 nights together, kept constant. watch, to make a discovery, 
 if possible, of this angel. One night, accordingly, he was 
 coming to reprimand her for making it public, and had no 
 sooner got into the room, and stripped himself of his wings, 
 and other habiliments, but they were at the door! which 
 he perceiving, and seeing no other way to escape, opened 
 the casement that was over the great canal, and threw him- 
 self directly into it. 
 
 As the river was deep and he able to swim, he received 
 no harm; espying then a cottage on the other side with 
 the door open he made towards it, and, entering, entreated 
 the honest man, telling him a thousand lies concerning the 
 reason of his coming there in that manner, and, at that 
 time, to save his life; who, being moved with pity, and 
 having some affairs which called him away for a time, 
 desired him to go into his bed and lie there till he should | 
 return; he locked him then in the house, and went about 
 his business. The lady’s relations, upon coming into 
 her chamber, found that the angel had left his wings, and 
 
FOURTH DAY 209 
 
 flown away without them. They gave her, therefore, a 
 Severe reprimand, calling her all the vile simple women in 
 the world; and they carried off the angel’s implements 
 along with them. In the meantime, as soon as it was day, 
 the man, being on the other side of the Rialto, heard the 
 whole story of a fellow’s personating an angel to be with 
 Lisetta, and how he was discovered by her relations and 
 forced to leap into the canal, and that nobody knew what 
 was become of him; whence he concluded that it must be 
 the same man he had in his house. Finding this upon 
 his coming home to be the fact, after some discourse 
 together, he made him send home for five hundred ducats, 
 threatening otherwise to deliver him up to the woman’s 
 friends, when, after the money was brought and the friar 
 desirous of getting away, the honest man said further to 
 him, *‘I see no way for your escape but one; to-day we 
 make a great rejoicing, when one person is to bring a man 
 _ clothed like a bear, another like a wild man, and so on; 
 and in that manner people are to come under different 
 disguises into St. Mark’s Place, as to a hunt; and when 
 the diversion is over, every. man leads away the person 
 that he brings to what quarter he pleases. Now if, before 
 any one knows that you are here, you will consent to be 
 led in one of those disguises, I will carry you afterwards 
 where you will; otherwise I do not see how you can get 
 away without being observed, for the relations are every- 
 where out upon the scout for you.” This seemed a hard 
 sentence to the father, but his fear of being discovered was 
 so great that he consented at last: accordingly he was 
 besmeared all over with honey, and covered all over with 
 down; and putting a chain about his neck and a vizard 
 upon his face, with a great stick in one hand and a couple 
 of butcher’s mastiffs in the other, a man was sent before to 
 the Rialto, to make public proclamation that all who had a 
 mind to see the angel so much talked of might repair to 
 St. Mark’s Place; which was a Venetian trick at best.— 
 When that was done, he was led forth, and all the way as 
 he was carried along there was a great outcry of the people, 
 wondering what thing it was; and being brought into the 
 great square, what with the people that followed and those 
 
aa THE DECAMERON 
 
 that flocked hither upon hearing the proclamation, the 
 crowd was immensely great. The fellow then tied his 
 wild man to a pillar, pretending to wait till the sport 
 began; in the meantime the flies and wasps, as he was 
 bedaubed with honey, began to grow exceedingly trouble- 
 some to him. Perceiving at last the square sufficiently 
 crowded, under pretence of turning him loose, he took off 
 the vizard, and said, ‘Gentlemen, as I find we are to have 
 no other sport to-day, I intend to show you the angel 
 which used to come at nights to visit the Venetian ladies.” 
 No sooner was the vizard removed than they knew him to 
 be Father Albert, and there was a most terrible outcry 
 against him, every one pelting him with whatever filthiness 
 came to their hands, till at length the news reached the 
 convent, when two of his brethren came and brought him 
 one of their habits and carried him away with the utmost 
 difficulty, and he was consequently thrown into prison, 
 where he ended his days in a miserable manner. It was 
 thus this man’s consummate hypocrisy and blasphemy met 
 with their due reward; and may the like fate attend all 
 such villains as himself ! 
 
 NOVEL III 
 
 Three young men fall in love with three sisters, and fly with them into 
 Crete. The eldest destroys her lover out of jealousy; and the 
 second, by consenting to the Duke of Crete’s request, is the means 
 of saving her sister's life: afterwards her lover kills her, and goes 
 away with the eldest sister. The third couple ts charged with 
 her death, which they confess, and afterwards fee their keepers, 
 and, making their escape, die at Rhodes at last in great necessity. 
 
 WHEN Philostratus heard the conclusion of Pampinea’s 
 novel, he stood some time in suspense, and at last, turning 
 towards her, he said, 
 
 “There was something good in the end of your story, 
 but the beginning was much too ludicrous.” Then, 
 pointing to Lauretta, he added, “Do you go on with a 
 better if you can.” ‘She smilingly replied, You are too 
 hard upon poor lovers to desire that their affairs should 
 
FOURTH DAY 211 
 
 always end unfortunately. Nevertheless I shall, in com- 
 pliance with your orders, give an account of three persons 
 who were equally unhappy that way, and thus I proceed :— 
 Every vice, as you very well know, may turn not only to 
 the disadvantage of such as are subject to it, but of others 
 also: and of all vices anger is that which hurries us along 
 most blindly to our ruin. Now this passion seems to be 
 a sudden and rash emotion, raised in us by an injury 
 received ; which, driving away all sense and reason, and 
 veiling the eyes of our understanding, kindles in our souls 
 a most violent fury. And as men are governed by it too 
 often, though some more than others, yet is it of worse 
 consequence in women, as it is more easily kindled in 
 them, and burns also with a more fierce and lasting flame. 
 Nor is this to be wondered at, for fire, in its own nature, is 
 apt to take hold the soonest of such things as are of the 
 lightest consistence, and our texture, we know, is much 
 more delicate than that of men. Seeing, therefore, how 
 prone we are to it naturally ; considering, also, that nothing 
 can recommend us more to the good esteem of the men 
 with whom we are to spend our lives than mildness and 
 good-nature, and, on the contrary, that anger is attended 
 with infinite danger and trouble, I shall, for your greater 
 defence and security in this respect, relate the loves of 
 three young men and as many ladies, who all became 
 miserable through the fury of one. 
 
 Marseilles, you know, is an ancient and famous city in 
 Provence, situated on the sea coast, and was better stored 
 formerly with rich citizens and wealthy merchants than it 
 is at present; amongst whom was a person called Narnald 
 Cluada, one of a fair character, and immensely rich, who, 
 besides his other children, had three daughters ; the two 
 eldest, who were twins, were about fifteen years of age, and 
 the other fourteen, and there was nothing wanting to the 
 disposing of all three in marriage but the return of their 
 father, who ‘was gone on a trading voyage to Spain. The 
 names of the two former were Ninetta and Magdalena, and 
 of the last Bertella. Now there was a worthy young gentle- 
 man, but of small fortune, named Restagnone, in love with 
 Ninetta, and she having the same good liking for him, this 
 
212 THE DECAMERON 
 
 affair was carried on for some time between them without 
 anybody’s knowing anything of the matter. In the mean- 
 time, two other young gentlemen, who were both rich, their 
 fathers being just dead, fell in love with the other two sisters ; 
 the one, whose name was Folco, having made choice of 
 Magdalena, and the other called Ughetto, of Bertella. 
 Restagnone being apprised of this by Ninetta, contrived 
 a way to make up his want of wealth by their love, and 
 getting into company sometimes with one, and then with 
 the other, and going with them, after they became a little 
 acquainted together, to see their mistresses and his own, he 
 took occasion one day to invite them to his house, when he 
 spoke to them in this manner: ‘‘Gentlemen, our acquaint- 
 ance for some time past may have convinced you of the 
 great esteem I have for you, so as to have your interests 
 at heart equally with my own: I shall now acquaint you, 
 therefore, with a thought which has just come into my mind, 
 and you may do afterwards as shall seem most proper. It 
 plainly appears that you have the utmost regard and value 
 for the two young ladies, and I have the same for the third 
 sister. I think, if you will consent to it, that I have found 
 out an expedient agreeable enough, which is as follows: 
 you are both very rich, and I am otherwise; make then 
 one joint stock, and let me come in a partner with you, 
 and resolve on what part of the world we shall go to, to 
 live happily together, and I will undertake that the three 
 sisters shall bear us company, with a good part of their 
 father’s wealth; so that every one of us may have his 
 mistress, and we live like brethren together, with great 
 comfort and satisfaction. Say then what you mean to do.” 
 
 The young gentlemen were so much in love that they 
 gave themselves very little time to reflect upon what was 
 proposed; but declared that, happen what would, they 
 were ready to comply. Upon this, he took the first oppor- 
 tunity that offered, and which was no easy matter to 
 compass, of being with Ninetta, when he made the same 
 proposal to her, enforcing it by divers reasons, which he 
 had no great occasion to do, because it was entirely to her 
 liking. She told him, therefore, that she consented herself, 
 and would persuade her sisters; that, in the meantime, he 
 
FOURTH DAY 213 
 
 should get everything in readiness for such an expedition. 
 He returned then to his two friends, who grew impatient 
 to be gone, and told them that everything was in readiness 
 on the part of the ladies. Their resolution was to go to 
 Crete; and, selling all their estates under the pretence of 
 turning merchants, they bought a light frigate, which they 
 armed and victualled with great secrecy against the time 
 appointed. During this, Ninetta, who was no stranger to 
 her sisters’ inclinations, had wrought so far upon them by 
 her fine persuasions, that they longed for nothing so much 
 as their departure. The night being come, therefore, when 
 they were to embark, the three ladies opened their father’s 
 cabinet, and took out a great quantity of money and 
 jewels, with which they stole away to meet their lovers, 
 who were expecting them at the place appointed; when 
 they immediately set sail, and made no stop anywhere 
 till they came to Genoa the next night, where they con- 
 summated their several nuptials. From thence they went 
 from port to port, till in eight days they arrived at Crete, 
 where they purchased estates and fine houses, and lived 
 like noblemen, keeping great numbers of servants, horses, 
 dogs, &c., for their diversion; so that none seemed to 
 enjoy more pleasure and satisfaction than themselves. 
 Passing their time away in this manner, it happened (as it 
 happens every day, that things, however coveted by us, 
 nauseate by over great plenty), that Restagnone, who had 
 an ardent affection for Ninetta before she was in his power, 
 began now to be abundantly more cool in that respect ; 
 for, being at a feast one day, he met with a lady, with 
 whom he became violently in love, and he began to give 
 treats and entertainments for her sake, till his wife grew 
 so jealous that he could never stir a step but she had 
 notice of it, and expressed the utmost uneasiness both in 
 her words and behaviour to him on that account. But as 
 plenty always cloys, and as to have what we want denied 
 us whets the appetite, so did this vexation of hers increase 
 the flame of his love. For whether it was that he had 
 really accomplished his desires or not, Ninetta, whoever 
 told her so; believed it: and she consequently fell into 
 such a fit of sorrow and fury afterwards, that her love for 
 
214 THE DECAMERON 
 
 her husband was exchanged into extreme hatred; and she 
 resolved to revenge the wrong she had sustained with his 
 death. Meeting then with an old Grecian woman, skilled 
 in all sorts of poisons, she engaged her, by presents and 
 large promises, to prepare a deadly water, which she gave 
 him, without any further. consideration, one evening, when 
 he was very thirsty, to drink; and the power of it was 
 such, that he died before morning. Folco and Ughetto, 
 with their wives, knowing nothing of his dying of poison, 
 lamented over him very much along with Ninetta, and had 
 him honourably buried. But not many days afterwards 
 the old woman was taken up for some other crime, when 
 she confessed this. Whereupon the Duke of Crete, without 
 saying a word to any person about it, had Folco’s palace 
 beset one night, and Ninetta brought quietly away prisoner 
 from thence ; who, without any torture, confessed the whole 
 of Restagnone’s death. He therefore acquainted Folco 
 and Ughetto with it, who used all their interest with him 
 to prevent her being burnt, which they understood was 
 likely to be her sentence, but all to no purpose; the 
 duke seemed resolved to have justice done. Hereupon 
 Magdalena, a very beautiful lady, and whom the duke had 
 long taken a fancy to, though hitherto to no purpose, sup- 
 posing now that by obliging him she might save her sister’s 
 life, sent privately to let him know that she would comply 
 with his entreaties upon two conditions: the one was, that 
 her sister should be set free ; and the other, that the whole 
 should be a secret. The duke liked the message, and 
 agreed to what was proposed. Wherefore, keeping Folco 
 and Ughetto prisoners one night, by her consent, as if he 
 wanted some further information, he went privately after- 
 wards to Magdalena, and pretending that he had caused 
 Ninetta to be put into a sack, and thrown into the sea, he 
 took her along with him to her sister, to whom he gave her 
 up, according to their agreement, charging Magdalena to 
 send her out of the way, to prevent all blame and censure, 
 and lest he should be compelled to proceed with rigour 
 against her. The next morning Folco and Ughetto were 
 told that their sister was put to death, and being released, 
 went home to comfort their wives for the loss of her; and 
 
FOURTH DAY 215 
 
 Magdalena endeavoured, as’ much as possible, to keep he 
 concealed ; yet Folco had some suspicion that she was in 
 the house, and was at last convinced of it; which occa- 
 sioned some jealousy, as he knew the duke’s regard for his 
 wife: therefore he asked her how it happened that Ninetta 
 was there? She began then a long story, to which he gave 
 but little credit, and forced her at last to confess the truth. 
 Upon which, being provoked to the last degree, he drew 
 his sword, and stabbed her to the heart, she begging in 
 vain for mercy: fearing afterwards the duke’s resentment 
 he went into the room to Ninetta, and said cheerfully to 
 her: “Let us go away directly, according to your sister’s 
 appointment, for fear you should fall into the hands of the 
 duke.” She was desirous of getting away, and accordingly, 
 without taking any leave of her sister, went off in great 
 haste along with him, who took only what money was at 
 hand, which was but little; and going on shipboard to- 
 gether it was never known whither they were carried. 
 Magdalena being found dead the next day, some persons 
 out of ill will to Ughetto, carried the news instantly to the 
 duke, who came in all haste to the house, as he had an 
 excessive love for her, and seized upon Ughetto and his 
 lady, and put them to the rack, by which means he made 
 them confess what they were entire strangers to; namely, 
 that they were equally concerned in her death with their 
 brother, who was fled, and finding that there was no other 
 prospect of saving their lives, they bribed their keepers 
 with a large sum of money, which they always had in readi- 
 _ness for any extraordinary occasion, and went immediately 
 on board a ship, without being able to take any of their 
 effects, and fled to Rhodes, where they died some time 
 after in great distress and poverty. To such an end did 
 the foolish love of Restagnone, and the ungoverned fury of 
 Ninetta, bring both themselves and others. 
 
216 THE DECAMERON 
 
 NOVEL IV 
 
 Gerbino, contrary toa treaty made by King William, his grandfather, 
 Sought with @ ship belonging to the King of Tunts, with a design 
 to take away his daughter ; who being slain by the ship’s crew, he 
 slew them likewise, and was afterwards beheaded for it. 
 
 LAURETTA had now concluded her novel, when the com- 
 pany gave their different opinions concerning the fate of 
 these unhappy lovers; this person saying one thing and 
 that another, till at length the king, raising up his head, as 
 if from a profound study, made the next signal to Eliza, 
 who began as follows :— 
 
 There are many people who are persuaded that love is 
 only kindled at the eyes, making a jest at those who main- 
 tain the possibility of people’s being enamoured by report: 
 but how far they are mistaken will be seen in the following 
 story ; wherein will be shown, not only the power of fame 
 in that respect, but that it has brought divers persons also 
 to a miserable death. 
 
 William, the second king of Sicily (as their histories 
 relate), had two children; ason named Ruggieri, and a 
 daughter called Constantia, which Ruggieri died before his 
 father, leaving a son called Gerbino, whom his grandfather 
 took care to bring up, and he became a most accomplished 
 prince. Nor did his fame confine itself to the bounds of 
 his own country; but was echoed in divers parts of the 
 world, especially in Barbary, which was then tributary to 
 the King of Sicily. Amongst others who had heard of his 
 singular worth and character, was a daughter of the King 
 of Tunis, who, in the opinion of all that ever saw her, was 
 as beautiful a woman as ever lived, with a soul equally 
 noble and perfect: who, inquiring always after people of 
 worth, received from all hands a most extraordinary ac- 
 count of Gerbino’s merit and noble exploits, which were 
 so pleasing to her, that, conceiving within her own mind 
 the idea of his person, she became violently in love, and 
 was never more pleased than when he was the subject of 
 their discourse. On the other hand, no less had her 
 
FOURTH DAY 207 
 
 fame reached Sicily, as well as other countries, and was 
 particularly agreeable to the prince, who had conceived the 
 same love for her; and being desirous above all things of 
 seeing her, had charged some of his friends, till he could 
 obtain leave from his grandfather to go himself to Tunis, 
 to make his love known, in the best manner they were 
 able, privately to her; and to bring him some tidings con- 
 cerning her. This was managed very dexterously by one 
 of them, who went under the character of a jeweller; and 
 she received him with great cheerfulness and satisfaction, 
 declaring a mutual regard for the prince, and, as a proof of 
 it, sent him a present of one of her richest jewels. He 
 received it with great joy, and wrote several letters, present- 
 ing her with things of great value, and obliging himself 
 to wait upon her in person, as fortune afforded him an 
 opportunity. Things being carried so far, and farther than 
 they ought to have been, to their mutual satisfaction, it 
 happened that her father promised her in marriage to the 
 King of Granada, which gave her infinite concern, and she 
 would gladly, could she have found a time, have fled away 
 from her father to the prince. He, in like manner, hearing 
 of this contract, was afflicted beyond measure, and resolved, 
 if it should happen that she was sent by sea, to take her 
 away by force. The King of Tunis hearing something of 
 Gerbino’s love, and what he designed, and well knowing 
 his resolution and great valour: when the time came that 
 she was to depart, sent to the King of Sicily to acquaint him 
 with his design, and to desire a safe passport ; who, knowing 
 nothing of his grandson’s affections towards the lady, nor 
 thinking that it was desired upon that account, readily granted 
 it. The King of Tunis then fitted out a stately ship at 
 Carthage, and providing it with everything necessary to 
 transport his daughter to Granada, waited only for the time 
 that had been appointed. Whilst this was in agitation, 
 the young lady sent one of her servants to Palermo to 
 acquaint the prince that she was to sail in a few days, and 
 that it would now appear whether he was a person of such 
 valour as had been always reported, or had that love for 
 her which he had often declared. The message was faith- 
 fully delivered ; and the prince knowing, at the same time 
 
218 THE DECAMERON 
 
 that his grandfather had granted a passport, was at a loss 
 how to behave; but reflecting upon the lady’s words, and 
 that he might acquit himself with honour, he hired two 
 light ships at Messina, which he took care to have well 
 manned, and sailed with them to the coast of Sardinia, 
 expecting that the ship which had his mistress on board 
 must take that course. In a few days that expectation was 
 answered, and he beheld her sailing with a light gale of 
 wind near the place where he was stationed. Upon this 
 he addressed himself to his companions in the following 
 manner: ‘ My friends, if you are men of the worth I sup- 
 pose you to possess, I imagine there is none of you but 
 must have felt the extraordinary power of love, without 
 which, as I judge by myself, there can be nothing virtuous 
 and praiseworthy. If then you have ever been, or are now 
 in love, you will the more easily comprehend the nature of 
 my design. It is love that makes me call upon you; and 
 the object of it is in the ship before you. Besides that, 
 there is a store of riches, which, if you fight manfully, you 
 may easily obtain. For my part I desire nothing but the 
 lady, for whose sake I have taken up arms: everything else 
 shall be yours. Let us go then boldly to the attack ; for- 
 tune seems to favour our undertaking ; they lie still, unable 
 to get along for want of wind.” The prince had no occa- 
 sion to make use of such an exhortation ; his people, eager 
 for rapine, were ready enough to obey his orders. They 
 declared their approbation then with a great shout, whilst 
 the trumpets sounded, and they all armed themselves, and 
 rowed towards the ship. In like manner the other ship’s 
 crew, seeing two galleys come towards them, and that there 
 was no possibility of escaping by flight, stood resolutely 
 upon their defence. The prince being come sufficiently 
 near, ordered that the masters of the ship should come on 
 board, unless they meant to fight. Whilst the Saracens, 
 understanding who they were, and what their demand was, 
 told them that it was contrary to treaty, and showed them 
 their passport: declaring further that they would neither 
 surrender themselves, nor part with anything in the ship 
 till they were forced to it. The prince, now seeing the 
 lady upon deck, whose charms exceeded even fancy itself, 
 
FOURTH DAY 219 
 
 replied, ‘‘ Your passport has no weight with me; either 
 deliver up the lady or prepare for fight.” Whereupon they 
 began slinging darts and stones on both sides; battering 
 one another for a considerable time, to the great damage 
 of both. At length, when the prince saw that little good 
 was to be done that way, he took a small pinnace which he 
 had brought with him from Sardinia, and setting it on fire, 
 towed it with his two vessels sideways of the ship; which 
 the Saracens observing, and being now assured that they 
 must either surrender or perish, had the lady brought from 
 below, where she was all in tears, when they called upon 
 the prince, and murdered her before his face, begging in 
 vain for mercy, and his assistance, and threw her into 
 the sea, saying, ‘‘ Take her, such as we can. now give 
 _ thee; and such as thy breach of faith has deserved.” 
 He, seeing their cruelty, nor caring now what became 
 of his own life, in spite of all the darts and stones 
 that were thrown at him, came up close with the ship, 
 and boarded her; and, as a famished lion, when he gets 
 among a herd of cattle, gives a loose to his fury before 
 he satisfies his hunger, so did the prince slay all that came 
 in his way, whilst the fire getting ahead in the ship, he 
 ordered the sailors to save what booty they were able for 
 themselves, and he returned to his ship little pleased with 
 so dear a conquest. Afterwards, having recovered the 
 lady’s body out of the sea, and lamenting heartily over it, 
 he returned to Sicily, and had it buried in a little island 
 over against Trapani, from whence he came sorrowfully 
 home. The King of Tunis, upon hearing the news, sent 
 ambassadors all in deep mourning to the King of Sicily, 
 complaining of the breach of faith, and relating in what 
 manner it had been done. William was much concerned 
 at this, and seeing no way by which he could deny them 
 the justice they demanded, had his grandson seized ; and, 
 notwithstanding the intercession of every one of his barons, 
 ordered his head to be struck off in his presence ; choosing 
 rathek to be without a grandson, than be thought a king 
 without honour. So miserable was the end of these two 
 lovers, within a few days of each other, without tasting the 
 least fruit of their loves. 
 
420 THE DECAMERON 
 
 NOVEL V 
 
 Tsabella’s brothers put her lover to death; he appears to her in advream 
 and shows her where he ts buried. She privately brings away his 
 head; and, putting tt into a pot of basil and other sweet herbs, 
 laments over tt a considerable time every day. At length they take 
 it away from her, and she soon after dtes for grief. 
 
 E11za having concluded her novel, which was commended 
 by the king, Philomena was then ordered to begin; who, 
 full of pity for the two unhappy lovers last mentioned, 
 fetched a deep sigh, and said :—My novel will not be con- 
 cerning people of such high rank as those about whom 
 Eliza has now been relating, but perhaps it may be equally 
 moving ; and I am led to it from her mentioning Messina, 
 where the thing happened.-—There lived, then, at Messina, 
 
 e young merchants, who were brothers, and left very 
 \rich by their father: they pp Rc RS ady of 
 worth an u ho was unmarried. Now they kept a 
 ed pe ig to_manage their Sifaire)- called 
 
 Lorenzo, one of a very-agreeable person, who, being often 
 in Isabella’s company, and finding himself no way disagree- 
 able to her, confined all his wishes to her offy,-which in 
 sone little thé _had™their full effect. This affair was 
 carried“6n between them for a considerable-time, without 
 the least suspicion ; till one night it_happened; as she was 
 going to his chamber, that—the eldest brother saw_her, 
 without her knowihg it. This afflicted him greatly; yet, 
 being a pfudent man, he made no discovery, but lay con- 
 sidering with himself till morning what course was best for 
 them to take. He then related to his brothers what he had 
 seen, with regard to their sister and Lorenzo, and, after a 
 long debate, it was resolved to seem to take no notice of it 
 for the present, but to make away with him privately, the 
 first opportunity, that they might remove all cause of 
 reproach both to their sister and themselves. Continuing | 
 in this resolution, they behaved with the same freedom and . 
 civility to Lorenzo as ever, till at length, under a pretence 
 of going out of the city upon a party of pleasure; they carried 
 
FOURTH DAY 221 
 
 him along with them, and arriving at a lonesome place, fit 
 for their purpose, they slew him, unprepared to make any 
 defence, and buried him there; then, returning to Messina, 
 they gave it out that they had sent him on a journey of 
 business, which was easily believed, because they frequently 
 did so. In some time, she, thinking that he made a long 
 stay, began to inquire earnestly of her brothers concerning 
 him, and this she did so often, that at last one of them 
 said to her, “ What have you to do with Lorenzo, that you 
 are continually teasing us about him? If you inquire any 
 more, you shall receive such an answer as you will by no 
 means approve of.” ‘This grieved her exceedingly; and, 
 fearing she knew not why, she remained without asking 
 any more questions; yet all the night would she lament 
 and complain of his long stay ; and thus she spent her life 
 in a tedious and anxious waiting for his return; till one 
 night it happened, that having wept herself asleep, he 
 appeared to her in a dream, all pale and ghastly, with his 
 clothes rent in pieces ; and she thought he spoke to her 
 thus: “My dear Isabel, thou grievest incessantly for my 
 absence, and art continually calling upon me: but know 
 that I can return no more to thee, for the last day that thou 
 sawest me, thy brothers put me to death.” And, describing 
 the place where they had buried him, he bid her call no 
 more upon him, nor ever expect to see him again, and dis- 
 appeared. She, waking, and giving credit to the vision, 
 lamented exceedingly ; and, not daring to say anything to 
 her brethren, resolved to go to the place mentioned in the 
 dream, to be convinced of the reality of it. Accordingly, 
 having leave to go a little way into the country, along with 
 a companion of hers, who was acquainted with all her 
 affairs, she went thither, and clearing the ground of the 
 dried leaves with which it was covered, she observed where 
 the earth seemed to be lightest, and dug there. She had 
 not searched far before she came to her lover’s body, which 
 she found in no degree wasted ; this confirmed her of the 
 truth of her-Vision, and she was in the utmost concern on 
 thag gccount ;‘but, as that was not a fit place for lamenta- 
 tion, she would willingly have taken the corpse away with 
 her, to have given it a more decent interment; but, finding 
 
222 THE DECAMERON 
 
 herself unable to do that, she cut off his head, which she 
 put into a handkerchief, and, covering the trunk again with 
 the mould, she gave it to her maid to carry, and returned 
 home without being perceived. She then shut herself up 
 in her chamber, and lamented over it till it was bathed in 
 her tears, which being done, she put it into a flower-pot, 
 having folded it in a fine napkin, and covering it with earth, 
 she planted sweet herbs therein, which she watered with 
 nothing but rose or orange water, or else with her tears ; 
 accustoming herself to sit always before it, and devoting 
 her whole heart unto it, as containing her dear Lorenzo. The 
 sweet herbs, what with her continual bathing, and the 
 moisture arising from the putrified head, flourished exceed- 
 ingly, and sent forth a most agreeable odour. Continuing 
 this manner of life, she was observed by some of the neigh- 
 bours, and they related her conduct to her brothers, who 
 had before remarked with surprise the decay of her beauty. 
 Accordingly, they reprimanded her for it, and, finding that 
 ineffectual, stole the pot from her. She, perceiving that it 
 was taken away, begged earnestly of them to restore it, 
 which they refusing, she fell sick. yi young men won- 
 dered much why she should have so great a fancy for it, 
 and were resolved to see what it contained: turning out the 
 earth, therefore, they saw the napkin and in it the head, 
 not so much consumed, but that, by the curled locks, they 
 knew it to be Lorenzo’s, which threw them into the utmost 
 astonishment, and fearing lest it should be known, they 
 buried it privately, and withdrew themselves from thence to 
 Naples. The young lady never ceased weeping, and calling 
 for her pot of flowers, till she died; and thus terminated 
 her unfortunate love.—But, in some time afterwards, the 
 thing became public, which gave rise to this song: 
 
 ** Most cruel and unkind was he, ’ 
 That of my flowers deprived me,” ete. 
 
FOURTH DAY 223 
 
 Sa 
 
 NOVEL VI 
 
 A young lady, named Andrevuola, was in love with Gabriotto ; they 
 relate to each other their dreams, when he Pics down dead in her 
 arms ; as she and her maid are carrying him out, they are appre- 
 hended by the officers of justice, and she relates how the affair 
 happened. Afterwards the magistrate would force her, but she 
 resists ; at length her father hears of it, and as her innocence is 
 clear, has her set at liberty. From that period she grows weary of 
 the world, and becomes a nun. 
 
 THE ladies were all pleased with Philomena’s novel, be- 
 cause they had often heard the song, but were unacquainted 
 with the reason of its being made ; whilst the king gave 
 the next command to Pamphilus, who began thus :— 
 
 The dream in the preceding story puts me in mind of 
 another, in which mention is made of two different dreams, 
 that show what was to happen, as the last did what had 
 already come to pass; and which were no sooner related, 
 but the effect as suddenly followed. You must know, then, 
 that it is a general passion in all people to see many things 
 in their sleep, which appear real at that time, and when we 
 awake we judge some of them to be so; some to be barely 
 probable, and others to be utterly false; many of which 
 have come to pass. For which reason we see many persons 
 pay the same regard to a dream, as they would do to any- 
 thing which they saw whilst they were really awake ; inso- 
 much that they find constant matter of joy or trouble from 
 thence, according to their different hopes or fears. On the 
 contrary, there are others who will believe nothing of that 
 kind, until they fall into the very danger of which they 
 have been in that manner forewarned. Of these, I com- 
 mend neither the one nor the other; for, as all are not 
 true, neither are they all false: that all are not true, we 
 may each of us have frequently observed ; and yet that all 
 are not false, appears from Philomena’s novel, and will be 
 further shown by mine. ‘Therefore, I am of opinion, that 
 in a virtuous life and a good cause you need regard no 
 dream, which may disagree, so as to forego any good inten- 
 tion. And, on the contrary, that in bad actions, although 
 
224 THE DECAMERON 
 
 your dreams seem to be favourable, and to promise success, 
 yet should you give no credit to these any more than to the 
 others. 
 
 But to proceed with my story. In the city of Brescia 
 there lived a gentleman, called Signor Negro de Ponte 
 Carraro, who, besides his other children, had a daughter 
 named Andrevuola, a young and beautiful lady: now she 
 had taken a fancy to a neighbour, whose name was Gabri- 
 otto, a man of mean extraction, but excellent qualities, as 
 well as graceful person ; and, by her maid’s assistance, she 
 had managed so, that he was not only made acquainted 
 with it, but they had frequent interviews together in her 
 father’s garden, to the mutual satisfaction of both parties. 
 And, that nothing but death should part their affection, 
 they were privately married. Continuing their meetings in 
 this manner, it happened one night that she dreamed they 
 were in the garden together, and, as she had him in her 
 arms, she thought she saw something black and frightful 
 arise out of his body, the form of which she could not well 
 comprehend ; which took him by force from her, and went 
 with him underground; and from that time she could 
 neither see one nor the other; this gave her infinite con- 
 cern, and glad she was, upon waking, to find it otherwise: 
 yet she had some dread still upon her on account of the 
 dream. ‘The next night, therefore, on his desiring to meet 
 her, she endeavoured all she could to excuse: herself; but 
 seeing him resolute, and fearing to disoblige him, she re- 
 ceived him as usual; and, after they had diverted them- 
 selves with gathering flowers, and sat down by a fountain- 
 side, he inquired the reason why she would have prevented 
 his coming that night. She then related her dream, and 
 the apprehensions it had occasioned; which made him 
 laugh, and tell her that it was a folly to mind dreams, 
 
 which proceed~* the most part, from the stomach being 
 either too full empty, and which we every day see to 
 be of no sign ': “But,” added he, “had I showed 
 any regard to 5, I should not have come here, and 
 not so much | sake of yours, as one of my own the 
 last night, whi ; this: I thought I was hunting in a 
 
 most delightful ».,and that I had taken a young beauti- 
 
FOURTH DAY 225 
 
 ful hind, as white as snow, which in a little time became so 
 tame that it never left me; when I, fearing to lose it, put 
 a collar of gold about its neck, which I held bya golden 
 chain in my hand; afterwards, being couched down by me, 
 with its head in my bosom, on a sudden a greyhound, as 
 black as jet, came rushing upon us, but from whence I 
 could not imagine, seeming half-starved, and monstrously 
 ugly ; at me he made his full career, and it seemed as if he 
 put his snout into my bosom, on my left side, and griped 
 me to my very heart, which I thought he tore away from 
 me, and which gave me such pain that I instantly awoke ; 
 when I laid my hand on my side, to feel if anything was 
 amiss, and could not help laughing afterwards at my own 
 weakness for doing so. What can be said, then, in such 
 sort of cases? I have often had as bad or worse dreams, 
 and nothing ever happened to me; then let us think of 
 something else.” The lady was still more dismayed at 
 hearing this, but concealed it as much as possible, for fear 
 of giving him uneasiness; yet every now and then would 
 she cast her eye down the garden, to see if anything 
 monstrous appeared. ‘Till at length he, fetching a deep 
 sigh, embraced her, and said, “ Alas, my life, help me, | 
 am just dying!” and, having said that, fell down upon the 
 ground ; which she perceiving, drew him into her lap, and 
 weeping said, ‘‘ My dearest love, what is it that you feel?” 
 He made no answer, but gasping vehemently, and per- 
 spiring inordinately, he soon expired. It is easy to con- 
 ceive how grievous this was to the lady, who loved him 
 more than her own life. She called upon him by name, 
 over and over again, and wept for a considerable time; 
 but, seeing that he was certainly dead, and not knowing 
 what to do, she ran, all in tears, to call her maid, who had 
 been entrusted with the secret, and, after they had lamented 
 over him for some time together, she said to her: ‘‘Since 
 Heaven has taken away my love from me, I mean to live 
 no longer myself; but, before I put my design into execu- 
 tion, I would take the most effectual means to preserve my 
 honour, by concealing the affection that existed between 
 us; I desize then to have this body first interred, whose 
 dear soul is now departed.” When the maid replied * My 
 H 
 
226 THE DECAMERON 
 
 good lady, do not talk of destroying yourself; for; by doing 
 an act of that kind, you will lose him also in the other 
 world: a soul like his must be happy, and you would send 
 yours to endless misery: you had better make yourself 
 easy, and think how you may be of service, by offering up 
 some few prayers in his behalf, if by chance he should 
 stand in need of them, for any sin he may have committed. 
 —With regard to his interment, that may easily be done 
 in this garden, because it was never known that he came 
 hither ; or, if you will not agree to that, we will carry him 
 out, and leave him there; he will be found in the morning, 
 and conveyed home, when his relations will take care to 
 bury him.” The lady, though she was overwhelmed with 
 grief, listened attentively to the maid’s advice; and not 
 approving of the former part of it, she said, with regard to 
 the latter, ‘‘ Heaven forbid that I should ever suffer a youth 
 so dearly beloved by me, as well as my husband, either 
 to be buried like a dog, or left in the street: he has had 
 my prayers, and shall have those of his friends and rela- 
 tions. JI am now resolved what to do.” And immediately 
 she sent the maid fora piece of rich silk she had in her 
 cabinet, which being brought, she spread it upon the 
 ground, and they laid the body upon it, with the head 
 on a pillow; and closing his eyes and mouth, with abund- 
 ance of tears, putting a garland of roses on his head, and 
 strewing them over his body, she said to her maid: ‘‘It is 
 not far from hence to his house, whither we can easily carry 
 him, as he now is, and we will lay him before the door; it 
 will soon be day, and then he will be found; and though it 
 will be a sad sight to his friends, to me, in whose arms he 
 died, it will be a satisfaction.” Having said this, she hung 
 down her head over him, and wept for a considerable time ; 
 till, being reminded by her servant that daybreak was at 
 nand, she raised herself up, and taking the ring from her 
 finger, with which he had espoused her, she put it upon his, 
 saying, ‘‘My dear lord, if thy soul has any knowledge of 
 my tears, or if there be any sense or understanding left 
 after that is departed from the body, receive this last gift 
 from her who was once so dear to thee:” and at these 
 words she fell down in a swoon.-—-In some little time she 
 
_. FOURTH DAY 227 
 
 came to herself, when they took up the silk, on which the 
 body was laid, and went with it out of the garden, towards 
 his house. And, as they passed along, it happened that 
 they were met by some of the provost’s officers, who were 
 out upon another affair, and who seized them as they 
 were carrying off the corpse. Andrevuola, coveting death 
 at that time more than life, said freely to them, ‘‘I know 
 who you are, and that it would be in vain to think of 
 escaping ; I am ready then to go before the magistrates, 
 and to relate all I know concerning this matter: but let 
 none of you dare to touch me, because I offer no resist- 
 ance; nor touch anything belonging to this body, under 
 pain of being accused himself.” Accordingly it was carried 
 untouched to the provost’s hall, and, when notice of it was 
 given to him, he arose, and she being brought before him, 
 he began to question her how, and by what means, this 
 thing had happened. Physicians also were sent for to give 
 their opinions, whether it was done by poison, or any such 
 way; who all declared the contrary, affirming that some 
 vein near the heart was broken, which had suffocated him. 
 The provost hearing this, and perceiving her innocence, 
 seemed to make a matter of favour of it, and told her he 
 would set her at liberty, upon condition that she would 
 yield herself to his pleasure; which she refusing, he was 
 base enough to try force. But she, fired with a noble 
 disdain, defended herself with great courage and resolution. 
 It being now broad day, and the news being carried to 
 Signor Negro, he went, full of grief, to the hall, attended by 
 many of his friends, when, being informed of his daughter’s 
 innocence, he demanded her from the provost; who, choos- 
 ing rather to mention himself what had happened, than to 
 have her accuse him, began, with great commendation of 
 her constancy and virtue, owning his design towards her; 
 and offering to marry her, notwithstanding the meanness 
 of her former marriage, if it was agreeable to her father and 
 herself. And whilst he was speaking, she entered, and 
 falling down on her knees before him, said, “‘ My dear 
 father, I suppose I need not tell you either of my boldness 
 or my misfortune, as you must certainly have heard, and 
 know both: therefore I most humbly beg your forgiveness 
 
228 THE DECAMERON 
 
 for having married without your knowledge, the person 
 whom I most loved; and this I do with no view to a 
 pardon, but that I may die as your daughter, and not as 
 an enemy.” 
 
 Signor Negro was advanced in years, and, being one of 
 a courteous and gentle disposition, could not refrain from 
 tears at these words, and, raising her tenderly from the 
 ground, he said, ‘‘ Daughter, I should have been more glad 
 if you had taken such a husband as I had approved of; 
 yet, if you married to please yourself, this ought to please 
 me. But to conceal it entirely, gives me concern for the 
 little confidence you repose in me; especially as he is dead 
 before I knew anything of the matter: but since it is so, 
 the respect, for your sake, that I would have showed him, 
 as my son-in-law, whilst he was living, I mean to express 
 now he is dead.” Then, turning to his children and friends, 
 he ordered them to get everything in readiness for a solemn 
 and magnificent funeral. By this time Gabriotto’s friends 
 and relations had assembled, as well as great crowds from 
 all parts of the city; and, the corpse being set. in the 
 middle of the court, in the manner she had before adorned 
 it, great lamentation was made over it, by all the relations 
 and others present; and from thence it was carried to the 
 grave, not like an ordinary citizen, but as of a person of 
 quality, upon the shoulders of some of the most eminent 
 citizens, with the utmost honour and respect. A few days 
 afterwards, the provost renewed his request, and. Signor 
 Negro recommended it to his daughter, who would hear 
 nothing of it; and he, willing to make her easy, sent 
 both her and her maid into a monastery of great devo- 
 tion ; where, after a long course of time, they ended their 
 lives. 
 
_FOURTH DAY 229 
 
 NOVEL VII 
 
 Pasquino ds in love with Simona ;and being in a garden together, he 
 happens to rub his teeth with a leaf of sage, and immediately dies. 
 She ts brought before the judge, when, being desirous of showing 
 him the cause of Pasquino’s death, she rubs her teeth with the 
 same herb, and meets with a similar fate. 
 
 PAMPHILUs had gone through his novel, when the king, 
 seeming to be under no concern for Andrevuola, turned 
 to Emilia, and desired her to begin; which she did 
 accordingly in this manner :— 
 
 Pamphilus’s story puts me in mind of another, which 
 is only like it in this respect, that, as Andrevuola lost 
 her lover in a garden, so she of whom I am going to 
 speak was taken up in the same manner as Andrevuola 
 was, and delivered from the hands of justice, neither by 
 force nor virtue, but by unexpected death. And though 
 we have said before, that love makes his habitation in 
 the houses of great people, yet does he not disown all 
 influence over the poorer sort. On the contrary, all- 
 powerful as he is, he shows his power over them; as 
 well as over the rich; as will appear in a great measure from 
 my novel; which brings me back again to our city, from 
 which we had so far strayed to talk of other subjects, 
 that have happened in different parts of the world. There 
 lived not long since at Florence, a young woman, agreeable 
 enough, according to her rank, but descended of mean 
 parents, whose name was Simona; and though she 
 earned her bread by spinning, yet she was not beneath 
 the passion of love, with which she was inspired by the 
 pleasing conversation and behaviour of a young man of 
 the same condition as herself, who used to bring her wool 
 to spin for his master, a clothier.. From this youth, 
 whose name was Pasquino, she received the amorous 
 flame, ever wishing, but not expecting anything further ; 
 whilst still, as her wheel went round, she sent forth a 
 thousand sighs, calling him then to mind who had brought 
 her the wool. He, on the other part, being desirous that 
 
230 THE DECAMERON 
 
 his master’s work should be well done, as if Simona’s 
 spinning was to make up the whole piece, used to call 
 oftener upon her than upon any one else; whence the one 
 continually soliciting, and the other desiring to be solicited, 
 it happened, that the first began to assume more courage 
 than he used to have, and the second lost a good deal of 
 her fear and bashfulness, so that they seemed at last to 
 have come to a tolerable understanding. This good liking 
 of theirs continuing for some time, and every day increasing, 
 he happened to say to her one day, that he desired of all 
 things to meet her in a certain garden, where they might 
 talk together with more freedom and less suspicion. She 
 assured him that she was willing ; and telling her father, 
 one Sunday after dinner, that she was going for an indul- 
 gence, to St. Gallo, she went along with a companion of 
 hers, called Lagina, to the place appointed. There she 
 found him with a friend of his, named Puccino, though more 
 usually called Stramba; when Stramba and Lagina soon 
 became acquainted, and drew to one end of the garden; 
 whilst Pasquino and Simona were at the other. In that 
 part where this couple was, grew a large bush of sage, 
 where they seated themselves, and having talked about 
 a feast, which they intended to have some holiday in 
 that garden, he plucked a leaf of the sage, and began 
 to rub his teeth and gums with it, saying, that nothing 
 cleansed the teeth better after eating than sage: and when 
 he had done he returned to his former subject of the 
 feast, when immediately he began to change countenance, 
 his sight and speech both failed him, and he suddenly 
 expired. When Simona saw this, she began to lament, and 
 called for help to the other two, who instantly came thither, 
 and seeing him not only swelled, but full of black spots, 
 Stramba immediately cried out, ‘‘Oh! thou vile woman, 
 thou hast poisoned him.” And he made such an uproar, 
 that he was heard by many of the neighbours who flocked 
 thither, and finding the man dead and swelled, and hearing 
 Stramba lament and accuse Simona of his death, whilst 
 grief for the loss of her lover, and astonishment together, 
 had so confounded her, that she scarcely made any de- 
 fence, they supposed it was as he said. Upon which the 
 
FOURTH DAY 231 
 
 poor creature was carried before a magistrate; when 
 Stramba, and two other friends of Pasquino, being her 
 accusers, the judge took immediate cognisance of it, and 
 not being able to see any malicious intent in Simona, or 
 that she was in the least guilty, he wished to view the dead 
 body, as well as the place and manner of it, because there 
 were some things which he could not well understand 
 from her account. Coming, then, without any great bustle 
 to the garden, where Pasquino’s body lay puffed up like 
 a tun, the judge was surprised, and inquiring how it 
 happened, Simona went to the bush of sage, and having 
 related the whole affair, that he might have a perfect 
 account, rubbed her teeth with a leaf, as Pasquino had 
 done. Stramba and the rest looked upon this as a frivolous 
 and vain pretence, and called out violently to the judge to 
 have her burnt for her wickedness ; whilst she (miserable 
 wretch!) grieved for the loss of her lover, and terrified to 
 death with their threats, having rubbed her teeth with 
 the same sage that he had used, dropped down dead in 
 a similar manner, to the wonder of them all. 
 
 Happy souls! toend both their loves and their lives on 
 the same day. More happy still, if they went together tothe © 
 same place. Happiest, if they love one another as much 
 in the other world as here. But happiest of all, at least 
 in our judgment, is the soul of Simona, whose innocence, 
 fortune would not leave at the mercy of such witnesses 
 and therefore found a way, by her dying the same death 
 with her lover, for her to escape their slander, and to 
 follow the soul of her beloved Pasquino. 
 
 The judge was as one in amaze at this accident, as well 
 as the rest of the company; and upon recollecting himself 
 at last, he said, this sage is plainly venomous ; therefore, 
 that nobody else may suffer by it, let it be cut up by the 
 roots and burnt; which was done by the gardener in his 
 presence, when the cause of the lovers’ death plainly 
 appeared. Under it was a monstrous overgrown toad, 
 with whose breath it was judged to be infected. And 
 none being hardy enough to go near it, they made a circle 
 of stubble round it, and burnt it along with the sage. So 
 ended the process upon the death of poor Pasquino, whose 
 
232 THE DECAMERON 
 
 body, as well as that of Simona, was interred by Stramba 
 and the rest of the people present, in St. Paul’s Church, to 
 which parish they were said to belong. 
 
 NOVEL VIII 
 
 Girolamo is in love with Salvestra, and ts obliged by his mother to go te 
 Paris. On his return he finds her married; and getting privately 
 into her house, he breathes his last by her side. Being carried from 
 thence toa church to be buried, she dies likewise upon his corpse. 
 
 EMILia’s novel was concluded, when by the king’s order 
 Neiphile began as follows :-— 
 
 There are some people, most worthy ladies, who think they 
 know more than other folks, and yet know less; and upon this 
 presumption not only oppose their opinions to the general 
 sense of mankind, but. even to the very nature of things; 
 from whence proceed frequently great inconveniences, and 
 never any good. Amongst natural causes, that which the 
 least brooks any advice or opposition is love, the nature of 
 which is such, as more easily to wear away of itself, than 
 to be removed by any admonition; for which reason I 
 intend to relate a story of a lady, who, willing to appear 
 wiser than she really was, or than the thing in which she 
 would have showed her good understanding required, by 
 endeavouring to drive away that passion from. a heart in 
 which it was firmly implanted, deprived her son both of life 
 and love at the same time.—In our city, as it is reported, 
 there lived a great and wealthy merchant, whose name was 
 Lionardo Sighieri, who by his wife had an only son. called 
 Girolamo. He died presently after his son was born, 
 and the infant’s guardians along with his mother took 
 all possible care both of him and his affairs. As he grew 
 up, amongst the other children of the neighbourhood, he 
 used to play with a tailor’s daughter much about the 
 same age; in time that acquaintance changed into love, 
 which became so vehement, that he was never easy 
 unless he was in her company, and her respect and good 
 liking were the same for him. His mother observed it, 
 
FOURTH DAY 233 
 
 and would frequently correct him for it; and finding that 
 ineffectual, complained to his guardians; and thinking, on 
 account of his riches, that she might work impossibilities, 
 she said to them, ‘‘ This boy of mine, who is but fourteen 
 years old, has taken such a fancy to a tailor’s daughter, 
 that unless we remove him he will marry her privately 
 some time or another, which will be death to me; or else 
 he will pine and consume himself away, if he sees her 
 married to another person ; for which reason I think it best 
 to send him a distance off to some of our factors, in order 
 by his absence to put her out of his thoughts, and after- 
 wards we may provide a more suitable wife for him.” They 
 agreed with her that it would be right to do so, and pro- 
 mised her all the service that lay in their power. Calling 
 him into the counting-house, one of them spoke kindly 
 to him in this manner: ‘ Young gentleman, as you are now 
 of considerable years, it is fit that you should begin to look 
 after your own affairs; for which reason we hold it proper 
 that you go and reside some time at Paris, where you will 
 see how a great part of your trade is carried on: besides 
 you will have greater opportunities there of improving your- 
 self than you can have here, and after you have conversed 
 with persons of quality and distinction, of which there are 
 great numbers at Paris, and learned their breeding and 
 elegant accomplishments, it will then be time for you to 
 return.” He listened very attentively, and replied in a few 
 words, that he would not consent, because he thought it 
 full as well to stay at Florence. They reproved him a 
 little for it; but finding they could get no other answer, 
 they acquainted his mother. She was in a violent passion, 
 and gave him hard words, not on account of his refusing to 
 go, but for his love affairs, which availing nothing she began 
 to use gentler means, entreating him in the mildest terms 
 that he would oblige his guardians ; and she prevailed so 
 far, that he consented to go and stay one year there, and 
 no more, and accordingly he went. Being sent thus to 
 Paris, over head and ears in love, his return was put off 
 from one day to another, till he was kept there at last two 
 years ; when coming home, more enamoured than ever, he 
 found that his mistress was married to a young man, a 
 H2 
 
234 THE DECAMERON 
 
 tent-maker, which gave him infinite concern. But seeing 
 that the thing could not be remedied, he endeavoured to 
 bear it patiently ; and finding out the place where she 
 lived, he began, as is usual with young lovers, to walk 
 frequently by the house, supposing that she could no more 
 have forgotten him than he had forgotten her; but the 
 case was otherwise: she remembered him no more than 
 if she had never seen him, at least it seemed so by her 
 behaviour, which gave him great trouble; yet notwith- 
 standing, he tried all means to make her call him to mind; 
 but finding it in vain, he resolved to speak to her though 
 it cost him his life. And having informed himself, by a 
 neighbour, concerning the state of the house, he got into 
 it privately one night, when they were gone to spend the 
 evening with some friends,.and hid himself in their chamber 
 behind some sail-cloths, where he waited till they returned, 
 and were in bed; and when he thought the husband fast 
 asleep, he went softly to her side, and laying his hand 
 upon her breast, said gently to her, ‘‘My dear life, are 
 you asleep?” She happening to be awake was going to 
 cry out, when he immediately added, ‘‘ For \God’s. sake 
 make no noise; I am your old lover Girolamo.” She, 
 hearing this, replied, all in a tremble, ‘‘ Dear sir, go about 
 your business; the time when we might love one: another 
 is past; you see Il am married, and therefore am only to 
 regard my husband; I entreat you then to depart, for if 
 he should know of it, supposing nothing: worse to happen, 
 I should be miserable as long as I live, and our lives 
 hitherto have been very comfortable together.” The youth 
 was extremely troubled at these words, and though he put 
 her in mind of past times, and used many arguments and 
 fair promises to persuade her, yet it was all in vain. At 
 last he desired that, as a recompense for all his love, she 
 would only let him lie by her side till he had warmed. him- 
 self a little, for that he was, quite starved with waiting for 
 her, promising neither to speak nor touch her, and when 
 he grew warmer to go away. She, having some compassion 
 left for him, gave leave upon those conditions. He then 
 lay down by her, and calling to mind his long passion, and 
 her inflexible cruelty, as one destitute of all hope, resolved 
 
_ FOURTH DAY 235 
 
 to die; and holding strongly his breath, he clenched. his 
 hands, and expired by her side. In some little time, she 
 being surprised at his lying so still, and fearing lest her 
 husband should wake, began to say to him, “Alas! sir, 
 why do not you go away?” And perceiving that he made 
 no answer, she supposed he was asleep, and putting her 
 hand out to jog him, found him quite cold; greatly amazed 
 at this, and shaking him more strongly, she perceived he 
 was certainly dead. Affected beyond measure, she lay a 
 considerable time, not knowing what course to take. At 
 length, she resolved to sound her husband, by making it 
 another person’s case ; waking him, therefore, she proposed 
 it to him, as having happened to somebody else, and then 
 asked him what he would do in such an affair.. The honest 
 man replied, that he would have him carried privately home, 
 without the least resentment to the: woman, because she 
 seemed to be no way in fault. “ Then,” said she, ‘we 
 must do so now:” and taking hold of his hand, laid it 
 upon the dead body; upon which he arose in a great 
 fright, and, lighting a candle, immediately took the corpse 
 upon his shoulders, having first put all its clothes upon it, 
 and relying upon his innocence, carried it to the mother’s 
 door, and left it there. Being found in the morning, there 
 was a great uproar about it, and the body was examined 
 all over, and no wound or bruise appearing, the physicians 
 declared that he died for grief, and such was really the case. 
 The corpse was then carried to the church, attended by the 
 sorrowful mother, and other friends and relations to lament 
 over it, according to the. custom of our city; and whilst 
 this was doing, the honest man, in whose house he died, 
 said to his wife, ‘‘ Go, veil yourself, and haste to the church, 
 and hear among the women what they say about it, and I 
 will do the same amongst the men, by which means we 
 shall know whether they have any suspicion of us.” The 
 woman, who had some pity for him, when it was too late, 
 grew desirous of seeing him dead, to whom, whilst living, 
 she would not vouchsafe the favour of one kiss, and went 
 directly thither. 
 
 Most wonderful it is to conceive, with what difficulty is 
 traced out the powerful working of love! That heart which 
 
236 THE DECAMERON 
 
 was proof against the prosperous fortune of Girolamo, was 
 now pierced by his adversity ; and the old flames of love, 
 which were revived, had such an effect upon her, that, 
 veiled as she was, she still pressed forwards to the corpse ; 
 when she made a most terrible shriek, and falling down 
 with her face upon it, she shed but a few tears; for the 
 very instant almost that she touched it, grief deprived her 
 of life, as it did Girolamo. In some little time the women 
 began to comfort her, not knowing who she was, and to 
 desire her to rise; but perceiving that she did not stir, 
 they lifted her up, when they knew her to be Salvestra, 
 and beheld that she was dead. Upon which the women, 
 Overcome as it were by a double compassion, set up a 
 greater lamentation than before. The news being carried 
 through the church, soon came to the ears of her husband, 
 at which he was deeply concerned, and having related: to 
 some that stood by the whole affair of the preceding night, 
 the cause of both their deaths plainly appeared, and they 
 were generally lamented. They then took the dead lady, 
 and laid her by his side upon the same bier, and they were 
 buried with the greatest lamentations in the same grave; 
 so this pair, which love could not join together in their 
 life-time, did death unite by an inseparable conjunction. 
 
 NOVEL IX 
 
 Gulielmo Rossiglione gives his wife to eat the heart of Gulielmo Guarda- 
 stagno, her gallant, whom he had slain; as soon as she knew this, 
 she threw herself out of a window, and, dying, was buried along 
 with him. 
 
 THERE being an end of Neiphile’s novel, not without the 
 greatest compassion expressed by the whole company, the 
 king, who meant not to infringe upon Dioneus’s privilege, 
 as there was nobody else left to speak, began thus :— 
 
 I now call to mind a story, which, as you are upon 
 sorrowful subjects, will move you no less than the last, as 
 the persons concerned were of greater figure, and the event 
 more cruel. You must know, then, that in Provence were 
 two noble knights, who had each of them castles of their — 
 
FOURTH DAY 237 
 
 own, and vassals under their subjection; one of whom 
 was called Gulie:mo Rossig/ione, and the other Gulielmo 
 Guardastagno; and, being both persons of great prowess, 
 they took vast delight in military exploits, and used to go) 
 together to all tilts and tournaments, and appeared always 
 in the same colours. Anc though they lived ten miles 
 asunder, yet it happened, that Rossiglione having a very 
 beautiful wife, the other, notwithstanding the friendship 
 that existed between them, became violently in love, and 
 by one means or other he soon let her know it; which, he 
 being a valiant knight, was not at all displeasing to her ; and 
 she began to entertain the same respect for him, so that 
 she wished for nothing so much as that he should speak | 
 to her upon that subject, which in some little time came’ 
 to pass, and they were together more than once. Being 
 not so discreet as they ought to have been, the husband \ 
 soon perceived it, and he resented it to that degree, that | 
 the extreme love which had been between them was turned | 
 into the most inveterate hatred; but he was more private 
 
 _ with it than they had the prudence to be with their amour, 
 and was fully bent upon putting him to death. 
 
 Continuing in this resolution, it fell out that a public 
 tilting match was proclaimed in France, which Rossiglione 
 immediately signified to Guardastagno, and sent to desire 
 his company at his castle, when they would resolve together 
 about going, and in what manner: .Guardastagno was ex- 
 tremely pleased with the message, and sent word back that 
 he would sup with him the next night without fail. Rossig- — 
 lione hearing this, thought it a fit opportunity to effect his 
 design, and arming himself the next day, with some of his 
 
 the utmost malice and fury, saying, ‘‘ Villain, thou art 6 
 dead man!” and the very instant he spoke the word,-the 
 lance passed from behind through his breast, and he fell 
 down dead, without uttering a word. - 
 
 (oneer v ( : y i 
 ~ = “)) Sa ae ae ae 
 
238 THE ‘DECAMERON 
 
 The servants, not knowi vio had done this, turned 
 their horses, and fled with a sesible_ haste to their lord’s 
 castle. Rossiglione now dismounted from his horse, and 
 with a knife cut Guardastagn« » breast open, and took out 
 his heart, and, wrapping it in ‘ « s reamer belonging to his 
 lance, gave it to one of his yonts to carry, and com- 
 manding them not to dare to spea: of it, he mounted his 
 horse, and, it being now nigh!, returned to his castle. The 
 lady, who had heard of Guar: »s'220’s supping there that 
 
 night, and longed much to see iim, perceiving him not to 
 come, was a good deal surprised, and said to her husband, 
 “Pray, what is the reason that Guardastagno is not here?” 
 He replied, ‘‘I have just received a message from him that 
 he cannot be with us till to-morrow,” at which she seemed 
 very uneasy. As soon as he alighted from his horse, he 
 sent for the cook, and said to him, “ Here, take this boar’s 
 heart, and be sure you make it as delicious as possible, 
 ‘and send it up to the table in a silver dish. Accordingly, 
 he took and minced it very small, tossing it up with rich 
 spices, and making it a sort of high-seasoned forced 
 meat. 
 
 When supper-time came they sat down, and the dishes 
 were served up; but he could not eat much for thinking of 
 what he had done. At last the cook sent up the forced 
 meat, which he set before his lady, pretending himself to be 
 out of order, but commending it to her as a nice dish; she, 
 who was not at all squeamish, began to taste, and liked it 
 | so well that she gaf it all up. When he saw that she had 
 made an end, he said, ‘‘ Madam, how do you like it?” 
 She replied, In good truth, sir, I like it much.” ‘As 
 God shall help me,” quoth the knight, “I believe you; 
 nor do I wonder that it pleases you so much now it is 
 dead, which, when living, pleased you above all things.” 
 She made a pause at this, and then said, ** Why, what is it 
 that you have given me?” He replied, “It is really the 
 heart of Guardastagno, whom you, base woman, loved so 
 well; be assured it is the same, for these very hands took 
 it out of his breast a little time before I returned home.” 
 The lady, hearing this of him whom she loved ‘above all 
 the world, you may easily imagine what her anguish must 
 
 
 
FOURTH DAY 230 
 
 be: and at last she replied, “ You have acted like a base 
 villain as you are; for if I granted him a favour of my own 
 accord, and you was injured thereby, it was I, and not he, 
 that ought to have been punished. But let it never be 
 said that any other food ever came after such a noble 
 repast as was the heart of so valiant and worthy a knight.” 
 Then rising up, she instantly threw herself out of the 
 window. It was a great height from the ground, and she 
 was in a manner dashed to pieces. He seeing this, was a 
 good deal confounded ; and being conscious of having done 
 a base action, fearing also the country’s resentment, he had 
 his horses saddled, and fled directly away. The next morn- 
 ‘ing the whole story was known all round the country, when 
 the two bodies were taken and buried together in one 
 grave in the church which had belonged to the lady, with 
 the utmost lamentation, and verses were written over them, 
 signifying who they were, as well as the manner and cause 
 of their deaths. 
 
 e 
 
 pt fo 
 oe NOVEL xX if 
 
 A doctor's wife puts her gallant into a chest, imagining him to be dead; 
 which chest is stolen by two usurers, and carried home. He comes 
 to himself, and ts taken for a thief, whilst the lady's maid informs 
 the magistrates that she had put him into a chest, which the usurers 
 had carried away; upon which he escapes, and they are gas a 
 sum of pity 
 
 DIoNEUS was the only person now left to speak, who ac- 
 cordingly began, by the king’s order, as follows :— 
 
 The miseries of unfortunate lovers, which have been 
 related by you, have so affected both my eyes and heart, 
 that I have long wished for their coming to an end. We 
 may now be thankful that they are concluded, unless | 
 should add one to their number, whichis no part of my 
 design; I mean therefore to shift the prospect, and to 
 present you with a little mirth after all this sorrow, and 
 which may serve as a good argument for to-morrow’s 
 discourse. 
 
 You must understand, then, that not long since lived at 
 
240 THE DECAMERON 
 
 Salerno a famous doctor in surgery, called Master Mazzeo 
 della Montagna, who in his old age had married a young 
 and beautiful wife of the same city. There being such a 
 disproportion in their years, he spared no cost of clothes 
 and jewels, and gratified her in everything of that kind she 
 could wish for, so that she appeared far beyond any other 
 lady in the city. But she was not to be so satisfied; and 
 looking out amongst the young gentlemen abroad, she at 
 last fixed upon one, on whom she settled her entire hope 
 and affection; and he being made sensible of it, showed 
 the same regard for her. He was named Ruggieri da 
 Jeroli, and of a noble family, but had been always of a 
 takish disposition, on which account he had disobliged all 
 his friends so far that none of them would see him, and he 
 was now branded all over Salerno for everything that was 
 vile and wicked. This had no weight with her, and by 
 her maid’s assistance they were brought together, when 
 she reproved him for his past conduct, and desired that, 
 for her sake, he would leave off those wicked courses; and, 
 to take away all temptation, supplied him from time to 
 time with money. ‘The affair being carried on in this 
 manner between them with a good deal of caution, it 
 happened that the doctor had a patient in the meantime 
 who had a bad leg; this, he told the person’s friends, was 
 owing to a decayed bone, which he was obliged to take out 
 to make a cure, otherwise he must either lose his leg or his 
 life; but yet he looked upon it as a very doubtful case. 
 They therefore bid him do as he thought most proper. 
 Now the doctor, supposing that the patient would never 
 be able to endure the pain without an opiate, deferred the 
 operation till the evening ; and, in the meantime, ordered a 
 water to be distilled from a certain composition, which, 
 being drunk, would throw a person asleep as long as he 
 judged it necessary in this particular case, and which being 
 brought him home, he set it in his chamber window, without 
 saying what it was. Now when the evening came on 
 which he was to perform this operation, a messenger 
 arrived from some very considerable persons at Malfi, 
 who were his friends, charging him to come away instantly, 
 for that there had been a great fray among them, in which 
 
 - 
 
-FOURTH DAY 24i 
 
 many people were wounded. The doctor then put off the 
 operation of the man’s leg till morning, and went in a 
 boat directly to Malfi: whilst the lady, knowing that he 
 would be out all night, had her gallant brought privately 
 into her chamber, where she locked him in, till certain 
 persons of her family were gone to bed. 
 
 Ruggieri, waiting thus in the chamber, expecting his 
 mistress, and being extremely thirsty, whether from some 
 fatigue or salt meat that he had eaten, or rather from a 
 bad habit which he had of drinking, happened to cast his 
 eye upon the bottle of water which the doctor had ordered 
 for his patient, and imagining it was something pleasant to 
 drink, took it all off at a draught, when, in a little time, he 
 fell into a profound doze. The lady made what haste she 
 could to her chamber, and finding him fast asleep, began, 
 with a low voice, to try to wake him; but he making no 
 reply, nor even stirring, she was much disturbed, and shook 
 him roughly, saying, ‘Get up, sluggard! If thou art dis- 
 posed to sleep thou shouldst have stayed at home, and not 
 come to sleep here.” 
 
 He being pushed in that manner, fell down from a 
 chest, on which he was sitting, upon the ground, and 
 ‘ showed no more sense or feeling than if he had been 
 really dead. She was now under greater concern, and 
 began to pull him by the nose, as well as twinge him by 
 the beard, but it was all of no service, the enchantment 
 was too strong. On this she really suspected him to be 
 dead, and pinched and burnt his flesh with the candle, till, 
 finding all to no purpose, and being no doctress, although 
 her husband was a doctor, she took it for granted he 
 was SO. 
 
 You may easily suppose what her grief now must be, as 
 she loved him beyond all the world; and, not daring to 
 make any noise, she for some time continued silently 
 deploring her calamity: till fearing at last lest dishonour 
 should follow, she thought some means must be contrived 
 to convey him out of the house; not knowing how to 
 order it herself, she called her maid, and advised with her 
 about it. The girl was under great surprise, and, trying all 
 means to rouse him to no purpose, agreed with her mistress 
 
242 THE DECAMERON 
 
 that he was certainly dead, and that it was best to get him 
 away. The lady then said,—‘ But where can we carry him 
 that it may never be suspected to-morrow, when he shall 
 be found, that he was brought from hence ?”—-“‘ Madam,” 
 she replied, ‘‘I saw late this evening, before a joiner’s shop 
 in our neighbourhood, a good large chest, if it be not 
 taken into the house again; we may put him in there well 
 enough, giving him two or three slashes with a penknife; 
 whoever finds him will scarcely imagine that we should put 
 him there rather than anywhere else; on the contrary, it 
 will rather be supposed that he has been upon some bad 
 exploit, because he has a general ill character, and that he 
 was killed by his adversary, and so shut up in the chest.” 
 She approved of her maid’s advice in everything save 
 the wounding him, saying, that for all the world she would 
 never consent to that. Accordingly she sent the maid to 
 see if the chest was still there, who brought her word back 
 that it was. And being stout and lusty, she took him on 
 her shoulders, whilst the lady went first to see that nobody 
 was in the way, and coming to the chest, they threw him . 
 in, and shutting the lid, left him there. The same day two 
 young men, who let out money upon interest, chanced to 
 take a house a little farther on in the same street, who 
 willing to gain much and spend but little, and having need 
 of household goods, had taken notice of that chest the 
 day before, and were resolved, if it should be left there all 
 night, to steal it away. At midnight, then, they went and 
 carried it off, without examining at all into it, though it 
 seemed to be very heavy, and set it ina chamber where 
 their wives lay, and then went to/bed. Now Ruggieri, by 
 this time, had gotten the greater part of his sleep over; 
 and his draught being pretty well digested, and its virtue 
 at an end, he awoke before morning; and though his 
 senses were in some measure returned to him, yet was 
 there a kind of stupefaction remaining, which continued, 
 not that night only, but for several days; yet he opened 
 his eyes, and seeing nothing, threw his hands. about him, 
 when he perceived himself shut up; he was consequently 
 in the utmost amaze, and said to himself—‘' What is the 
 meaning of this? Wheream 1? Am I asleep or awake? 
 
. FOURTH DAY 243 
 
 { remember last night to have been in my mistress’s 
 chamber, and now methinks I am in a chest. What can 
 it be?: Sure the doctor is returned, or some other accident 
 has happened; and she, finding me asleep, put me in here: 
 it can be nothing else.” Upon that consideration he lay 
 still, and began to listen if he could hear anything stir; 
 and having lain for some time in an uneasy posture, as 
 the chest was strait, and that side being sore that he had 
 pressed so long upon, he was willing to turn upon the 
 other; when, thrusting his back against one side of the 
 chest, which stood upon an unequal place, he overset it, 
 and down it came to the floor, with such a noise, that the 
 women were awakened, and frightened out of their wits. 
 Ruggieri upon this knew not what to think, but finding the 
 chest open with the fall, he thought it better to get out if 
 he could, than to stay within doors; therefore he went 
 groping up and down in the dark, to find some door or 
 place to make his escape at. They hearing this, cried out, 
 ‘Who is there?” But he not knowing their voices, made 
 no answer. Upon this they began to call their husbands, 
 but’ they were so fast asleep, having been awake the 
 greatest part of the night, that they heard nothing of the 
 matter. They were then more terrified than before, and 
 went to the window, calling out, ‘‘ Thieves! thieves!” This 
 brought many of the neighbours together, who forced their 
 way into the house: and the husbands also were raised 
 with this clamour, and seized upon poor Ruggieri, who was 
 out of his wits almost with surprise to find himself there, 
 where he saw no possibility of making his escape. And by 
 this time the city officers were drawn thither, by reason of 
 the tumult, into whose hands he was delivered, and had by 
 them before the provost, when he was immediately put to 
 the rack, as he was one of bad character; and he confessed 
 that he had gotten into the house with intent to rob them; 
 whereupon the provost sentenced him to be hanged out of 
 hand. That morning the news was carried all over Salerno 
 that Ruggieri was taken breaking into the usurer’s house; 
 which the lady and her maid hearing, were so astonished, 
 that they could scarcely believe what had happened the 
 preceding night was real; whilst the lady was in such con- 
 
244 THE DECAMERON 
 
 cern for her lover, that she was almost distracted. Some 
 few hours after the doctor returned from Malfi, when he 
 inquired for his narcotic water, because he was then going 
 upon his operation ; and finding the bottle empty, he made 
 a terrible mutiny, telling them that mothing in his house 
 could- stand untouched for them./ /The lady, who had 
 something else lying nearer her heart, replied with some 
 warmth, ‘“‘ What would you say in anything of consequence, 
 when you make such a stir about a little water?” The 
 doctor then said, “‘ Lady, you_should consider this is no 
 common water, it is water distilled to cause sleep.” And 
 he further told her upon what account it was made. When 
 she heard this she concluded that Ruggieri had drunk it 
 off, and that they supposed him therefore to be dead; 
 and she added, “Sir, we knew nothing of your intention, 
 but if you please you.can make more:” and he perceiving 
 that there was no other remedy, did so. Soon afterwards 
 the maid returned, whom she had sent to learn news of her 
 lover: and she said)“ Madam, there is nobody that speaks 
 well of Ruggieri, whether relation or otherwise, or intends 
 to give him any assistance; but all people agree that he 
 will be hanged to-morrow: one thing, however, I have 
 learnt, which is new; that is, how he came into those 
 usurers’ house, which I will tell you.. You know the joiner 
 at whose door the chest stood, wherein we had put him ; 
 he has just had a warm dispute with another person, who, 
 it seems, owned the chest, and who insisted that the joiner 
 should pay for it: however, he replied that he had not 
 sold it, but that it was stolen away from him. The other 
 answered, “It is a story, you sold it to two usurers, as 
 they themselves told me this morning, when I saw it in 
 their house at the time Ruggieri was taken. ‘They are 
 liars,’ quoth the joiner, ‘I never sold it them; but they 
 stole it from me last night; let us go to them therefore.’ 
 So away they went together, whilst I returned hither; 
 from hence it is easy to see that Ruggieri was carried 
 in that manner to the place where he was taken; but 
 how he came tq himself afterwards is beyond my com- 
 prehension.” 
 
 The lady now plainly saw how the case was, and told 
 
. FOURTH DAY 245 
 
 her maid what she had learnt from the doctor, begging 
 that she would lend her assistance in promoting her lover’s 
 escape: for it was in her power at once to save his life and 
 her honour. The maid answered, ‘‘ Madam, tell me only 
 which way, and I will do it with all my heart.” The lady, 
 as it was a thing that so nearly touched her, had all her 
 wits about her, and gave the maid full instructions what 
 she wished her to do: accordingly she went to the doctor, 
 and’ began to weep, saying, “Sir, I am come to ask your 
 pardon for a great crime which I have committed towards 
 you.” The doctor asked what crime it was? She, con- 
 tinuing to weep, replied, ‘You know what sort of a person 
 Ruggieri da Jeroli is, who has been my sweetheart for this 
 twelvemonth past, notwithstanding all his imperfections ; 
 and who, knowing last night that you were abroad, wheedled 
 me so far, that I brought him into your house, and took 
 him up into my chamber to be all night with me; when, 
 being thirsty, and I not knowing how to get him either any 
 water or wine, without my mistress seeing it, who was then 
 in the hall, I suddenly recollected to have seen a bottle of 
 water in your chamber, which I fetched and gave him to 
 drink, and set the bottle again where I found it; and I 
 since understand that you have been in a great passion 
 about it: I confess I did very ill; but who is’ there that 
 some time or other doth not act amiss? I am extremely 
 concerned for it; not so much upon account of the thing 
 itself, as what has ensued; for it hath brought him in 
 danger of his life. Therefore I earnestly beg your forgive- 
 ness, and that you would give me leave to go and assist 
 him to the utmost of my power.” 
 
 The doctor, hearing this story, answered merrily, not- 
 withstanding his former passion: ‘‘ You have reason enough 
 to be sorry upon your own account, for instead of having a 
 young brisk fellow you had nothing but asluggard. You 
 may go then and save the man, if you can, but take care 
 you do so no more; for if you do, I shall then pay you 
 for all together.” Having this answer, she thought she had 
 made a good beginning; therefore she hastened to the 
 prison and persuaded the gaoler to let her speak to 
 Ruggieri; when, having informed him what answers he 
 
246 THE DECAMERON 
 
 was to make to the magistrate if he meant to escape, she 
 went from thence to the judge, to whom she: got intro- 
 duced, and said to him, “Sir, you have had Ruggieri da 
 Jeroli béfore you; who was taken up for a thief; but the 
 case is quite otherwise;” and here she related her whole 
 story: how she had brought him into the doctor’s house, 
 how she had given him that. narcotic water to drink with- 
 out knowing it, and how he was put into the chest for dead : 
 she afterwards told him what had: passed» between the. 
 joiner and the owner of the chest, making it appear how 
 he came into the usurers’ house. ; 
 
 The judge saw that it would be an easy thing to come at 
 the truth of this matter; therefore, he first inquired of the 
 doctor whether the story was true concerning the water, 
 and found it exactly so: he then sent for the joiner and 
 owner of the chest, as also the usurers; and after much 
 examination it appeared that they had stolen the chest the 
 foregoing night, and carried it home. Last of all he had 
 Ruggieri brought before him, when he being asked where 
 he had lodged that night, he replied, That he could not 
 tell where he actually did lie; but said his intention was to 
 have lain with the doctor’s maid in whose chamber he had 
 drunk some water to quench his most violent thirst ; but 
 what became of him from that time to the time of \his 
 awaking and finding himself in the chest in the usurers’ 
 house, that he could give no account of:. The judge 
 was mightily pleased with their accounts, and made them 
 repeat their several stories over and over. At length, 
 perceiving Ruggieri to be innocent, he set him at liberty, 
 and sentenced the usurers to pay a fine of ten crowns. 
 It is easy to imagine what Ruggieri’s joy now was, as well 
 as the lady’s, who made themselves very merry together 
 afterwards along with the maid, for the slashes with her 
 penknife, which she meant to have given him, still going 
 on in the same mirth and pleasure from good to better: 
 which I wish may happen always to myself, but never to 
 be put into a chest. 
 
 If the former novels had occasioned great grief and 
 sorrow to the ladies, this last of Dioneus’s made ample 
 amends. But the king now perceiving that the sun was 
 
FOURTH DAY 24) 
 
 about to set, and that his sovereignty was therefore at an 
 end, began to excuse himself for giving such a cruel sub- 
 ject to expatiate upon, as the unhappiness of lovers: then 
 rising up, he took the crown from his head, and whilst they 
 were waiting to see to whom he would resign it, he put it 
 upon Fiammetta, saying, “I make choice of you as one 
 who knows better than any other person to comfort us, 
 for what we have heard to-day with to-morrow’s mirth.” 
 Fiammetta, whose locks hung in long graceful ringlets over 
 her white and delicate shoulders, her face round and beauti- 
 ful with white and red, like lilies and roses blended to- 
 gether; her eyes like those of a falcon’s, with a little mouth 
 whose lips were like rubies: she, I say, said with a smile, 
 “Philostratus, I willingly accept it; and, to the end that 
 you may the better recollect yourself concerning what you 
 have done hitherto, I will and command that every one 
 be prepared to treat to-morrow upon what has happened 
 happily to lovers, after certain cruel and unlucky acci- 
 dents ;” which proposal was agreeable to them all. Calling 
 then the steward, and concerting with him what was most 
 needful to be done, she gave them leave to depart till 
 supper. Some therefore walked into the garden, the beauty 
 of which was such that they were never weary of it; others 
 went to see the mill; and some went to one place and 
 some to another, according to their different inclinations ; 
 till that time being come, they all met together, as usual, 
 by the fountain-side, where they supped with great elegance 
 and satisfaction to themselves. When that was over, they 
 began to dance and sing: and as Philomena was leading 
 up the dance, the queen said, ‘‘ Philostratus, I do not in- 
 tend to deviate from my predecessors, but as they have 
 done hitherto, so intend I to order a song: and as I am 
 very sure that yours are like your novels, therefore, that no 
 more of our days be disturbed with your misfortunes, I 
 desire you would give us one of those which pleases you 
 ‘most. Philostratus replied, ‘‘ With all my heart;” and he 
 immediately began the following song :— 
 
248 
 
 THE DECAMERON 
 
 SONG 
 CHORUS 
 
 Sure none can more your pity move,” 
 Than I, who am betray’d in love. 
 
 When my poor wounded heart, 
 For her of whom I now complain, 
 First felt the am’rous smart, 
 The greatest pain 
 As nought I deem’d: 
 For she, since most unkind, 
 Then all perfection seem’d : 
 But, ah! too late my error now I find. 
 Sure, &c. 
 
 For why? I see myself deceiv’d 
 By her, my only hope and joys 
 And when too fondly I believ’d, 
 None so secure, so blest as I; 
 All past engagements laid aside, 
 To soothe a happier rival’s pride. 
 Sure, &c. 
 
 Ii 
 
 Since my disgrace, 
 I mourn and curse the day, 
 When her too beauteous face 
 First stole my ravish’d heart away 3 
 Whilst my too easy faith and love 
 An endless source of sorrow prove, 
 Sure, &c. 
 
 IV 
 
 So great the grief, 
 
 Which has my mind possest ! 
 That vain is all relief, 
 
 And only death can give me rest § 
 *Tis that shall all my sorrows close, 
 With a secure and long repose. 
 
 Sure, &c. 
 
-FOURTH DAY 249 
 
 Vv 
 
 No other means remain 
 To ease my pain 
 But, oh ! when clostd shall be these eyes, 
 Within her breast 
 Let ne’er one anxious thought arise, 
 Be she for ever blest ! 
 Sure, &c. 
 
 VI 
 
 Yet ere I go, 
 Kind Cupid, whisper in her ear, 
 That ’tis for her, 
 I all these torments know: 
 Perhaps she may repent her usage past, 
 And grant my love a kind return at last. 
 
 CHORUS, 
 
 Sure none can more your pity move, 
 Than I, who am betray’d in love. 
 
 Philostratus’s sentiments, and the grounds of them, were 
 plainly set forth in this song, and perhaps the lady’s coun- 
 tenance who was engaged in the dance had made a further 
 discovery, if the darkness of the night had not concealed 
 the blushes rising in her face: but the song being ended, 
 as well as many others afterwards, and the hour of rest now 
 drawing on, by the queen’s command they all repaired to 
 their several chambers. 
 

 
 | THE FIFTH DAY 
 
 THE sun now darted forth his golden beams over the face 
 _ of our hemisphere, when Fiammetta, awaked by the sweet 
 
 
 
 et 
 
 _ been merrily chanting among the trees, arose, and had all 
 
 music of the birds, who, from the first notice of day, had 
 
 ~ the company called up ; when they walked leisurely together 
 
 upon the dewy grass, into a pleasant meadow, until the 
 sun was a little higher; conferring by the way upon many 
 agreeable subjects. At last, when the heat grew a little in- 
 
 _ tense, they retreated to their former station, where they re- 
 _ freshed themselves with wine and sweetmeats, and diverted 
 _ themselves afterwards in the garden, till dinner-time: every- 
 _ thing being provided at that hour, in the neatest manner, 
 
 by their steward, they had a song or two, and then sat down : 
 and dinner being ended, they were entertained again both 
 
 with music and dancing. After that was over the queen 
 _ gave them their liberty; when, accordingly, some went to 
 
 lie down, and others amused themselves in the meantime in 
 the garden: but at the usual hour they all met by her order 
 
 AN one 
 
 _at the fountain-side. When, being seated on her throne and 
 casting her eye upon Pamphilus, she smiled ; and desiring 
 
 him to begin, he immediately complied in this manner. 
 
 
 
 NOVEL I 
 
 _Cymon becomes wise by being in love, and by force of arms wins Ephi- 
 genia his mistress upon the seas; and is imprisoned at Rhodes. 
 Being delivered from thence by Lysimachus, with him he recovers 
 Ephigenia, and flies with her to Crete, where he is married te her, 
 and ts afterwards recalled home. 
 
 
 
 A GREAT many novels come now fresh into my mind, for 
 
 the beginning of such an agreeable day’s discourse as this 
 
 
 
 250 
 
. FIFTH DAY 251 
 is likely to be; but one I am more particularly pleased 
 
 with, because it not only shows the happy conclusion which | 
 
 we are to treat about, but how sacred, how powerful also, 
 as well as advantageous, the force of love is; which some 
 people, without knowing what they say, unjustly blame and 
 vilify, and which I judge will rather be had in esteem by you, 
 as I suppose you all to be subject to the tender passion. 
 According to the ancient histories of Cyprus, there lived 
 some time in that island, one of great rank and distinction, 
 called Aristippus, by far the wealthiest person in all the 
 country ; and if he was unhappy in any one respect, it was in 
 having, amongst his other children, a son, who, though he 
 exceeded most young people of his time in stature and 
 comeliness, yet he was a perfect natural: his true name was 
 Galeso, but as neither the labour nor skill of his master, 
 nor the correction of his father, was ever able to beat one 
 letter into his head, or the least instruction of any kind, 
 and as his voice and manner of speaking were strangely 
 harsh and uncouth, he was, by way of disdain, called only 
 Cymon; which, in their language, signified deast. The 
 father had long beheld him with infinite concern, and as 
 all hopes were vanished concerning him, to remove out of 
 his sight an object which afforded constant matter of grief, 
 he ordered him away to his country house, to be there with 
 his slaves. This was extremely agreeable to Cymon, be- 
 cause people of that sort had been always most to his 
 mind. Residing there and doing all sorts of drudgery 
 pertaining to that kind of life, it happened one day, as he 
 was going, about noontide, with his staff upon his shoulder, 
 from one farm to another, that he passed through a pleasant 
 grove, which, as it was then the month of May, was all in 
 bloom ; from whence, as his stars led him, he came into a 
 meadow surrounded with high trees, in one corner of which 
 was a crystal spring, and by the side of it upon the grass, 
 lay a most béautiful damsel asleep, clothed with a mantle 
 so exceedingly fine and delicate, as scarcely to conceal 
 underneath the exquisite whiteness of her skin; only from 
 her waist downwards she wore a white silken quilt, and at 
 her feet were sleeping, likewise, two women and a map- 
 
 servant. 
 
 “oe aL Wl 
 Bee aed ren es 
 
 Z| 
 
 Bj 
 Pgs tins a 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 252 THE DECAMERON 
 
 As soon as Cymon cast his eye upon her, as if he had 
 never seen the face of a woman before, he stood leaning 
 upon his staff, and began to gaze with the utmost astonish- 
 ment without speaking a word. When suddenly, in his 
 rude uncivilised breast, which had hitherto been incapable 
 of receiving the least impression of politeness whatsoever, 
 a sudden thought arose, which seemed to intimate to his 
 gross and shallow understanding, that this was the most 
 
 _ agreeable sight that ever was seen. From thence he began 
 _ to examine each part by itself, commending every limb 
 and feature; and being now become a judge of beauty 
 from a mere idiot, he grew very desirous of seeing her 
 eyes, on which account he was going several times to 
 awake her; but as she so far excelled all other women 
 that he ever saw, he was in doubt whether she was a mortal 
 
 creature. This made him wait to see if she would awake 
 | of her own accord; and though that expectation seemed 
 | tedious to him, yet so pleasing was the object, that he had 
 
 no power to leave it. 
 
 _. After a long time she came to herself, and raising up her 
 
 head, saw Cymon stand propped upon his stick before her, at 
 which she was surprised, and said, ‘‘Cymon, what are you 
 
 looking for here at this time of day?” Now he was known 
 all over the country, as well for his own rusticity as his 
 
 father’s nobility and great wealth, He made no answer 
 but stood with his eyes: fixed upon hers, which seemed to 
 ‘dart a sweetness that filled him with a kind of joy to which 
 
 
 
 _ he had hitherto been a stranger ; whilst she, observing this, 
 _ and not knowing what his rudeness might prompt him to, 
 ay called up her women, and then said, “Cymon, go about 
 your business.” He replied, ‘I will go along with you.” 
 _ And though she was afraid, and would have avoided his 
 company, yet he would not leave her till he had brought 
 
 jher to her own house; from thence he went home to his 
 
 _ father, when he declared that he would return no more 
 
 into the country, which was very disagreeable to all his 
 
 friends, but yet they let him alone, waiting to see what this 
 
 ichange of temper could be owing to. Love thus having 
 pierced his heart, when no lesson of any kind could ever 
 
 find admittance, in a little time his way of thinking and 
 
 
 
. FIFTH DAY. 253 
 
 behaviour were so far changed, that his father and friends 
 were strangely surprised at it, as well as everybody that 
 knew him. First of all, then, he asked his father to let 
 him have clothes, and everything else like his brethren; 
 to which the father very willingly consented. Conversing 
 too with young gentlemen of character, and observing their 
 ways and manner of behaving, in a very short time he not 
 only got over the first rudiments of learning, but attained 
 to some knowledge in philosophy. Afterwards, his love 
 for Ephigenia being the sole cause of it, his rude and rustic 
 speech was changed into a tone more agreeable and 
 civilised: he grew also a master of music; and with regard 
 to the military art, as well by sea as land, he became as 
 expert and gallant as the best. In short, not to run over 
 all his excellencies, before the expiration of the fourth year 
 from his being first in love, he turned out the most accom- 
 plished young gentleman in every respect that ever Cyprus 
 could boast of. What, then, most gracious ladies, shall 
 we say of Cymon? Surely nothing less than this; that all 
 the noble qualities which had been infused by Heaven 
 into his generous soul were shut up as it were by invidious 
 fortune, and bound fast with the strongest fetters in a small 
 corner of his heart, till love broke the enchantment, and 
 drove with all its might these virtues out of that cruel 
 obscurity, to which they had been long doomed, to a clear 
 and open day; plainly showing from whence it draws 
 those spirits that are its votaries, and whither its mighty 
 influence conducts them. Cymon, therefore, though he 
 might have his flights iike other young people, with regard 
 to his love for Ephigenia, yet when Aristippus considered 
 it was that had made a man of him, he not only bore with 
 it, but encouraged him in the pursuit of his pleasures. 
 Cymon, nevertheless, who refused to be called Galeso, 
 remembering that Ephigenia had styled him Cymon, being 
 desirous of bringing that affair to a happy conclusion, had 
 often requested her in marriage of her father, who replied 
 that he had already promised her to one Pasimunda, a 
 young nobleman of Rhodes, and that he intended not to 
 break. his word. The time then being come that was 
 appointed for their nuptials, and the husband having sent 
 
254 THE DECAMERON 
 
 -in form to demand her, Cymon said to himself: “O 
 Ephigenia, the time is now come when I shall give proof 
 how I love you. I am become a man on your account, 
 and could I but obtain you I should be as glorious and 
 happy as the gods themselves; and have you I will, or 
 else I will die.” 
 
 Immediately he prevailed upon some young noblemen 
 who were his friends to assist him; and, fitting out a ship 
 of war privately, they put to sea, in order to waylay the 
 vessel that was to transport Ephigenia; who, after great 
 respect and honour showed by her father to her husband’s 
 friends, embarked with them for Rhodes. Cymon, who 
 had but little rest that night, overtook them on the follow- 
 ing day, when he called out, ‘Stop, and strike your sails ; 
 or expect to go to the bottom of the sea.” They, on the 
 other hand, had got all their arms above deck and were 
 preparing for a vigorous defence. He therefore threw a 
 grappling iron upon the other ship, which was making the 
 best of its way, and drew it close to his own; when, like a 
 lion, without waiting for any one to second him, he jumped 
 singly among his enemies, as if he cared not for them, and 
 love spurring him’on with incredible force, he cut and 
 drove them all like so many sheep before him, till they 
 soon threw down their arms, acknowledging themselves 
 his prisoners; when he addressed himself to them in the 
 following manner :—“ Gentlemen, it is no desire of plunder, 
 nor enmity to any of your company, that made me leave 
 Cyprus to fall upon you here in this manner. What occa- 
 sioned it is a matter, the success of which is of the utmost 
 consequence to myself, and as easy for you quietly to grant 
 me; it is Ephigenia, whom I love above all the world ; 
 and as I could not have her from her father peaceably, and 
 as a friend, my love constrains me to win her from you as 
 an enemy, by force of arms. Therefore I am resolved to 
 be to her what your Pasimunda was to have been. Resign 
 her then to me, and go away in God’s name.” 
 
 The people, more by force than any good will, gave her, 
 all in tears, up to Cymon; who, seeing her lament in that 
 manner, said, ‘‘ Fair lady, be not discouraged; I am your 
 Cymon, who have a better claim to your affection, on 
 
. FIFTH DAY 255 
 
 account of my long and constant love, than Pasimunda 
 can have by virtue of a promise.” Taking her then on 
 board his ship, without meddling with anything else that 
 belonged to them, he suffered them to depart. Cymon 
 being thus the most overjoyed man that could be, after 
 comforting the lady uuder her calamity, consulted with his 
 friends what to do, who were of opinion that they should by 
 no means return to Cyprus yet; but that it were better to go 
 directly to Crete, where they had all relations and friends, 
 but Cymon especially, on which account they might be 
 more secure there along with Ephigenia ; and accordingly 
 they directed their course that way. But fortune, who 
 had given the lady to Cymon by an easy conquest, soon 
 changed his immoderate joy into most sad and bitter 
 lamentation. In about four hours from his parting with 
 the Rhodians, night came upon them, which was more 
 welcome to Cymon than any of the rest, and with it a most 
 violent tempest, which overspread the face of the heavens 
 in such a manner that they could neither see what they did 
 nor whither they were carried ; nor were they able at all to 
 steer the ship. You may easily suppose what Cymon’s 
 grief must be on this occasion. He concluded that Heaven 
 had crowned his desires only to make death more grievous 
 to him, which before would have been but little regarded. 
 His friends also were greatly affected, but especially 
 Ephigenia, who: trembled at every shock, still sharply 
 upbraiding his illtimed love, and declaring that this 
 tempest was sent by Providence for no other reason, but 
 that as he had resolved to have her contrary to the will 
 and disposal of Heaven, to disappoint that presumption ; 
 and that, seeing her die first, he might die likewise in the 
 same miserable manner. 
 
 Amongst such complaints as these they. were carried at 
 last, the wind growing continually more violent, near the 
 island of Rhodes; and not knowing where they were, they 
 endeavoured, for the safety of their lives, to get to land if 
 possible. In this they succeeded, and got into a little bay, 
 where the Rhodian ship had arrived just before them; nor 
 did they know they were at Rhodes till the next morning, 
 when they saw, about a bow-shot from them, the same 
 
256 THE DECAMERON 
 
 ship they had parted with the day before. Cymon was 
 greatly concerned at this, and fearing what afterwards 
 came to pass, he bid them put to sea if possible, and trust 
 to fortune, for they could never be in a worse place. They 
 used all possible means then to get out, but in vain; the 
 wind was strongly against them, and drove them to shore 
 in spite of all they could do to prevent it. They were 
 soon known by the sailors of the other ship, who had now 
 gained the shore, and who ran to a neighbouring town, 
 where the young gentlemen that had been on board were 
 just gone before, and informed them how Cymon and 
 Ephigenia were like themselves driven thither by stress of 
 weather. ‘They hearing this, brought a great many people 
 from the town to the seaside, and took Cymon and his 
 companions prisoners, who had got on shore, with a design 
 of fleeing to a neighbouring wood, as also Ephigenia, and 
 brought them all together to the town. Pasimunda, upon 
 hearing the news, went and made his complaints to the 
 senate, who accordingly sent Lysimachus, who was chief 
 magistrate that year, along with a guard of soldiers to 
 conduct them to prison. Thus the miserable and enam- 
 oured Cymon lost his mistress soon after he had gained 
 her, and without having scarcely so much as a kiss for his 
 pains. In the meantime Ephigenia was handsomely re- 
 ceived by many ladies of quality, and comforted for the 
 trouble she had sustained in being made a captive, as well 
 as in the storm at sea; and she remained with them till 
 the day appointed for their nuptials. However, Cymon 
 and his friends had their lives granted them (though Pasi- 
 munda used all his endeavours to the contrary) for the 
 favour showed to the Rhodians the day before; but they 
 were sentenced to perpetual imprisonment, where they 
 remained sorrowfully enough, as they had no hopes of 
 obtaining their liberty. 
 
 Now whilst Pasimunda was oe preparation for his 
 nuptials, fortune, as if she had repented the injury done 
 to. Cymon, produced a new circumstance for his deliver- 
 ance. Pasimunda had a brother, beneath him in years, 
 but not in virtue, called Ormisda, who had been. long 
 talked of as about to marry a beautiful lady of that city, 
 
FIFTH DAY 267 
 
 called Cassandra, whom Lysimachus was also in love with, 
 and had for some time been prevented marrying her, by 
 divers unlucky accidents. Now as Pasimunda was to 
 celebrate his own nuptials with great state and feasting, 
 he supposed it would save a great deal of expense and 
 trouble if his brother were to marry at the same time. 
 He consequently proposed the thing again to Cassandra’s 
 friends, and soon brought it to a conclusion; when it was 
 agreed by all parties, that the same day that Pasimunda 
 brought home Ephigenia, Ormisda should bring home 
 Cassandra. This’ was very grating to Lysimachus, who 
 aw himself now deprived of the hope which he had 
 hitherto entertained of marrying her himself; but he was 
 wise enough to conceal it, contriving a way to prevent its 
 taking effect if possible; none however appeared, but that 
 of taking her away by force. This seemed easy enough on 
 account of his office; still he thought it not so reputable as 
 if he had borne no ‘office at all at that time; but in short, 
 after a long debate with himself, honour gave way to love, and 
 he resolved, happen what would, to bear away Cassandra. 
 Thinking then what companions he should make choice 
 of for this enterprise, as well as the means that were to be 
 taken, he soon called Cymon to mind, whom he had in 
 custody, as also his companions; and thinking he could 
 have nobody better to assist him, nor one more trusty and 
 faithful on that occasion than Cymon, the next night he 
 had him privately into his chamber, where he spoke to 
 him in this manner: “‘Cymon, as the gods are the best 
 and most liberal givers of all things to mankind, so are 
 they also the ablest judges of our several virtues and 
 merits: such then as they find to be firm and constant in 
 every respect, them do they make worthy of the greatest 
 things. Now concerning your worth and valour, they are 
 willing to have a more certain trial of both, than it was 
 possible for you to show within the scanty limits of your - 
 father’s house, whom I know to be a person of the greatest 
 distinction ; for first, then, by the pungent force of love, as 
 I am informed, have they, from a mere insensible creature, 
 made a man of you; and afterwards, by adverse fortune, 
 and now, by a miserable imprisonment, are they willing to 
 I 
 
258 THE DECAMERON 
 
 see if your soul be changed from what it was, when you 
 appeared flushed so lately with the prize you had won, 
 If that continues the same, I can propose nothing so agree- 
 able to you, as what I am now going to offer; which, that 
 you may resume your former might and valour, I shall 
 immediately disclose. Pasimunda, overjoyed with your dis- 
 appointment, and a zealous promoter, as far as in him 
 lay, of your being put to death, is now about to celebrate 
 his marriage with your Ephigenia, that he may enjoy that 
 blessing which fortune, when she was favourable, first put 
 into your power, and afterwards snatched away from you, 
 but how this must afflict you I can easily suppose by 
 myself, who am like to undergo the same injury, and at 
 the same time, with regard to my mistress Cassandra, who 
 is to be married then to his brother Ormisda. Now I see 
 no remedy for either of us, but what consists in our own 
 resolution, and the strength of our arms: it will be neces- 
 sary, therefore, to make our way with our swords, for each 
 of us to gain his lady: if then you value (I will not say 
 your liberty, because that, without her, would be of little 
 weight with you; but, I say, if you value) your mistress, 
 you need only follow me, and fortune has put her into 
 your hands.” These words spoke comfort to the drooping 
 soul of Cymon, who immediately replied, ‘*‘ Lysimachus, 
 you could never have a more stout, nor a more trusty 
 friend for such an enterprise than myself, if it be as you 
 seem to promise: tell me then what you would have me 
 do, and you shall seg me put it nobly into execution.” 
 Lysimachus made answer, “‘ Three days hence the ladies 
 are to be brought home to their espoused husbands, when 
 you, with your friends and myself, with some people whom 
 I can confide in, will go armed in the evening, and enter 
 their house whilst they are in the midst of their mirth, 
 where we will seize on the two brides, and carry them 
 away to a ship which I have secretly provided, killing all 
 that shall presume to oppose us.” ‘This scheme was en- 
 tirely to Cymon’s good liking, and he waited quietly till 
 the time appointed. The wedding-day being now come, 
 and every part of the house full of mirth and feasting, 
 Lysimachus, after giving the necessary orders at the time 
 
> FIFTH DAY 259 
 
 _ fixed, divided Cymon and his companions with his own 
 friends into three parties, and putting arms under their 
 several cloaks, and animating them boldly to pursue what 
 they had undertaken, he sent one party to the haven to 
 secure their escape, and with the other two they went to 
 Pasimunda’s house; one they stationed at the gate, to 
 prevent any persons shutting them up in the house; whilst 
 he, along with Cymon, went upstairs with the remaining 
 part. Coming then into the dining-room, where the two 
 brides, with many other ladies, were seated orderly at 
 supper, they advanced up to them, and throwing down all 
 the tables, each seized his lady, and giving them into the 
 arms of their followers, ordered them to carry them away 
 to their ship. The brides, as well as the other ladies and 
 the servants, cried out so much, that immediately there 
 was a great tumult. In the meantime, Cymon and Lysi- 
 machus, with their followers, all drew their swords, and 
 came downstairs again, without any opposition, till they 
 met with Pasimunda, having in his hand a great club, 
 whom the noise had drawn thither, when Cymon, at one 
 stroke, laid him dead at his feet, and whilst Ormisda was 
 running to his assistance, he was likewise killed by Cymon: 
 many others also of their friends, who came to their relief, 
 were wounded and beaten back. Leaving the house then 
 all full of blood and confusion, they joined parties, and 
 went directly on to their ship with their booty, without the 
 least hindrance whatever; when putting the ladies on board, 
 and they with all their friends following them, the shore 
 was soon filled with crowds of people who came to rescue 
 them, upon which they plied their oars, and sailed joyfully 
 away for Crete. There they were cheerfully received by all 
 their friends and relations, when they espoused their ladies, 
 and were well pleased with their several prizes. This 
 occasioned great quarrels afterwards between’ the two 
 islands of Cyprus and Rhodes. At length, by the inter- 
 position of friends, everything was amicably adjusted, and 
 then Cymon returned along with Ephigenia to Cyprus, 
 and Lysimachus in like manner carried Cassandra back 
 to Rhodes, where they lived very happily to the end of 
 their days. 
 
260 THE DECAMERON 
 
 NOVEL II 
 
 Constantia ts in love with Martuccio Gomito ; and hearing that he was 
 dead, out of despair, goes alone into a boat, which ts driven by the 
 wind to Susa: finding him alive at Tunis, she makes herself 
 known ; whilst he, being a great favourite there of the king, mar- 
 ries her, and returns home with her to Lipari, very rich. 
 
 THE queen seeing that Pamphilus’s novel was at an end, 
 after praising it highly, she ordered Emilia to follow, who 
 began thus:—We are all of us justly pleased with such 
 things as we see attended with rewards, according to our 
 wishes; and because love is more often deserving of 
 happiness than misery, I shall therefore obey the queen 
 with a great deal more pleasure, by treating on the present 
 subject, than I did the king, in discoursing of that of yes- 
 terday. You must know, then, ladies, that near to Sicily 
 is a little island, called Lipari, in which, not long since, 
 lived a lady of a worthy family named Constantia, with 
 whom was in love a young gentleman of the same island, 
 called Martuccio Gomito, one of an excellent character, 
 and very eminent in his way. She also had the same 
 regard for him, so that she was never easy but when she 
 saw him. He, therefore, desirous of marrying her, asked 
 her father’s consent, who replied, that as he was in poor 
 circumstances, he would never give it. Martuccio, grieved 
 to see himself rejected on account of his poverty, fitted out 
 a little vessel, with some of his friends and relations, and 
 made a resolution never to return to Lipari till he should 
 be rich. Parting from thence, he cruised on the coast of 
 Barbary, taking everything of less force than himself that 
 came in his way. And fortune was favourable enough to 
 him, could he have set bounds to his desires: but not 
 being satisfied, he and his friends, with being very rich, 
 and willing still to be more so, it happened that they were 
 taken by some Saracen ships, after making a most obstinate 
 defence, when, being plundered of all they had gotten, and 
 the greatest part of them slain, after sinking the ship, he 
 was carried prisoner to Tunis, where he suffered a long 
 
|. FIFTH DAY 261 
 
 and miserable confinement. In the meantime, news was 
 brought to Lipari, from divers hands, that they were all 
 drowned ; which was such an affliction to the lady, that she 
 resolved not to survive it; and not having a heart to make 
 away with herself by any violent means, she chose to lay 
 herself under a necessity of meeting with her death: 
 accordingly she went privately one night to the haven, 
 where she found by chance a small fisher’s boat, at liberty 
 from the other ships, and furnished with sails and oars. 
 Getting into this ; and having rowed a little way into the 
 sea, she threw away her oars and rudder, and committed 
 herself entirely to the mercy of the winds, supposing of 
 necessity, that as the boat was empty, and nobody to steer 
 it, either that it must overset, or else dash against some 
 rock : and so break to pieces; and that, in either case, she 
 could not escape if she would. Wrapping her head then 
 in a mantle, she laid herself down, weeping, at the bottom 
 of the boat. But it happened differently from what she 
 imagined, for it being a gentle north wind, and no sea, the 
 boat rode it out all night, and till the following evening 
 when it was brought within a hundred miles of Tunis, to a 
 strand near a town called Susa; whilst the poor lady 
 thought nothing either of her being near the land, or upon 
 the wide sea, having never looked up from the time of her 
 laying herself down, nor meaning ever to do so. 
 
 Now it happened, just as the boat struck against the 
 shore, that a poor woman was taking away some nets which 
 had been drying in the sun, who perceiving the boat 
 coming full sail against the shore, and supposing the people 
 to be all asleep in it, stepped into it, and finding only this 
 lady, she called several times to her before she could make 
 her hear, she being fast asleep, and seeing by her dress that 
 she was a Christian, she inquired of her in Latin how it 
 happened that she had arrived there in the boat all alone. 
 The lady hearing her talk in Latin, was apprehensive that a 
 different wind had driven her back to Lipari ; and getting 
 up, and looking all around her, without knowing anything 
 of the country, she then inquired of the good woman 
 where she was; who replied, ‘‘ Daughter, you are near to 
 Susa, in Barbary ;” which the lady hearing, was in great 
 
262 THE DECAMERON 
 
 concern that she had not met with the death she had 
 coveted, fearing also, with regard to her modesty, and not 
 knowing what to do, she sat down, and began to weep 
 The good woman, seeing this, had pity on her, and after 
 much persuasion brought her to her little hut, where she 
 told her at length in what manner she had come thither. 
 The good woman then finding that she was fasting, set her 
 coarse bread, with some fish dressed, and water before her, 
 and prevailed upon her to eat a little. Constantia now 
 inquired of the good woman who she was, that she 
 talked Latin so well; who told her that she was of 
 Trapani, that her name was Carapresa: and that she was 
 servant to some Christian fishermen. The lady hearing 
 that name, full of grief as she was, began to conceive 
 some hope from it, yet could she give no account why, 
 only that she thought she had’ heard the name. before. 
 Her desire to die was now much abated; and without 
 telling her who she was, or from whence she came, she 
 begged of her to have pity on her youth, and give her 
 such counsel as might enable her to avoid any injury 
 that should be offered to her. The good woman left her 
 in her hut till she had taken care of her nets, when she 
 covered her with her mantle, and conducted her to 
 Susa, saying to her, ‘‘ Constantia, I will bring you to the 
 house of an old Saracen lady whom I work for sometimes ; 
 she is very charitable, and I dare say, on my recom- 
 mendation, will receive you as though you were her own 
 child; you must study then to oblige her as much as 
 possible, till it shall please Heaven to send you better 
 fortune.” Accordingly she did as she had promised. 
 The old lady, upon hearing the poor woman’s account 
 of Constantia, looked earnestly at her, and began to 
 weep; she afterwards led her into the house, where she 
 and some other women lived together, without any man 
 amongst them, employing themselves in embroideries and 
 other kinds of needlework. In a few days she had 
 learned to work in the same way, and behaved herself 
 in such a manner that they were’ extremely delighted 
 with her company; and at length she made herself mis- 
 tress of their language. In this manner she continued 
 
. FIFTH DAY 263 
 
 at Susa, being given over at home for lost. In the mean- 
 time it happened that one called Mariabdela, being in 
 possession of the kingdom of Tunis, a young lord, of great 
 birth and power in the kingdom of Grenada, laid claim 
 also to it, and assembled a powerful army to drive him out 
 of the country. This coming to the ears of Martuccio 
 Gomito, who was still in prison, and well acquainted with 
 the Barbarian language ; understanding also that the king 
 made great preparations for his defence, he said to one of 
 his keepers, ‘Could I but speak to his Majesty, my heart 
 forebodes that I could give him such counsel as should assure 
 him of victory.” The person reported this to his master, 
 who immediately informed the king ; he then sent for him, 
 and demanded what counsel it was that he had to give 
 him? He replied, “My lord, if I am sufficiently ac- 
 quainted, since I have been in this country, with your 
 manner of fighting, it should seem to me as if you 
 depended principally upon your archers: now if I can con- 
 trive a way whereby your enemies should want arrows, at 
 the time that you had plenty of them, I suppose you will 
 think then the battle would be yours.” ‘Without doubt,” 
 replied the king, “if you can do that, I shall make no 
 question of being conqueror.” Martuccio then added, 
 “My lord, it may easily be done, if you please, and I will 
 show you which way. You must have much finer cords 
 made for your archers’ bows than are commonly used; you 
 must also have the notches of your arrows made to suit 
 these small strings ; but this must be done so privately that 
 the enemy hear nothing of it, because they would then 
 provide accordingly. Now the reason is this: after your 
 enemies shall have discharged all their arrows, and likewise 
 after your own bow-men shall have made an end of theirs, 
 you know that they then gather up, and shoot back your 
 own darts upon you, at the same time that your archers are 
 obliged to make use of theirs: but your arrows will be use- 
 less to them, because those small notches will not suit 
 their great strings; on the contrary, the slender cords of 
 your archers will very well receive the large notches of their 
 arrows: and thus your people will have plenty of darts, 
 when they shall be entirely unprovided.” The king, who 
 
264 THE DECAMERON 
 
 was a most wise lord, was pleased with the advice, and 
 followed it, by which means he got the victory. Martuccio 
 was consequently in high favour, and soon attained to great 
 power and wealth. These things were soon noised over 
 the country ; till at length Constantia heard that her lover, 
 whom she had thought to be dead, was yet alive. The 
 flame of her love, which had been so long extinct, now 
 broke out afresh, and with greater vigour, and with it 
 revived her hopes ; insomuch that she related all that had 
 happened to her to the good lady, acquainting her that she 
 desired to go to Tunis, there to satisfy her eyes with 
 beholding what fame had long rung into her ears ; the lady 
 commended her design, and, as she had been hitherto a 
 sort of a mother to her, embarked with her; when arriving 
 there, they were entertained together at one of her relation’s 
 houses. Here they sent Carapresa, whom they had carried 
 with them, to learn what she could about him, who reported 
 that he was alive, and in great repute. The lady then 
 resolving that she would be the person to acquaint him 
 with his Constantia being there, went one day to his house, 
 and said to him, “Sir, one of your servants from Lipari is 
 now a captive in my house, and has a desire to speak to 
 you in private; for which purpose that nobody might be 
 entrusted with the secret, he desired that I would go myself 
 to tell you.” Martuccio gave her thanks, and followed her 
 thither. As soon as the young lady saw him, she was per- 
 fectly overcome with joy, and, being unable to refrain, threw 
 her arms about his neck; whilst calling to mind her long 
 sufferings and present transports, she burst out into a flood 
 of tears. Martuccio stood some time in amaze, till at last 
 he said, with a sigh, ‘‘Oh, my Constantia, are you alive? 
 It is some time since I heard you were lost; nor have there 
 been any tidings of you since.” And, having said this, he 
 embraced her with a great deal of tenderness and affection. 
 She then related to him all that had befallen her, as well as 
 the respect with which she had been honoured by the good 
 lady ; when, after much discourse together, he went straight 
 to the king, and made him acquainted with the whole story, 
 adding, that, with his consent, he intended to espouse her 
 according to the manner of ourlaws. The king was greatly 
 
_ FIFTH DAY 265 
 
 surprised at the narration, and, sending for. her, received 
 the same account from herown mouth. He thensaid,‘‘ Lady, 
 you have well earned your husband ;” then ordering many 
 rich presents to be brought, he gave part to her and part to 
 him, and desired them to do what was most agreeable 
 to themselves. Martuccio was very thankful to the lady 
 who had entertained Constantia, and made her a suitable 
 acknowledgment ; and taking their leave of her, not without 
 many tears, they embarked (having Carapresa along with 
 them) for Lipari, where they were received with inexpres- 
 sible joy; and the nuptials being celebrated with the 
 greatest magnificence, they lived long together in the 
 utmost tranquillity and comfort, enjoying the fruits of their 
 mutual loves. 
 
 NOVEL III 
 
 Pietro Boccamazszsa running away with his mistress, is set upon by 
 thieves, whilst the lady makes her escape into a forest, from whence 
 she 7s conducted to a castle, He ts taken, but escapes by some 
 accident, and arrives at the same castle, where they are married, 
 and return from thence to Rome. 
 
 THERE was not one person among them all that did not 
 applaud Emilia’s novel; when the queen, knowing it was 
 ended, turned to Eliza, and desired her to go on, who as 
 readily obeyed in this manner :—I have a mind to relate a 
 most melancholy night, as it happened to two lovers ; but 
 which, being succeeded by many happy days, is conform- 
 able enough to the subject proposed. There lived at 
 Rome, which was once the head, though now the tail, of 
 the world, a young gentleman of a good family, named 
 Pietro Boccamazza, who was in love with a most beautiful 
 lady, called Angelina, daughter to one Gigliuozzi Saullo, a 
 plebeian, but one well esteemed among his fellow-citizens ; 
 and she in some time began to have the same regard for 
 him. When, weary of languishing longer for her, he 
 demanded her in marriage, which, as soon as his parents 
 knew, they blamed him very much, and, at the same time, 
 gave the father of the lady to understand, that they would 
 have him take no notice of what the young spark might say 
 12 
 
266 THE DECAMERON 
 
 upon that head; since, should he marry her, they would 
 never own him more. Pietro, seeing himself disappointed 
 in that manner, was ready to die with grief, and, could he 
 but have prevailed upon her father, he would have married 
 her in spite of them all. At last he thought of a scheme, 
 which, if she would agree to it, would answer his purpose, - 
 and, finding by a messenger that she was willing, it was 
 resolved between them to fly together from Rome. Having 
 concerted measures for their departure, they set out one 
 morning on horseback, towards Alagna, where he had some 
 friends in whom he had the greatest confidence; when, 
 not having time to marry, and making the best of their 
 way, for fear of being pursued, it happened after their 
 riding about eight miles, that they missed their road, turn- 
 ing to the left when they should have kept to the right, 
 and, in about two miles farther, came in sight of a little 
 castle, when being perceived from thence, twelve men came 
 rushing out upon them, whom she espying, but not till 
 they were almost upon them, cried out, “ Ride, my dear, 
 for we are attacked;” and, accordingly, clapping spurs to her 
 horse and holding fast by the pommel of the saddle, she 
 galloped full speed through the forest. Pietro, whose eyes 
 were more upon his mistress than anything else, followed 
 ner as well as he could, till unawares he fell in amongst 
 them, who seized and made him dismount: inquiring then 
 who he was, and being told, they said one to another, 
 “This man is a friend to our enemies; let us strip and 
 hang him up on one of these oaks, out of spite to the 
 Orsini family.” Having agreed upon this, they ordered 
 him to undress himself, which he complied with, expecting 
 nothing but death; when, on a sudden, an ambuscade of 
 twenty-five others started up behind them, crying out aloud, 
 « Kill them every man.” Upon this they left Pietro, to 
 prepare for their own defence ; but, finding themselves out- 
 numbered, they took to their heels, and the others followed 
 hard after them. 
 
 Pietro in the meantime took his clones and getting on 
 horseback again, rode as fast as he could the same way 
 that Angelina had taken; but seeing no track. or footsteps 
 of any horse, and finding himself out of the reach, as well 
 
- FIFTH DAY 267 
 
 of those who had first taken him as of the others by whom 
 those persons were attacked, and not being able to make 
 her out, he was almost distracted and went up and down 
 the forest, calling aloud to see if she could hear, but in 
 vain. Being in this disagreeable situation, he durst not 
 return back, and all before him he was ignorant of ; besides, 
 he was under perpetual apprehensions for them both, on 
 account of the wild beasts which are in those places; and 
 fancied every moment that he saw some bear or wolf tear 
 her to pieces. In this manner did poor Pietro traverse the 
 forest over and over, hallooing and shouting, and frequently 
 coming back again, when he thought he was going forwards 
 all the time; until, what with his fatigue, added to his 
 fright and long fasting, he was quite spent. Perceiving 
 now the night coming upon him, and not knowing what 
 else to do, he tied his horse to an oak tree, and got up 
 into it to secure himself from the wild beasts; whilst the 
 moon rising soon after, and it being a fine clear night (he 
 not daring to sleep for fear of falling down; or if he had 
 been in a place more commodious, his great grief and care 
 for his mistress would not have suffered him to rest), he sat 
 there sighing and lamenting his hard fortune all the night 
 long. The young lady in the meantime, as we before ob- 
 served, was carried so far into the wood that she could 
 not find the way out again: therefore she went up and 
 down full of grief for what had happened. At last, seeing 
 nothing of Pietro and getting into a little path, as it was 
 now towards the evening, she followed it so long that in 
 about two miles it brought her in sight of a little hut, to 
 which she rode as fast as she could,.and found therein a 
 very old man and his wife; who, on seeing her, said, 
 ‘‘ Daughter, what do you in this country at this time of 
 day?” She wept, and replied that she had lost her com- 
 pany in the wood, and. inquired how near she was to 
 Alagna. The honest man made answer, “ Daughter, this 
 is not the way; it is more than twelve miles from us,” 
 She then said, ‘‘ And how far is it to any inn, where I may 
 go to lodge?” He answered, “ There is none near enough 
 for you to go to by night.”—‘' For Heaven’s sake,” quoth 
 the lady, ‘‘as I can go nowhere else, will you please to give 
 
268 THE DECAMERON 
 
 me a lodging ?”—*‘ Daughter,” replied he, “you shall be 
 very welcome; but I must acquaint you that there are 
 companies of people, both friends and enemies, continually 
 passing this way, who do us great injury sometimes; and 
 should any of them find you here, they might offer rude- 
 ness, and we not have it in our power to help you. : I 
 apprise you of this that you may lay no blame upon us if 
 such a thing should happen.” The lady, seeing it was late, 
 though she was terrified with the old man’s words, said, 
 ‘IT trust to God for my protection, as to what you mention; 
 but if that should happen, I may expect more mercy from 
 men than from beasts.” She then alighted from her steed, 
 and went to supper with them upon such poor diet as they 
 had, and afterwards lay down upon their bed with her 
 clothes on, lamenting her own misfortune and her lover’s 
 all the night, not knowing whether she had more cause to 
 hope or fear on his account. About break of day, she 
 heard a great noise of people on horseback, and im- 
 mediately she arose, and went into a great yard behind the 
 house, in one corner of which was a stack of hay, and there 
 hid herself. This was no sooner done but a knot of thieves 
 was at the door, which was instantly opened to them, and 
 seeing there the lady’s horse and saddle, they asked whom 
 it belonged to? The honest man, seeing nothing of her, 
 made answer, ‘‘ Nobody is here, but this horse came to us 
 last night, having got away I suppose from his owner, and 
 we took him in that he should not be devoured by the 
 wolves.”—-‘ Then,” quoth the captain, “fas he has no 
 master he shall be ours.” Being dispersed up and down 
 the house and yard, and laying down their lances and 
 targets, one of them by chance thrust his spear into the 
 hay where she had hid herself, and which was so near 
 killing her that she was on the point of making a discovery, 
 for it pierced her clothes; but, recollecting herself, she 
 resolved to lie still, In the meantime they fell to boiling 
 some kids and other flesh meat that they had brought with 
 them, and after they had eat and drunk, they went about 
 their business, carrying off the horse. When they were 
 gotten some distance from the house, the honest man 
 began to inquire of his wife what was become of the lady, 
 
FIFTH DAY 269 
 
 as he had never seen her since he rose. She replied that 
 she could not tell, and went all about to seek forher. Now 
 the lady, finding that the men were departed, came forth 
 from whence she had been concealed, which he was much 
 pleased at, finding that she had not fallen into their hands ; 
 and he said to her, “It is now daylight, we will go with 
 you therefore to a castle about five miles from us, where 
 
 you may be in safety; but you will’ be obliged to travel on 
 
 ‘foot, for these sorry fellows have taken your horse quite 
 
 away.” She was under no great concern for that loss, but 
 begged for them to show her the way, when they set 
 forward, and arrived there betimes in the morning. Now 
 the castle belonged to one of the family of the Orsini, 
 whose name was Liello di Campo di Fiore, and by great 
 fortune his lady was then there, a worthy good woman, 
 who seeing her soon recollected her, and received her with 
 the utmost respect, inquiring by what means she had come 
 
 hither. She then related the whole story. On which the 
 
 other, who knew Pietro, he being a friend of her husband’s, 
 was under great concern, supposing him to be dead; and 
 
 she said to her, “‘ As it happens that you know not where 
 he is, I intend you shall abide with me till I have an 
 opportunity of conveying you safe to Rome.” 
 
 Now as for Pietro, he had but a dismal night of it, for 
 he saw his horse soon surrounded by a number of wolves, 
 
 _which made him break his bridle; and he endeavoured to 
 
 make his escape, but was so encompassed that he could 
 not, and he defended himself with kicking and biting for 
 some time, till at last he was pulled down, ‘and torn all to 
 
 pieces, and having devoured him to the very bones, they 
 
 went away. This was the utmost affliction to Pietro, who 
 expected much from his horse, after all the fatigue that he 
 had undergone; and he began now to despair of ever get- 
 ting out of the forest. It being at this time almost day, 
 and he nearly dead with cold, as he was looking about 
 him, he chanced to spy a fire at last, about a mile off: 
 
 _when it was quite light, therefore, he descended from the 
 
 tree, not without a great deal of fear, and directed his 
 course thither, where he found some shepherds making 
 merry together, who received him out of mere compassion ; 
 
270 THE DECAMERON 
 
 when, after he had eat and warmed himself, he related his 
 whole adventure, inquiring whether. there was no town or 
 castle in those parts that he could go to, The shepherds 
 told him that three miles off was a castle belonging to 
 Liello di Campo di Fiore, whose lady was then there... He 
 presently entreated some of them to go with him, and two 
 readily offered their service. Being arrived, he was known, 
 and as. he was going to send out to seek his mistress, he 
 was called by the lady of the castle, and on stepping up to 
 her he beheld Angelina, which made him the happiest man 
 in the world: and if he was thus transported she was no 
 less so. The lady giving them a handsome reception, and 
 hearing what had happened to both, began to reprimand 
 him for attempting to do what was so disagreeable to his 
 parents; but seeing him resolved, and finding that he was 
 agreeable to the lady, she said, ‘‘ What should I trouble 
 myself for? They like each other and are both my hus- 
 band’s friends; besides, it seems as if Providence would 
 have it so, seeing that one escaped from being hanged, the 
 other from being stabbed by a lance, and both from being 
 devoured by wild beasts. Then let it be done.” Turning 
 to them now, she said, ‘‘If you are resolved to be man 
 and wife together, I am content and will celebrate the 
 wedding at my husband’s expense : afterwards I will under- 
 take to make peace between you and your friends.” Thus 
 they were married in the castle, to their great joy, and 
 with all the magnificence that the country would afford ; 
 and in a few days the lady carried them both to) Rome, 
 when she tookecare to reconcile Pietro and his parents, 
 who were much enraged at what he had done. He lived 
 afterwards with Angelina, in all peace and happiness, to a 
 good old age. , 
 
 NOVEL IV 
 
 Ricciardo Manardi is found by Lizto along with his daughter, whom 
 he marries, and they become reconciled together. 
 
 Exiza was listening to the commendations her novel ex- 
 cited, when the queen laid the next charge on Philostratus, 
 who smiled, and began in this manner. 
 
FIFTH DAY 271% 
 
 I have been so often lashed by you for giving a harsh 
 and melancholy subject, that, by way of recompence, I 
 think myself obliged to say something which will make 
 you laugh: I shall therefore relate a love affair, which, 
 after being attended with nothing worse than a few sighs 
 and a short fright, mingled with some shame, was brought 
 to a happy ending; and this in a very short novel. Not 
 long since there lived in Romagna a worthy and accom- 
 plished knight, named Lizio da Valbona, who had, in his 
 old age, by his lady, Madam Giacomina, a daughter, the 
 most beautiful young lady in all the country: being their 
 only child, they were extremely tender and careful of her, 
 thinking through her to make some grand alliance. Now 
 there was a young gentleman, who used to come much to 
 their house, of a very agreeable person, whilst Lizio and 
 his lady were under no more apprehensions from him than 
 they would have been from their own son; but he seeing 
 her often, and being charmed with her person and _ be- 
 haviour, fell secretly in love; which she perceiving, soon 
 returned by a reciprocal affection, which delighted him 
 exceedingly, and he was often desirous of speaking to her, 
 yet could never dare to do it: till at length he had the 
 opportunity and courage one day to say, ‘‘ Pray, Caterina, 
 let me not die for love.” She replied, ‘‘ Would to Heaven 
 you would show me the like mercy!” This greatly pleased 
 him, and he. added, “I shall study your will and pleasure 
 in everything; do you find a way to make us happy to- 
 gether.” She then returned, ‘You see, sir, how I am 
 watched, and therefore am unable to contrive the means 
 for your coming to me: but if you can think of any method 
 to do it, without my being censured, tell me, and I shall 
 be very glad.” He, after mature consideration, said, ‘‘ My 
 dearest Caterina, I see no other. way, but for you to 
 get leave to lie in the gallery, which looks towards the 
 garden; and if I knew when that happened, I would en- 
 deavour to get to you, however great the height from the 
 ground.” She replied, ‘‘ If you have the courage to come, 
 I think I can manage so as to lie there.” He promised 
 to do so, and for the present they parted. The follow- 
 ing day, it being about the end of May, she complained 
 
272 THE DECAMERON 
 
 grievously to her mother, that the heat was so excessive 
 the foregoing night, that she could not get a wink of sleep. 
 “Daughter,” answered she, “you talk of heat, I do not 
 think the weather so sultry.”—-‘‘ Madam,” she replied, 
 “there is a good deal of difference between old people 
 and young.”—-‘‘ That may be so,” quoth the mother, ‘‘ but 
 can I change the seasons? You must bear with the time 
 of year as it is: another night it may be more temperate, 
 and then you will sleep better.” — “I wish it would,” 
 answered Caterina, “but the nights are not used to grow 
 cooler, the more the summer advances.”——“ Then,” said 
 the mother, “what would you have me do for your” She 
 replied, ‘If you and my father please, I would gladly lie 
 in the gallery adjoining to your room, and which looks 
 towards the garden; where, by having plenty of fresh air, 
 and hearing the nightingale, it will be much more’ pleasant 
 than lying in your chamber.”—‘‘ Daughter,” quoth she, ‘ be 
 easy, I will speak to your father about it, and we will do 
 as he thinks best in that case.” Accordingly she moved 
 the matter to Lizio, who being old, was apt to be a little 
 testy, and he said, “‘ What nightingale is this she talks of? 
 I will make her sleep at the singing of a cricket.” Caterina 
 nearing this, kept awake the next night, more through 
 vexation than heat, and was not only restless herself, but 
 kept her mother also from sleeping. The next morning 
 the old lady complained to her husband, saying, ‘ You 
 show very little regard for your daughter: what does her 
 lying in the gallery signify to you? she did not rest all last 
 night for the heat. And as to her fancy of the nightingale, 
 she is young, let her have her way?” He replied, “Then 
 make her a bed there, if you will; and let her hear the 
 nightingale.” A bed, therefore, was ordered to be set up 
 for her, which she gave Ricciardo to understand, by such 
 a sign as had been agreed on between them, when he soon 
 knew what part he had to act. Lizio, upon her going to 
 bed, locked the door that opened out of his chamber into 
 the gallery, and then went to rest himself. As soon as 
 everything was still, Ricciardo got upon the wall, by help 
 of a scaling ladder, from whence laying hold of the join- 
 ings of another wall, he climbed at last (not without great 
 
FIFTH DAY 273 
 
 difficulty, as well as danger had he fallen) to the gallery, 
 where the lady had long been expecting him.—Now the 
 nights being short, and happening to fall asleep with her, » 
 the next morning, as soon as Lizio arose, he began to think 
 of his daughter ; when he opened the door, and said, ‘‘ Let 
 us go see now how the nightingale has made her sleep.” 
 Going then into the gallery, and drawing the curtains, he 
 found Ricciardo and her asleep together: upon this he 
 stepped back, and called to his wife, saying, ‘“ Come 
 hither directly ; you will find your daughter has heard the 
 nightingale to some purpose.” Dressing herself as fast as 
 she could, she followed her husband, and seeing them 
 together in that manner, was going to give Ricciardo all 
 the hard language she could devise ; but Lizio said, ‘‘ Take 
 care, I charge you to make no noise about it; as he has 
 now got her he shall keep her: he is of a good family, as 
 well as rich, so we cannot have a better son-in-law. If 
 he means. to go off in a whole skin, he shall marry her 
 before I part with him.” The wife on this was a little 
 comforted, and held her peace. Soon after this debate, 
 Ricciardo chanced to wake, and seeing it broad daylight, 
 was frightened out of his wits; calling then upon Caterina, 
 he said: “Alas! my life, what shall we do? the daylight 
 has surprised me here with you.” At these words Lizio 
 stepped from behind the curtain, and said, ‘Oh I will 
 take care you shall do well enough.” . Ricciardo was quite 
 confounded at seeing him, and rising up in bed, he said, 
 “For Heaven’s sake, sir, I beg you will forgive me; 1 
 confess I do deserve to die; save but my life, therefore, 
 and do what you please.” Lizio replied, ‘‘ Ricciardo, my 
 friendship for you did not deserve such a return as I have 
 met with: but since it is so, you have only one way whereby 
 you may save your life and my honour, that is, to marry 
 her; either do that, or else make your peace with Heaven, 
 for here you shall die.” There was no need of many 
 words: the fear of death, as well as his love for Caterina, 
 soon made him resolve, and he told him that he was ready 
 to comply. Lizio then took his wife’s ring, and made him 
 instantly espouse her, which being done, he desired them 
 to take their own time for rising. In the morning they 
 
274 THE DECAMERON 
 
 had some further discourse together, and everything being 
 settled to all their satisfactions, he married her in the most 
 public manner, and having carried her home: with ‘great 
 demonstrations of joy, they lived together from that time, 
 with all the peace and comfort that a married state can 
 afford. ih 
 
 NOVEL V 
 
 Guidotto da Cremona dying, left.a daughter to the care of Giacomino 
 da Pavia. Gtannole di Severino and Minghino di Mingole are 
 both in love with her, and fight on her account, when she is known 
 to be Giannole’s sister, and is married to Minghino. 
 
 Every one laughed at the story of the nightingale ; when 
 the queen turned to Philostratus, and said, “If you gave 
 us concern with your subject of yesterday, you» have made 
 ample amends: by your last story, therefore you shall hear 
 no more of it.” She then turned to Neiphiley3 who iss ip 
 in this manner :— 
 
 As Philostratus lays his scene in Romagna, I intend to 
 have my novel also from thence. In the city then of Fano 
 dwelt two Lombards, one named Guidotto da Cremona, 
 and the other Giacomino da Pavia, both advanced in years, 
 and men who had lived as soldiers all their days. When 
 Guidotto being at the point of death, and having no son, 
 nor friend, in whom he put greater confidence than in 
 Giacomino, after settling all his affairs, he left to his care 
 a daughter of about ten years of age, with the management 
 of his whole substance. In the meantime the city of 
 Faenza, which had been long embroiled in wars and con- 
 fusion, being now brought into a more flourishing state, 
 and every one that pleased having leave to:return, it chanced 
 that Giacomino, who had formerly lived there, and liked 
 the place, went back with all his effects, carrying this 
 young lady along with him, whom he loved and treated as 
 his own child, and who, as she grew up, became the most 
 celebrated beauty in the whole city, and as accomplished 
 in all respects as she was fair; on which account she began 
 to be admired by divers young gentlemen, but two especi- 
 ally of equal fortunes were so much in love, that an utter 
 
FIFTH DAY 275 
 
 hatred commenced between them for her sake; one was 
 called Giannole di Severino, and the other Minghino di 
 Mingole. Either of these gentlemen would gladly: have 
 married her, she being now fifteen; but finding themselves 
 rejected by her friends, they resolved to try other means of 
 obtaining her. Giacomino had in his house an old maid- 
 servant, and a man cailed Crivello, a facetious, as well as 
 an honest person, with whom Giannole was acquainted, to 
 whom he made known his love, offering at’the same time a 
 great reward, if, by his assistance, he should in any way 
 obtain his desire. Said Crivello, ‘“Sir, I can do nothing 
 more for you than, when my master is gone out to sup 
 anywhere, to bring you where she is, for were I to put ina 
 word for you, she would never give me the hearing: if you 
 like this, I dare promise you so far, afterwards’ you may do 
 what you think most proper.” Giannole told him he de- 
 sired no more. On the other part Minghino made his 
 court to the maid, who had delivered several messages to 
 the lady in his favour, and given her a good opinion of him ; 
 she had also undertaken to introduce him the first evening 
 that Giacomino happened to be abroad. Soon after this it 
 happened that Giacomino was invited out by Crivello’s 
 contrivance, who immediately gave notice to Giannole, and 
 agreed with him to come, upon giving a certain sign when 
 he would find the door open. In like manner the maid, 
 being unacquainted with this, informed Minghino of the 
 same thing, adding, that, upon observing such a token, 
 he should then come into the house. In the evening the 
 two lovers, knowing nothing of one another, but yet each 
 jealous of his rival, came with some friends armed for their 
 greater security. Minghino waited at a friend’s in the 
 neighbourhood to watch for the sign, whilst Giannole, with 
 his people, stood a little distance from the house. Now 
 Crivello and the maid were contriving to send each other 
 out of the way. He said then to her, “ Why do you not 
 go to bed? What are you doing about the house?” ‘The 
 maid said again, ‘“Why do not you go to your master, you 
 have had your supper? What do you stay for, then?” 
 But neither of them was able to send the other away. 
 Crivello at last knowing the time to be come that he had 
 
276 THE DECAMERON 
 
 appointed, said to himself, ‘‘What need I care for this 
 woman? If she will not hold her tongue, I will find a way 
 to make her.” Giving the signal then he went to open the 
 door, when Giannole, with two of his companions, immedi- 
 ately rushed in, and finding the lady in the hall, they 
 seized, and were going to carry her off: the lady, however, 
 defended herself as well as she could, crying out very much, 
 as did also the maid. Minghino perceiving this, ran 
 thither with his party, and seeing them bear her away, they 
 drew their swords, and called out aloud, “ Traitors, ye are 
 all dead men; it shall never be so. What violence is 
 this?” And with these words fell pell-mell upon them. 
 The neighbourhood also was soon up in arms, and blaming 
 those proceedings, joined with Minghino. Therefore, after 
 a long skirmish, Minghino took the lady from Giannole, 
 and brought her back to Giacomino’s house. Nor was the 
 fray at an end till the city officers came and seized many 
 of the persons concerned, and amongst the rest Minghino, 
 Giannole, and Crivello, and carried them to prison. As 
 soon as things were a little quieted, and Giacomino re- 
 turned, he became very uneasy at what had happened, till 
 hearing that she was not in fault, he was better satisfied, 
 but resolved, for fear of: the like accidents hereafter, to 
 marry her as soon as possible. In the morning, the parents 
 of them both, having heard the truth of the story, and 
 being sensible of the evil which might ensue to both the 
 young gentlemen, who were in custody, should Giacomino 
 proceed rigorously against them, they came therefore to 
 him, and entreated him gently not to regard so much the 
 injury which he had received from the little discretion of 
 the young men, as the esteem and friendship which, they 
 hoped, he bore towards themselves, who now requested 
 this favour at his hands; submitting themselves, and the 
 youths also, who had committed the offence, to make any 
 satisfaction he should insist upon. Giacomino, who had 
 seen much of the world, and was a person of understanding, 
 answered in few words, ‘Gentlemen, were I in my own 
 country, as I am now in yours, I hold myself so much 
 your friend, that I should do this or anything else to oblige 
 you; but in this respect I am the more ready to do it, as 
 
FIFTH DAY 277 
 
 the offence is now committed against yourselves. For this 
 lady is not, as many may think, either of Cremona or Pavia, 
 but of Faenza; although neither myself, nor she, nor yet 
 the person who bequeathed her to me, knew whose daughter 
 she was ; everything then shall be done according to your 
 desire.” ‘The honest men hearing that she was of Faenza, 
 began to wonder; and after thanking him for his gracious 
 reply, they desired he would be so kind as to tell them in 
 what manner she came into his hands, and how he knew 
 that she was of Faenza. He replied, ‘‘Guidotto da Cremona 
 was my very good friend and companion, and as he lay 
 upon his death-bed, he told me, that when this city was 
 taken by the Emperor Frederick, and given to be pillaged 
 by the soldiers, he and some others went into a house full 
 of rich booty, which was forsaken by the owners; only this 
 girl, who seemed then but two years old, was left behind ; 
 and she seeing him go upstairs, called papa; for which 
 reason he took pity on her, and brought her away, with 
 everything that was of value in the house, to Fano; when 
 dying there, he left her in charge to me, desiring, when she 
 should be of age, that I would marry her, and give what 
 was her own, by way of fortune: since, therefore, she has 
 been grown up, I have met with nobody that I thought a 
 fit match for her, otherwise I would willingly dispose of her, 
 lest the like accident should happen again that befel us last 
 night.” At this time there was present one Gulielmino da 
 Medicina, who was with Guidotto in that expedition, and 
 knew very well whose house it was that he had plundered, 
 and seeing that person in the company, he accosted him, 
 and said, ‘‘ Bernarbuccio, do you hear what Giacomino has 
 been talking of ?”—‘ Yes,” he replied, “and I am now 
 thinking about it; for in that confusion I remember to 
 have lost a daughter about the same age that he speaks of.” 
 —“ Then,” said Gulielmino, ‘‘It is certainly the same, for I 
 was there at that time, and heard Guidotto relate how he 
 plundered such a house, when I knew it must be yours: 
 see therefore if you can call to mind any mark that she had, 
 whereby you may know her, for she is plainly your daughter.” 
 He then remembered that she had a scar like a cross under 
 her left ear, and he desired Giacomino to show him to his 
 
278 THE DECAMERON 
 
 house, that he might convince himself by seeing her. Ac. 
 cordingly, he brought him thither very willingly, when the 
 very first sight of her put him in mind of her mother; but, 
 not regarding that, he told Giacomino that he should take 
 it as a favour if he might turn aside the hair from her left 
 ear; which being permitted, he found the same mark, and 
 was convinced that she was his daughter: he then said to 
 Giacomino, ‘‘ Brother, this is my daughter ; it was my house 
 that Guidotto pillaged, when this child was forgotten by her 
 mother, in our great hurry, and we supposed that she was 
 burnt along with the house.” The lady hearing this, and 
 seeing him to be a person of gravity, moved also perhaps by 
 a secret instinct, easily gave credit to it, and both of them 
 burst into tears. Bernarbuccio then sent for her mother 
 and her other relations, as also her sisters and brethren, 
 when, relating what had happened, he carried her home, 
 to the great joy of them all, as well as satisfaction of 
 Giacomino. Whilst the governor of the city, who was a 
 worthy man, knowing that Giannole, whom: he had in 
 custody, was son to Bernarbuccio, and the lady’s own 
 brother, resolved to overlook the crime he had committed. 
 Conversing then with Bernarbuccio and Giacomino about 
 it, he undertook to make peace between Giannole and 
 Minghino, to whom, by the consent of all parties, he gave 
 her to wife, and set all the other people at liberty. . Ming- 
 hino then made a most sumptuous wedding, and carried his 
 bride home in great state, where they lived happily together 
 for a i ie course of years. 
 
 NOVEL VI 
 
 Gianni di Procida ts discovered with a young lady, formerly his 
 mistress, but then given to King Frederick, for which he ts con- 
 demned to be burnt with her at a stake. When, being known by 
 Ruggtert del? Oria, he escapes and marries her, 
 
 NEIPHILE’s agreeable novel being ended, Pampinea received 
 an order to proceed, and quickly raising her lovely coun- 
 tenance, she thus began :— 
 
 Great, most gracious ladies, is the force of love, which 
 
FIFTH DAY 279 
 
 often leads people to rash and perilous attempts, as you 
 have heard set forth in divers instances, both now and 
 heretofore, and which I shail further evince in what I 
 am going to relate concerning an enamoured youth, as 
 follows :— 
 
 Ischia is an island near Naples, in which lived a beautiful 
 young lady named Restituta, daughter to a certain gentle- 
 man called Marin Bolgaro, with whom was in love a young 
 gentleman of Procida, cailed Gianni, and she had the same 
 affection for him. Now not a day passed but he would go 
 to Ischia to see her, and frequently in the night; if he 
 could not get a boat, he would swim over, though it was 
 only to please himself with the sight of her house. Whilst 
 his love continued then so extremely fervent, it chanced 
 that she was walking out one summer's day on the sea- 
 shore, and passing from one rock to another picking up 
 shells, when she came near a grotto, where some young 
 Sicilians, just come from Naples, were assembled together, 
 partly for the sake of the shade, and partly for the fresh 
 water, of which there was a cool and pleasant spring: they 
 seeing her by herself, and she perceiving nothing of them, 
 agreed together to seize and carry hervaway. They con- 
 sequently surprised and took her to their ship, though she 
 made a great outcry, and sailed off with her. Being arrived 
 at Calabria, a dispute arose amongst them, whom she 
 should belong to; when coming to no agreement about 
 her, it was at last thought convenient, to remove all cause 
 of dissension, by making a present of her to Frederick, 
 King of Naples, who was young and addicted to his 
 pleasures. Accordingly they found that prince mightily 
 pleased with her; but, being a little indisposed at that 
 time, he had her sent to a pleasant seat built in one of his 
 gardens called La Cuba, to be kept there for his purpose. 
 The lady’s being stolen made a great noise all over Ischia, 
 and so much the more as the persons concerned were 
 unknown. But Gianni, who was more particularly. in- 
 terested in the affair, never expecting to hear any tidings 
 of her there, and understanding which way the vessel had 
 steered, got another ready and went all along the sea-coast, 
 from Minerva to Scalea, in Calabria, to inquire after her ; 
 
280 THE DECAMERON 
 
 and at this last place he was told, that she was carried by 
 some Sicilian sailors to Palermo. Thither then he went, 
 with all possible speed, when, after much inquiry, he found 
 that she was presented to the king, and kept for his 
 purpose in La Cuba; which gave him infinite concern, and 
 he began to despair, not only of getting her back, but even 
 of ever seeing her more; but yet being detained by his 
 love, he sent his frigate home, and resolved to stay there, 
 as nobody knew him; when passing pretty often in sight 
 of the house, they chanced one day to spy one another 
 through the window, to the great satisfaction of both. And 
 he, seeing the place was private, got near enough to speak 
 to her, and being instructed by her what course to take if 
 he desired to have a nearer interview, he left her for that 
 time, taking particular notice, first, of the situation of the 
 place ; and waiting for night, when a good part of that was 
 spent, he returned, and clambering over the walls, which 
 seemed inaccessible, he made his way into the garden, 
 where finding a long piece of timber, he set it against the 
 window, and by the help of it got into the chamber. The 
 lady, reflecting that she had lost her honour, of which she 
 had before been very tenacious, supposing, also, that she 
 could bestow her favours on none who deserved them 
 better, was the less scrupulous in this affair, and had left 
 the casement open on purpose for him. She now begged 
 earnestly of him that he would contrive some method to 
 get her from thence, and he promised to order everything 
 so that the next time he came he would take her away. 
 This being agreed, he went and lay down on the bed by 
 her. In the meantime the king being much smitten with 
 her beauty, and finding himself recovered, had a mind, 
 though it was far in the night, to go and spend some time 
 with her. Coming, therefore, with a few servants, to the 
 house, and going softly to the chamber where he knew she 
 was, to his great surprise he saw Gianni and her asleep 
 together. This provoked him to that degree, that he was 
 on the point of putting both to death: till reflecting that 
 it would be base in any person, and more so in a king, to 
 kill people unarmed and asleep, he held his hand, but 
 resolved to make a public example of them, and to burn 
 
FIFTH DAY 281 
 
 them alive. Then turning to one of his company he said, 
 **What do you think of this base woman on whom I had 
 fixed all my hopes?” He afterwards inquired if they knew 
 the man, who had the assurance to come there to commit 
 such an outrage. The person replied that he did not 
 remember ever to have seen him before. The king upon 
 _ this went away greatly disturbed, commanding that as soon 
 as it was light they should be brought bound to Palermo, 
 when they were to be tied back to back, and kept there 
 till three o’clock, for everybody to see them, and then to 
 be burned as they deserved. Accordingly they were seized 
 and bound without the least remorse or pity; and being 
 brought, as the king had ordered, to Palermo, they were 
 tied to a stake in the great square, and the fire and faggots 
 were ready to burn them at the time appointed: whilst all 
 the people of the city flocked to see the sight, the women 
 greatly pitying and commending the man; the men 
 _ also showed the same regard for the poor woman, every 
 one highly admiring her most extraordinary beauty. But 
 the two lovers stood with their eyes fixed on the ground, 
 lamenting their hard fate, and waiting every moment for 
 their sentence to be put in execution. Whilst they were 
 kept in this manner, till the time fixed upon, the news 
 was carried to Ruggieri dell’ Oria, a person of great worth 
 and valour, who was the king’s high admiral; and he 
 coming to the place, cast his eyes first upon the lady and 
 praised her beauty very much. He then turned to Gianni, 
 when he soon called him to mind, and asked him if he was 
 not Gianni di Procida. Gianni lifted up his eyes, and 
 remembering the admiral, he said, “‘ I was once that person ; 
 but now I am to be so no more.” The admiral then in- 
 quired what it was had brought him to this. Gianni 
 replied, “ Love and the king’s displeasure.” The admiral 
 made him tell the whole story, and as he was going away, 
 Gianni called him back, and said, ‘“‘My lord, if it be 
 possible, pray obtain one favour of his Majesty for me.” 
 Ruggieri asked what that was. Gianni made answer, “I 
 find that I am to die without delay ; therefore I only beg 
 that, as I am tied with my back to this lady, whom I have 
 loved dearer than my own life, and am not able to see her, 
 
282 THE DECAMERON 
 
 that we may be bound with our faces to each other, and 
 so I may expire with the pleasure of looking upon her.” 
 Ruggieri laughed, and said, “I will take care that you 
 shall see her to much better purpose.” And he com- 
 manded those who had the care of the execution to respite 
 it till further orders, and he went directly to the king. 
 Finding him a good deal out of temper, he spared not to 
 speak his mind to this effect :—‘‘ My lege, what have these 
 two young people done to offend you, whom you have now 
 ordered to be burnt?” The king told him. He then 
 added, ‘Their crime may deserve it, but not from you: 
 and as misdeeds require punishment, so benefits are worthy 
 of rewards, as well as thanks and mercy. Do you know 
 who they are whom you have sentenced to be burnt?” 
 The king answered, ‘‘ No.”—‘* Then,” said he, ‘I will tell 
 you that you may see how wisely you suffer yourself to 
 be transported with passion. The young man is son to 
 Landolpho, brother to Gianni di Procida, by whose means 
 you are lord of that island. The lady is daughter to Marin 
 Bolgaro, whose influence it was that secured your dominion 
 over Ischia. Besides, they have had a long regard and 
 love for each other; and it was this, and no disrespect to 
 you that put them upon committing the crime, if it may be 
 called such, for which you are going to make them suffer 
 death, but for which you ought rather give them some 
 noble reward.” The king hearing this, and being assured 
 that the admiral spoke nothing but the truth, not only put 
 a stop to the proceedings, but was grieved for what he had 
 done: he therefore ordered that they should be set at 
 liberty, and brought before him, Then hearing their whole 
 case, he resolved to make them amends for the injury they 
 had received, and giving them noble apparel and many 
 royal presents, he had: them married, as it was their mutual 
 desire, and afterwards sent them home, thoroughly satisfied 
 with their good fortune, which they pi happily enjoyed 
 together. 
 
FIFTH DAY 283 
 
 NOVEL VII 
 
 Theodoro is in love with Violante, his master’s daughter ; she proves 
 with child, for which he is condemned to be hanged ; when being 
 led out to execution, he is known by his father, set at liberty, and 
 afterwards marries her. 
 
 THE ladies were some time in suspense, through fear lest 
 the two lovers should be burnt; but were mightily pleased 
 at last to hear of their deliverance: when the queen gave 
 the next command to Lauretta, who cheerfully took up the 
 thread as follows :— 
 
 When good King William ruled over Sicily, there lived 
 in that island a gentleman named Amerigo, abbot of 
 Trapani, who, amongst his other temporal goods, was well 
 stored with children ; and having occasion for servants, and 
 meeting with some Genoese pirates from the Levant, who 
 had been coasting along Armenia, and taken several children, 
 supposing them to be Turks, he bought some, in appearance 
 chiefly peasants; and, amongst the rest, one of a more 
 generous aspect, called Theodoro; who, as he grew up, 
 though he was treated as a servant, was educated with 
 Amerigo’s own children; when his natural disposition was 
 so good and agreeable to his master, that he had him 
 baptized and called him Pietro, making him overseer of 
 all his affairs. Amongst Amerigo’s other children was a 
 daughter, named Violante, a most beautiful young lady, 
 who, having been kept from marrying longer than was 
 agreeable to her, cast her eye at last upon Pietro, being 
 charmed with his. behaviour, though she was ashamed to 
 make such a discovery. ~ But love spared her this trouble ; 
 for he, by often looking cautiously at her, was so far capti- 
 vated, that he was always uneasy unless he saw her: at the 
 same time he was fearful lest any one should perceive it, as 
 thinking it a sort of crime. This she soon took notice of; 
 and, to give him a little more assurance, let him understand 
 that it was not displeasing to her. ‘Thus they went on 
 together, neither venturing to speak to the other, though it 
 was what they both desired. But whilst they thus mutually 
 
284 THE DECAMERON 
 
 languished, fortune, as if purposely, found means to banish 
 this bashfulness, which had hitherto been in the way. 
 Amerigo had a country house about a mile from Trapani, 
 whither his wife and daughter, together with other ladies, 
 used to go sometimes, by way of pastime; and being there 
 one day, having taken Pietro along with them, it happened 
 that the day was overcast all at once with clouds, on which 
 account the lady and her friends made all possible haste 
 home again, for fear they should be taken in the storm. 
 But Pietro and the young lady being more nimble than the 
 rest, had got considerably the start of them, as much per- 
 haps through love as fear of the weather, and being out of 
 sight, there came such claps of thunder, attended with a 
 violent storm of hail, that the mother and her company 
 were glad to get into a labourer’s house, whilst Pietro and 
 the young lady, having no other place of refuge, went into 
 an old uninhabited cottage, which had just cover enough 
 remaining to keep them dry; and here they were obliged 
 to stand pretty close together. This encouraged him to 
 open his heart, and he said, ‘‘ Would to heaven the storm 
 would never cease, that I might continue here always in 
 this manner!”—‘I should like it,” she replied, ‘“‘ well 
 enough.” These words brought on some little acts of 
 fondness, which were followed by others so far that at last 
 they grew very familiar together. The shower being over, 
 they went on towards the city, waiting by the way for the 
 mother, who having joined them, they came with her home. 
 They had frequent meetings from that time, conducted 
 always with the greatest secrecy; till at length she proved 
 with child, which terribly alarmed them both. On this 
 Pietro, being in fear of his own life, resolved to fly, and 
 told her so. She replied, “If you do that, I will certainly 
 murder myself.” Pietro, then, who loved her most affec- 
 tionately, said, ‘‘Why would you have me stay? There 
 must soon be a discovery, when for your part you will be 
 easily forgiven, and I forced to bear the punishment of both.” 
 She made answer, ‘‘ Pietro, my crime must be known; but 
 as for yours, be assured unless you tell it yourself, it never 
 shall.”—“* Then,” quoth he, ‘‘if you promise me that, I will 
 stay ; but be sure you observe it.” The young lady who 
 
FIFTH DAY 285 
 
 had concealed as long as possible her being with child, 
 finding it could be kept a secret no longer, let her mother 
 at last into the truth, entreating her protection with abund- 
 ance of tears. The mother was very harsh with her, and 
 insisted upon knowing how it happened: when she, to 
 keep her word with Pietro, feigned a long story about it, 
 to which the other easily gave credit, and, to keep it 
 _ private, sent her away to one of their farm-houses, When 
 the time of her labour was at hand, the mother, never 
 suspecting anything of her husband’s coming, it chanced 
 that Amerigo, returning from hawking, thought, as he 
 passed under the window, that he heard something of a 
 noise and bustle above stairs, when he came in, and 
 inquired what the matter was. The lady, seeing her 
 husband, told him, with a great deal of concern, what had 
 happened to their daughter. But he, not quite so credu- 
 lous as herself, said it was impossible that she should be 
 with child and not know by whom, and he insisted upon 
 knowing it: by that means she might regain his favour, 
 otherwise he would put her to death without the least 
 mercy. The lady tried all she could to make him satisfied 
 with that story, but to no purpose. He ran to his daughter 
 with his drawn sword (who, whilst they had been in dis- 
 course together, had brought forth a boy), and_ said, 
 “Either declare the father, or thou shalt die instantly.” 
 She, terrified to death, broke her promise to Pietro, 
 and made a full discovery. He was so enraged at this, 
 that he could scarcely forbear murdering her, till having 
 vented something of his passion, he mounted his horse 
 again, and returned to Trapani; when making his com- 
 plaint to one Signor Currado, who was governor there for 
 the king, of the injury Pietro had done him, he had him 
 apprehended, and he confessed the whole affair. Being 
 condemned to be whipped and afterwards hanged; that 
 the same hour might put an end to the lives of both the 
 lovers and the child; Amerigo, whose anger was not ap- 
 peased with Pietro’s death, sent a cup of poison and a 
 naked sword by one of his servants to his daughter, saying, 
 ‘Go carry these two things to Violante, and tell her from 
 me that she must take her choice, whether to die by poison 
 
286 THE DECAMERON 
 
 or by the sword; and if she refuse, I will have her burnt 
 publicly as she deserves: when you have done this, take 
 her child and dash its brains out, and then throw them to 
 the dogs.” The fellow, more disposed to such wickedness 
 than anything that was good, went readily enough about 
 his errand. Now Pietro was whipped, and as he was led 
 along to the gallows, he chanced to pass by an inn, where 
 lodged three noblemen of Armenia, who were sent as 
 ambassadors by their king to the Pope, to treat of some 
 weighty affairs with regard to an expedition he was going 
 to make. There they stayed to repose themselves after 
 their journey, and had great honour shown them by the 
 nobility of Trapani, and especially by Amerigo. Observing 
 the people pass by who were leading Pietro, they went to 
 the window to see what was the matter. Pietro stood 
 stripped to the waist, with his hands tied behind him ; 
 when one of the ambassadors, named Phineo, an ancient 
 person, and one of great authority, looking at him, saw a 
 red spot on his breast, which children sometimes are born 
 with, and immediately was put in mind of a son that 
 had been stolen from him by some pirates fifteen years 
 before, of whom he could never since learn any tidings ; 
 and considering by Pietro’s looks that he must be about 
 the same age, he began to suspect by the mark, that he was 
 the very person, and if so he supposed he would remember 
 his own name and his father’s, as also something of the 
 Armenian language: therefore, being near him, he called 
 out “‘O Theodoro!” Hearing that, Pietro lifted up his 
 head. Phineo then spoke to him in the Armenian 
 language, saying, “‘ Whence do you come, and whose son 
 are you?” The officers who led him now stopped, out of 
 regard to the worthy person’s character, when Pietro re- 
 plied, “I am of Armenia, the son of one Phineo, and was 
 brought hither by I know not whom.” 
 
 Phineo was now convinced that he was his son, and he 
 came down with his friends full of tears, and ran to embrace 
 him among all the officers; when throwing a rich mantle 
 over his shoulders, he desired the. person who led him te 
 wait till orders should come to take him back; which the 
 other replied he should do very willingly. Phineo had 
 
FIFTH DAY 387 
 
 learned the cause of his sentence, as fame had noised it 
 everywhere, when, taking his friends with him and their 
 retinue, he went to Currado, and said, ‘‘Sir, the person 
 whom you have condemned is no slave, he is a freeman 
 and my son: he is ready also to marry the woman; then 
 please to defer the execution till it be known whether she be 
 willing to have him, that nothing be done contrary to law.” 
 Currado was greatly surprised, hearing that he was Phineo’s 
 son, and being ashamed of their mistake, confessed that 
 what he required was reasonable. He then sent for 
 Amerigo, and acquainted him with these things. Amerigo 
 was under great concern lest his daughter and her child 
 should be put to death before that time, knowing if she 
 was alive, everything might be fairly accommodated : there- 
 fore he sent in all haste to her, to prevent his orders being 
 obeyed, if they were not already performed. The messenger 
 found the servant, who had carried the sword and poison 
 standing before her, and as she was in no haste to make 
 her choice, he was abusing her, and would have forced her 
 to have taken one. But hearing his master’s command, 
 he returned and told him how it was, at which he was 
 thoroughly satisfied, and went to Phineo to beg his pardon 
 for what he had done, declaring that if Theodoro would 
 marry his daughter he should be perfectly contented. 
 Phineo accepted his apology, and assured him, that he 
 should either marry her, or else the law should take its 
 course. This being agreed, they went to Theodoro (who, 
 though rejoiced to find his father, was yet under apprehen- 
 sions of dying), and asked him if he consented.. Theodoro, 
 hearing that he had it in, his choice to marry his Violante 
 was as much rejoiced as if he had gone directly from hell 
 to heaven, and replied that he should esteem it as the 
 greatest favour in the world. ‘They sent to know her mind 
 in the case, who, hearing of what had happened to Theo- 
 doro, began to receive a little comfort after all her affliction, 
 and she said nothing in the world could be more pleasing 
 to her than to be the wife of Theodoro; but yet she should 
 always wait her father’s commands. Everything being thus 
 settled, the wedding was celebrated to the great joy of the 
 whole city. In a little time the bride began to recover her 
 
288 THE DECAMERON 
 
 looks, and having taken care of the infant, she went to pay 
 her respects to Phineo, who, being returned from his em- 
 bassy, received her as his daughter, with the utmost joy and 
 respect. Soon after they embarked all together for Laiazzo, 
 where the two lovers lived peaceably and happily together 
 all their lives. 
 
 NOVEL VIII 
 
 Anastasio being in love with a young lady, spent a good part of ht» 
 fortune without being able to gain her affections, At the request of 
 his relations he retires to Chiasst, where he sees a lady pursued and 
 slain by a gentleman, and then given to the dogs to be devoured. 
 He invites his friends, along with his mistress, to come and dine 
 with him, when they see the same thing, and she, fearing the like 
 punishment, takes him for her husband, 
 
 WHEN Lauretta had made an end, Philomena began, by the 
 queen’s command thus :— 
 
 Most gracious ladies, as pity is a commendable quality 
 in us, in like manner do we find cruelty most severely 
 punished by Divine justice ; which, that I may make plain 
 to you all, and afford means to drive it from your hearts, 
 I mean to relate a novel as full of compassion as it is 
 agreeable. ) 
 
 In Ravenna, an ancient city of Romagna, dwelt formerly 
 many persons of quality; amongst the rest was a young 
 gentleman, named Anastasio degli Honesti, who, by the 
 deaths of his father and uncle, was left immensely rich ; 
 and, being a bachelor, fell in love with one of the daughters 
 of Signor Paolo Traversaro (of a family much superior to 
 his own), and was in hopes, by his constant application, 
 to gain her affection: but though his endeavours were 
 generous, noble, and praiseworthy, so far were they from 
 succeeding, that, on the contrary, they rather turned out 
 to his disadvantage ; and so cruel, and even savage was the 
 beloved fair one (either her singular beauty or noble descent 
 having made her thus ‘haughty and scornful), that’ neither 
 he nor anything that he did could ever please her. This 
 so afflicted Anastasio, that he was going to lay violent 
 hands upon himself: but, thinking better of it, he frequently 
 
FIFTH DAY 289 
 
 thought to leave her entirely; or else to hate her, if he 
 could, as much as she had hated him: But this proved a 
 vain design ; for he constantly found that the less his hope, 
 the greater always his love. Persevering then in his love 
 and extravagant way of life, his friends looked upon him 
 as destroying his constitution, as well as wasting his sub- 
 stance ; they therefore advised and entreated that he would 
 leave the place, and go and live somewhere else; for, by 
 that means, he might lessen both his love and expense. 
 For some time he made light of this advice, till being very 
 much importuned, and not knowing how to refuse them, 
 he promised to do so; when, making extraordinary pre- 
 parations as if he was going some long journey either into 
 France or Spain, he mounted his horse, and left Ravenna, 
 attended by many of his friends, and went to a place about 
 three miles off, called Chiassi, where he ordered tents and 
 _ pavilions to be brought, telling those who had accompanied 
 him that he meant to stay there, but that they might return: 
 to Ravenna. Here he lived in the most splendid manner, 
 inviting sometimes this company, and sometimes that, both 
 to dine and sup, as he had used to do before. Now it 
 happened in the beginning of May, the season being ex- 
 tremely pleasant, that, thinking of his cruel mistress, he 
 ordered all his family to retire, and leave him to his own 
 thoughts, when he walked along, step by step, and lost in 
 reflection, till he came to a forest of pines. It being then 
 the fifth hour of the day, and he advanced more than half_ 
 a mile into the grove, without thinking either of his dinner 
 or anything else but his love; on a sudden he seemed to 
 hear a most grievous laméntation, with the loud shrieks of 
 a woman ; this put an end to his meditation, when looking 
 round him, to know what the matter was, he saw come out 
 of a thicket full of briars and thorns, and run towards the 
 place where he was, a most. beautiful lady, naked, with her 
 flesh all scratched and rent by the bushes, crying terribly, 
 and begging for mercy. In ciose pursuit of her were two 
 fierce mastiffs, biting and tearing wherever they could lay 
 hold, and behind upon a black steed, rode a gloomy knight, 
 with a dagger in his hand, loading her with the bitterest 
 imprecations. ‘The sight struck him at once with wonder 
 K 
 
 ae | 
 
290 THE DECAMERON 
 
 and consternation, as well as pity for the lady, whom he 
 was desirous to rescue from such trouble and danger, if 
 possible: but finding himself without arms, he seized the 
 branch of a tree, instead of a truncheon, and went forward 
 with it, to oppose both the dogs and the knight. The 
 knight observing this, called out, afar off, “ Anastasio, do 
 not concern thyself; but leave the dogs and me to do by 
 this wicked woman as she has deserved.” At these words 
 the dogs laid hold of her, and he coming up to them, 
 dismounted from his horse. Anastasio then stepped up 
 to him and said, “I know not who you are, that are 
 acquainted thus with me; but I must tell you, that it is 
 a most villainous action for a man armed as you are to 
 pursue a naked woman, and to set dogs upon her also, as 
 if she were a wild beast; be assured that I shall defend 
 her to the utmost of my power.” ‘The knight replied, “I 
 was once your countryman, when you were but a child, 
 \and was called Guido degli Anastagi, at which ‘time I 
 was more enamoured with this woman than ever you were 
 with Traversaro’s daughter; but she treated me so cruelly, 
 and with so much insolence, that I killed myself with this 
 dagger which you now see in my hand, for which I am 
 doomed to eternal punishment. . Soon afterwards she, who 
 was over and above rejoiced at my death, died likewise, 
 and for that cruelty, as also for the joy which she expressed 
 at my misery, she 1s condemned as well as myself. . Our 
 sentences are for her to flee before me; and for me, 
 who loved her so well, to pursue her as a mortal enemy; 
 and when I overtake her, with this dagger, with which 
 1 murdered myself, do 1 murder her; then I open her 
 through the back and take out that hard and cold heart 
 which neither love nor pity could pierce, with all her en- 
 trails, and throw them to the dogs; and in a little time 
 (so wills.the justice and power of Heaven) she rises, as 
 though she had never been dead, and renews her miserable 
 flight, whilst we purse her over again. Every Friday in 
 the year, about this time, do I sacrifice her here, as you 
 see, and on other days in other places, where she has ever 
 thought or done anything against me: and thus being from 
 a lover become her mortal enemy, I am to follow her as 
 
FIFTH DAY 291 
 
 many years as she was cruel to me months. Then let the 
 Divine justice take its course, nor offer to oppose what you 
 are no way able to withstand.” Anastasio drew back at 
 these words, terrified to death, and waited to see what the 
 other was going to do: who, having made an end of speak- 
 ing, ran at her with the utmost fury, as she was seized by 
 the dogs, and kneeled down begging for mercy, when with 
 his dagger he pierced through her breast, drawing forth 
 her heart and entrails, which the dogs immediately, as if 
 half famished, devoured. And in a little time she arose 
 again, as if nothing had happened, and fled towards the 
 sea, the dogs biting and tearing her all the way; the knight 
 also being remounted, and taking his dagger pursued her 
 as before, till they soon got out of sight. Upon seeing 
 these things, Anastasio stood divided betwixt fear and pity, 
 and at length it came into his mind that, as it happened 
 always on a Friday, it might be of particular use. Return- 
 ing then to his servants, he sent for some of his friends 
 and relations, when he said to them, ‘‘ You have often 
 importuned me to leave off loving this enemy, and to con- 
 tract my expenses; I am ready to do so, provided you 
 grant me one favour, which is this, that next Friday, you 
 engage Paolo Traversaro, his wife and daughter, with all 
 their women friends and relations, to come and dine with 
 me: the reason of my requiring this you will see at that 
 time.” This seemed to them a small matter, and returning 
 to Ravenna they invited all those whom he had desired, 
 and though they found it difficult to prevail upon the 
 young lady, yet the others carried her at last along with 
 them. 
 
 Anastasio had provided a magnificent entertainment in 
 the grove where that spectacle had lately been ; and, having 
 seated all his company, he contrived that the lady should 
 sit directly opposite to the scene of action. The last course 
 then was no sooner served up, but the lady’s shrieks began 
 to be heard. This surprised them all, and they began to 
 inquire what it was, and, as nobody could inform them, 
 they all arose; when immediately they saw the lady, dogs, 
 and knight, who were soon amongst them. Great was 
 consequently the clamour, both against the dogs and > 
 
 ay 
 
292 THE DECAMERON 
 
 knight, and many of them went to her assistance. But 
 the knight made the same harangue to them that he had 
 done to Anastasio, which terrified and filled them with 
 wonder; whilst he acted the same part over again, the 
 ladies, of whom there were many present, related to both 
 the knight and lady, who remembered his love and un- 
 happy death, ali lamenting as much as if it had happened 
 to themselves. This tragical affair being ended, and the 
 lady and knight both gone away, they had various argu- 
 ments together about it; but none seemed so much affected 
 as Anastasio’s mistress, who had heard and seen everything 
 distinctly, and was sensible that it concerned: her more 
 than any other person, calling to mind her usage of and 
 cruelty towards him; so that she seemed to flee before 
 him all incensed, with the mastiffs at her heels; and her 
 terror was such, lest this should ever happen to her, that, 
 turning her hatred into love, she sent that very evening a 
 trusty damsel privately to him, who entreated him in her 
 name to come to see her, for that she was ready to fulfil 
 his desires. Anastasio replied, that nothing could be more 
 agreeable to him, but that he desired no favour from her 
 but what was consistent with her honour. The lady, who 
 'was sensible that it had been always her fault that they 
 were not married, answered, that she was willing; and 
 going herself to her father and mother, she acquainted 
 them with her intention. This gave them the utmost 
 satisfaction; and the next Sunday the marriage was 
 solemnised with all possible demonstrations of joy. And 
 that spectacle was not attended with this good alone; 
 but all the women of Ravenna, for the time to come, 
 were so terrified with it, that they were more ready to 
 listen to, and oblige the men, than ever they had been 
 before. 
 
‘FIFTH DAY 293 
 
 NOVEL IX 
 
 Federigo, being in love, without meeting with any return, spends ail 
 kis substance, having nothing left but one poor hawk, which he 
 gtves to his lady for ker dinner when she comes to hts house; she, 
 knowing this, changes her resolution, and marries him, bv which 
 means he becomes very rich. 
 
 THE queen now observing that only herself and Dioneus 
 were left to speak, said pleasantly to this effect :— 
 
 As it is now come to my turn, I shall give you a novel 
 something like the preceding one, that you may not only 
 know what influence the power of your charms has overa 
 generous heart, but that you may learn likewise to bestow 
 your favours of your own accord, and where you think 
 most proper, without suffering Fortune to be your directress, 
 who disposes blindly, and without the least judgment what- 
 soever. 
 
 You must understand, then, that Coppo di Borghese 
 (who was a person of great respect and authority among 
 us, and whose amiable qualities, joined to his noble birth, 
 had rendered him worthy of immortal fame) in the decline 
 of life used to divert himself among his neighbours and 
 acquaintances, by relating things which had happened in 
 his days, and which he knew how to do with more exact- 
 ness and elegance of expression than any other person: 
 he, I say, amongst other pleasant stories, used to tell us 
 that at Florence dwelt a young gentleman named Federigo, 
 son of Filippo Alberighi, who, in feats of arms and gentility, 
 surpassed all the youth in Tuscany: this gentleman was in 
 love with a lady called Madam Giovanna, one of the most 
 agreeable women in Florence, and to gain her affection, 
 used to be continually making tilts, balls, and such diver- 
 sions; lavishing away his money in rich presents, and 
 everything that was extravagant. But she, as just and 
 reputable as she was fair, made no account either of what 
 he did for her sake, or of himself. Living in this manner, 
 his wealth soon began to waste, till at last he had nothing 
 left but a very small farm, the income of which was a most 
 
294 THE DECAMERON 
 
 slender maintenance, and a single hawk, one of the best in 
 the world. Yet loving still more than ever, and finding he 
 could subsist no longer in the city in the manner he would 
 choose to live, he retired to his farm, where he went out 2 
 fowling as often as the weather would permit, and bore his 
 distress patiently, and without ever making his necessity 
 known to anybody. Now, one day it happened, that, as 
 he was reduced to the last extremity, the husband to this 
 lady chanced to fall sick, who, being very rich, left all his 
 substance to an only son, who was almost grown up, and 
 if he should die without issue, he then ordered that it 
 should revert to his lady, whom he was extremely fond of; 
 and when he had disposed thus of his fortune, he died. 
 She now, being left a widow, retired, as our ladies usually 
 do during the summer season, to a house of hers in the 
 country, near to that of Federigo: whence it happened 
 that her son soon became acquainted with him, and they 
 used to divert themselves together with dogs and hawks; 
 when he, having often seen Federigo’s hawk fly, and being 
 strangely taken with it, was desirous of having it, though 
 the other valued it to that degree, that he knew not how 
 to ask for it. This being’ so, the young spark soon fell 
 sick, which gave his mother great concern, as he was her 
 only child: and she ceased not to attend on and comfort 
 him, often requesting, if there was any particular thing 
 which he fancied, to let her know it, and promising to 
 procure it for him if it were possible. The young gentle- 
 man, after many offers of this kind, at last said, “Madam, 
 if you could contrive for me to have Federigo’s hawk, I 
 should soon be well.” She was in some suspense at this, 
 and began to consider how best to act. She knew that 
 Federigo had long entertained a liking for her, without the 
 least encouragement on her part; therefore she said to her- 
 self, “ How can I send or go to ask for this hawk, which I 
 hear is the very best of the kind, and what alone maintains 
 him in the world? Or how can I offer to take away from 
 a gentleman all the pleasure that he has in life?” Being 
 in this perplexity, though she was very sure of having it for 
 a word, she stood without making any reply, till at last the 
 love of her son so far prevailed, that she resolved at all 
 
FIFTH DAY 295 
 
 events to make him easy, and not send, but go herself, to 
 bring it. She then replied, ‘Son, set your heart at rest, 
 and think only of your recovery, for I promise you that I 
 will go. to-morrow for it the first thing Ido.” This afforded 
 him such joy, that he immediately showed signs of amend- 
 ment. The next morning she went, by way of a walk, with: 
 another lady in company, to his little cottage to inquire 
 for him, _ At that time, as it was too early to go out upon 
 his diversion, he was at work in his garden. Hearing, 
 therefore, that his mistress inquired for him at the door, 
 he ran thither, surprised and full of joy; whilst she, with a 
 great deal of complaisance, went to meet him; and after 
 the usual compliments, she said, ‘Good morning to you, 
 sir; 1am come to make you some amends for what you 
 have formerly done on my account; what I mean. is, that 
 I have brought a companion to take a neighbourly dinner 
 with you to-day.” He replied, with a great deal of humility, 
 “Madam, I do not remember ever to have received any 
 harm by your means, but rather so much good, that if I 
 was worth anything at any time, it was due to your singular 
 merit, and the love I had for you: and most assuredly this 
 courteous visit is more welcome to me than if I had all 
 that 1 have wasted. returned to me to spend over again ; 
 but you are come to a very poor host.” With these words 
 he showed her into his house, seeming much out of coun- 
 tenance, and from thence they went into the garden, when, 
 haying no company for her, he said, “ Madam, as I have 
 nobody else, please.to admit this honest woman, a labourer’s 
 wife, to be with you, whilst. I set forth the table.” He, 
 although his poverty was extreme, was never so sensible of 
 his having been extravagant as now; but finding nothing 
 to entertain the lady with, for whose sake, he had treated 
 thousands, he was in the utmost perplexity, cursing his 
 evil fortune, and running up and down like one out of his 
 wits; at length, having neither. money nor anything he 
 could pawn, and being willing to give her someth.ng, at 
 the same time that he would not make his case known, 
 even so much as to his own labourer, he espied his hawk 
 upon the perch, which he seized, and finding it very fat, 
 judged it might make a dish not unworthy of such a lady, 
 
296 THE DECAMERON 
 
 Without further thought, then, he pulled his head off, and 
 gave him to a girl to truss and roast carefully, whilst he 
 laid the cloth, having a small quantity of linen yet left; 
 and then he returned, with a smile on his countenance, 
 into the garden to her, telling her that what little dinner he 
 was able to provide was now ready. She and her friend, 
 therefore, entered and sat down with him, he serving them 
 all the time with great respect, when they eat the hawk. 
 After dinner was over, and they had sat chattering a little 
 together, she thought it a fit time to tell her errand, and 
 she spoke to him courteously in this manner :— 
 
 Sir, if you call to mind your past life, and my resolu- 
 tion, which perhaps you may call cruelty, I doubt not but 
 you will wonder at my presumption, when you know what 
 I am come for: but if you had children of your own, to 
 know how strong our natural affection is towards them, I 
 am very sure you would excuse me. Now, my having a 
 son forces me, against my own inclinations, and all reason 
 whatsoever, to request a thing of you, which I know you 
 value extremely, as you have no other comfort or diversion 
 left in your small circumstances; I mean your hawk, 
 which he has taken sucha fancy to, that unless I bring him 
 back with me, I very much fear that he will die of his dis- 
 order. Therefore I entreat you, not for any regard you 
 have for me (for in that respect you are no way obliged to 
 me), but for that generosity with which you have always 
 distinguished yourself, that you would please to let me 
 have him; by which means you will save my child’s life, 
 and lay him under perpetual obligations.” Federigo, 
 hearing the lady’s request, and knowing it was out of his 
 power to serve her, began to weep before he was able to — 
 make a word of reply. This she first thought was his 
 great concern to part with his favourite bird, and that he 
 was going to give her a flat denial; but after she had 
 waited a little for his answer, he said, ‘“‘ Madam, ever since 
 I have fixed my affections upon you, fortune has still been | 
 contrary to me in many things ; but all the rest is nothing 
 to what has now come to pass. You are here to visit me 
 in this my poor mansion, and whither in my prosperity you 
 would never deign to come; you also entreat a small pre- 
 
FIFTH DAY 297 
 
 sent from me, which it is no way in my power to give, as 1 
 am going briefly to tell you. As soon as I was acquainted 
 with the great favour you designed me, I thought it proper, 
 considering your superior merit and excellency, to treat 
 you, according to my ability, with something more nice 
 and valuable than is usually given to other persons, when, 
 calling to mind my hawk, which you now request, and his 
 goodness, I judged him a fit repast for you, and you have 
 had him roasted. Nor could I have thought him better 
 bestowed, had you not now desired him in a different 
 manner, which is such a grief to me, that I shall never be 
 at peace as long as I live:” and upon saying this, he pro- 
 duced his feathers, feet, and talons. She began now to 
 blame him for killing such a bird to entertain any woman 
 with; secretly praising the greatness of his soul, which 
 poverty had no power to abase. Thus, having no further 
 hopes of obtaining the hawk, she thanked him for the 
 respect and good-will he had shown towards her, and 
 returned full of concern to her son; who, either out of 
 grief for the disappointment, or through the violence of his 
 disorder, died in a few days. She continued sorrowful for 
 some time; but, being left rich, and young, her brothers 
 were very pressing with her to marry again, which, though 
 against her inclinations, yet finding them still importunate, 
 and remembering Federigo’s great worth, and the late 
 instance of his generosity, in killing such a bird for her en- 
 tertainment, she said, ‘‘ I should rather choose to continue 
 as Iam; but since it is your desire that I take a husband, 
 I will have only Federigo degli Alberighi.”. They smiled 
 contemptuously at this, and said, ‘‘ You simple woman ! 
 what are you talking of? He is not worth one farthing in 
 the world.” She replied, ‘‘I believe it, brothers, to be as 
 you say: but know, shat J would sooner have a man that 
 stands in need of riches, than riches without a man.” ‘They 
 hearing her resolution, and well knowing his generous 
 temper, gave her to him with all her wealth; and he, seeing 
 himself possessed of a lady whom he had so dearly loved, 
 and such a vast fortune, lived in all true happiness with 
 her, and was a better manager of his affairs for the time 
 to come, 
 K 2 
 
298 THE DECAMERON 
 
 NOVEL X 
 
 Pietro di Vinciolo goes to sup at a friends house; his wifein che mean- 
 time has her gallant; Pietro returns, when she hides him under 
 a chicken coop. Pietro relates, that a young fellow was found in 
 Hercolano’s house where he supped, who had been concealed by his 
 wife. fietro’s wife blames very much the wife of Hercolane ; 
 whilst an ass happening to tread on the young man’s Jingers, who 
 lay hidden, he cries out. Pietro runs to see what is the matter, 
 and finds out the trick, At length they make tt up. 
 
 THE queen had now made an end, and every one was 
 pleased with Federigo’s good fortune, when Dioneus thus 
 began :— 
 
 I know not whether I should term it a vice ‘accidental, 
 and owing to the depravity of our manners; or whether it 
 be not rather a natural infirmity, to laugh sooner at bad 
 things than those which are good, especially when they no 
 way concern ourselves. Therefore, asthe pains which I 
 have before taken, and am also now to undergo, aim at no. 
 other end but to drive away melancholy, and to afford 
 matter for mirth and laughter, although some part of the 
 following novel be not altogether so modest, yet, as it may 
 make you merry, I shall venture to relate it; whilst you 
 may do in this case, as when you walk in a garden, that 
 is, pick the roses, and leave the briars behind you... So 
 you may leave the sorry fellow to his own reflections, and 
 laugh at the amorous wiles of his wife, having that regard 
 for other people’s misfortunes which they deserve. 
 
 There dwelt not long since in Perugia, a very rich man, 
 named Pietro di Vinciolo, who, perhaps more to lessen 
 people’s bad opinion of him than anything else, took unto 
 him a wife. And fortune was conformable to his inclina- — 
 tions in this manner; namely, that he met with a woman 
 of such a disposition, as required two husbands rather 
 than. one. Consequently, they had continual jars and 
 animosities together, whilst she would often argue with 
 herself in this way: ‘‘I made choice of this. man, and. 
 brought him a good fortune, expecting to live comfortably 
 with him, and I now find it impossible. Had T not been. 
 
FIFTH DAY 299 
 
 disposed to be of the world, I would have shut myself up 
 in a monastery at once. I shall have old age overtake me 
 before I know one good day, and then it will be too late to 
 expect it.” Full of such reflections as these, she went at 
 last, and made her case known to an old sanctified virgin 
 (who was perpetually saying over her Pater Nosters, and 
 would talk of nothing else but the lives of the holy fathers, 
 and the wounds of St. Francis), and she replied, ‘‘ Daughter, 
 you think very rightly, there is no grief equal to that of 
 having missed our opportunity, as I can very well bear you 
 witness. It is not long that our bloom’ lasts, and we have 
 it in our power to do for ourselves; afterwards, pray what 
 are we reckoned good for? If you want any assistance, J 
 will do my best to serve you; but you must consider that 
 I am very poor: I would have you therefore partake of ali 
 my pardons and Pater Nosters.” It was then agreed, that 
 if the old woman should meet with a certain gentleman in 
 the street, whom the other described to her, she then knew 
 what she had to’do; and upon this she gave her some 
 victuals, and sent her away. The old wretch soon con- 
 trived to bring them together, and they had several meet- 
 ings: one evening, in particular, the husband being en- 
 gaged to sup with a friend of his, called Hercolano, the 
 lady and her gallant were no sooner seated at table, but 
 Pietro was heard knocking at the door. She was frightened 
 out of her wits, and being willing to hide him somewhere 
 or, other, and not knowing where to put him better, she 
 covered him with the hen-coop, which stood in the next 
 room, and throwing an empty sack over it, ran to open the 
 door, saying, “ Husband, you have soon made an end of 
 your supper.” Pietro replied, ‘I have not tasted one 
 morsel.” ‘*How could that be?” quoth she. “I will tell 
 you,” rejoined he, “how it was. Hercolano, his wife, and 
 myself, were all set down, when we heard somebody 
 sneeze ; this we did not regard for once or twice, but it 
 happening three or four, or five times, it naturally surprised 
 us ; and Hercolano (who was disturbed that his wife made 
 him wait some time at the door, before she let him in) 
 said, in a passion, ‘What is the meaning of this? Who 
 is it that snéezes in this manner?” And getting up from 
 
300 THE DECAMERON 
 
 the table, he went towards the stairs, under which was a 
 cupboard, made to set things out of the way, and supposing 
 that it came from thence, he opened the door, when there 
 immediately issued out the greatest stench of sulphur that 
 could be, though we perceived something of it before, and 
 they had words about it; when she told him, that she had 
 been whitening her veils with brimstone, and had set the 
 pan, over which she had laid them to receive the steam, in 
 that place, and she supposed it continued yet to smoke. 
 After he had opened the door, and the smoke was a little 
 dispersed, he began to look about to see who it was that 
 sneezed, the sulphur provoking to it; and though he con- 
 tinued sneezing, yet his breast was so straitened with it, 
 that, in a very little time more, he would neither have done 
 that, nor anything else. Hercolano, seeing the person at 
 last, cried out, ‘So, madam! I now see why you made 
 us wait so long at the door, but let me die if I do not pay 
 you as you deserve.” The wife, finding that she was dis- 
 covered, rose from the table without making any excuse, 
 and went I know not whither. Hercolano, not perceiving 
 that his wife was fled, called upon the man that sneezed, 
 and ordered him to come out; but he, who was indeed 
 not able, never offered to stir, notwithstanding all he 
 could say. Upon which he drew him out by the foot, and 
 was running for a knife to kill him, but I, fearing to be 
 drawn into some difficulty myself about it, would not suffer 
 him to. put him to death; but defended him, and called 
 out for the neighbours to assist, who came and carried him 
 away: this spoiled our supper, and I have not had one bit, 
 as I told you,” The lady hearing this account, saw thai 
 other women were of the same disposition with herself, 
 although some proved more unlucky than others; and she 
 would gladly have vindicated Hercolano’s wife, but that 
 she thought by blaming the faults of other people, to make 
 the way more open for her own; she then began :— 
 
 Here is a fine affair truly! this is your virtuous and 
 good woman, who seemed so spiritually-minded always that 
 I could have confessed myself to her upon occasion. 
 What is worse, she is also old: she sets a fine example to 
 young people! Cursed be the hour of her birth, and 
 
FIFTH DAY 301 
 
 herself also; vile woman as she is! to be a disgrace to her 
 whole sex; who, mindless of her own honour and her 
 plighted faith to her husband, was not ashamed to injure so 
 deserving a person, and who had been always so tender of 
 her! As I hope for mercy I would have none on such 
 prostitutes, they should every soul of them be burnt alive.” 
 
 Now calling to mind her own spark who was concealed, 
 she began to fondle her husband, and would have had him 
 go to bed; but he, who had more stomach to eat than 
 sleep, asked whether she had anything for supper. “ Yes, 
 truly,” quoth she, ‘‘we are used to have suppers when 
 you are from home. I should fare better were I 
 Hercolano’s wife; my dear, now go to bed.” That 
 evening it happened that certain labourers of his were 
 come with some things out of the country, and had put 
 their asses, without giving them any water, into a stable 
 adjoining to the little room, when one of them slipped 
 his halter, being very thirsty, and went smelling everywhere 
 to drink, till he came to the coop under which the young 
 man was hidden. Now he was forced to lie flat on his 
 belly, and one of his fingers, by strange ill-fortune, was 
 uncovered, so that the ass trod upon it, which made him 
 cry out most terribly. Pietro wondered to hear that 
 clamour, supposing it was somewhere in the house, and 
 finding the person continue to make a noise, the ass 
 still squeezing close his finger, he called aloud, ‘‘ Who is 
 there?” And running to the coop, and turning it up, he 
 saw the young man, who, besides the great pain he had 
 suffered, was frightened to death lest Pietro should do him 
 some mischief. He inquired of him then what business 
 he had there: to which he made no reply, but begged he 
 would do him no harm. Pietro then said, “Get up, I 
 shall not hurt you, only tell me how you came hither, 
 and upon what account.” The young man confessed 
 everything, whilst Pietro, full as glad that he had founé 
 him as his wife was sorry, brought him into the room, 
 where she sat in all the terror imaginable, expecting him. 
 Seating himself now down before her, he said, ‘‘ Here, you 
 that were so outrageous at Hercolano’s wife, saying that she 
 should be burnt, and that she was a scandal to you all, 
 
302 THE DECAMERON 
 
 what do you say now for yourself? Or how could you 
 have the assurance to utter such things with regard to 
 her, when you knew yourself to be equally guilty? You 
 are all alike, and think to cover your own transgressions 
 by other people’s mistakes; I wish a fire would come 
 from heaven and consume you all together, for a perverse 
 generation as you are.” Thelady, now seeing that he went 
 no further than a few words, put a good face on the 
 matter, and replied, “Yes, I make no doubt but you 
 would have us all destroyed; but I shall stick close to you 
 yet. You do well to compare me to Hercolano’s wife, who 
 is a deformed hypocritical old woman and he one of the 
 best of husbands ; whereas, you know it is the reverse with 
 regard. to us two: I would sooner go in rags were you 
 what you ought to be, than to have everything in: plenty 
 and you continue the same person you have always been.” 
 Pietro found she had matter enough to serve her the 
 whole night, and having never been over fond of her, 
 he said, ‘‘I will.take care that you shall have more com- 
 fort for the time to come; do but see and get us something 
 for supper, for I suppose this young spark is fasting as well 
 as. myself.”——“'’Tis very true,” she replied, “‘for we were 
 going to sit down when you unluckily came to the door.”— 
 *Then go and get something,” he said, “and we will 
 have no more disputes.” She, finding her husband was 
 satisfied, went instantly about it, and they all three supped 
 cheerfully together. 
 
 Dioneus having finished his cubel which was the less 
 laughed at by the ladies, not for any want of mirth but on 
 account of their modesty; and the queen knowing that 
 there was an end of the novels of her day, arose, and 
 taking the crown from her own head, placed it upon Eliza, 
 saying, ‘Madam, now it is your business to command.” 
 Eliza, taking upon herself the honour, gave the same orders 
 to the master of the household as had been donein the 
 former reigns with regard to what’ was necessary during the 
 administration. She then said, ‘We have often heard that 
 many people by their ready wit and smart repartees, have 
 not only blunted the keen satire of other persons but have 
 also warded off some imminent danger. Then, as the 
 
FIFTH DAY 303 
 
 _ subject is agreeable enough and may be useful, I will that 
 to-morrow’s discourse be to that effect: namely, of such 
 persons as: have returned some stroke of wit which was 
 pointed at them, or else by some quick reply or prudent 
 foresight have avoided either danger or derision.” This 
 was agreeable to the whole assembly, and the queen now 
 gave them leave to depart until the hour for supper: at that 
 _ time they were called together, and sat cheerfully down as 
 usual, When supper was over, Emilia was ordered to 
 begin a dance and Dioneus to sing. But he, attempting to 
 sing what the queen disapproved, she said, with a good deal 
 of warmth, * Dioneus, I will have none of this ribaldry; 
 either sing us a song fit to be heard, or you shall see that I 
 know how to resent it.” At these words he put on a 
 more serious countenance, and began the following :— 
 
 SONG, 
 
 I, 
 
 Cupid, the charms that crown my fair 
 Have made me slave to you and her. 
 The lightning of her eyes, 
 That darting through my bosom flies, 
 Doth still your sov’reign power declare: 
 At your control 
 Each grace binds fast my vanquish’d soul. 
 
 Ti. 
 
 Devoted to your throne 
 From henceforth I myself confess, 
 Nor can I guess 
 If my desires to her be known ; 
 Who claims each wish, each thought so fag, 
 That all my peace depends on her. 
 
 iil. 
 
 Then haste, kind godhead, and inspire 
 A portion of your sacred fire; 
 To make her feel 
 _ That self-consuming zeal, 
 The cause of my decay, 
 That wastes my very heart away. 
 
304 THE DECAMERON 
 
 When Dioneus had made an end, the queen called for 
 several other songs: his, nevertheless, was highly com- 
 mended ; afterwards great part of the evening being spent, 
 and the heat of the day sufficiently damped by the breezes 
 of the night, she ordered them all to go and repose them- 
 selves till the following day. 
 
THE SIXTH DAY 
 
 THE moon had now lost her brightness in the midst of the 
 heavens, and the world become illuminated by the appear- 
 ance of the new day, when the queen arose with all her 
 company, and they walked forth upon the dewy grass to 
 some distance from that little eminence, holding various 
 arguments by the way concerning their late novels, and 
 making themselves merry with reciting some of the most 
 entertaining over again: till at last, the heat growing 
 excessive, as the sun was mounted toa greater height, they 
 turned back, and came to the palace; where the tables 
 being set forth against their return, and every part of the 
 house bedecked with sweet-smelling flowers, they sat down 
 to dinner. When that was over, and after singing a few 
 songs, some went asleep and others played at chess; 
 whilst Dioneus and Lauretta sang the song of Tréilus and 
 Cressida. At the usual hour they met by the fountain’s 
 side, when the queen laid her first commands upon 
 Philomena, who readily began as follows :-— 
 
 NOVEL I 
 
 A certain knight offers a lady to carry her behind him, and to tell her a 
 pleasant story by the way ; but doing it with an ill grace, she chose 
 rather to walk on foot, 
 
 LADIES, as stars are the ornaments of heaven, flowers of 
 the spring, and as the hills are most beautiful when planted 
 with trees, so a smart and elegant turn of expression is the 
 
 embellishment of discourse ; and the shorter the better, 
 308 
 
306 THE DECAMERON 
 
 especially in women. But true it is, whether it be owing 
 to our unhappy dispositions or some particular enmity which 
 _ the stars bear to our sex, there is hardly any among us that 
 knows when it is proper to speak, or to understand what is 
 said as we ought, which is a great disgrace tous all. But 
 as Pampinea has before spoken to this point more largely, 
 I shall say nothing further; but only show, by the genteel 
 manner of a lady’s silencing a knight, the great beauty of a 
 word or two spoken in due time and place. 
 
 You may all of you have heard that there lived in our 
 city, not a great while ago, a lady of much worth and wit, 
 whose good qualities deserve not that her name should be 
 concealed ;' she was called then Madam Oretta, and was 
 the wife of Signor Geri Spina; who being by chance in the 
 country, as we are now, and going to take a walk along 
 with some ladies and knights, who had dined at her house 
 the day before, from one place to another; and their 
 journey seeming a little tedious, as they were on foot, one 
 of the knights, who happened to be on horseback, said 
 that if she pleased he would carry her part of the way, and 
 entertain her with one of the best stories in the world. 
 “ Sir,” she replied, “I should ‘be extremely obliged to you 
 for it.” The knight, who told a story with as ill a grace as 
 he wore a sword, began his tale, which was really a good 
 one; but by frequent repetitions, and beginning over again 
 to say it better, by mistaking also one name for another 
 and relating everything in the worst manner, he mangled it 
 to that degree that he made the lady quite sick: and being 
 able to bear it no longer, seeing him set fast, nor likely 
 soon to extricate himself, she said pleasantly to him, “Sir, 
 your horse has a very uneasy trot, I beg you would set me 
 down.” The knight who took a hint more readily than he 
 told a story, made a laugh of it, and turned his discourse 
 to something else; leaving what. he had .sorrily begun and 
 worse conducted without offering to end it. 
 
SIXTH DAY 307 
 
 NOVEL II 
 
 Cisti the baker, by a smart reply, makes Signor Geri Spina sensible of 
 an unreasonable request, 
 
 THE whole company was pleased with what Oretta, had 
 said; when the queen pointed next to Pampinea, who 
 spoke thus :—: 
 
 It is beyond my capacity to determine whether nature 
 be more in fault, when she joins a generous soul to a 
 homely person ; or fortune in dooming a body, graced with 
 a noble spirit, to a mean condition of life; as was the case 
 of a citizen of ours, named Cisti, as well as of many others. 
 For this man, though he had truly a great spirit, yet fortune 
 made him no better than a baker. For my part, I should 
 quarrel both with nature and fortune did I not know nature 
 to be absolutely wise, and that fortune hath a thousand 
 eyes, although fools have described her as blind. I sup- 
 pose, therefore, that both, being truly wise and judicious, 
 act as we ourselves often do; who, uncertain of what may 
 happen, for our convenience ’ often bury our most valuable 
 treasure in the meanest places of our houses, as the least 
 liable to suspicion; from whence we can fetch them in 
 time of need, and where they have continued more secure 
 than they would have been in the best chamber of the 
 house. So these two ministers of the world do many times 
 hide their most precious blessings under the cover of some 
 mean employ, to the end that, drawing them from thence 
 when need requires, they may appear with greater lustre ; 
 which was plainly showed, although in a small matter, by 
 our baker Cisti, to the apprehension of Signor Geri Spina, 
 whom the story of Madam Oretta, who was his wife, brings 
 fresh into my mind; as I shall relate in a very short novel. 
 You must know then that Pope Boniface, with whom this 
 same Signor Geri was in great esteem, having an occasion 
 to send ambassadors to Florence about some particular 
 business, who ‘being entertained at this Geri Spina’s house, 
 and employed with him in the said pope’s negotiation, it 
 happened, whatever was the reason, that they passed on 
 
308 THE DECAMERON 
 
 foot every morning by the church of St. Maria Ughi where 
 Cisti the baker dwelt, and followed his trade: who, though 
 fortune had given him but a mean employ, yet in this 
 respect she had been kind to him—that he had grown very 
 rich in it; and, without having any desire to leave it fora 
 better, lived very generously among his neighbours, having 
 everything in plenty, the best wine especially, both red and 
 white, that the country could afford. Now, he seeing them 
 walk daily by his door, and supposing, as the season was 
 sultry, that it would be esteemed a kindness to let them 
 drink some of his fine white wine, but regarding at the 
 same time the disparity of their different stations, he would 
 not presume to invite them; but thought of a way whereby 
 Signor Geri might be induced of his own accord to taste it. 
 Having a white frock on, therefore, with an apron before 
 him, which bespoke him rather a miller than a baker, every 
 morning about the time that he supposed they should come 
 that way, would he order a bucket full of fair water to be 
 brought, and a decanter of wine, with a couple of beakers 
 as bright as crystal, to be set before him; when, seating 
 himself down at his door, and clearing first his mouth and 
 throat, he would take a draught or two just as they were 
 going past, with a gust sufficient to cause an appetite almost 
 in a man that was dead. 
 
 Signor Geri, observing this once or twice, said, the third 
 time, ‘‘ What say you? Is your wine good, Master Cisti?” 
 He, starting up, replied, “ Yes, sir; but how can I convince 
 you unless you taste?” Signor Geri, whom either the heat 
 of the weather or his. extraordinary fatigue, or perhaps the 
 relish with which he saw the other drink, had rendered 
 thirsty, turned with a smile upon the ambassadors, and 
 said, ‘‘Gentlemen, we may as well drink of this honest 
 man’s wine, perhaps it is such that we shall not need to 
 repent.” Accordingly they went together to Cisti, who, 
 ordering seats to be brought out of his bakehouse, prayed 
 them to sit down, saying to their servants, who offered to 
 wash the glasses, ‘‘ Friends, go get you gone; leave this to 
 me. Iam no worse a skinker than a baker, and stay you 
 ever so long you shall not taste a drop.” Washing then 
 four neat glasses, and ordering a fresh decanter to be 
 
SIXTH 309 
 
 brought, he ‘iled round to S, ‘xerl and the ambas- 
 sadors, bo thought it the best wine they had tasted for a 
 long time; anc having highly commended it, they called to 
 drink with him most mornings during their stay. At length 
 having dispatched their business, and being about to depart, 
 Signor Geri made an entertainment for them, to which he 
 invited a great part of the most eminent citizens, and Cisti 
 amongst the rest, who could by no means be persuaded to 
 go. Signor Geri then ordered one of his servants to fetch 
 a flask of Cisti’s wine, and to fill half a glass round to all 
 the company at the first table. The servant (offended, as 
 we may suppose, that he had never been able to get a taste 
 of it) took a very large bottle; which as soon as Cisti saw, 
 he said, ‘‘ Friend, Signor Geri never sent thee to me.” 
 Which the servant affirming over and over, and yet meeting 
 with no other reply, he returned to his master, and told 
 him. Signor Geri then said, ‘‘Go back, and tell him that 
 I did send thee, and if he makes the like answer again, ask 
 him whither he thinks I should send thee.” The servant 
 went again, and said, ‘‘ Most assuredly Signor Geri, my 
 master, has sent me to you.” Cisti made answer, ‘I tell 
 thee, friend, it is impossible.”——‘‘ Then,” quoth the servant, 
 ‘‘whither do you think he sent me?” He replied, “To 
 the river Arno;” which when the fellow reported to Signor 
 Geri, his eyes were immediately opened, and he said, 
 ‘* Let me see what bottle it was which you carried to him.” 
 On seeing it,,he adged, ‘“ Now, trust me, Cisti spoke truth.” 
 Reprimanding hing then severely, he ordered him to take a 
 more sizable vessel; which as soon as Cisti saw, he said, 
 ** Why now I am certain that he sent thee to me;” and 
 filled it very readily for him. That day also he had a cask 
 filled with the same wine, which he sent to Signor Geri’s 
 house, and going himself after it, he thus addressed him :— 
 Sir, I would not have you think that I was any way 
 startled at the sight of the great bottle this morning; but 
 as I imagined you had forgotten what I had endeavoured 
 to intimate to you for several days past with my little 
 decanters, namely, that mine is no wine for servants, so I 
 only did it to remind you again of the same thing. But 
 meaning to be steward no longer, I have now brought my 
 
310 THE DECAMERON 
 
 _ whole store; dispose of it as you please.” Signor Geri was 
 
 extremely thankful for his most valuable present, and ever 
 
 afterwards esteemed him as his most intimate friend. 
 
 NOVEL III 
 
 - Madam Nonna de’ Pulei silences the Bishop of Florence, by a smart 
 
 reply to an unseemly piece of ratllery. 
 
 _ PAMPINEA had now made an end, Cisti’s answer and gene- 
 
 rosity being highly commended, when the queen gave her 
 
 _ orders to Lauretta, who began as follows :— 
 
 Most gracious ladies; Pampinea, the other day, and 
 
 _ Philomena now, have both justly touched upon our little 
 
 merit, as well as the beauty of repartees: therefore, as it is 
 
 _aeedless to say anything further upon that head, I shall 
 
 only remind you that your words should be such as only 
 to nip or touch the hearer, like the sheep’s nibbling on the 
 grass, and not as the dog bites; for in that case it is n¢ 
 longer wit, but foul scurrility. This was excellently well set 
 forth, both in what was said by Oretta, and in the reply of 
 Cisti. It is true, however, that if it be spoken by way of 
 answer, and bites a little too keenly; yet, if the person who 
 
 answers in that manner were stung first, he is the less to 
 
 blame. Therefore, you should be cautious both how, when, 
 
 and with whom you jest; which not bei®e enaugh attended 
 to by a certain prelate of ours, he ret With @ sharper bite 
 
 _ than he had given, as I shall show — in a ‘very short 
 
 novel. 
 When Signor Antonio d’Orso, a most wise and worthy 
 
 _pérson, was bishop of Florence,'a certain gentleman of 
 Catalonia, marshal to King Robert, happened to come 
 
 thither; who, having a good person, and being a great 
 admirer of the fair sex, took a particular liking to a lady of 
 that city, who was niece to the bishop’s brother; and, 
 
 understanding that her husband, though of a good family, 
 _was most abominably sordid and covetous, he agreed to 
 _ give him five hundred florins of gold to let him pass one 
 
 night with her. Accordingiy, he got so many pieces of 
 
SIXTH DAY 311 
 
 silver gilt, which he gave to himyand then obtained his 
 desire contrary to her will and knowledge. This being dis- 
 covered soon afterwards, the wretch became the common 
 jest and scorn of mankind; but the bishop, like a wise 
 man, seemed to know nothing of the matter. And, being 
 often in company with the marshal, it happened on St, 
 _ John’s day, that, as they were riding side by side through 
 the city, viewing the ladies all the way, that the bishop cast 
 his eye upon one, named Nonna de’ Pulci, then newly 
 married, and who is since dead of the plague, cousin also 
 to Alesso Rinucci, whom you all knew: this lady, besides 
 her great beauty, was endowed with a generous spirit, and 
 spoke pertinently and well. Showing her, therefore, to the 
 marshal, as soon as they came nearer to her, he laid his 
 hand upon the marshal’s shoulder, and. said, ‘‘ Madam, 
 what do you think of this gentleman? Could he make a 
 conquest over you or not?” This seemed to touch her 
 - honour, or at least she thought it might give some persons 
 present a worse opinion of her. Without ever thinking, 
 then, how to clear herself of such a charge, but resolving 
 to return like for like, she replied, ‘‘ Perhaps he might, my 
 lord; but then I should like to be paid with good money.” 
 This touched them both to the quick ; the one as doing a 
 very dishonourable thing to the bishop’s relation ; the other 
 as receiving in his own person the shame belonging to his 
 brother. And they rode away, without so much as look- 
 ing at one or exchanging a word together all 
 the day after tly, therefore, did this lady bite 
 the biter. 
 
 
 
 
 NOVEL IV 
 
 Chichibio, cook to Currado Gianfiliazzi, by a sudden reply, which he 
 made to his master, turns his wrath into laughter, and so escapes 
 the punishment with which he had threatened him, 
 
 LauRETTA being silent, Neiphile was ordered to follow, 
 which she did in this manner :— » 
 Though ready wit and invention furnish people with 
 rds proper to their different occasions, yet sometimes 
 
ab 
 
 — 
 
 312 THE DECAMERON 
 
 does fortune, an assistant to the timorous, tip the tongue 
 with a sudden, and yet'a more pertinen’ rep y than the 
 most mature deliberation could ever have sucvested, as I 
 
 shall now briefly relate to you. Currado_Guanfiliazzi, as 
 most of you have both known and seen, was always 
 esteemed a gallant and worthy citizen, delighting much 
 in hounds and hawks, to omit his other excellences, as 
 no way relating to our present purpose. Now, he having 
 taken a crane one day with his hawk, and finding it to 
 be young. and fat, sent it home to his cook, who was a 
 Venetian, and called Chichibio, with orders to prepare it 
 for supper. The cook, a poor simple fellow, trussed and 
 -spitted it, and when it was nearly roasted, and began to | 
 smell pretty well, it chanced that a woman in the neighbour- 
 hood called Brunetta, with whom he was much enamoured, 
 came into the kitchen, and being taken with the high 
 savour, earnestly begged of him to give hera leg. He re- 
 plied very merrily, singing all the time, “ Madam Brunetta, 
 you shall have no leg from me.” Upon this she was a 
 good deal nettled, and said, ‘As I hope to live, if you do 
 not give it me, you need never expect any favour more 
 from me.” The dispute, at length, was carried to a great 
 height between them; when, to make her easy, he was 
 forced to give her one of the legs. Accordingly the crane 
 _was served up at supper with only one leg; Currado havy- 
 ing a friend along with him. Currado wondered at this, 
 _and sending for the fellow, he deman was become * 
 of the other leg. He very foolis and without 
 the least thought, ‘‘Sir, cranes ha e leg.” Cur- 
 rado, in great wrath, said, ‘‘ What t does the man 
 talk of? Only one leg! \ Thou ra dost thou think I 
 never saw a crane before?” Chichibio still persisted in his 
 denial, saying, “‘ Believe me, sir, it is as I say, and*I will 
 convince you of it whenever you please, by such fowls as 
 are living.” Currado was willing to haye no more words, 
 out of regard to his friend; only he added, “As thou 
 undertakest to show mea thing which I never saw or 
 heard of before, I am content to make proof thereof to- 
 ‘morrow morning ; but I vow and protest, if I find it other- 
 wise, I will make thee remember_it_the longest day thou 
 
 f 
 
 \ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 \| 
 
SIXTH DAY Hous! | 
 
 hast tolive.” Thus there was an end for that night, and 
 the next morning Currado, whose»passion would scarcely 
 suffer him to get any rest, arose betimes, and ordered his 
 horses to be brought out, taking Chichibio along with him 
 towards a river where he used early in the morning to see 
 plenty of cranes ; and he said, “‘ We shall soon see whether 
 you spoke truth or not last night.” Chichibio, finding his 
 _ master’s wrath not at all abated, and that he was now to 
 make good what he had asserted, nor yet knowing how to 
 do it, rode on first with all the fear imaginable: gladly 
 would he have made his escape, but he saw no possible 
 means; whilst he was continually looking about him, ex- 
 _ pecting everything that appeared to be a crane with two 
 feet. But being come near to the river, he chanced to see, 
 before anybody else, a number of cranes, each standing 
 upon one leg, as they use to do when they are sleeping ; 
 whereupon, showing them quickly to his master, he said, 
 ** Now, sir, you yourself may see that I spoke nothing but 
 - truth, when I said that cranes have only one leg: look at 
 those there if you please.” Currado, beholding the cranes, 
 replied, ‘Yes, sirrah! but stay a while, and I will show 
 thee that they have two.” Then riding something nearer 
 to them, he cried out, ‘‘Shough! shough!” which made 
 them set down the other foot, and after taking a step or 
 two, they all flew away. When Currado, turning to him, 
 said, ‘‘ Well, thou lying knave, art thou now convinced 
 that they have legs?” Chichibio, quite at his wits’ 
 end, and kno cely what he said himself, suddenly 
 made answer, but you did not shout out-to that 
 crane last ni ave done to these ; had you called 
 to it in the sa ner, it would have put down the 
 other leg, as these h@# now done.” This pleased Currad¢ 
 so much that, turning all wrath into mirth and laughter, 
 he said, * Chichibio, thou sayest right, I should have 
 done so indeed.” By this sudden and comical answer 
 Chichibio escaped a sound drubbing, and made peace 
 with his master. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 | judges, he may be deservedly called 
 
 THE DECAMERON 
 
 as 
 NOVEL V 
 
 _ Forese da Rabatta and Giotto the painter, coming from Mugello, laugh 
 af at the meanness of each other's appearance, 
 
 
 
 ’ THE ladies were much diverted with Chichibio’s aati, 
 when Pamphilus, by the queen’s order, delivered sob 
 to this effect :— 
 
 As it often happens that fortune hides, under the meanest 
 trades in life, the greatest virtues, which has ‘been proved 
 by Pampinea, so are the greatest geniuses found frequently 
 lodged by nature in the most deformed and misshapen 
 _ bodies, which was verified in two of our own Citizens, as 
 Fi am now going to relate. For the one, who was called 
 - Forese da Rabatta, being a little deformed mortal, with a 
 
 _ fiat Dutch face, worse than any of the family of the Baronci, 
 
 yet was he esteemed by most men a repository of the civil 
 law 5 and the other, whose name was :Giotto, had such a 
 
 _ prodigious fancy, that there was nothing in nature, the 
 
 parent of all things, but he could imitate it with his pencil 
 ‘so well, and draw it so like, as to deceive our very senses, 
 imagining that to be the very thing itself which was only 
 his painting: therefore, having brought that art again to 
 light, which had lain buried for many ages, under the errors 
 ‘of such as aimed more to captivate the eyes of the ignorant, 
 _ than to please the understandings of e who were really 
 he lights and 
 master of his 
 er suffer him- 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 glories of our city, and the rathe 
 art, notwithstanding his modesty 
 self to be so esteemed: which ho ough rejected by 
 ‘him, displayed itself in him with greater lustre, as it 
 was so eagerly usurped by others less knowing than him- 
 self, and by many also who had all their knowledge from 
 ‘him. But though his excellence in his profession was so 
 wonderful, yet as to his person and aspect he had no way 
 the advantage of Signor Forese. To come then to my 
 story: These two worthies had each his country seat at 
 ‘Mugello, and Forese being gone thither in the vacation 
 time, and riding upon an unsightly steed, chanced to meet 
 
 
 
SIXTH DAY 315 
 
 there with Giotto, who was no better equipped than him- 
 self, when they returned together to Florence. Travelling 
 slowly along, as they were able to go no faster, they were 
 overtaken by a great shower of rain, and forced to take 
 shelter in a poor man’s house, who was well known to 
 them both ; and, as there was no appearance of the weather 
 clearing up, and each being desirous of getting home that 
 
 night, they borrowed’ two old rusty cloaks and two rusty 
 
 hats, and they proceeded on their journey. After they had 
 gotten a good part of their way, thoroughly wet, and covered 
 with dirt and mire, which their two shuffling steeds had 
 thrown upon them, and which by no means improved their 
 
 looks, it bégan to clear up at last, and they, who had 
 
 hitherto said but little to each other, now turned to dis- 
 course together; whilst Forese, riding along and listening 
 
 to’ Giotto, who was excellent at telling a story, began at 
 
 last to view him attentively from head to foot, and seeing 
 
 _ him in that wretched dirty pickle, without having any 
 
 regard to himself, he fell a laughing, and said, ‘*Do you 
 
 suppose, Giotto, if a stranger were to meet with you now, 
 who had never seen you before, that he would imagine 
 you to be the best painter in the world, as you really are?” 
 Giotto readily replied, ‘‘ Yes, sir, I believe he might think 
 so, if, looking at you at the same time, he would ever 
 conclude that you had learned your A, B, C.” At this 
 Forese was sensible of his mistake, finding himself well 
 paid in his own. coin. 
 
 we 
 AC 5 Se 2 
 P é iy 
 
 NOVEL vi 
 
 Michael Scalsa proves to certain young gentlemen, that the family of 
 the Baronct is the most honourable of any in the world, and wins a 
 
 supper by i. 
 
 Tue ladies continued laughing at Giotto’s smart reply, 
 when the queen commanded Flammetta to follow, which 
 she did to this purpose :— 
 
 The Baronci being mentioned by Pamphilus, though 
 perhaps you may not know them so well as himself, puts 
 
316 THE DECAMERON 
 
 me in mind of a story, in which their great nobility is 
 plainly exhibited, without deviating from our present 
 subject, and therefore I choose to relate it. There lived 
 not long since in our city, a young gentleman called 
 Michael Scalza, who was one of the most agreeable and 
 pleasant companions in the world; for which reason his 
 company was much courted by all the young people of 
 Florence, whenever they could be favoured with it. Now 
 he was one day with some friends at Mount Ughi, when 
 the question happened to be started, which was the noblest 
 and most ancient family in Florence? Accordingly one 
 named the Uberti, another the Lamberti, some prefer- 
 ring one, and some another, according to their different 
 humours and interests; upon which Scalza smiled and 
 said, “You are all mistaken; the most noble, as well as 
 the most ancient family, I do not say in Florence only, 
 but in the whole world, is that of the Baronci; in this all 
 philosophers are agreed, and every one that knows them 
 as well as myself. And, lest you should think that I speak 
 it of some other family of that name, I tell you that I mean 
 the Baronci, our neighbours, that live by great St. Maria.” 
 When the young gentlemen, who expected he would have 
 mentioned some other, heard this family named, they made 
 the greatest jest of it that could be, and said, ‘‘ You impose 
 anything in the world upon us, as if nobody knew the 
 Baronci but yourself.” ‘ Indeed,” quoth he, ‘I do not, I 
 speak nothing but what is truth, and if there is any one 
 among you that dares lay a wager of 4 MW&pper for six of 
 his friends upon that head, I will stand td it ; nay, more 
 than that, I will be set down by the judgment of any person 
 whom you shall nominate.” Heretipon a young spark 
 called Neri Vannini, said, ““I am your man.” It was also 
 agreed that one Piero, a Florentine, in whose house they 
 were, should be judge. Accordingly the case was stated to 
 him, while the whole company bore hard upon Scaiza, 
 making themselves very merry with his expected treat. 
 Piero, then, who was a good sensible man, having heard 
 Neri’s story, turned to Scalza and said, “‘ Well, how do you 
 make good your assertion?” Scalza replied, ‘I prove it 
 by such arguments, that not yourself only, but even my 
 
SIXTH DAY 317 
 
 -amtagonist shall confess to be just. You know that the 
 more ancient any family is, the more noble it is deemed ; 
 this was agreed among us at the beginning. I have then 
 only to show, in order to gain my question, that the 
 Baronci: family is the most ancient of all others. You 
 must understand, therefore, that they were formed when 
 ‘nature was in her infancy, and before she was perfect at her 
 -work, and that the rest of mankind were all created after- 
 ‘wards. To convince you of this, do but examine the 
 figures of one and the other, you will find art and propor- 
 tion in the last, whereas the first are rough drawn and 
 ‘imperfect; among them you will see one with a long 
 jnarrow face, another with a prodigious broad one; one 
 that is flat-nosed, another with a nose half an ell long; 
 this has a long hooked chin, that one eye bigger and 
 set lower down than the other. In a word, their faces 
 resemble, for all the world, what children make when they 
 first learn to draw. Nature then, you will allow, was in its 
 first and earliest state when they were created, consequently 
 ‘they are the most ancient of all others, and therefore the 
 ‘most noble.” Both Piero, who was to determine, and 
 Neri, who had wagered the treat, and the whole company 
 likewise, on hearing this pleasant argument, agreed that 
 Scalza was in the right, and that the Baronci were the 
 noblest and most ancient people in the whole world. Well 
 therefore was it observed by Pamphilus, in describing the 
 ugliness and deformity of Signor Forese, that, if possible, he 
 had a worse person than any of the Baronci. 
 
 NOVEL VII 
 
 Madam Philippa, being surprised with her gallant by her husband, is 
 accused and tried ‘for tt; but saves herself by her quick reply ; and 
 has the laws moderated for the future. 
 
 _Scauza’s argument to prove the nobility of the Baronci 
 ‘made them all very merry, when the queen turned to 
 . Philostratus, who began in this manner :— 
 
 It is a good thing, most worthy ladies, to be able to 
 
 
 
318 THE DECAMERON 
 
 speak well, and to the purpose; but I hold it best of all 
 to know how to do it when need requires; as was the 
 case of a lady of whom I am going to treat, who escaped 
 an ignominious death by this means, as you shall hear. In 
 the territories of the town of Prato, there was formerly 
 a most severe law, which, without any distinction, con- 
 demned ‘all such women as were detected by their 
 husbands of adultery to be burnt. Whilst this law was 
 in force, it chanced that a beautiful young lady, named 
 Philippa, was surprised by her husband with her gallant, a 
 young gentleman of the same city, in her own chamber. 
 Rinaldo de’ Pugliesi, for that was the husband’s name, 
 was so provoked at this, that he could’scarcely refrain from 
 putting them both to death, and forbore it only out of. 
 regard to his own life; but yet he resolved that the law 
 should effect what did not so properly belong to himself— 
 the death of his wife. Therefore, having procured sufficient 
 testimony to prove the fact, he went and had her summoned 
 before the court. The lady, who was of an undaunted 
 spirit, resolved to make her appearance, contrary to the 
 judgment of her friends, choosing to die by a resolute 
 confession of the truth, rather than to live basely in exile 
 by making her escape; or, by denying it, to show herself 
 unworthy of that lover with whom she had‘this intrigue. 
 Being brought then before the lord-provost, attended by a 
 great number of friends, and encouraged -all the way to 
 deny it, she demanded of him, with a steady countenance, 
 what he had to say to her. The provost, seeing her genteel 
 deportment and greatness of spirit, began to pity her, 
 fearing lest she should confess something or other which 
 would force him for the sake of his honour to condemn her, 
 whilst she ceased not all the time to inquire the reason of 
 her being brought thither. When he said to her, *“‘ Madam, 
 here is Rinaldo, your husband, who affirms that he has 
 taken you in adultery, and insists that I pronounce sentence 
 of death upon you, according to the law in that case; but 
 this I cannot do unless you yourself confess it, therefore 
 take care what answers you make, and tell me if this 
 accusation of his be true.” The lady, without showing the 
 least concern, replied, “ My lord, it is true; I will never 
 
SIXTH DAY 319 
 
 deny it; but you must know, at the same time, that 
 laws ought to be universal, and made with the consent of 
 those persons whom they concern. Now in this law of 
 yours it was quite otherwise ; for only we poor women are 
 bound by it, and yet not one of us ever consented to, or 
 were even consulted about, the making of it. I call it then 
 a most iniquitous law; and if you are disposed to take away 
 my life for the breach of it, I have no way to do myself 
 justice, but by protesting in the face of this court, and 
 before the whole world, against the partiality of your pro- 
 ceedings.” All the principal people of the city were present 
 to hear this process, who, hearing her plead her own cause 
 in that manner, cried out, ‘‘ That there was some reason in 
 what she said;” and before they broke up, the law, by the 
 interposition of the lord-provost, was moderated so far as to 
 include only such women who wronged their husbands for 
 the sake of money. On this Rinaldo departed from the 
 court, confused at his disappointment, whilst she, saved: as 
 it were out of the fire, returned victorious to her own house. 
 
 NOVEL VIII 
 
 Fresco advises his niece that if she could not endure to look at any dis- 
 agreeable people, she should never behold herself. 
 
 PHILOSTRATUS'S novel had put the ladies into some 
 confusion, as appeared by their blushes, when the queen 
 turned immediately to Emilia, and desired her to begin; 
 who, starting up as if she had been raised out of her sleep, 
 spoke to this effect :— 
 
 I have been so long lost in thought that I shall now 
 obey the queen by relating a much shorter novel than I 
 should have done, probably, had I more time to recollect 
 myself. This will be concerning the foolish affectation of a 
 certain young lady, which was very wittily reproved by her 
 uncle, if she had but sense enough to have taken it. An 
 honest man, named Fresco da Celatico, had a niece called 
 out of fondness Cesca, #.e. for Francesca; who, though her 
 person was not amiss (she was no angel neither!) yet she 
 
320 THE DECAMERON 
 
 thought so highly of herself that she was perpetually finding 
 fault both with men, women, and, in short, everything that 
 she saw, without having’ the least regard to herself all the 
 time; for by that means she became such a disagreeable, 
 fretful, and tiresome creature, that nothing was ever like 
 her, and so proud withal that had she been of the blood 
 royal of France she could not have been more so. And if 
 she walked along the street at any time, she did nothing but 
 toss up her nose all the way, as if every one that she either 
 saw or met was offensive to her. To omit the rest of her 
 troublesome ill-conditioned ways, it chanced one day that 
 she came home pouting extremely with pride and affecta- 
 tion, and sitting down by him, he said to her, ‘‘Cesca, as 
 this is a holiday, what is the reason you come home so . 
 soon?” When she, fit to die away with her airs, replied, 
 ‘“‘T am returned so early because I could not have believed 
 there had been such a number of frightful people, both 
 men and women, in the country, as I have met with 
 to-day ; there was not one that I could like, nor can any 
 woman have the aversion to disagreeable people that I 
 have ; it is to avoid seeing them, therefore, that I am come 
 so soon. Fresco, then, who could no longer brook her 
 inordinate affectation, replied roughly to her, “ Niece, if 
 disagreeable persons displease you so much, and you are 
 willing to be at ease, be sure you never look at yourself.” 
 She, however, as empty as a pithless cane, though she 
 thought herself as wise as Solomon, understood her 
 uncle’s meaning no more than a goose, but said she 
 would look at herself as well as other people. Thus she 
 remained in her ignorance, and, for what I know, still 
 continues in the same state. 
 
 NOVEL IX 
 
 Guido Cavalcanti genteelly reprimands the folly of some Florentine 
 gentlemen, who came unawares upon him, 
 
 THE queen, perceiving that Emilia had done her Hesibli 
 and that only herself remained, excepting him whose 
 privilege it was to speak iast, began as follows:—Though 
 
SIXTH DAY } 321 
 
 you have robbed me of two of my novels, one of which 
 I designed should have served me to-day, yet have I one 
 left behind still, which contains something in “the con- 
 clusion as pertinent, perhaps, as anything that hath yet 
 been’ spoken. — Know, then, that formerly many good 
 customs prevailed in our city, none of which are now re- 
 maining, thanks be to avarice, the attendant of our grow- 
 ing wealth, which has long discarded them. This, amongst 
 others, was one—that, in divers parts of the town, the best 
 families in the neighbourhood would meet together and 
 compose a society, consisting of a certain number of per- 
 sons, taking care always to admit only such as were able to 
 bear the expense of it. Every one entertained in his turn, 
 at which time they would show honour to divers gentle- 
 men and ‘strangers upon their arrival in our city, and to 
 many of the most worthy citizens, by inviting them to 
 those assemblies: once a year also, at least, they would 
 be dressed all alike, and they often rode in procession 
 through the city, when they performed their tilts and 
 other martial exercises, especially on the great festival days, 
 or when the news of some great victory had reached the 
 city. Amongst these societies of gentlemen there was one 
 of which Signor Betto Brunelleschi was the principal, who 
 was desirous always of procuring Guido Cavalcanti to be 
 one of their body, and not without reason ; for, besides his 
 being one of the best logicians in the world, as well as 
 natural philosopher, for which they had no great regard, 
 he was a most polite good-natured man, as well as an 
 excellent companion, and nobody knew what belonged to 
 a gentleman better than himself: besides this, he was very 
 rich, and ready always to reward merit wherever he found 
 it. But Signor Betto was never able to draw him into 
 their assembly, which they all attributed to his speculative 
 way of life; and because he was said to hold some of the 
 Epicurean doctrines, the vulgar used to report that all this 
 study of his was only to learn whether there was a God or 
 not. One day he was passing from St. Michael’s Church 
 along by the Ademari to St. John’s, which was his usual 
 walk, and the large marble tombs, such as are now at St. 
 Reparata’s, were then about the church: and he chanced 
 L 
 
322 THE DECAMERON 
 
 to be amongst them, the church door being shut, when 
 Betto and his company came riding through the square ; 
 who, getting sight of him, spurred their horses and came 
 up to him before he perceived them ; whilst one of them 
 said, ‘Guido, thou refusest to be of our society: but when 
 thou hast found out that there is no God, what good will it 
 have done thee?” He, seeing himself surrounded, imme- 
 diately replied, ‘‘Gentlemen, you may use me as you 
 please in your own territories ;” and, laying his hand upon 
 one of the arches, he leaped nimbly over it and so made 
 his escape. They looked like people confounded at each 
 other, saying that what he had spoken was without any 
 meaning ; for that they had no more to do there than any 
 other persons, nor Guido less than themselves. Signor 
 Betto then turned to them and said, “It is yourselves, 
 gentlemen, that are void of understanding ; for he has very 
 worthily, and in few words, said the severest thing in the 
 world to us, whether you understood it or not: consider, 
 then, these arches are the abodes of the dead, and which 
 he calls our territories, to show us that we, and all other 
 people as ignorant and unlearned as ourselves, are, com- 
 pared to him and other men of letters, worse than dead 
 men; and, therefore, so long as we are here we may be 
 said to be upon our own dunghills.” They now all under- 
 stood what Guido meant to say, and were a good deal 
 ashamed, and from that time said nothing more ever to 
 provoke him; esteeming Signor Betto always as a very 
 subtle and sensible man, 
 
 NOVEL X 
 
 Friar Onion promises some country people to show them a feather from 
 the wing of the angel Gabriel; instead of which he finds only some 
 coals, which he tells them are the same that roasted St, Laurence. 
 
 AFTER they had told all their different stories, and Dioneus 
 perceived that only himself was left to- speak, without 
 waiting for any regular command, he enjoined silence 
 
| SIXTH DAY 323 
 
 to such as were commending Guido’s deep reply, and 
 thus began :— 
 Though I boast it, ladies, as my privilege to relate what 
 
 ee 
 
 pleases me most, yet I intend not to-day to depart from ' 
 
 the subject which you have all spoken so well upon; but, 
 following your footsteps, I shall show with what a sudden 
 shift a certain friar, of the order of St. Anthony, most 
 _artfully avoided the disgrace and confusion which two arch 
 young fellows had prepared for him: and if, to make my 
 story more complete, I spin it out a little in length, I hope 
 it will not be disagreeable, as the sun is yet in the midst of 
 heaven. 
 
 Certaldo, as you have all heard, is a village in the vale 
 
 of Elsa, dependent on the state of F lorence ; which, though | 
 
 small, was inhabited by many gentlemen and people of 
 substance. Thither a certain friar, of the order of St. 
 Anthony, used to go once a year, as he found pretty good 
 ‘pickings, to peataive athe eoatibutidns of many simple 
 people, and met with great encouragement always, perhaps 
 not through any devotion so much as his name; for that 
 country was famous for the best onions in all Tuscany. 
 Now this friar had a little low person, was red-haired, and 
 of a merry countenance, as artful a knave too as any in the 
 world: add to this, that, though he was no scholar, yet was 
 he so prompt and voluble of tongue, that such as knew him 
 not would not only have considered him as some great 
 orator, but have compared him even to Tully or Quinctilian. 
 He was also a common gossip-acquaintance to the whole 
 neighbourhood. Coming thither, therefore, in the month 
 of August, according to custom, one Sunday morning, when 
 all the honest people were met together in the church to 
 hear mass, as soon as he saw a fit opportunity, he stepped 
 forward and said :— 
 
 “Gentlemen and ladies, you know it has been a com- 
 mendable custom with you to send every year to the poor 
 brethren of our Lord Baron St. Anthony, both of your corn 
 and other provisions, some more, and some less, according 
 to your several abilities and devotions, to the end that our 
 blessed St. Anthony should be more careful of your oxen, 
 sheep, asses, swine, and other cattle. Moreover, you are 
 
 ~ 
 
324 THE DECAMERON 
 
 accustomed to pay, such especially as have their names 
 registered in our fraternity, a small acknowledgment which 
 pas annually receive, and for which purpose I am now sent 
 by my superior, namely, our lord abbot, to collect it. 
 Therefore, with the blessing of God, after nine o’clock, 
 as soon as you shall hear the bells ring, you may all come 
 to the church door, when I shall preach a sermon as usual, 
 and you shall all kiss the cross: and, besides this, as I 
 know you all to be devoted to our Lord St. Anthony, I 
 intend, as a special favour, to show you one of the feathers 
 of the angel Gabriel, which he dropped, at the annuncia- 
 tion, in the Virgin’s Chamber;” and, having made this 
 speech, he returned to Mass. Whilst he was haranguing 
 supon this subject, there were two arch fellows in the 
 church, one named Giovanni del Bragoniera, and the other 
 Biagio Pizzini, who, after they had laughed together at the 
 father’s relics, although they were his friends and acquaint- 
 ance, resolved to play him a trick with regard to this 
 feather: and, understanding that he was to dine that day with 
 a friend, as soon as they thought he might be set down at 
 table, they went to the inn where he lodged; when Biagio” 
 was to keep his man in talk, whilst Giovanni ransacked 
 his wallet to steal this feather, that they might see what he 
 would then say to the people. Now the friar had a lad 
 with so many different nicknames and qualities that the 
 most fertile imagination was hardly able to describe them. 
 Whilst Father Onion used frequently to jest and say, ‘My 
 rascal has in him nine qualities, if any one of which be- 
 longed either to Solomon, Aristotle, or Seneca, it would baffle 
 _ and confound all their philosophy, and all their virtue. You 
 may suppose then what sort of creature he must be, that has 
 nine such, without either philosophy or virtue to counter- 
 balance.” Being asked what those nine qualities were, 
 and having put them into a kind of rhyme, he answered, 
 
 “ Forgetfulness, lying, and lewdness 3 
 Filching, facing, and nastiness ; 
 Sloth, gracelessness, and extravagance. 
 
 ‘Besides these, he has also many others, and one in 
 particular I cannot help laughing at, which is, that he is for 
 
SIXTH DAY 325 
 
 taking a w'e wherever he goes: and having a great black 
 greasy beard. le is persuaded that all women must fall in 
 love wiih him; or, should they take no notice of him, he 
 will »© sure to run after them. But yet he is a notable 
 fellow ‘© me ‘m one respect, that if anybody has a secret 
 
 to communicate, ne will come in for his share of it; and 
 should any one ask me a question, he is so fearful that I 
 should not know how to make an answer, that he will be sure 
 to say, Yes, or No, before me, just as he thinks most proper.” 
 But to return to our story. This fellow, Friar Onion left at 
 the inn, with a particular charge to see that nobody meddled 
 with anything belonging to him, especially his wallet, because 
 the holy relics were contained therein. But the man, whose 
 inclinations stood more for the kitchen, as soon as his master 
 was gone, went down thither, where he found a fat, dirty, 
 ill-favoured kitchen wench; when falling into discourse to- 
 gether, he sat down by the fireside, though it was in August, 
 while she was busy in cooking, and began to tell her he was 
 a gentleman, and worth an incredible sum of money ; that 
 he could do and say wonders, and (without considering that 
 his own hat'was all over grease and dirt; that his jacket was 
 nothing but a thousand different patches ; that his breeches 
 were torn throughout ; and his shoes all to pieces) he talked 
 as great as if he had been some lord, saying, that he would 
 buy her new clothes, and take her out of service, and that she 
 should partake of his present possessions, as well as future 
 fortunes, with a great deal more of that kind of stuff, mere 
 froth and wind. The two young fellows, finding him thus 
 engaged, were very well satisfied, supposing half their work 
 to be done; and leaving them together, they went upstairs 
 into the friar’s chamber, which was unlocked, when the first 
 thing they saw was the wallet: this they opened, and found 
 a cabinet wrapped up in some foldings of fine taffeta, in 
 which was a parroquet’s feather, which they supposed to be the 
 same that he had promised to show the people; and surely 
 at that time it was easy enough to impose upon them in that 
 manner. Theeastern luxury had not then reached Tuscany, 
 which has since flowed in upon us, to the ruin of our country; 
 the ancient simplicity still prevailed; nor was there a person, 
 so far from seeing, that had ever heard of such a thing as a 
 
ae, | 
 
 Pe 306 THE DECAMERON 
 
 parrot. Not a little pleased at meeting with this feather, 
 they took it away, and, that the box should not be empty, 
 _ _jput some coals therein, which they saw lying in the corner 
 of the chamber; and wrapping it up again as before, and 
 making all safe, they walked off, waiting to. see how he would 
 behave when he found the coals instead of the feather. 
 The people that were at church being told that they were to 
 see the angel’s feather, went home and acquainted all their 
 neighbours, and the news ran from one to another, so that the 
 moment dinner was over, they all crowded to the town, in 
 such manner, that every part was full, waiting for the sight. 
 Accordingly Friar Onion, having eaten a good dinner, and 
 taken his nap after it, understanding now that there were 
 zreat multitudes expecting him, sent to the servant to come 
 away with his wallet, and ring to church. The fellow, 
 though loth to leave his mistress and the fireside, did as 
 he ordered him, and fell to chiming the bells. As soon 
 then as the people were all assembled, the friar, not per- 
 ceiving that anything had been meddled with, entered upon 
 his discourse, running over a thousand things proper to his 
 purpose ; and being come to the showing of the feather, 
 [he began,,with a solemn confession, and lighting up two 
 torches, and gently unwrapping the silken cover, having 
 first pulled off his cap, he took out the box, and making 
 some short ejaculations to the praise and honour of the 
 angel Gabriel, and of that relic, he opened it. When 
 seeing it full of coals, he could not help secretly blaming 
 himself for leaving such a fellow in trust, who, he imagined, 
 had been imposed upon by somebody or other; but yet, 
 without so much as changing colour, or showing the least 
 concern, he lifted up his eyes and hands to heaven, and 
 _ said, ‘‘O God, blessed for ever be Thy power and might!” 
 And shutting the box, he turned again to the people, and 
 added, ‘‘ Gentlemen and ladies, you must all understand, 
 that being very young, I was sent by my superior to those 
 
 _ parts where the sun first appears, with an express command 
 to inquire into the nature of porcelain, which, though it 
 
 _ cost but little in making, affords more profit to others than 
 it does to us. For this purpose I embarked at Venice, and 
 went through Greece; I proceeded thence, on horseback, 
 
 
 
SIXTH DAY © 327 
 
 | thioaght the kingdom of Garbo, and through Baldacca; after- 
 wards I came to Parione, and so to Sardinia. But what need 
 I mention to you all these places? I coasted on still, till I 
 passed the straits of St. George, into Truffia, and then into 
 Buffia, which are countries much inhabited, and with great 
 _ people. From thence into the land of Lying, where I found 
 many of our order, as well as of other religious, who avoid all 
 _ labour and trouble, for Heaven’s sake ; taking no care for 
 other people’s sufferings, when their own interest is promoted 
 thereby, and where they spend only uncoined money. 
 ‘Thence I went to the land of Abruzzi, where the men 
 and women go upon socks over the mountains, and make 
 themselves garments of swines’ guts, and where they carried 
 bread in their staves and wine in satchels. Parting from 
 thence I came to the mountains of Bacchus, where the 
 waters all run down hill. Last of all I arrived in India 
 Pastinaca, where, I swear to you by the habit I wear, that I 
 _ saw serpents fly, a thing incredible to such as have never 
 seen it: but I should be loth to lie, and therefore, as 
 soon as I departed thence, I met Maso del Saggio, a great 
 merchant, whom I found cracking nuts and selling the 
 shells by retail. Nevertheless, not being able to find what 
 I went to look for, and being to pass from thence by water, 
 I returned to the Holy Land; where in summer a loaf of 
 cold bread is worth fourpence and the hot is given away 
 for nothing. There I found the venerable father (blame | 
 me not, I beseech you) the patriarch of Jerusalem, who, — 
 out of reverence to my habit and love to our Lord Baron 
 St. Anthony, would have me see all the holy relics which 
 he had in keeping, and which were so many that were I to 
 recount them I should never come to an end: but yet, not 
 to leave you altogether disconsolate, I shall mention a few. 
 First, then, he showed me a finger of the Holy Ghost, as 
 whole and perfect as ever; next a lock of hair of that 
 seraph which appeared to St. Francis; with the paring of 
 a nail of a cherub; and a rib of the Verbum Caro, fastened 
 to one of the windows; some vestments of the Holy Catholic 
 faith ; and a few rays of that star which appeared to the 
 wise men: a viol also of St. Michael’s sweat when he fought 
 with the devil: the jaw-bone of St. Lazarus, and many | 
 
— 
 
 328 THE DECAMERON 
 
 others. And because I gave him two of the plains. of 
 Mount Morello, in the vulgar edition, and some chapters 
 del Caprezio, which he had been long s« sp hi ater, he 
 let me partake of his relics. And, first, © save mes tooth 
 of the Sancta Crux; and a little bottle ailed with some 
 
 of the sound of those bells which hung in the Serpe of 
 Solomon ; a feather also of the angel Gabriel, as I have told 
 you ; with a wooden patten, which the good St. Gherrardo 
 da Villa Magna used to wear in his travels, and which I 
 have lately given to Gherrardo di Bonsi, at Florence, who 
 holds it in great veneration. He further gave me some of 
 the coals on which our blessed martyr, St.. Laurence, was 
 broiled, all which I devoutly received, and do now possess. 
 It is true my superior would not suffer me to make them 
 public till he was assured that they were genuine; but 
 being now convinced of it by sundry miracles, as well as 
 by letters received from the patriarch, he has given’ me 
 leave to show them ; and which, for fear of trusting any 
 one with them, I always carry with me. Indeed, I have 
 the angel’s feather, for its better preservation, in'a wooden 
 box, and I have St. Laurence’s coals in another, and which 
 are so like each other that I have often mistaken them; 
 and so it has happened now, for instead of that with the 
 feather I have brought the box which contains the ‘coals. 
 This I would not have you call an error; no, I am well 
 assured it was Heaven’s particular will, now I call to mind 
 that two days hence is the feast of St. Laurence. There- 
 fore it was ordered that I should show you the most holy 
 coals on' which he was broiled, to kindle in your hearts 
 
 _ that true devotion which you ought to have towards him, 
 
 and not the feather; approach then, my biessed: children, 
 with reverence, and uncover your heads with all due devo- 
 tion whilst you behold them. But first I must acquaint 
 you that whoever is marked with these coals with the sign 
 of the cross’ may live secure for one whole year, that no 
 fire shall have any power over him.” So, singing a hymn 
 to the praise of St. Laurence, he opened the box and 
 showed the coals, which the simple multitude beheld with 
 the utmost zeal and astonishment, and crowded about him 
 with larger offerings than usual, entreating to be signed by 
 
SIXTH DAY 32g 
 
 them. Then taking the coals in his hand, he began to 
 mark all their white mantles, fine jackets, and veils, with 
 the largest crosses that could be made upon them, affirm- 
 ing that what was consumed of the coals in this manner 
 grew again in the box, as he had frequently experienced. 
 Thus having crossed all the people of Certaldo to his own 
 great benefit; by this dexterous device he laughed in his 
 sleeve at those who had designed to have made a jest of 
 him. And they, being present at his discourse, and hearing 
 this sudden shift of his and how he had set it off to the 
 multitude, were ready to die with laughter. After the 
 people were all departed, they went and told him, with 
 all the pleasure in the world, what they had done, and 
 returned him his feather, which served him the following 
 year to as good purpose as the coals had done that day. 
 This novel afforded great mirth to the whole company, 
 and they laughed heartily at the father, his pilgrimage, and 
 holy relics. Whilst the queen, knowing her reign to be at 
 an end, took the crown from her own head, and placed it 
 with a smile upon Dioneus, saying: ‘‘ It is now time for you 
 to prove what a task it is to govern women. Be king, there- 
 fore, and rule in such a manner that in the end we may 
 have reason to praise you.” MDioneus, accepting the crown, 
 replied merrily, ‘I doubt not but you may have often seen 
 a better king among the chess-men than I shall make, but 
 yet, if you will obey me, I will take care you shall have 
 plenty of that, without which no entertainment is ever 
 thoroughly agreeable ; I mean that I will direct according 
 to my own taste and fancy.” Calling then the master of 
 the household, he ordered what should be done during his 
 own royalty, when he added, “Ladies, we have had so 
 many subjects already, showing the several devices and 
 means of human industry, that I am at a loss what to give 
 you, unless you will accept of the following, namely, con- 
 cerning such tricks and stratagems as women, either out of 
 love or for their own security, have put upon their husbands, 
 whether they have been detected or not.” This seemed 
 not so decent to some of the ladies, and they desired him 
 to change it. But he replied, “‘ Ladies, I know as well as 
 you do what the subject is and all that you can allege will 
 Li 
 
330 THE DECAMERON 
 
 have no weight with me to make me alter it; considering 
 that the season now is such that, provided we have regard 
 to our actions, any discourse for a little amusement is allow- 
 able. Know you not that through the malignity of the 
 times the judges have now left their tribunals, the laws 
 both Divine and human are silent, and every,one has leave 
 to do what he thinks necessary for his own preservation? 
 Therefore, if we take a little more liberty than ordinary in 
 our discourse, with no bad intention, but only to pass away 
 our time in an innocent inoffensive manner, I see no room 
 for reflection. Besides, from the very first day of our, meet- 
 ing we have kept always within the bounds of decency, and so 
 I hope we shall continue to do.;/ Who is there also that is un- 
 acquainted with your modesty and virtue? Which, so far 
 from being shaken by any light discourse, would be proof even 
 against the terrors of death. And, to tell you the truth, who- 
 ever should see you averse to such little diversions, might 
 suspect that your characters were not so clear as they should 
 be, and that you refused to join in them for that reason. Not 
 to mention the little honour you do me in first choosing me 
 your king, and then refusing to obey my commands. \ Away 
 then with this suspicion, more befitting base and wicked 
 dispositions than such as yours ; and, without further hesita- 
 tion, let every one think of some pleasant story.” 
 
 Upon this they agreed that it should be as the king 
 desired ; and he then gave them leave to depart till supper- 
 time. The sun was yet a good height, as the novels had 
 been but short; therefore, whilst Dioneus, with the other 
 gentlemen, were sat down to play at tables, Eliza called the 
 other ladies apart, and said, ‘‘ Ever since we have been here 
 have I desired to show you to a place not far off, where I 
 believe none of you ever was, and which is called the 
 Ladies’ Valley ; nor have I had an opportunity before to-day 
 of doing it. As it is yet some hours till night, if you would 
 choose then to go thither, I daresay you will. be pleased 
 with your walk.” The ladies answered that they were all 
 willing, and, without saying a word to the gentlemen, they 
 called one of their women to attend them, and after a walk 
 of near a mile they came to the Ladies’ Valley, which they 
 entered by a straight path; from whence there issued forth 
 
SIXTH DAY 331 
 
 a fine crystal current, and they found it so extremely beautiful 
 and pleasant, especially at that sultry season, that nothing could 
 exceed it ; and, as some of them told me afterwards, the plain 
 in the valley was as exact a circle as if it had been described 
 by a pair of compasses, though it seemed rather the work of 
 nature than art, and was about half a mile in circumference, 
 _ surrounded with six mountains of a moderate height, on each 
 of which was a palace built in form of a little castle. The 
 descents from these mountains were as regular as we see in a 
 theatre, when the circle of each landing grows gradually less 
 and less till it comes to the bottom.. Whilst that part that 
 looks towards the south was planted as thick as they could 
 - stand together with vines, olives, almonds, cherries, figs, and 
 most other kinds of fruit trees ; and on the northern side were 
 fine plantations of oaks, ashes, &c., so tall and regular that 
 nothing could be more beautiful. Thevale, which had only 
 that one entrance, was full of firs, cypress trees, laurels, and 
 _ pines, all placed in such order as if it had been done by the 
 direction of some exquisite artist, and through which little or 
 no sun could penetrate to the ground, which was covered with 
 a thousand different flowers. But what gave no less delight 
 than any of the rest was a rivulet that came through a 
 valley which divided two of the mountains, and running 
 through the vein of a rock made a most agreeable murmur 
 with its fall, appearing, as it was dashed and sprinkled into 
 drops, like so much quicksilver; which arriving in the 
 plain beneath was there received in a fine canal, and run- 
 ning swiftly to the middle of the plain, formed a basin not 
 deeper than the breast of a man, which showed its clear 
 gravelly bottom, with pebbles intermixed, so that any one 
 might see and count them ; the fishes also appeared swim- 
 ming up and down in great plenty, which made it wonder- 
 fully pleasant ; whilst the water that overflowed was received 
 in another little canal, which conveyed it out of the valley. 
 Hither the ladies all came together, and, after much praising 
 the place and seeing the basin before them and that it was 
 
 ° + . 
 very private, they agreed to bathe.) Ordering, therefore, 
 their maid to keep watch, and to let them know if anybody 
 was coming, they stripped and went into it; and it covered 
 their delicate bodies in like manner as a rose is concealed 
 
332 THE DECAMERON 
 
 in a crystal glass. After they had diverted themselves 
 there for some time with bathing, they clothed themselves 
 again and returned at a gentle pace, commending all the 
 way the wonderful beauty of the spot; and coming to the 
 palace they found the gentlemen at play where they left 
 them.—-When Pampinea said merrily to them,-“‘ We have 
 put a trick upon you to-day.”—‘ What,” says Dioneus, 
 “do you begin to act before you speak P”—*‘ No, sir,” 
 quoth Pampinea.~ And she told them where they had been, 
 what sort of a place it was, how far it was. off, and what 
 they had been doing. ‘The king, upon her report, being 
 very desirous of seeing it, ordered supper to be served 
 immediately, which was no sooner ended than the gentle- 
 men and their servants all went to this'valley, and having 
 viewed every part, as they were never there before, they 
 agreed that nothing in the world ever equalled it.» They 
 bathed, therefore, and made what haste they could back, as 
 it grew late, when they found the ladies dancing to a song 
 of Flammetta’s; which being ended they were all loud in 
 their praises of this valley. The king then called to the 
 master of the household, and gave orders that dinner 
 should be served there on the morrow, and beds carried 
 for such as would choose to rest during the heat of the 
 day.\ When this was over he ordered in candles, wine, and 
 sweetmeats, and, having refreshed themselves, he bid them 
 now prepare for a dance: and Pamphilus, by his appoint- 
 ment, having made a beginning, his Majesty turned to 
 Eliza, and said pleasantly to her, “Fair lady, you did me 
 the honour of conferring upon me a crown yesterday ; in 
 return, I fix now upon you for a song: let it be such an one 
 as is most ea to yourself.” She smiled, and saying, 
 with all her heart, began with a sweet voice the potollowing 
 
 SONG 
 CHORUS 
 O love, could J escape from thee, 
 I always would be free. 
 I 
 
 From early youth I chose 
 Thy service as a sweet repose, 
 
SIXTH DAY: 333 
 
 And all my power to thee consign’d § 
 But see, at last, 
 Thou, cruel tyrant, and unkind, 
 Hast bound me in thy fetters fast, 
 O love, &c. 
 
 It 
 
 “Tis for a faithless swain 
 I languish and complain ; 
 Nor sighs, nor tears can move 
 His heart to love. 
 O love, &c. 
 
 ill 
 
 The winds, with inauspicious breeze, 
 Waft my unheeded pray’rs away, 
 Whilst hourly I decay ; 
 
 Yet neither life nor death can please. 
 ‘Then yield, in pity to my woe, 
 
 That he thy bondage too may know. 
 O love, &c. 
 
 Iv 
 
 Cupid, I humbly ask of thee, ) 
 Or grant me this, or set me frees _ 
 This favour if thou wilt bestow, 
 My youthful bloom 
 I shall resume, 
 And on my face again the rose and lily blow 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 O love, could I escape from thee, 
 I always would be free. 
 
 Eliza concluded her song with a most piteous sigh; and 
 all of them wondered what the words could mean; but the 
 king, being in a good temper, called for Tindarus, and bid 
 him bring out his bagpipe, to which they danced several 
 dances ; till a good part of the night being spent in that 
 manner, they gave over and went to bed. 
 
THE SEVENTH DAY 
 
 THERE was not a star to be seen in the east, but that alone 
 which we call bright Lucifer, which yet shone gloriously in 
 the dawning day; when the master of the household arose, 
 and went with the necessary provisions to the Ladies’ Valley, 
 to have everything ready there, according to the king’s 
 command; and he, being roused by the noise of the 
 carriages, arose soon afterwards, and had all the company 
 called, when they began their march just as the sun was 
 appearing above the earth; nor did the nightingales and 
 other birds ever seem to sing with such exquisite harmony 
 as on that morning. Being ushered on the way by this. 
 music, they came to the Ladies’ Valley, where, being 
 saluted by choirs of many others, it appeared to them as 
 if all the birds in the valley joined in concert to rejoice at 
 their arrival. Now, viewing it all over again, it seemed 
 much more delightful than the day before, as the gaiety of 
 the morning was more conformable to the beauty of its 
 appearance. After a repast of wine and sweetmeats, not to 
 be behindhand with the birds, they began to sing, whilst 
 the valley all around echoed back their songs: and the 
 birds, unwilling to be outdone, replied in’ new and ravish- 
 ing notes. At the usual hour the table was spread under 
 the shade of the trees, by the side of that beautiful lake, 
 whilst the whole time of dining were they amusing them- 
 selyes with observing the fishes swimming before them, 
 which afforded various matter for discourse. When the 
 tables were removed, they turned again to sing as merrily 
 as before. Whilst beds being prepared in different parts of 
 the valley, made close like pavilions, the king gave leave 
 for such as desired it to go to sleep, and the rest had liberty 
 to amuse themselves in the meantime as usual. At the 
 334 
 
SEVENTH DAY - 335 
 
 appointed time they met by the basin side near where they 
 had dined, and sitting down upon carpets, which were 
 spread there for them, the king desired Emilia to begin, 
 and she, with a smile, complied. 
 
 NOVEL I 
 
 Gianni Lotteringhi hears a knocking at his door, and wakes his wife, 
 who makes him believe tt is a spirit, and they both go to conjure tt 
 away with a certain prayer, after which the notse ceases. 
 
 Srr, I had much rather any one else had begun such a fine 
 subject, as this is, than myself; but, smce it is your pleasure 
 that I should be first, Iam ready to comply. I purpose, 
 therefore, to relate what may be of use to you for the time 
 to come; for, if other ladies are as timorous with regard to 
 spirits as I am (although I know nothing certain about 
 them, nor have I met with anybody yet that does), they 
 will here learn a good and effectual prayer to drive them 
 away. | 
 
 There dwelt formerly at Florence, in the’ street of St. 
 Brancazio, a certain wool-comber, called Gianni Lotteringhi, 
 one more fortunate in his trade than wise in other respects ; 
 for, being an easy sort of a man, he was frequently chosen 
 a director of the singers in new St. Maria’s church, when 
 they had their meetings at his house, and other little favours 
 they showed him, upon which he greatly valued himself. 
 This was because he gave considerable alms to the brethren 
 there, and, in return for shoes, hoods, and cloaks, which 
 they were daily getting from him, they presented him with 
 the Pater Noster in the vulgar tongue, the song’ of St. 
 Alexis, the lamentation of St. Bernard, the hymn of Lady 
 Matilda, with more such sort of ware, which he set great 
 store by, and kept carefully for his soul’s health and welfare. 
 Now he had a gay, handsome wife, called Tessa, the 
 daughter of Mannuccio dalla Cuculia, an artful, sensible 
 woman, who, knowing the simplicity of her husband, and 
 being in love with Federigo di Neri, an agreeable young 
 man, she contrived with her maid that he should come to 
 
336 THE DECAMERON 
 
 see her at a country-house, which Gianni had, at a place 
 called Camerata, where she used to pass the summer, when 
 her good man would come sometimes thither to sup, and 
 stay all night, and return in the morning to his prayers and 
 his shop. 
 
 Accordingly, Federigo came and spent that night with 
 her, when it was agreed between them not to have always 
 the trouble of sending for him, that, as often as he went 
 backwards and forwards, he should look to a vineyard, 
 which was by the side of the house, where he would see an 
 ass’s skull fixed upon one of the poles there, and, when 
 the snout of that was turned towards Florence, he might 
 safely come, and if the door was shut, upon knocking three 
 times, she would let him in: but if it was turned towards 
 Fiesole, he should then depart, for he might be assured 
 her husband was with her at that time. By this contrivance 
 they had frequent meetings. But one night it happened, 
 that, expecting Federigo to sup with her, she had provided 
 a couple of fowls, when her husband chanced to come in 
 late, at which she was greatly concerned, and they sat. down 
 together to a little bacon which she had boiled by itself, 
 whilst she ordered the maid to carry, in a clean napkin, the 
 fowls, with some eggs for sauce, and a bottle of wine, into 
 the garden (to which there was a way without going through 
 the house, and where she and her lover used frequently to 
 meet), and to lay them under a certain peach-tree adjoin- 
 ing to the fields. And her hurry was so great, that she 
 forgot to desire the maid to wait till Federigo came, to tell 
 him that her master was then at home, and that he should 
 take those things away with him. Therefore Gianni and 
 she being gone to bed together, and the maid likewise, it 
 was not long before Federigo came, and tapped gently at 
 the door, which was so near to their chamber that Gianni 
 immediately heard it, as did his wife, who, to prevent any 
 suspicion, pretended to be asleep. Presently he knocked 
 a second time, at which Gianni was surprised, and began 
 to jog her, saying, “ Do not you hear? Somebody knocks 
 at our door.” She, who heard it better than himself, pre- 
 tended to wake out of her sleep, and said, ‘‘ What is the 
 matter?” ‘I tell you,” quoth he, “that I thought some- 
 
SEVENTH DAY 337 
 
 body was at our door.” ‘At our door!” she replied, 
 *“Alas!.do not you know what that is? It is a spirit, 
 which has terrified me so for several nights past, that I 
 have covered myself in bed, and not dared to look about 
 me again till it was broad daylight.” “Go,” quoth Gianni, 
 *‘why should you be afraid, if itis so? For, before I went 
 to bed, I said the Ze ducts, and the Jnfemerata, with divers 
 other good prayers, and I signed all the bed-posts with the 
 cross, so that it-can have no power over us.” The lady 
 now, to: prevent Federigo’s taking any offence at her, 
 thought it best to arise, and let him understand, by some 
 means or other, that Gianni was there: therefore she said 
 to her husband, “ What you have done may have secured 
 yourself; but, for my part, I shall not think myself so, 
 unless we conjure it down now you are here.” ‘Conjure 
 it down!” quoth Gianni; ‘how is that to be done?” 
 “Oh,” said she, ‘‘ I. know how to do it; for the other day, 
 - when I went to Fiesole for a pardon, one of those recluses, 
 a most religious lady, seeing me afraid, taught me a certain 
 prayer, which, she assured me, she had often tried to good 
 purpose before she wasanun. Alas! I could never have 
 the boldness to make use of it alone; but, as you are now 
 with me, we will go together, and repeat it.” Gianni 
 declared that he was willing; and so they went softly to 
 the door, whilst Federigo began to be uneasy at waiting 
 there. so long. ‘‘ Now,” she said to Gianni, “you must 
 take care to spit when I desire'you.” “I will,” he replied. 
 She then began her charm, and said, “Spirit, spirit, as you 
 came, the same way you may go; but look in the garden, 
 and you will find two fowls, some eggs, and a bottle of 
 wine; drink of the wine, and go away, and hurt not me nor 
 my Gianni.” Having done this, she said to her husband, 
 “Spit, Gianni.” Accordingly, Giannispat. Whilst Federigo, 
 who was without, and heard this, was roused from his 
 jealousy; and, with all his disappointment, had much ado 
 to keep from laughing out, saying to himself, “I wish you 
 had spat out your teeth.” She repeated it three times, and 
 then they went to bed. Federigo, who had depended upon 
 supping with her, and was fasting, hearing this charm, 
 went to the peach-tree, and found the capons, wine, and 
 
eae Se ea: aes 
 Sy ne er 
 
 4 
 ar 
 
 - 
 
 338 ) THE DECAMERON 
 
 tlle a 
 Sr ta 
 
 xis 
 
 
 
 eggs, and carried them home, when he madea good supper; 
 and being with her some time after, they were very merry 
 concerning this enchantment. Now some people tell the 
 story otherwise, and affirm that the ass’s head was turned 
 
 towards Fiesole, but a labourer in the vineyard’ gave it a 
 
 turn by chance with his stick, and so set! it the wrong way, 
 
 } 
 
 which occasioned Federigo’s coming at that time; whilst 
 ‘she made use of the following words, . “Spirit, spirit, go 
 away in God’s name; it was not I, but'somebody else, that 
 turned the ass’s head. Plague on him, whoever it was; 
 
 _ but Iam here with my husband;” and that he went away 
 
 without his supper. But a certain old lady, a neighbour 
 
 _ of mine, told me that both stories: were true, as'she had 
 
 heard when she was a child, and that the latter did not 
 
 _ happen to Gianni Lotteringhi, but to one called Gianni di 
 __ Nello,-just:such another ‘simpleton as Gianni Lotteringhi. 
 Then pray, ladies, take which charm you like best: both 
 
 have been of service to others in this» sort’ of ‘cases, as 
 
 : _ you: have heard. Try them, and they may be as useful 
 _ to yourselves. te 
 
 NOVEL Il 
 
 _ Péronella puts her gallant into a tub on her husband's coming home ; 
 
 which tub, the husband had sold; she consequently tells him that 
 she had also sold it to a person who was then in it to see if it were 
 
 “A sound. Upon this the man jumps out, makes the husband clean tt 
 
 for him, and carries it home. 
 
 ‘Emuiia’s novel was heard with a great deal of mirth, and 
 the charm esteemed a very good one, when the king 
 ordered Philostratus to follow,’which he did in the follow- 
 ing manner :— Ome | 
 
 My dear ladies, the tricks which are put upon you'by us 
 men, and especially by your husbands, are’ so many, that 
 if ever it happens that a woman does the ‘like, you should 
 
 not only be pleased to hear of it, but you yourselves should 
 
 _ spread it everywhere, to let the men understand, that if 
 
 they are wise, you'are so too. This must have a good 
 
 effect, for when it is known that people are forewarned, 
 
 
 
SEVENTH DAY 339 
 
 nobody would go about so soon to deceive them. Who 
 sees not then that this day’s discourse being noised among 
 the men, may not be a restraint upon them in that respect 
 when they come to find that you know how to serve them 
 in the same way? Iwill tell you, therefore, what a woman, 
 though but of mean rank, did to her husband in a moment, 
 as it were, for her own safety. 
 
 It was not long since that a poor man at Naples married 
 a young handsome wife, named Peronella; and he being a 
 mason, and she spinning every day, they managed to gain 
 a tolerable livelihood. Now it happened that a young man 
 in the neighbourhood took a liking to her, and making a 
 discovery of his inclinations, it was at length agreed be- 
 tween them, that as the husband went out every morning 
 to his work, he should watch that opportunity to come to 
 her, which accordingly he did more than once. But one 
 morning amongst the rest, the honest man being gone 
 abroad, and Giannello Strignarjo, for that was the gallant’s 
 name, visiting her ‘as usual, in a little time the husband 
 returned, though he was not used to come home till night, 
 and finding the door bolted on the inside, he knocked, 
 and then said to himself, ‘Thank Heaven, though I am 
 poor, I have an honest and careful wife; for no sooner 
 am I gone out but she makes all fast, that nobody should 
 come, in my absence, to do us any injury.” Peronella, 
 who knew it was her husband by his manner of knocking, 
 said, ‘“ Alas, Giannello, Iam a dead woman; my husband 
 is returned; I cannot imagine for what reason, unless it 
 was that he’ saw you come in; but, for God’s sake, be it 
 as it will, go you into that tub, whilst I open the door, 
 and we shall then see what this sudden return of his 
 means.” Accordingly he stepped into it, whilst she let 
 her husband into the house; and putting on an angry 
 look, she said, “‘ Pray, what new fancy is this, your coming 
 home so early to-day? As far as I can find, you are dis- 
 posed to do no more work, that you have now got your 
 tools with you. And what are we to live upon in the 
 meantime? Do you think I will suffer you to pawn my 
 gown, and what few clothes J have? I do nothing but 
 spin night and day, till I have worn my fingers to the very 
 
 vA 
 
440 THE DECAMERON 
 
 stumps, and all will scarcely find.us oil to our lamp. 
 Husband, husband, there is not a neighbour we have but 
 wonders and makes a jest of me for all the labour I 
 undergo, and yet you return here, with your hands in your 
 pockets, when you ought to be at work.\/ Wretch that I 
 am, in an ill hour was I born, and worse that I happened 
 to meet with you! I could have had a young man that 
 would have maintained me well, and I refused him for this 
 creature here, who knows not how to value a, good wife. 
 Other women have a good time with their gallants; nay, 
 some have two or three, and make their husbands believe 
 the moon is made of green cheese; and because I am 
 virtuous, and have no regard for such practices, for that 
 reason I am used the worse; I see no cause why I should 
 not have my gallants as well as they.) I would, have you 
 know, that I have had offers of money and other things 
 from a number of young gentlemen, but nothing of that 
 kind could seduce me: no, I was never the daughter of 
 such a mother, and yet you will come home when you 
 ought to be at work.” The husband then replied, ‘* My 
 dear, do not make yourself uneasy; I am no stranger to 
 your merit, and have had further proof of it this morning : 
 I did go out to work indeed ;' but neither of~us then knew 
 
 found means that we shall have bread for a month, for I 
 have sold the tub, which you know has been long in our 
 way, to this man whom I have brought with me, for five 
 shillings.” ‘This is so much the worse,” an d she; 
 you that go up and down, and should know things better, 
 to sell a thing for five shillings which I, a poor ignorant 
 woman, that keep always within doors, considering the 
 room it took up in our house, have now sold to an honest 
 man for six, and who had just got into it as you came to 
 the door, to see whether it was sound.”\ When the hus- 
 band heard this he was over and above rejoiced, and said 
 to the man he had brought, ‘Friend, you may go about 
 your business; you hear it is sold for six, .whéreas you 
 were to have given no more than five.” ‘With all my 
 heart,” said the honest man, and away he went. ‘ But,” 
 
SEVENTH DAY 341 
 
 quoth Peronella to her husband, “as you are now here, 
 even make the agreement with the man yourself.” Giannello 
 who was listening to what passed between them, hearing 
 these words, came out of the tub; and, as if he knew 
 nothing of the husband all the time, said, ‘‘ Where is the 
 good woman?” The husband, stepping forward, replied, 
 “Here I am; what do you want?” ‘Who are you?” 
 answered Giannello, ‘I want the woman who sold me the 
 tub.” ** You may make the bargain with me,” quoth the 
 honest man, “‘for I am her husband.” ‘Then,’ said 
 Giannello, “the tub appears to be sound; but it seems 
 as if you had kept something of dregs in it, for it is so 
 crusted all over in the inside, that I cannot scratch off one 
 bit with my finger-nail; therefore I will not have it till it 
 is made clean.” Peronella replied, “ This shall never break 
 the bargain; my husband will soon clean it for you.” The 
 husband said, with all his heart ; and laying down his iron 
 tools, and stripping to his shirt, he got a scraper, and 
 going into it with a candle, he fell to work: and whilst 
 he was thus busied, she often calling out to him to scrape 
 it well, they took care to employ their time in a different 
 manner. At length, when the husband came out of the 
 tub, she said to Giannello, ‘* Here, honest man, take the 
 candle and see whether it is to your liking.” He peeped 
 into it, and said it was; gave them the six shillings, and 
 had it carried to his own house. 
 
 NOVEL IIt 
 
 Friar Rinaldo has an affair with a lady in the neighbourhood, when he 
 makes the husband believe that he ts upon a charm to cure their 
 child of the worms. 
 
 _ Puitostratus did not speak so covertly at last, but the 
 ladies took his meaning, though they seemed to laugh at 
 something else, when Eliza was now ordered to speak, 
 which she did as follows :—Emilia’s conjuring down the 
 spirit brings to mind another conjuring story, which, 
 though it may not be equal to hers, yet as I can think 
 
342 THE DECAMERON 
 
 of no other I shall relate it, There lived at Siena a 
 genteel young man, and of a good family, called Rinaldo, 
 who had long paid his court to a beautiful lady in the 
 neighbourhood, wife to a certain rich man, but hitherto 
 without effect. At length, whatever was the reason, he 
 turned friar, and whether that kind of life was to his liking 
 or not, he persevered in it. ‘Though for a time therefore 
 he had laid aside his regard for the lady, and other little 
 vanities, yet ere long he was the same person again, affect- 
 ing an extraordinary neatness in his dress, and making 
 ballads and love songs, whilst. he was constantly at balls 
 and other diversions of that sort. But why am I so 
 particular with this friar? Are not they all of the same 
 stamp? Alas! to the scandal of a dissolute world, they 
 are not ashamed to appear plump and ruddy, with their 
 garments fine and delicate, whilst they walk along the 
 streets, not like doves so much as high-crested cocks; 
 and what is worse (not to mention their chambers being 
 filled with pots of rich conserves, perfumes, and other 
 costly compositions, with bottles of fine distilled waters 
 and oils, with vessels also of malmsey, and the best Greek 
 wines, so that you would take them for a perfumer’s or a 
 druggist’s shop), they are not ashamed I say, to have it 
 known they are gouty; supposing us to. be ignorant that 
 abstinence and a coarse diet make people less corpulent 
 and more healthful; or that constant fasting and prayer 
 should not cause them to be pale and out of order: and 
 as if we had never heard that St. Dominic and St. Francis 
 thought themselves well clothed when they had one suit 
 of coarse russet cloth to keep,out the cold, without ever 
 thinking of so many changes of fine apparel for mere show 
 only, and which the simple credulous multitude 1s obliged 
 to pay for. Our friar then falling into his former way of 
 living, began to renew his application to this lady; who, 
 thinking him perhaps more agreeable than before, did not 
 much withstand it, only she said, ‘‘ What! do the friars 
 give their minds to such things?” He replied, ‘“ Madam, 
 take but my habit off, and I am like other men.” Thus 
 the affair was soon agreed, and they had frequent meetings 
 afterwards, One day, among the rest, he went to visit 
 
SEVENTH DAY 343 
 
 her, and finding nobody with her besides a servant-maid, 
 he sent his companion with her into a pigeon-loft to teach 
 her some prayers there, whilst he and the lady, with a 
 little infant of hers, went into the chamber, when she 
 made the door fast; but the moment almost this was 
 done the husband came, and called to her to open it. 
 At this she was frightened to death, and said, ‘‘ What shall 
 I do? my husband is here, and will now find out the cause 
 of our acquaintance.” The friar having his cloak and hood 
 off, replied, “* Had, I but my clothes on we could find an 
 excuse ; but if you open the door, and he finds me in this 
 manner, we shall both be ruined.” Then said she, “ Put 
 on your clothes instantly, and when you have done tebe 
 our child in your arms, and attend to what I shall say 
 
 make your words agree with mine; and leave the res’ 
 
 me.” Now calling to her husband, who continued kno 
 
 ing at the door, she said, “I am coming.” Accordingly 
 she went to let him in, and putting on a cheerful counte- 
 nance, she said, ‘‘ Husband, it was the greatest blessing in 
 the world that Friar Rinaldo happened to be here to-day, 
 for otherwise we had certainly lost our child.” The husband 
 was ready to faint away, and inquired how it happened? 
 “‘Q husband,” quoth she, “it had a fit, and I knew not 
 what to do, when the friar luckily came in, and taking the 
 child in his arms, he said, ‘Madam, it is owing to worms 
 which lie at his heart, and would soon kill him; but be 
 not afraid, I will charm and destroy them all, so that before 
 I leave him, he shali be as well as ever.’ Now as we 
 wanted you to say some prayers, and the maid did not 
 know where to find you, he sent his friend to the top of 
 the house to say them in your stead; whilst we shut our- 
 selves up in this chamber, as nobody could be present at 
 such a mystery besides the mother, and he has the child 
 now in his arms, and only waits till his friend has made an 
 end to conclude the whole process, for the child has come 
 to himself already.” The honest man, who, out of his great 
 love for his child, was far from suspecting such a trick, 
 fetched a deep sigh, and said, ‘‘I will go and see him.”— 
 ‘By no means,” she replied, “for that will spoil the whole 
 thing ; but stay, I will see first if you may be admitted, and 
 
344 THE DECAMERON 
 
 then call you.” The friar, who heard the contrivance, was 
 now dressed, and having the child in his arms, and every- 
 thing in readiness, he called out, “‘ Madam, is not that your 
 husband P”—“ Yes,” answered he, ‘I am here.”——* Then 
 come hither,” quoth he, “and behold your son; whom =I 
 thought you would never more have seen alive. Take 
 him, and in return make a statue of wax of the same big- 
 ness to the honour of St. Ambrose, through whose merits 
 you have received this extraordinary favour.” ‘The child 
 at seeing his father showed several little acts of fondness, 
 whilst he received him with as much joy and wonder as if 
 he had been raised from the dead, returning great thanks 
 to the friar for what he had done. The companion also, 
 hearing all that had passed, came down into the chamber, 
 and said, ‘I have gone'through all the prayers which 
 you had enjoined me to repeat.” Friar Rinaldo replied, 
 ** Brother, you have done well, and you see by our joint 
 endeavours the child is recovered.” The honest man on 
 this treated them both with wine and sweatmeats, when 
 they took their leave with great respect. And immediately 
 he set about making the waxen image, and sent it to be set 
 up with several others before the image of St. Ambrose ; 
 but not St. Ambrose of Milan. 
 
 NOVEL IV 
 
 Tofano shuts his wife one night out of doors; who, not being able te 
 persuade him to let her come in, pretends to throw herself inio a 
 well, by throwing a stone in: he runs thither to see, during which 
 she enters, and, locking him out, abuses him well, 
 
 Euiza had no sooner made an end, than the king turned 
 to Lauretta, who immediately began to this effect:—O 
 Love, how great is thy prevailing influence! how various 
 and subtle are thy devices! What artist, what philosopher, 
 could ever think or contrive such shifts and evasions, as 
 thou teachest in an instant to those that follow thy paths? 
 All other instructions whatever are slow, compared to 
 thine, as appears by what has already been said on the 
 subject: to which I mean to add the stratagem of a certain 
 
SEVENTH DAY 345 
 
 lady, conducted in such a manner as nothing but love 
 could ever have dictated.- 
 
 There lived at Arezzo a certain rich man named Tofano, 
 who had a very handsome woman for his wife, whose name 
 was Madam Ghita, of whom all at once, and without 
 knowiag why, he became extremely jealous. ‘This greatly 
 vexed the lady, who would frequently demand of him his 
 reasons for such a suspicion; and he being able to assign 
 none, but,such as were general, or nothing to the purpose, 
 she resolved to plague him with the real evil, which hitherto 
 had only been imaginary. And having observed that a 
 certain young gentleman had taken particular notice of 
 her, she encouraged him so far, that they only waited for 
 a favourable opportunity to put their design into execution. 
 Amongst the rest of her husband’s bad qualities, he had 
 taken a great delight, she saw, in drinking, which she not 
 only seemed, pleased with, but would persuade him to 
 drink more. ~In this manner she used to make him drunk 
 as often as she could, which afforded the first opportunity 
 of being with her lover, and from that time they met con- 
 tinually by the same means. She depended indeed so 
 much upon this drunken disposition of his, that she would 
 not only bring her lover into her house, but even go and 
 spend the greatest part of the night along with him, his 
 residence not being very far off. Continuing this way 
 of life; the husband began to perceive that, whilst she 
 encouraged him to drink in that manner, she scarcely 
 tasted ‘it herself, and from thence to suspect, as was really 
 the case, that she made him drunk with a view only to her 
 own private purposes, during the time of his being asleep. 
 And being willing to have proof of this, he pretended once 
 (without having drunk a drop all that day), both in his words 
 and actions, to be the most disordered creature that could 
 be. Which she perceiving, and thinking that he had then 
 had a dose sufficient, and that he would sleep without any 
 more liquor, straightway put him to bed. This was no 
 sooner done, but she went. as usual to her lover’s house, 
 where she stayed the best part of the night. Tofano 
 finding his wife did not come to bed, got up, and bolted 
 the door, and then went and sat in the window to wait for 
 
j 346 THE DECAMERON 
 her coming home, that she might see he was acquair 
 
 | _ | 
 iJ 
 
 | with ner way of going on; and continued there till | 
 return.) She finding the door bolted, was’ exceedir 
 
 -__ uneasy,'and tried several times. to force it open. Wt 
 
 after Tofano had suffered for some time, he said, “¢ Mad: 
 you give yourself trouble to no purpose, for here you sl 
 not come: go back, if you please, for you shall enter 
 more within these doors, till I have showed you tl 
 respect, which these ways of yours require, before all yc 
 relations and neighbours.” She then begged, for Heave: 
 sake, that he would open the door, saying, that she h 
 not been where he imagined; but (as the evenings we 
 long, and she able neither to sleep all the time, nor to: 
 up by herself) that she went to see a gentlewoman in tl 
 neighbourhood. But all was to no purpose, he seeme 
 resolved that the whole town should be witnesses « 
 their shame, when otherwise they would have know 
 nothing of the matter. 
 _. The lady, finding her entreaties of no effect, had recourse 
 'o threats, and said, “ Either open the door, or I will make 
 you the most miserable man that ever was born.” Tofadno 
 replied, * And which way will you do it?” She, whose 
 wits were sharpened by love, continued, “Before I will 
 suffer such a disgrace, as you mean wrongfully to fasten 
 upon me, I will throw myself directly into this well, and 
 being found there afterwards, everybody will conclude that 
 you did it in one of your drunken fits; whence it must 
 i pape happen, that you be either obliged to fly your 
 ountry, and lose all your effects; or else that you be put 
 to death, as having murdered your wife.” This, however, 
 had no effect upon him; when she said, ‘I can no longer 
 bear all your scorn, God forgive you for being the cause of 
 my death!” and the night being so dark that they could 
 ‘scarcely see one another, she ran towards the well, and 
 taking up a great stone that lay by the well-side, and 
 crying aloud, “God forgive this act of mine!” she let it 
 fall into the well. The stone made a great noise when it 
 ‘came to the water, which Tofano hearing, firmly believed 
 that she had thrown herself in, and taking the rope and 
 
 bucket, he ran out to help her. But she, who stood con- 
 
SEVENTH DAY 347 
 
 evaled by the side of the door, seeing him go toward the 
 ell, got into the house, and made all fast, whilst vi 
 o the window, and began to say to him, ‘‘ Why, band, 
 you should use water whilst you are drinking, and not after 
 ou have made yourself drunk.” Tofano, seeing her laugh 
 him, returned, and finding the door bolted, begged 
 of her to open it. But she now changed her note, and 
 cegan to cry out, “You drunken, sorry, troublesome 
 ‘etch! you shall not come in here to-night; I can no 
 ger bear with your evil practices; I will let all the 
 ld know what sort of a person you are, and what hours 
 »\ keep.” Tofano, on the other part, being grievously 
 ovoked, used all the bad language he could think of, 
 | made a most terrible mutiny. Upon which the neigh- 
 ours were all raised out of their beds; and coming to 
 * windows, inquired what was the matter.| When she 
 Biman to lament and say, “It is this wicked man, who is 
 co.aing home drunk at all hours of the night, which, 
 having endured a long time, and said a great deal to no 
 purpose, I was now willing to try if I could not shame him 
 out of it by locking him out.” ‘Tofano, on the contrary, 
 told them how the matter was; and threatened her,\very 
 much. She then said to the neighbours, “Now y alee 
 what sort of a man he is: what would you say if Iw 
 the street, and he within doors, as Iam? Then you might 
 think he was in the right. Take notice, I beseech you, 
 how artful he is; he says I have done that which he seems 
 to have done himself, and talks something about the well; 
 but I wish he was in it, that he might have some water as 
 well as wine.” ‘The neighbours all joined in blaming 
 Tofano, deeming him the person in fault, and giving him 
 many hard words for his usage of his wife; and the thing 
 was noised about the city, till her relations heard of it, who 
 came thither in a body; and inquiring of one neighbour 
 and another neighbour how it was, they took Tofano and 
 beat him very severely. Afterwards they went. into the 
 house, and carried the lady away with them, with all that 
 was i: threatening Tofano with further punishment. 
 hi’ “x, finding the ill effects of his jealousy, and still 
 havii gard for his wife, got some friends to intercede 
 
 
 
 
 
348 THE DECAMERON 
 
 with her to come home again, promising never more to be 
 jealous, and giving her leave for the future to do as she 
 would. Thus, like a, simple knave, he was glad to purchase 
 peace, after having been to the last degree injured. 
 
 NOVEL V 
 
 A jealous man confesses his wife under a pries?s habit, who tells him 
 that she is vistted every night by a friar ; and, whilst he ts watching 
 the door, she lets her lover in at the house-top. 
 
 LAURETTA having made an end, the king, without loss of 
 time, pointed to Flammetta, who began in this manner :— 
 
 The preceding novel brings to my mind the story of 
 another jealous person ; being of opinion myself that those 
 husbands are justly served in that manner, who are jealous 
 without reason. » And if legislators, when they. make their 
 laws, could be supposed to think of everything, I imagine 
 they would decree no other punishment than what. is 
 ordered in cases of self-defence, for those jealous people 
 are the death frequently of their wives. All the week long 
 are they kept mewed up in their houses, and when holidays 
 come that they should have some ease and diversion, as all 
 other people, according to the laws both ef God and man, 
 have then rest, yet on those are they more confined than 
 any other time; so that none are so wretchedly enslaved 
 as themselves... Therefore I conclude that-a trick put 
 upon a husband, who was jealous without any reason, will 
 by you be rather commended than blamed. 
 
 There lived in Ariminio a certain rich merchant, who 
 had an agreeable woman for his wife, of whom he was 
 immoderately jealous, and for no other reason in the world, 
 but that as he was very fond of her himself, and knew that 
 it was her whole study to please him, so he imagined every 
 one else would like her as well, and that she would be as 
 desirous to oblige them, which showed him to be one of a 
 wicked disposition, as well as of little understanding. He 
 consequently kept su strict an eye over her always, that no 
 felon under sentence of death could be more narrowly 
 watched. Whilst she, so far from going out to feasts at any 
 
SEVENTH DAY 349 
 
 time, or ‘o church, or out of door, under any pretence what- 
 ever, was aot suffered to look out of the window; so that 
 she led a most wretched life, and so much the worse, as she 
 knew herself to be innocent. Thus, finding herself so 
 wrongfully treated, she resolved, for the time to come, to 
 give him some reason for such usage. And as she had no 
 opportunity of seeing people in the street, and knowing that 
 there was an agreeable young man lived in the next house, 
 she looked about to see if there was any chink in the wall, 
 whereby she might have an opportunity of speaking to him, 
 to make him an offer of her love, and to have him come to 
 her sometimes, if such a thing could be contrived, in order 
 to spend her life with a little more comfort, till her husband 
 should be cured of his jealousy. At last, ina corner of the 
 room, she espied a crack which looked into a chamber of 
 the next house, and she said to herself, ‘‘ Now if this should 
 prove Philippo’s chamber,” for that was the young gentle- 
 man’s name, “‘my scheme would be half accomplished ;” 
 of this she ordered her maid to inform herself, who soon 
 found out that he lay there all alone. Visiting then that 
 place pretty often, and putting little sticks and straws 
 through into the chamber, he soon perceived it, and came 
 thither to see what it meant. She then called to him, and 
 he answered, knowing her voice, when she soon made her 
 mind known to him, which was entirely to his good liking ; 
 and he endeavoured to enlarge the opening on his side, 
 taking care all the time that nobody should perceive it. 
 From that time they frequently conferred together, and 
 could shake hands, but no more, because of the husband’s 
 extraordinary care and jealousy. Now Christmas Day 
 drawing near, she said to her husband, that, with his leave, 
 she would go to church that day, to confess and receive the 
 sacrament, like other good Christians. He replied, ‘‘ And 
 pray what sins can you have committed, that you want to 
 confess P””—‘* What!” quoth she, ‘do you take me for a 
 saint? Though you keep me shut up in this manner, yet 
 I must sin as well as other people ; but I have no occasion 
 to teil you, as you are no priest.” These words occasioned 
 such a strong suspicion in him, that he was resolved to 
 know what those sins were; and having determined what 
 
350 THE DECAMERON 
 
 means to use, he told her he was willing, but that she 
 should go only to their chapel, and that betimes in the 
 morning, and confess to their chaplain, or some person that 
 he should appoint, and to no other, and return from thence 
 directly home. The lady seemed partly to know his design, 
 and, without making any other reply, said she would do so. 
 
 On Christmas Day, then, in the morning, she arose be- 
 times, and went to the chapel, as her husband directed her. 
 He also went to the same place, getting there first, and 
 having agreed with the priest what to do, he put on a gown, 
 with a great hood almost to cover his face, as we see priests 
 wear sometimes, and drawing it forwards over his eyes, he 
 placed himself down in the choir. The lady, upon her 
 coming into the chapel, inquired for the priest; who, 
 hearing from her that she wanted to confess, told her that 
 he could not stop to hear her himself, but would send one 
 of his brethren. Accordingly he sent the jealous husband, 
 in an ill hour for him as it happened, who had not so well 
 disguised himself but she immediately knew him, and said 
 to herself, ‘‘ Thank Heaven, from a jealous fool he is become 
 a priest ; but I will take care to give him what he seeks for.” 
 Seeming then not to know him, she sat down at his feet. 
 Now he had put some little stones into his mouth, to alter 
 his voice, thinking himself well enough disguised as to 
 everything else. Coming then to the confession, amongst 
 other things, she told him, that, being married, she was yet 
 in love with a priest, who came and lay with her every 
 night. This struck him to the very heart, and were it not 
 that he was desirous of learning something further, he had 
 gone away, and left her that moment. So he said to her, 
 ** Well, but how is it? And does not your husband lie with 
 your” ‘Yes, sir,” she replied. ‘ Then,” continued he, 
 ‘how can the priest lie with you at the same time?” “I 
 know not how he does it,” quoth she, ‘‘ but there is not a 
 door in the house but opens upon his touching it; he tells 
 me also, that, upon coming to our chamber, before he opens 
 the door, he says some certain words, which throw my 
 husband asleep, and then he comes in, and lies with me, 
 and the other never knows it.” ‘Oh, Madam,” quoth he, 
 ‘that isa very bad thing ; you must leave off such practices 
 
SEVENTH DAY 351. 
 
 entirely.”  ‘* Ah, father,” answered she, ‘‘I know not how 
 to do it, I love him so well.” ‘ Then,” continued he, ‘I 
 can give you no absolution.” ‘I am sorry for that,” she 
 replied, “but I came here to speak the ‘truth; if I could 
 leave them off, I would tell you so.” ‘Iam sorry for you,” 
 quoth he, “as I see your soul is in a state of damnation; 
 but I will offer up my particular prayers for you, which may 
 be of service, and I will send a person to you at certain 
 times, when you may inform him if you think you have 
 received any benefit, and in that case we will proceed 
 further.” The lady replied, “Sir, never think of sending 
 anybody to our house, for my husband is so unreasonably 
 jealous, that all the world could never beat it out of his 
 head but that he came with a bad intent, and I should not 
 have one good day for this twelvemonth.” ‘‘ Madam,” 
 quoth he, ‘‘have you no care for that, for I shall manage 
 in such a manner that you will hear no more from him 
 upon that score.” “If you can do that,” she replied, ‘‘I 
 am content.” And having made an end of her confession, 
 and received penance, she got up, and went to mass. The 
 husband, fit to burst with fury, put off the priest’s habit, 
 and went home, waiting to find the priest and his wife to- 
 gether, in order to wreak his vengeance upon both; whilst 
 she went out of the church, seeing plainly by his looks that 
 she had given him but a bad Christmas-box, though he 
 endeavoured to conceal both what he had done and meant 
 further to do. 
 
 Resolving then to wait the next night at the door for the 
 priest, he said, ‘‘I shall go out to sup, and stay all night; 
 be sure, therefore, you lock the door to the street, and that 
 upon the stairs, as also your chamber-door, and when you 
 are disposed you may go to bed.” She wished him a good 
 night, and went immediately to the chink in the chamber, 
 and made the usual sign, when Philippo came to her, and 
 she told him what she had done that morning, and what 
 her husband had said afterwards, adding, “I am confident 
 he will never stir from the door all night long; do you 
 contrive a way, then, to come in at the top of the house.” 
 He replied, full of joy, “ Depend upon it, madam, I will.” 
 When night came, therefore, the jealous husband armed 
 
a) | 
 
 (38 THE DECAMERON 
 
 c himself privately, and lay concealed in a ground-room, whilst 
 ‘she made the doors fast, especially that upon the stairs: 
 and the young man, when he thought it a proper time, 
 came by a secret way into her chamber. 
 
 _ The husband, in the meantime, continued supperless all 
 night long, uneasy to the last degree, and almost starved to 
 death with cold, waiting by the door for the priest. Day 
 appearing at last, and nobody coming, he composed him- 
 self there to sleep. Rising at the third hour, and the door 
 
 of the house being now opened, he came in, pretending to 
 come from another place, and called for his breakfast. 
 
 Soon afterwards he sent a messenger to her,as from the 
 priest who confessed her, to know if that person had come 
 to her since. She, who understood full well the nature of 
 the message, replied, No, he did not come that night, arid 
 that if he left off visiting her, she might forget him, although 
 she had no desire to do so. 
 
 _ What more need I say'to you? The husband continued 
 to watch every night, and they were together all the time. 
 At last, being out of all manner of patience, he demanded 
 of her, with the utmost wrath in his looks, what it was that 
 she had confessed to the priest? But she refused to tell 
 him, saying, “ that it was neither just nor reasonable.” He 
 
 _added, ‘‘ Thou vile woman, I know, in spite of thee, what 
 it was, and I will make thee confess who this priest is that 
 lies with thee every night, by virtue of his enchantments, 
 or else I will cut thy throat.” She replied, “It is false; I 
 never lay with any priest.” ‘‘ What,” said he, “did you 
 not say so and so to the priest who confessed you?” 
 i Not,” she replied, “for him to tell you again; but if you 
 were present, it is a different thing: then, to be plain with 
 you, I did say so.” ‘Now tell me,” quoth he, “who this 
 priest is, and quickly.” She smiled, and said, ‘‘I am 
 
 always glad to see a wise man led (by the horns, as it were) 
 by a simple woman ; though you deserve not that character, 
 since you have suffered yourself to be transported by that 
 unreasonable fit of jealousy, without knowing why; there- 
 fore the more weak you are the less is my glory. Do you 
 
 think my eyes are as bad as your understanding? No; I 
 
 iis very well who the priest that confessed me was, and 
 
 a 
 
SEVENTH DAY 353 
 
 that it was you. But I was resolved to give you what you 
 wanted, and I think I have done so. But if you were as 
 wise as you would be thought, you would never have 
 desired to come at your wife’s secrets in that manner, and 
 would have known, without any vain suspicion, that every 
 word was true which I said, and without the least crime or 
 ofience. I told you I loved a priest: were not you, my 
 unworthy husband, then a priest? I said, no door could 
 be kept shut when he had a mind to come to me: and is 
 not that literally true? Iadded that the priest lay with me 
 every night. And pray when did you lie from me? And 
 when you sent to know if he was with me that night I 
 answered he was not. Who but a person blinded with 
 jealousy like yourself, but must have understood these 
 things? And yet you kept watch all night at the door, 
 and would have made me believe that you were gone else- 
 where to sup and spend the night. . Consider a little better 
 and behave like a man, nor expose yourself any longer to 
 me, who am acquainted with all your ways; but leave oft 
 this extraordinary care upon my account; for, I assure you, 
 were I disposed to be what you suspect, had you a hundred 
 eyes, whereas you have only two, I could do it over and 
 over, and you be never the wiser.” 
 
 The poor jealous creature, who had thought himself 
 cunning before, now saw how he was despised, and, with- 
 out more words, divested himself of that foolish and 
 troublesome disposition; eSteeming his wife for the time 
 to come as a virtuous and prudent woman. And she had 
 no further occasion to make her lover come in at the top 
 of the house, as cats do; for the door was open afterwards 
 whenever they had a mind to be together. 
 
 NOVEL. VI 
 
 Isabella, being in company with her gallant, called Leonetto, and being 
 visited at the same time by one Lambertuccio, her husband returns, 
 when she sends Lambertuccio away with a drawn sword in his 
 hand, whilst the husband guards Leonetto safe to his own house. 
 
 Tey were all pleased with Flammetta’s story, declaring 
 that the woman had served the brute exactly right. And 
 M 
 
354 THE DECAMERON 
 
 it being concluded, the king ordered Pampinea to go On, 
 who then said :— 
 
 There are many people so foolish as to affirm that love 
 deprives persons of their understanding, and that they who 
 are in love are out of their wits.. But how ridiculous this 
 assertion is will appear by what has been said oefore, and 
 also by what I am going now to tell you. 
 
 In our city, abounding. with everything ‘that is good, 
 there was formerly a beautiful lady, wife to a certain 
 worthy knight, who desiring, as it will sometimes happen, 
 a little variety, began to grow indifferent towards her hus- 
 band, casting. her eye upon a certain young spark called 
 Leonetto, one of no great family, but agreeable enough; 
 he likewise began to: show the same good liking towards 
 her, and it was not long before their wishes were accom- 
 plished. Now it happened that another gentleman was in 
 love with her also, called Lambertuccio, one by no means 
 agreeable to her; but he ceased not to solicit her by all 
 manner of ways, threatening at the same time, as he was 
 a man of note and power, to lessen and expose her, unless 
 she would comply with his desires. This terrified her so 
 much that she thought herself obliged to listen to him. 
 And being now, as it was summer-time, at one of their 
 country houses, and her husband being gone from: home 
 to make some stay, she sent for Leonetto to come and be 
 with her in the meantime. He-obeyed her summons with 
 great pleasure. _Lambertuccio, knowing also that her hus- 
 band was abroad, came all alone on horseback, and knocked 
 at the gate. Her maid, seeing him there; ran upstairs to 
 her mistress, who was in her chamber with Leonetto, and 
 said, ‘‘ Madam, Signor Lambertuccio is here below.” The 
 lady was under the greatest concern imaginable, and de- 
 sired Leonetto not to mind stepping behind the curtain of 
 the bed till the other was gone. Leonetto, who feared 
 him as much as she did, went and hid himself there, whilst 
 she ordered her maid to go and let Lambertuccio in, who 
 being dismounted, and hanging his horse at the door, was 
 immediately shown upstairs; when she, meeting him at 
 the top, asked, with a smile in her countenance, how she 
 came to be favoured with the visit. ‘* My life!” quoth he, 
 
SEVENTH DAY 355 
 
 “IT understood your husband was abroad, and it was for 
 that reason I came to,see you.” He had not been long 
 with her before her husband, contrary to her expectation, 
 returned. As soon as the maid saw him, she came sud- 
 denly into the chamber, and said to her mistress, “‘ Madam, 
 my master is returned, and is now in the court.” The lady 
 ‘was quite confounded at hearing this, and, considering that 
 ‘she had two men in the house, and that the knight could not 
 be concealed on account of his horse, gave herself up for lost; 
 yet, resolving at length what to do, she said to Lambertuccio, 
 ‘Sir, if you have any regard for me, and are willing to save 
 me from destruction, pray do as I shall direct you. Go 
 downstairs with an angry countenance, and your sword in 
 your hand, saying, ‘I vow to Heaven if ever I meet with 
 him anywhere else—’ And if my husband should offer to 
 stop you, or ask any questions, say nothing more than 
 that; but mount your horse directly and ride away, nor 
 offer to stay with him upon any account whatever.” Ac- 
 cordingly he obeyed her directions, whilst the husband 
 was wondering to see the horse there, and coming upstairs 
 he was further surprised at Lambertuccio’s fierce coun- 
 tenance, and hearing him talk in that manner; and he said 
 to him, “* Pray, what is the matter, sir?” The other put 
 his foot in the stirrup, and muttered only these words, 
 “Tf ever I meet the villain again—,” and so rode away. 
 The knight, going upstairs, found his wife at the stair-head, 
 terrified out of her wits, and he said to her, ‘‘ What is the 
 reason of Lambertuccio’s going away in so much heat and 
 fury?” When she, drawing nearer to her chamber that 
 Leonetto might hear, replied, ““My dear, I never was so 
 frightened in my whole life. A gentleman whom I never 
 saw before ran in here, and Lambertuccio after him with 
 a drawn sword, and finding the chamber-door open, he 
 came trembling into it, saying, ‘I beg, madam, you will 
 protect me, otherwise I shall be murdered in your very pre- 
 sence. I arose, and was going to ask him who he was, and 
 what was the reason, when Lambertuccio was at the top 
 of the stairs roaring out, ‘Where is the villain?’ Upon 
 this I ran to the chamber-door, and stopped him as he 
 was jist Coming in, when he was so civil to me, indeed, 
 
356 THE DECAMERON 
 
 after he saw I was unwilling he should come into the 
 chamber, that, after a few words, he went back again just 
 as you met him.” The husband then said, ‘ My dear, you 
 did well; it would have been a great discredit to us to 
 have had anybody murdered in our house; and Lamber- 
 tuccio was highly to blame to pursue a person hither. But,” 
 quoth he, “‘where is the gentleman?” She replied, ‘‘ He 
 is hid somewhere or other; I know not where.”—** Where 
 are you?” quoth the knight; “you may come out without 
 any danger.” Leonetto, who heard all that passed, came 
 from where he was concealed much terrified, as indeed he 
 had reason; when the knight said to him, “ Pray, what 
 affair is this that you have had with Lambertuccio? ”— 
 * Nothing,” he replied, “in the world that I know of; so 
 that Iam convinced he has either lost his senses, or else 
 mistakes me for some other person; for, upon seeing me 
 in the street, at a distance from your house, he drew his 
 sword, and said, ‘ Villain, thou art a dead man!’ I stayed 
 to ask no questions, but made the best of my way, and 
 came hither, where, thanks be to Heaven and this lady, I 
 have found protection.” “Then,” said the knight, ‘be 
 under no fear; I will see you safe home, when you may 
 make inquiry what the ground of his quarrel with you is.” 
 After supper, then, he mounted him upon one of his horses, 
 and conducted him to Florence to his own house. And 
 that night, by the lady’s direction, he had a private con- 
 ference with Lambertuccio, when they so planned it, that 
 though there was much talk afterwards about it, the husband 
 never knew the truth of his wife’s stratagem. 
 
 NOVEL VII 
 
 Lodovico being in love with Beatrice, she sends her husband into the 
 garden, disguised like herself, so that her lover may be with her in 
 we meaniime; and he afterwards goes into the garden, and beats 
 
 tm. 
 
 IsABELLA’S quick and lucky thought was admired by the 
 whole company, when Philomena began, by the king’s 
 command, to this effect:—You must understand, that at 
 
SEVENTH DAY 35)? 
 
 Paris dwelt a certain gentleman, a Florentine, who, being 
 a little reduced, was forced to go into trade, by which 
 means he acquired a great deal of wealth. He had only 
 one son, named Lodovicc, who having regard to the 
 nobility of his father, more than to anything of business, 
 was, instead of being brought up in a warehouse, sent, 
 with some other young noblemen, into the service of the 
 King of France, where he acquired all the accomplish- 
 ments that belong to a fine gentleman. And being one 
 day in company with certain knights, who were just re- 
 turned from the Holy Land, and tatking of beauties in 
 England, France, and other countries, one of them declared, 
 that, in all parts of the world, of all the women that ever 
 he saw, he never met with any to come up to Beatrice, the 
 wife of Egano de’ Galluzzi, of Bologna; to which his com- 
 panions, who had been with him there, agreed. Lodovico, 
 at hearing this, was possessed with such a desire of. seeing 
 her, that he could think of nothing else; and designing to 
 go and make some stay there, if she proved to his liking, 
 he pretended to his father that he had an inclination to 
 go to the Holy Land, who gave his consent with great 
 reluctance. Changing his name then to Anichino, he 
 came to Bologna; and, as fortune would have it, saw her 
 at her window the very next day, when he found her 
 beauty to exceed even his warmest imagination; and, 
 being quite enamoured, he resolved: not to depart from 
 Bologna till he had obtained his desire. Thinking, there- 
 fore, which was the most likely way to succeed, he. sup- 
 posed, that if he could but get to be a servant to the 
 husband, he might probably carry his point. Accordingly 
 he sold his horses, and, disposing of his servants, with 
 orders never to take notice of him, he told his landlord 
 that he should be glad to get into the service of some 
 person of distinction, if such a place could be met with. 
 The landlord replied, ‘‘You are just such a person as 
 would suit a gentleman here, called Egano, who has a 
 great number of servants, and will always have well-looking, 
 genteei people about him, like yourself: I will speak to 
 him for you.” This he did, and Anichino was immediately 
 taken into the family, greatly to his satisfaction. Con- 
 
358 THE DECAMERON 
 
 tinuing then with Egano, where he had daily opportunities 
 of seeing the lady, he gained so far upon him he his good 
 behaviour, that he could do nothing without him; and he 
 made him sole director of all his affairs. When one day 
 it happened, as Egano was gone out a-fowling, and left 
 him behind, that Beatrice (who as yet knew nothing of 
 his love, but had always commended his ‘most engaging 
 behaviour) made him sit down with her at chess, and 
 Anichino, as it was his whole desire to please her, con- 
 trived to let her win, with which she was vastly delighted. 
 At length, all the women being gone out of the room, 
 and they left by themselves, he fetched a deep sigh: She 
 looked, and said, ‘‘ What is the matter with you, Anichino? 
 Are you uneasy because I win?”—‘*‘ Madam,” he replied, 
 “it is a thing of more consequence which occasioned that 
 sigh.”—** Then by the regard you have for me,” quoth she, 
 ‘*T conjure you to tell me.” When Anichino saw himself 
 entreated by his love for her, whom he valued beyond all 
 the world, he gave a greater sigh than before. She desired 
 again to know the reason. Whilst he replied, ‘‘ Madam, 
 Iam extremely afraid lest I should disoblige you by so 
 doing: I doubt also if you-would not speak of it to some 
 other person.” She made answer, “ Be assured I shall not 
 be disobliged ; nor shall I ever speak of it again, unless 
 you give me leave.”—‘‘ Then,” quoth he, “as I have 
 your promise, I will reveal it.” And he told her, with tears 
 in his eyes, who he was; what he had heard of her, and 
 where; and how he came to be servant to her husband, and 
 entreated her, in the most humble manner, to have pity on 
 him, and accept of the secret offer of his love; or, if that 
 was too great a favour for him to expect, that he might 
 continue in the same condition as before; and that she 
 would be pleased only to let him admire her. O! how 
 singularly sweet are these Bolognian dispositions! In 
 cases of this sort how worthy of praise! They delight 
 not in people’s tears and sighs; but to soft and amorous 
 entreaties, are ever easy of access. Were I able to give 
 them their due praise, my voice should never faint on so 
 agreeable a subject. The lady had her eyes fixed upon 
 him all the time he was speaking, and giving entire credit 
 
SEVENTH DAY 359 
 
 to his words, she began to conceive the same passion in her 
 heart for him ; whilst she replied, ‘* Anichino, have a good 
 heart; you have effected that in a moment (the small time 
 only that you have been speaking) which ali the lords and 
 gentlemen, who have been daily soliciting me, could. never 
 bring to pass; so that now Iam more yours than my own. 
 You have deserved my love, and you shall have it ; come, 
 therefore, to my chamber about midnight.”. Upon this they 
 parted, and he waited with great impatience for. night. 
 Egano- was now returned from fowling, and, being weary, 
 went, as soon as he had supped, to bed, and the lady with 
 him, leaving the door open, as she had promised. At the 
 time’ appointed, Anichino went into the bedchamber, and 
 shutting the door again, he stepped gently to the lady’s 
 side of the bed, when, laying his hand upon her breast, he 
 found she was awake. Accordingly she seized it with both 
 hers, and held him strongly, turning herself in bed at the 
 same time, till she made her husband awake, when she said 
 to him, *‘ My dear, I would say nothing to you last night, 
 because you seemed to be weary; but tell me, which of 
 your servants do you believe to be the most faithful, and 
 whom ‘you respect the most?” Egano replied, ‘“ What a 
 strange question this is!..Do not you know that I never 
 loved, and put such confidence in any servant, as I now 
 do in’ Anichino? But why want you to be informed?” 
 Anichino, perceiving Egano to be awake, and hearing them 
 talk together, endeavoured several times to have drawn his 
 hand away, with a design of leaving the room, imagining 
 that she had puta trick upon him; but she held him sc 
 fast that he could not. She then replied to Egano, saying, 
 *T will tell: you: I once thought as you do, and that he 
 was the most trusty person about you, but I was mistaken ; 
 for he had the assurance, after you were gone out yester- 
 day, to make an offer of his love to me; whilst. I, to give 
 you manifest proof of it, seemed to consent, and appointed 
 to meet him this night under the pine-tree, in the garden. 
 Now my intention was never to go thither ; but if you have 
 a mind to be convinced of his villainy, you need only slip 
 on one of my petticoats, and put a-veil over your head, and 
 I am sure you will find him.”——“ Then,” quoth he, ‘‘ most 
 
360 THE DECAMERON 
 
 certainly will I go.” Arising, therefore, and disguising him- 
 self in that manner, as well as he could in the dark, he 
 went into the garden to wait for Anichino. As soon as 
 he was gone out she arose also, and made fast the door. 
 Whilst Anichino, who had been under the greatest fears 
 imaginable, and had endeavoured all he could to get from 
 her, cursing both her and her love a thousand times over ; 
 and himself likewise, for giving credit to her; finding out 
 what was her design at last, was the happiest man imagin- 
 able. At length, when she thought he had been as long 
 with her as it was safe for him to stay, she said, “I beg of 
 you to take a cudgel, and go into the garden; and, pretend- 
 ing as if this was done only to make trial of my virtue, do 
 you give him some hard language, as though it was myself, 
 and cane him soundly.” Accordingly he arose, and took a 
 good stick with him thither; whilst Egano, seeing him 
 come towards the’ pine-tree, went with a great deal. of 
 seeming pleasure to meet him. When Anichino said, 
 * What! you wicked woman, are you come? And could 
 you think I could do such a thing by my master? I will 
 make you repent your baseness.” And lifting up. his 
 cudgel, he laid on to some purpose.—Egano, at these 
 words, and feeling the blows, took to his heels, without 
 speaking a word, whilst Anichino was close after him, 
 crying out, “Away, you vile creature! and depend upon it 
 that my master shall: know to-morrow.” Egano having 
 sustained all this drubbing, returned at last to his chamber, 
 when the lady. said to him, ‘‘ Well! did Anichino come 
 into the garden?” Egano replied, ‘‘ Would to God he had 
 stayed away! for, besides all the foul language that could 
 be used to any woman, he has broken almost all.the bones 
 in my skin. I wondered indeed that he should use those 
 rude expressions, if he had such an intention as I supposed 
 him to have, towards you. But, as he saw you of sucha 
 free, cheerful temper, he had a mind to make trial of you, I 
 suppose.”——‘‘ Then thank Heaven,” quoth she, ‘‘he proved 
 me with words, and you with deeds. But, I believe, he 
 may say that I bore the words better than you did the 
 deeds: as he has shown himself so faithful, therefore, to 
 you, you will regard him accordingly.”—‘‘ Most certainly,” 
 
SEVENTH DAY 361 
 
 said Egano: and from that time he concluded that he had 
 the most virtuous wife and honestest servant of any man 
 in the world. On which account (though Anichino and 
 she often laughed together at the thing) they had an 
 opportunity of gratifying their desires with the less sus- 
 picion (which could not have been done so well without 
 such a stratagem) all the time Anichino thought fit to stay 
 with Egano at Bologna. 
 
 NOVEL VIII 
 
 A woman who kad a very jealous husband, tied a thread to her greai 
 toe, by which she informed her lover whether he should come or 
 not. The husband found tt out, and whilst he was pursuing the 
 lover, she put her maid in her place. He takes her to be his wife, 
 beats her, cuts off her hair, and then fetches his wife’s relations, 
 who find nothing of what he had told them, and so load him with 
 reproaches. 
 
 BEATRICE seemed to them all to have been strangely 
 spiteful towards her husband; and every one agreed that 
 Anichino’s fright and confusion must have been very great 
 to be held in that manner, whilst she told her husband of 
 his design upon her. The king now seeing that Philomena 
 had done, turned to Neiphile, and said, “ Do you speak.” 
 Neiphile smiled and replied :— 
 
 A great charge at present rests upon me, to relate some- 
 thing equal to what has been said already; but I shall 
 endeavour to acquit myself as well as I can. 
 
 Know, then, that in our city lived a certain rich merchant, 
 named Arriguccio Berlinghieri, who, like many of our trades- 
 people nowadays, foolishly thought to ennoble himself by 
 marriage ; and he took a wife, not at all suitable to himself, 
 whose name was Sismonda. She (her husband, like other 
 persons of business, being often abroad) fell in love witha 
 young gentleman called Ruberto, who had long paid his 
 addresses to her, and being not so discreet in that affair 
 as she ought to have been, it happened, whether her 
 husband had any notion of it, or for what other reason 
 I cannot tell, that he became the most jealous creature 
 
 M 2 
 
362 THE DECAMERON 
 
 in the world, and laying aside all his other concerns, he 
 applied his mind wholly to the care of her; nor would he 
 ever go to sleep without seeing her first in bed. This 
 was the greatest affliction to her, as it deprived her of 
 all opportunity of being with her gallant: therefore, 
 after much thinking about it, and being greatly impor- 
 tuned by him all the time, it came into her head at last 
 to take the following method: namely, as her chamber 
 was towards the street, and she knowing that, though 
 her husband was long sometimes before he went to 
 rest, yet that when he was once fast he was not 
 easily stirred; she meant to have her lover come to 
 the door in the middle of the night, and to go and 
 let him in whilst the husband was asleep. And that 
 she might know when he was there, and nobody else 
 perceive it, she resolved to put a thread out of the 
 window, one end of which should go near to the 
 ground, and the other end was to be brought low along the 
 floor, and so under the clothes into the bed; which, when 
 she went to bed, she would tie to her great toe. Having 
 acquainted Ruberto with this, she told him that, as often 
 as he came, he should pull the thread, when, if her husband 
 was asleep, she would let it go; but, if he was not asleep, 
 she would hold it fast, and then he was not to expect her. 
 Ruberto liked this scheme mighty well, and he was 
 frequently coming thither, when sometimes he could have 
 her company, and sometimes not. Till at last, carrying on 
 this device in the same manner, it happened, whilst she 
 was asleep, as the husband was stretching out his feet in 
 the bed, that he met with this thread; when putting down 
 his hand and finding it tied to her toe, he thought within 
 himself there must be some trick here: perceiving after- 
 wards that the other end went out of the window he held it 
 for granted ; accordingly he took it off her toe and put it 
 upon his own, waiting to see what the event would be. 
 He had not been long expecting, before Ruberto came, 
 and. pulled the thread as usual: Arriguccio perceived it, 
 and not having tied the thread fast enough, and the other 
 drawing pretty strong, it came into his hand, which he 
 supposed was for him to stay, and so he did. Arriguccio 
 
SEVENTH DAY. 363 
 
 upon this arose with all haste, and taking arms with him, 
 he went to the door, to see who it was, and to take 
 vengeance on him. Now, though he was a merchant, he 
 was a stout, warlike man; and being come to the door, 
 and not opening it in the manner the lady used to do, 
 Ruberto began to have a suspicion how it was, and imme- 
 diately took to his heels, and the other after him. At last 
 Ruberto having run a great way, and the other still pursuing 
 him, he faced about (as he was armed likewise) and drew 
 his sword, whilst the one continued pushing, as the other 
 stood upon his defence. The lady awoke the moment her 
 husband opened the chamber-door, and finding the thread 
 gone from her toe, concluded she was discovered. And 
 perceiving that he had run after her lover, she arose, re- 
 solving what to do; and calling her maid (who was in the 
 secret) she prevailed upon her to go into her bed; begging 
 of her to receive all the blows patiently which her master 
 should give, without making any discovery; and she would 
 make her such a recompense, that she should have no cause 
 to repent. Putting out the light then which was in the 
 chamber, she went and hid herself in a corner of the house, 
 waiting for the event. The fray between Arriguccio and 
 Ruberto had alarmed all the neighbours, who arose and 
 began to reprove them very severely: on which Arriguccio, 
 without knowing who his antagonist was, or being able to do 
 him any harm, left him (for fear of being known himself), 
 and returned full of wrath to his own house. And coming 
 into the chamber, he said, ‘Where is this vile woman? 
 What ! she has put out the candle that I should not find her; 
 but she shall be mistaken. So he went to the bedside, and 
 began to beat and kick the maid (thinking it was his wife), 
 till he was quite weary, and what with his hands and feet to- 
 gether, had bruised her face to a mummy. When he had 
 done that, he cut off her hair, saying all the reproachful 
 things that could be spoken to a woman. The girl roared 
 out very much (as indeed she had reason); and though she 
 would frequently say, ‘‘ For God’s sake have mercy!” and 
 nothing more, yet her words were so broken with lamenta- 
 tions, and he so biinded too with fury, that he never dis- 
 covered her not to be his wife. Having beat her then to 
 
364 THE DECAMERON 
 
 some purpose, and cut off her hair (as we observed), he said, 
 ‘Thou vile prostitute, I shall meddle with thee no further, 
 but will go for thy brothers, to let them know of thy exploits, 
 when they may do as they shall think most for their own 
 credit, and take thee away with them; for:here thou shalt 
 no longer abide:” so he locked her in, and went away by 
 himself. 
 
 As soon as Sismonda (who had heard the whole trans- 
 action) perceived he was gone, she came into the chamber, 
 and struck a light, when she found the girl all bruised, and 
 in tears. And having comforted her in the best manner she 
 was able, she removed her. to her own apartment, where 
 she was well taken care of: and rewarding her, at Arriguc- 
 cio’s expense, to her own content, she went immediately and 
 set her room to rights; making the bed over again, as if no- 
 body had lain in it that night ; and she lighted up the lamp, 
 and dressed herself as if she had never been in bed. Then 
 taking up her work, she sat herself down at the top of the 
 stairs, and began to sew. Arriguccio in the meantime went 
 with all possible haste to her brothers’ house, and knocked 
 there till he made them hear and open the door. ~When the 
 brothers (who were three) and the mother all arose, hearing 
 it was he; and seeing him come alone, at that time of night, 
 they inquired the reason. Whereupon he related the whole 
 affair, beginning with the thread, and going on to what he 
 had done afterwards, and at length, by way of conviction, 
 showed them the hair which he had cut off; adding that, 
 in regard to their own honour, they might take her away 
 and dispose of her as they pleased, for that he would be no 
 longer troubled with her. The brothers were greatly offended 
 at hearing this story, and in their fury ordered torches to be 
 got ready, preparing to go back with him, that she might not 
 want her due treatment; whilst the mother went heavily 
 after, sometimes entreating one, and sometimes another of 
 them, not to be too hasty in condemning their sister ; al- 
 leging, that he might have quarrelled with her upon’ some 
 other account, and now brought this by way of excuse; 
 adding, that she wondered how it could be; seeing that 
 she well knew her daughter, having brought her up herself ; 
 with more words to that effect. Being now at the house, 
 
SEVENTH DAY | 365 
 
 and going upstairs, Sismonda called out to them, and said, 
 “Who is there?” When one of her brothers replied, ‘‘ You 
 shall soon know, you vile creature as you are!” ‘Lord 
 have mercy on me!” said she, “what is all this for?” And 
 rising up, she went, saying, “ Brothers, you are welcome; 
 but what is the meaning of your coming all three at this 
 time of the night?” They, observing that she had been 
 sitting at work, and without any such bruises or blows 
 as the husband had talked of, began to wonder; and abat- 
 ing a little of their former wrath, they inquired the meaning 
 of this difference with her husband, threatening her severely 
 if she spoke anything but the truth. The lady replied, “I 
 know not what you would have me'say, nor of any quarrel 
 that I have had with him.” Arriguccio, at beholding her, 
 was like one confounded, remembering that he had scratched 
 and beat her tn a most outrageous manner, of which no 
 sign now appeared ; and her brothers then told her what 
 they had heard from him. She now turned to him, and 
 said, ‘‘‘ Alas! my dear, what is this I hear! and why would 
 you have me thought to be a wicked person, to your great 
 disgrace, when I am not so; and yourself an ill-tempered 
 sorry man, when it is quite otherwise? When were you 
 here to-night before now? Or when did you beat me? 
 For my part, I know nothing of the matter.” Arriguccio 
 replied, ‘You abominable wretch! what, did we not go 
 to bed together? Did I not return hither again, after 
 pursuing your gallant? Did I not give you a thousand 
 blows at the same time that I cut off your hair?” 
 
 She made answer, ‘You never went to bed in this 
 house to-night; but, letting this alone, for which you can 
 have only my word, and to come to what you talk of, 
 namely, of your beating me, and cutting off my hair, let 
 any one see if I have such bruises upon me; nor should I 
 advise you to attempt ever to serve me so; for, as I hope 
 to be saved, I would return the like, if you did. And, as 
 to cutting off my hair, I never knew anything of it if it was 
 so; but let us see whether it be as you say, or not.” She 
 then pulled her veil off, and showed her hair all entire, and 
 in order. The brothers and the mother, seeing this, said 
 to him, “How now, sir! Surely this can never be the 
 
366 THE DECAMERON 
 
 thing that you came to acquaint us with; which way will 
 you prove the rest?” Arriguccio was like one out of his 
 wits. Gladly would he have said something, but seeing 
 the thing appear differently from what he had undertaken 
 to show them, he could not get out one word. She now 
 said to her brothers, “<I see he has a mind I should relate 
 to you his vile proceedings, and my own unhappiness, and 
 I will do it.. I believe firmly that what he says may be true, 
 and I’ll tell you which way. This sorry fellow, to whom you 
 gave me in an ill hour, who calls himself a merchant truly, 
 and would be thought such, and who therefore should be 
 as temperate as a hermit, and as modest as a maid ; this 
 man, I say, is drunk most nights, in one tavern or other; 
 one while with one prostitute, and then again with another, 
 whilst Iam forced to sit up for him, in the manner you now 
 found me, till midnight for the most part, and often till morn- 
 ing. And being very drunk, he might find a thread tied to 
 the toe of one of those strumpets, and run aftersome person 
 or other, and fight him, as he says; and returning back, he 
 might beat her in that manner, and cut off her hair: and 
 not being thoroughly sober again, he imagines it was done 
 to me; if you observe, he appears now to be half fuddled : 
 therefore I would have you consider him as a person in 
 liquor, and forgive him even as I mean to do.” 
 
 The mother, at these words, made a great clamour, and 
 said, ‘‘ My dear child, it shall never be ; he deserves hang- 
 ing, for an ill-conditioned brute as he is. He is unworthy 
 of such a woman as you are. What could he have done 
 
 more, had he caught you in the open street? Things are ~ 
 
 come to a fine pass truly, if you must be set down by the 
 
 words of a little paltry merchant. This sort of fellows, you — 
 
 must know, if they have but a httle money in their pockets, 
 are all for a gentleman’s daughter; when they pretend to 
 
 some coat of arms, and say, ‘Ff am of sucha family, and © 
 
 my ancestors did so and so.’ Would to Heaven my sons 
 had followed my advice! Count Guido would gladly have 
 taken you without a penny of fortune; yet they chose to 
 
 marry you to this jewel here: and though there is not a | 
 better gentlewoman nor one more virtuous in Florence, yet © 
 
 he. was not ashamed to call you strumpet, as if we were — 
 
 | 
 
SEVENTH DAY 367 
 
 strangers to your Character. But, as I hope to live, were 
 they ruled by me, they: would beat him to a mummy.” 
 Turning now to her sons, she said, “I told you, as we 
 came along, that it could never be true. You hear how 
 this fine brother of yours uses your sister: a poor sorry 
 fellow as he is! were. I in your place, hearing what, he has 
 _ both said and done towards her, I would never leave him 
 with life. Confound him! for a drunken, quarrelsome 
 villain, to have’ no shame in him!” Here the brothers 
 said all the severe things they could think of; concluding 
 at last with saying, “We forgive you this once, as you 
 were drunk, but take care we hear no more such stories , 
 if we do, we will pay off all your old scores,” and so’ they 
 left him. ‘Arriguccio stood hke one who. had lost his 
 senses, scarcely knowing whether all this was real, or 
 only a dream, and from that: time quarrelled no more 
 with his wife; whilst she not only, escaped from the 
 most imminent danger, but opened a way to obtain her 
 desires, without the least fear of her husband for the time 
 to come. 
 
 NOVEL IX 
 
 Lydia, the wife of Nicostratus, being in love with Pyrrhus, did three 
 things which he had enjoined her, to convince him of her affection. 
 She afterwards used some familiarities with him before her hus- 
 band’s face, making him believe that what he had seen was not real, 
 
 NEIPHILE’s novel had pleased them all to that degree, 
 that they could not keep from laughing and talking about 
 it, although the king had several times called out silence, in 
 order that Pamphilus should speak ; who at length began 
 in this manner:—There is nothing, I am persuaded, so 
 dangerous and difficult, that a person who is thoroughly 
 in love will not attempt; which, though it has been shown 
 by various. instances already given, yet I think will be 
 still more apparent from a story which I am going to 
 tell you, of a lady much more fortunate than wise. There- 
 fore ] would advise no one to run the risk. of following her 
 paths; because neither is fortune always disposed, nor are 
 all men to be blinded in the same. manner. 
 
368 - THE DECAMERON 
 
 In Argos, an ancient city of Achaia, more famous for- 
 merly for its kings than great, lived a certain nobleman called 
 Nicostratus, to whom fortune, in the decline of his life, had 
 given a young lady for his wife, of as great a spirit as she was 
 beautiful, named Lydia. Now he, being a lord of a large 
 estate, kept a great number of servants, dogs, and hawks, 
 and was very fond of country diversions. Amongst his other 
 servants was a genteel young man named Pyrrhus, whom he 
 valued and trusted above all the rest. With this person she 
 was so much in love, that she could never be happy but in 
 his company; whilst he (whether he did not, or would not 
 perceive her regard for him), seemed not at all affected by 
 it. This she laid much to heart, and resolving to make him 
 understand her, she called one of her favourite maids, whose 
 name was Lusca, and said to her, “‘ Lusca, the favours you 
 have received from me, should make you both obedient 
 and faithful; take care, therefore, that you reveal what I 
 am going to speak to no one, save to the person concerned. 
 You see what a great disproportion there is between my 
 husband’s age and mine, and may suppose I can have 
 but little comfort with such an one; for that reason I have 
 made choice of our Pyrrhus.. If you have any regard for 
 me, then, let him know my love for him in the best manner 
 you are able; and entreat him, on my part, that he would 
 please to come hither to me.” The girl promised’ to do 
 so; and, on the very first opportunity, she took Pyrrhus 
 aside, and delivered her message. ‘This surprised him very 
 much, as not having the least notion of such a thing ; and 
 being apprehensive that it might be done to try him, he 
 answered roughly, ‘‘ Lusca, I can never think this comes 
 from my lady ; then take care what you say: or, if she did 
 say So, you could never have her orders to disclose it; or, 
 even admitting that, still I have that regard for my lord, 
 that I could never offer to do him such an injury: I charge 
 you, then, let me hear no more about it.” Lusca, not at 
 all abashed at his stern way of speaking, replied, *‘ Pyrrhus, 
 I shall speak at all times what I am ordered by my lady 
 to say, whether it offends you or not; but, for your 
 part, you are no better than a brute.” And she returned — 
 full of wrath to her mistress, who was fit to die on 
 
SEVENTH DAY 369 
 
 hearing it; and in a few days she said again, ‘You know, 
 Lusea, that one stroke never fells an oak; then go once 
 more, and tell him that his fidelity is at my expense; repre- 
 sent the passion I have for him in such a manner that he 
 may be affected with it: for, if he continues so indifferent, 
 it will go near to cost me my life.” The girl desired her 
 to take courage; and going again to Pyrrhus, and finding 
 him in good humour, she said, ‘‘I told you, a few days 
 ago of the great regard my lady had for you; and I now 
 assure you, that if you continue in the same resolution, 
 she will never survive it: then be persuaded, or I shall 
 think you the greatest fool in the world.. What an honour 
 will it be to have the love-of such a lady! Consider how 
 greatly you are obliged to fortune: she offers you a most 
 beautiful woman, and a refuge from your necessities. Who 
 will be happier than yourself, if you be wise? Do but 
 represent to yourself whatever an ambitious heart can 
 desire ; all will be yours. Open then your understanding 
 to my words, and remember that fortune is wont to come 
 once in our lives to us with cheerful looks, and her lap full 
 of favours; if we turn our backs on her at that time, we 
 may thank ourselves should we be poor and miserable ail 
 the rest of our days. You talk of honour and fidelity: 
 there is something indeed in that plea among friends: but, 
 with regard to servants, in such a case, they may do just as 
 their masters would behave to them. Can you imagine, had 
 you a wife, daughter, or sister, that our master fancied, that 
 he would stand on such nice terms of duty, and all that, as 
 you now do to his wife? You can never be so foolish, 
 but you must believe that, if persuasion was ineffectual, he 
 would make use of force. Let us serve them, therefore, as 
 they would serve us; make use of fortune’s kind offer in 
 your favour: for, depend upon it, setting aside the consider- 
 ation of what may happen through your refusal to the lady, 
 if you do not, you will repent the longest day you have to 
 live.”. Pyrrhus, who had made several reflections on what 
 she had said before to him, and had resolved to make a 
 different reply if ever she came again, being now not averse 
 to the thing provided he could be assured she was in ear- 
 nest, made answer, ‘‘ Lusca, this is all true, I confess, but yet 
 
370 THE DECAMERON 
 
 as my lord is a very wise and: provident person, and, as ] 
 am entrusted: with the. management of all his affairs, I am 
 afraid that my lady only does this to try me: three things 
 then there are that I require of her for my own conviction, 
 after which I will obey all her commands. The first is, that 
 she kill my lord’s favourite hawk before his face; the second, 
 that she send mea lock of his beard ; and the third, one of 
 his soundest and best teeth.” These seemed very hard con- 
 ditions to the maid, and more so to the mistress ; but love, 
 who is a good comforter as well as counsellor, soon made 
 her resolve. Accordingly, she sent him word, by the same 
 person, that all three should be done. And further, that, 
 as he had such an opinion of his:lord’s wisdom, she would 
 also undertake to make him not believe his own, eyes. 
 Pyrrhus then waited to see what course she meant to take. 
 In a few days, therefore, Nicostratus having prepared a 
 great entertainment, as he used frequently to: do, just as 
 the cloth was taken away, she came into the hall richly 
 dressed, and there, in the presence of Pyrrhus and the 
 whole company, went to the perch where the hawk was, 
 and unloosed him, as if she had a mind to take him upon 
 her hand, when taking him by the jesses, she dashed his 
 brains out against the wall. And while Nicostratus was 
 crying out, ‘Alas! my-dear, what have you done?” she 
 took no notice, but:turned to the people, and said, I should 
 scarcely revenge myself of a king that was to do me an 
 injury, if I wanted courage to wreak. myself on a paltry 
 hawk. You must know, that this bird has deprived me of 
 all the pleasure I should have from my husband: for, by 
 break of day he is up, and on horseback, after his favourite 
 diversion, whilst I am left all alone, and neglected: for 
 which reason I have long taken a resolution to do this 
 thing, and only waited for an opportunity to have so many 
 equitable judges present, as I take you to be.” 
 
 The gentlemen, supposing her affection to Nicostratus 
 to be as fervent as her words seemed to declare, laughed 
 heartily ; and, turning to Nicostratus, who seemed a good 
 deal disturbed, they. said, ‘“‘She, has done very well in 
 taking her revenge upon this hawk;” and, after a. little 
 raillery, changed his resentment into a fit of laughter. 
 
SEVENTH DAY 371 
 
 Pyrrhus upon seeing this said to himself, ‘‘She has made a 
 noble beginning, Heaven grant that she may persevere !” 
 —The hawk being thus despatched, it was not long 
 before she happened to be toying with her husband in 
 the chamber, whilst he, pulling her gently by the hair, 
 gave occasion for her to put Pyrrhus’s second command in 
 execution : when taking hold of a little lock of his beard, 
 and laughing heartily at the same time, she pulled so hard 
 that it brought the skin ‘and all away together. He grew 
 very peevish at this, and was going to quarrel with her; 
 when she said, “‘ You make an angry face, truly, because I 
 plucked a hair or two off your beard ; you were not sensible 
 what I suffered when you pulled me by the hair just now.” 
 So, continuing their play from one word to another, she took 
 care of the tuft of his beard, and sent it that very day to het 
 lover. She was more perplexed about the last thing; but, 
 having an enterprising genius, which was rendered more so 
 by love, she soon resolved on what means to use to bring 
 that about. And, as Nicostratus had two youths in his 
 house, given him by their fathers, who were gentlemen, in 
 order to learn good breeding, one of whom carved his 
 victuals whilst the other filled out the wine, she made them 
 both believe one day that their breath was very offensive ; 
 and she taught them, when they waited upon Nicostratus, 
 to turn their heads on one side always, but never to speak of 
 it to any person. This they believed, and did as they were 
 directed. One day she said to him, “Did you ever take 
 notice of your pages’ behaviour when they wait upon you ?” 
 —‘* Yes,” said he, ‘I have, and have been often going to ask 
 them the reason.”—‘* Then,” she replied, ‘you may spare 
 yourself that trouble, for I can tell you. I have kept it some 
 time from you, for fear of disobliging you; but, now I see 
 other people take notice of it, I can conceal it no longer. 
 It is then because you have a stinking breath; I know not 
 what the cause may be, for it did not use to be so; but it 
 is a most grievous thing, as you keep a great deal of com- 
 pany: therefore I would have you take some method or 
 other to get rid of it.”——‘‘ What,” said Nicostratus, ‘can it be 
 owing to? Have I a foul tooth in my head?” She replied, 
 “Perhaps you have ;” and, taking him to the window, she 
 
372 THE DECAMERON = 
 
 made him open his mouth, and after looking carefully in 
 every part, she said, ‘‘Oh, my dear! How could you bear 
 with it so long? Here is a tooth which seems not only 
 rotten, but entirely consumed ; and if you keep it any longer 
 in your mouth, will certainly decay all on the same side: I 
 advise you then to have it out before it goes any further.” — 
 ** As you think so,” quoth he, ‘‘and I approve of it too, send 
 instantly for an operator to draw it out.”—‘‘ Tell me of no 
 operator,” said she; “I will never agree to that; it seems 
 to stand in such a manner that I think I could do it myself: 
 besides, those fellows are so barbarous upon those occasions, 
 that my heart could never bear to have you under their hands. 
 Therefore I will try to do it myself; and, if it gives you too 
 much pain, I will let you go again, which those people will 
 never do.” Getting now an instrument for that purpose, and 
 sending every one out of the room, excepting her favourite 
 maid, she seated him upon a stool, and laying hold of a 
 tooth whilst the other kept him fast down, she put him to 
 most intolerable pain, and at length drew it out by main 
 force: then keeping the tooth, and producing a rotten one 
 which she had ready in her hand, she said: to the poor 
 ran, who was almost dead,.‘‘See here what it was you had 
 in your mouth!” and he, believing it to be so, though he 
 had felt the most exquisite torture; and complained much 
 of her harsh way of doing it, as it was out, thought himself 
 cured ; and having taken some good comfortable things, the 
 pain abated, and he went out of the chamber. The tooth she 
 immediately sent to her lover, who, being now convinced 
 of her love, held himself in readiness to obey her com- 
 mands. But she, willing to give him some further assur- 
 ance, and thinking every hour an age till she could be 
 with him, feigned herself to be very ill; and her husband 
 coming one day after dinner to see her and nobody with 
 him but Pyrrhus, she desired that, by way of ease to her 
 malady, they would take her into the garden. Accordingly 
 Nicostratus took hold of one arm and Pyrrhus the other, 
 and leading her thither, laid her on a grass plat under 4 
 pear-tree: and sitting down by her, she, who had before 
 instructed him what to do, said to Pyrrhus, “I have a 
 great desire to have some of those pears; do you climb up 
 
SEVENTH DAY 3 
 
 
 
 up, and as he was throwing down some of the pears, h 
 
 began to call out, “‘So! what are you doing there below’. 
 
 np, 
 Do you think I am blind? I find, madam, you are soon 
 
 recovered after your fit of sickness. You had better take 
 those liberties elsewhere.” The lady turned to her husband, 
 and said, ‘‘ What is Pyrrhus talking of? He is in a dream, 
 surely.”—‘‘ No, madam,” quoth he, ‘I am in no dream. 
 What? did you think I could not see you?” Nicostratus 
 wondered, and said, ‘‘Surely, Pyrrhus, you are raving.”— 
 ‘No, sir,” he replied, ‘‘I am very confident I saw you so 
 and so together.” Quoth the lady, ‘What can be the 
 meaning of this? Were I well enough, I would actually 
 go\into the tree myself to behold the strange things that he 
 talks of seeing from thence.” Pyrrhus still continued in the 
 same story, when Nicostratus desired him to come down, 
 and asked him what it was he really saw? Pyrrhus replied, 
 “YT thought I saw you billing and cooing, which, though 
 innocent enough between husband and wife, should never 
 be practised in public.”—“t The man is out of his wits,” 
 quoth Nicostratus; ‘we neither of us so much as stirred 
 from the place where we were. sitting.”—‘‘Then,” said 
 Pyrrhus, ‘‘I tell you I saw it.” Nicostratus was now more 
 and more surprised, and said, “I will see whether this tree 
 be enchanted or not:” and as he was mounting up into the 
 tree, Pyrrhus and the lady became very loving. Nicostratus, 
 seeing this, began to call out, “‘Oh! thou vile woman! what 
 art thou doing there? and that rascal, Pyrrhus, in whom | 
 put all my confidence?” And, with these words, he made 
 all possible haste down, when the lady and Pyrrhus both 
 said, ‘‘ We were sitting here all the time just as you left us” 
 —However, he seemed to be in a violent passion, whilst 
 Pyrrhus said to him, ‘ Now, sir, I am convinced that I saw 
 falsely myself, as yours is the same case; for I can be posi- 
 tive that you were mistaken. Do but reason with yourself: 
 can it be supposed that your lady, who is the most virtuous 
 and prudent of all others, should ever attempt to do such a 
 thing before your very face? And, for my own part, I would 
 be cut limb from limb before I would ever entertain such a 
 thought, much less do so in your presence.”——“ The fault, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
THE DECAMERON 
 
 |,in this mistaken appearance must proceed from the 
 
 F for all the world could never have convinced me but 
 
 t I saw you and my lady together in the same manner, 
 
 I had not heard from yourself that we appeared so to 
 uu.” On this she said, with a good deal of warmth, “Do 
 du think, were I so loosely given, that I should be such a 
 y0l as to do these things before your eyes? No, there are 
 satire enough, without your being ever the wiser.” 
 (tle ong believing at last what they both said, came 
 ito a little better temper, and began to talk of the novelty, 
 nd wonder at the thing; whilst the lady, who seemed 
 oncerned for the ill opinion he had received concerning 
 er, added, “ Most certainly, this tree shall never occasion 
 ny more scandal either to me or any other woman, if I 
 
 an help it: run, therefore, Pyrrhus, for an axe, and cut it 
 
 lown, in regard to us both; though the axe might be as 
 vell employed upon my husband’s weak noddle for believ- 
 ng his own eyes in acase so repugnant both to common- 
 ‘ense and reason.” The axe was then brought and the 
 ‘ree cut down, upon which she said to Nicostratus, ‘* My 
 wrath is over now I see my honour’s adversary thus de- 
 molished.” And he having begged her pardon, she freely 
 forgave him, charging him for the future never to presume 
 such a thing of her, who loved him dearer than her own 
 life. Thus the poor deluded husband returned with his 
 wife and Pyrrhus into the house, where nothing now pre- 
 vented the latter from accomplishing all their wishes. 
 
 | 
 | 
 
 NOVEL X 
 
 Two inhabitants of Siena love the same woman, one of whom was goa- 
 father to her son. This man dies, and returns, according to hts 
 promise, to his friend, and gives him an account of what ts done in 
 the other world. 
 
 ‘THERE was only the king now left to speak; who, after 
 ‘quieting the ladies, who were under some concern for the 
 cutting down of the pear-tree, began as follows :—It is a 
 plain case, that every just prince ought himself to be tied 
 
SEVENTH DAY 375 Bee 
 down by the laws of his own making; and that, if he acts — 
 otherwise, he should be punished as a private person: now 
 I am forced to fall under this very censure, for yesterday I 
 gave you a subject for this day’s discourse, with no design © 
 of making use of my privilege, but to conform with the 
 rest, and speak to it myself. Whereas, besides taking the 
 very story from me which I meant to have given, there 
 _has been such a variety of incidents related to the same 
 effect, and well told, that I can think of nothing myself 
 worth troubling you with, afterthem. Therefore,as lam  — 
 under the necessity of transgressing against my own law, J 
 submit to any punishment you shall pleasetoinflictupon me. 
 So, having recourse to my privilege at last, I shall relatea 
 short novel; which, though it contains somethings which we 
 are not to credit, may not be disagreeable for youto hear. 
 
 There were, some time since, two young men of Siena, 
 the one named Tingoccio Mini, and the other Meuccio di 
 Tura, who dwelt in the Porta Solaia, and were very inti- 
 mate. They used, therefore, to go to church together,  __ 
 when hearing much of the pleasures and pains of a future 
 state, and being desirous of knowing something more 
 certain on that head, they promised each other, that 
 whichever died first should return, if it was possible, tc 
 inform his friend. In the meantime, they happened both 
 to fall in love with the lady of Ambruogio Anselmini, = 
 This, how great soever their friendship was, they kept from 
 each other, though for different reasons. Tingoccio had 
 been godfather to one of her children; and being in a 
 measure ashamed of such gallantry, he concealed it from 
 his friend. On the other part, Meuccio kept his love a 
 secret, because he knew the other liked her as well as 
 himself. At length Tingoccio, as he had more oppor- 
 tunities than his friend, happened to succeed. This was 
 a great mortification to Meuccio, who still lived in hopes 
 of gaining his point some time or other; and seemed, 
 therefore, to know nothing of the matter, lest Tingoccio 
 should thwart his designs. Some time after this, Tin- 
 goccio was taken ill, and died: and the third night after- 
 wards, he came into Meuccio’s chamber, who was fast 
 asleep, and called aloud to him. Meuccio awoke, and said 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
376 THE DECAMERON 
 
 “What art thou?” He replied, I am thy friend Tin- 
 goecio, who am come, according to our agreement, to bring 
 hee tidings of the other world.” Meuccio was consider- 
 ably terrified at this, but taking courage at last, he said, 
 ‘Thou art welcome.” And then he asked him whether 
 he-was a lost person? Tingoccio made answer, “ Those 
 things only are lost which cannot be found; and if that 
 was my case, how should I be here?”—‘‘ I mean not so,” 
 quoth Meuccio ; “but what I ask is, whether you be one 
 pf the damned ?”—*‘ Not so,” said he; ‘‘but yet I suffer 
 sreat pains for some sins which I committed.” He 
 hen inquired what punishment was inflicted for every 
 ‘ingle sin; and Tingoccio resolved him fully in each 
 particular. Asking him further, if he could do him any 
 jervice here, Tingoccio answered, “Yes; namely, by say- 
 ng prayers and masses, and giving alms: for those things 
 we of great benefit to the deceased.” This Meuccio pro- 
 hised to do; and as the ghost was offering to depart, he 
 aised himself up, and said, :‘*I remember, my friend, that 
 ow had an affair with such a lady: pray what’ is done to 
 ou on that account ?”—“ Oh, brother,” he replied, “when 
 first arrived in the other world, I met with a ghost who 
 ethied to have all my sins by heart, and who ordered me 
 > go into a certain place, where I was to do penance for 
 nem, and where I found a great many people who were 
 ent thither upon the same score. And being among them, 
 nd calling to mind that particular crime you now mention, 
 r which I expected some very great punishment, I was all 
 ver in a tremble, although in the midst of a great fire. 
 ‘hen one that stood by me said, ‘Pray, what hast thou 
 he more than any one else, that thou quakest to this 
 bgree in so hot a place ?’-— Alas!’ I replied, ‘I had 
 : do with my godson’s rmother.’—‘Go, thou fool,’ said 
 », ‘is there any relationship in that, to make the crime 
 orse?’ This gave me some comfort. ” Afterwards, it 
 sing near daybreak, he said to his friend, ‘‘ Farewell, for 
 can stay no longer with you;” so vanished out of the 
 im. Thus Meuccio was convinced that that sort of 
 -ndred was of no consequence, and was less scrupulous 
 ian he used to be in such cases for the time to come. 
 
 | 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
SEVENTH DAY 377 
 
 The west wind began now to breathe, as the sun grew 
 near his setting; when the king, having concluded his 
 novel, arose, and taking the crown from his own head, 
 placed it upon Lauretta’s, saying, ‘‘ Madam, I crown you 
 with your own crown, as queen of this company; do you, 
 as such, command what you think will be most agreeable 
 to us all.” Lauretta, being now queen, sent to the master 
 of the household, and ordered him to have the cloth laid 
 in the pleasant valley sooner than usual, that they might 
 return afterwards with more ease to the palace. Then 
 directing what she would further have done, she turned to 
 the company, and said, “It was Dioneus’s will, yesterday, 
 that our novels should be concerning the devices and tricks 
 which women put upon their husbands; and was it not 
 that you would think I had malice in my heart, my subject 
 for to-morrow should be the manner of men’s imposing 
 upon their wives. But setting this aside, let every one 
 think of the stratagems which. are in daily practice of the 
 women to the men, or of the men to the women; or, lastly, 
 of one man to another; and this, I think, will afford as 
 agreeable matter for discourse. as what we have had to-day.” 
 Here she gave them their liberty till supper-time. The 
 company then arose, and whilst some went to wash their 
 feet in the cool stream, others took a walk upon-the green 
 turf, under the cover of the spreading trees, and Dioneus 
 and Flammetta sat singing together the song of Palamon 
 and Arcite. Thus all were agreeably employed till supper ; 
 when the tables being set forth by the side of the basin, 
 they sat down to the music of a thousand birds, and their 
 faces fanned all the time with cool, refreshing breezes, 
 coming from the little hills around them, they supped with 
 the utmost mirth and satisfaction. Taking a walk after- 
 wards round the valley, before the sun was quite set, they 
 began their march back to the palace, talking all the way of 
 a thousand different things, which had either occurred in 
 this day’s discourse, or the preceding, and arrived there as 
 it grew dark. Refreshing themselves after their walk with 
 wine and sweetmeats, they indulged in a dance by the side 
 of the fountain; sometimes, for variety, to the sound of 
 Tindarus’s bagpipe, and sometimes to other more musical 
 
378 THE DECAMERON 
 
 instruments. At length the queen called wii Philomena 
 for a song, who thus obeyed :— 
 
 SONG 
 
 I 
 
 Such my desire to meet my love, 
 That I with eager transport fly3 
 But why your long unkind delay? 
 Tell me, my swain, O tell me why. > 
 
 A 
 The joys T from your converse feel 
 No pow’r of language can express ; 
 
 Whilst your commanding smiles and voice 
 Conspire with mutual aid to bless. 
 
 III 
 
 Say then, my life ! when shall we meet, 
 And former vows of love renew? 
 
 Soon come the time, be long your stay 3 
 For all my wishes point to you, 
 
 IV 
 
 I'll hold you fast, when fortune thus 
 Auspicious crowns my fond desires 3 
 
 Then haste, fly quick to my embrace ; 
 That pleasing hope my song inspires, 
 
 This song made them all conclude that Philomena was 
 subject to the little. god; and, by her manner of expressing 
 herself, her passion seemed to be in a fair and prosperous 
 way: but when it was ended, the queen, remembering that 
 the next day. was a fast, said, ‘‘Gentlemen and ladies, I 
 must let you know, that to-morrow, being Friday, it is to 
 be observed as holy; for you may remember, that when 
 Neiphile was queen, we waived our diversions on that day, 
 and so wefdid on Saturday. Therefore I think it proper 
 to follow so laudable an example, and to: dedicate those 
 two days to our devotions.” | This was agreeable to the 
 whole company; and a good part of the night being now 
 spent, she dismissed them,’ and they retired to their re- 
 spective chambers. . . 
 
THE EIGHTH, DAY 
 
 THE rays of the rising sun began now to gild the tops of 
 the highest mountains, and the shade of the night was 
 withdrawn from the earth, when the queen and all her 
 company. arose on Sunday morning, and, after taking a 
 pleasant walk along the meadows, they went, about the 
 third hour, to a neighbouring chapel, where they heard 
 Divine service. Returning to the house, and dining cheer- 
 fully, they afterwards began to sing and dance as usual: 
 when leave was given to such as wished to repose them- 
 selves. After the sun had passed the meridian, they all 
 met again by the fountain-side, and being seated, Neiphile, 
 by the queen’s command, thus commenced :— 
 
 NOVEL I 
 
 Gulfardo borrows a sum of money of Guasparruolo, in order to give it 
 his wife for granting him a favour; he afterwards tells Guas- 
 parruolo, whilst she was present, that he kad paid it to her, which 
 
 she acknowledges to be true, 
 
 SEEING it is my fortune to begin to-day with a novel, I 
 am content to obey: and, as we have heard much of the 
 women overreaching the men, I have a mind to tell you of 
 a man’s being too cunning for a woman: not that I mean 
 to blame him for it, or to say that she was not rightly 
 served. No, I rather commend him, and think she met 
 with no more than her due. Ido it-also to show that the 
 men know how to deceive us upon occasion, as well as we 
 do to impose upon them : though, to speak more properly, 
 this cannot be called deceiving, so much as making a 
 deserved return; for a woman ought to be virtuous and 
 chaste, and to hold her honour as dear as her life: and 
 370 by 
 
380 THE DECAMERON 
 
 though our frailty is such that we cannot always be upon 
 our guard, yet I think that woman ought to be burned who 
 makes a trade of love. But where the little god takes 
 the field, whose force you know is very great, some grains 
 of allowance should be made, as was shown a few days 
 since by Philostratus, in the story of Madam Philippi di 
 Prato. 
 
 There lived at Milan a soldier, who was a German, and 
 his name was Gulfardo; one of a good person, and very 
 trusty to such as retained him in their service, as the 
 Germans generally are; and, because he was always very 
 punctual in his payments, he found a great many mer- 
 chants ready at any time to lend him any sum, for a very 
 small profit. Nowhe had placed his affections on a lady 
 called Ambruogia, wife to a certain rich merchant, named 
 Guasparruolo, who was his old friend and acquaintance. 
 Conducting this affair with such caution that neither the 
 husband nor any one else had the least suspicion about it, 
 he took an opportunity one day of declaring his mind to 
 her, when she promised to comply upon two conditions ; 
 first, that it should be kept secret; and, secondly, as she 
 had occasion for two hundred florins of gold, that he 
 should supply her with that sum. Gulfardo was so pro- 
 voked at this sordidness, that his love was changed into 
 rage and contempt; and he resolved, therefore, to put a 
 trick upon her. Accordingly he let her know that he was 
 ready at all times to do that or anything else which she 
 desired, and that she should send him word when she 
 would have him wait upon her with the money, promising 
 to bring only one friend, in whom he put entire con- 
 fidence, and who was his companion on all occasions. 
 She was content, giving him to understand that her hus- 
 band was to set out in a few days for Genoa, and that, as 
 soon as he was gone, she would take care to send for him. 
 In the meantime, Gulfardo went to Guasparruolo, and 
 said, “Sir, I have an affair of consequence upon my hands, 
 which requires me to raise two hundred florins of gold; 
 if you will advance that sum, I will allow you the utmost 
 gratuity.” Guasparruolo readily agreed to it, and told 
 him out the money. In a few days after he set out for 
 
EIGHTH DAY 381 
 
 Genoa, as the lady had said, who immediately sent word 
 to Gulfardo to come, and bring the two hundred florins. 
 Obedient to the command, he took his friend along with 
 him, and went to her house, when the first thing he did 
 was to give her the money before this person, saying, 
 ‘Madam, you will keep this, and give it to your husband 
 when he returns.” She received it, never thinking why 
 he spoke to her in that manner, but supposing it was 
 because he would have his friend to know nothing of 
 the matter, and replied, “I will; but first let me see 
 what money there is.” So she turned it out upon the 
 table, and found there were just two hundred florins ; 
 when, locking it up with a secret satisfaction, she came 
 and showed him into the chamber. And he continued 
 his visits to her during her husband’s absence at Genoa. 
 On his return, he went again to the house, and finding 
 him with her, he said in her hearing, ‘‘Sir, the money you 
 were so kind as to lend me was of no service, because 
 I could not compass the thing on the account of which 
 I borrowed it: therefore I brought it back immediately to 
 your wife. Please then to cancel my account.” Guaspar- 
 ruolo turned to her, and inquired whether she had received 
 the money? She, seeing the witness present, and not 
 knowing how to deny it, said, ‘‘ Yes, I received it, and 
 forgot to tell you.”—“ Then,” he replied, ‘I am satisfied ; 
 farewell—your account is clear.” Gulfardo withdrew, well 
 pleased, leaving the lady full of indignation, defeated and 
 despised. . 
 
 NOVEL II 
 
 The parson of Varlungo receives favours from a woman of his parish, 
 and leaves his cloak in pawn for them. He afterwards borrows a 
 mortar of her, which he returns, and demands his cloak, which he 
 says he left only as @ token. She mutinies, but is forced by her 
 husband to send it. 
 
 Wuery all thought that Gulfardo had served the sordid 
 Milanese lady very justly, when the queen turned with a 
 smile towards Pamphilus, and desired him to follow :— 
 
 I mean, said he, to relate a short story, touching those 
 *people who are continually doing us injuries, without our 
 
382 THE DECAMERON 
 
 being able to come at them, in the same manner at least 
 as we are affected; I mean the priests, who set up their 
 standard, and publishing a general crusade against our 
 wives, thinking, when once they bring any of them under 
 their subjection, that they have done as meritorious an 
 action as if they led the sultan captive from’ Alexan- 
 dria to Avignon. Now we of the laity cannot return the 
 like to them, though we should do well to revenge what is 
 done to our wives, with as good a will, upon their mothers, 
 sisters, and other relations. » I will tell you, therefore, of a 
 country amour, more diverting, in the conclusion especi- 
 ally, than long; by which you may reap the benefit of 
 learning that those people are not always to be regarded. 
 At Varlungo, a village not far from this place, lived a 
 young healthful priest, who, though not very expert at 
 reading, yet was he used to hold forth under an elm-tree 
 every Sunday, regaling the people there with many good 
 and holy discourses. And as to the women, no priest 
 ever gave them better attendance, for he was daily carrying 
 them presents of cake, holy-water, and candle ends, when 
 he would also give them his blessing. Among all his 
 parishioners, none pleased him so wellas a good woman, 
 called Belcolore, wife to a certain labourer, whose name 
 was Bentivegna del Mazzo: she, in truth, was a tight, 
 handsome, brown woman, and could sing, and play upon 
 the virginals, or lead up a dance as well as any lass in the 
 country; so that our priest was almost out of his wits 
 about her. All day long would he go sauntering about 
 to get a sight of her, and on Sunday, when she was at 
 prayers, he would quaver out his Kyries and his Sanctuses, 
 like an ass that was braying, to let her see that he was 
 a master of music; but if she happened not to be there, 
 he made no such stir; and yet he managed so, that neither 
 the husband nor any of the neighbours perceivedit. The 
 better to gain her favour, he was every now and then 
 sending her presents: one day a bunch of leeks, thg 
 finest in the country, out of his own garden, tilled with his 
 own hands; another time a basket of peas, and onions 
 or scallions, as the season served. And, when he saw an 
 opportunity, he would give her a glance or two from thg 
 
EIGHTH DAY 383 
 
 corner of his eye, whilst she seemed all the time not to 
 take his meaning ; so’ that, hitherto, it was all labour lost. 
 Now one day it happened, as he was idling about, that ‘he 
 met the husband, who was driving an ass laden before 
 him, when he accosted him, and asked whither he was 
 going?’ “Why truly, father,” he replied, “I am: going 
 about some business to the city, and I carry these things 
 aS a present to Signor Bonacorri da Ginestreto, for him to 
 enter an appearance for me, and to stand my friend in a 
 cause that I have before the judge.” The priest seemed 
 pleased, and said, “Son, you are in the right: go, you 
 have my blessing, and make haste home; and if. you 
 should see Lapuccio or Naldino, do not. forget to tell 
 them to bring home my leathern’ straps.” The honest 
 man promised to take care of his errand, and so went on 
 .owards Florence, whilst the priest thought this a fit oppor- 
 tunity to go to the wife, to try what he could do with her. 
 Accordingly, he made no stop till he came hither, and 
 entering into the house, he called out, God bless you ali 
 here; who is within?” SBelcolore was gone upstairs, and 
 when she heard him, she said, “You are welcome, sir; 
 but what are you doing abroad in the very heat of the day ?” 
 The priest replied, ‘‘ Iam come to spend. a little time with 
 you, finding that your husband is gone to the city.” 
 
 She then came and'sat down, and began to pick some 
 cole-seed, which. her’ husband. had: just “been threshing, 
 when he saidy ‘Ah, Belcolore! must I always die: for 
 
 you in this manner?” She laughed, and replied, ‘‘ Pray . 
 
 what harm have I done you ?”—‘ You have done nothing 
 to me,” answered he, “‘ but you will not’suffer me to press 
 you.”—""Go, go,” quoth she, ‘what! do priests then mind 
 such things?”——‘‘ Why not,” quoth he, ‘‘as well as other 
 people? ”—“ Well, ‘but what will you give me?” said she, 
 ‘for J know you are all as covetous as the devil.”—‘ Why, 
 ask what you will,” he replied, ‘a pair of shoes, or a top- 
 eer: or a girdle, or anything else that you like.”?— 
 ‘‘Father,” answered she, “I want none of: those things, 
 but if you love me as you say, do one thing for me, and 
 I will consent.”——“ Say what it is,’ quoth the priest, ‘and 
 lg assured I will do it most willingly.”—-“ On Saturday, 
 
Th 84 THE DECAMERON 
 
 then,” she said, “I must go to Florence to carry some 
 yarn home, which I have spun, and to get my wheel 
 mended, and if you will lend me five pounds, which I 
 _know you have, I can redeem from the broker my best 
 _gown and petticoat which I have been forced to pawn, 
 _and for want of which I am not able to appear upon any 
 Saint's day, and you will then find me always ready to oblige 
 _ you.”—‘‘As I hope for a good harvest,” quoth the priest, 
 \ “TI have not so much about me, but I will take care you 
 shall have it before that time.”—‘I.know you all,” she 
 replied, ““to be good promisers, and that you never think 
 _ of performing what you say. No, I will make no such 
 bargains. If you have not the money in your pocket, 
 go and fetch it.”’—‘ Alas!” quoth the priest, ‘ never 
 send me home at this time; you see there is nobody 
 here now, perhaps when I return there may; so that 
 we can never have a better opportunity.”—‘“ Very well,” 
 said she, “you know my. resolution, either bring the 
 money or else go about your business.” The: priest, per- 
 ceiving that her intention was not to comply without a 
 salvum me fac, whereas he was for having it sine custodtia, 
 said, ‘‘Seeing you will not take my word, behold I leave 
 you this cloak as a pledge.”—‘‘ The cloak!” quoth she; 
 “pray what is it worth?” — “Worth!” answered the 
 priest; “I would have you to know that it is made of 
 a fine serge; nay, there are some of our people that call 
 it a broad cloth; I bought it fifteen days ago only, of 
 Otto, the fripperer, and it cost me seven pounds; and 
 Bugglietto tells me, whom you will allow to be a judge, 
 that I got five shillings at least by the bargain. MW Ay | 
 did it stand you in so much?” said she; ‘I could never 
 have thought it; but give it me first.” He obeyed, and 
 was afterwards forced to slink home in his cassock, when 
 he began to repent of what he had done; and, considering 
 with himself that all his vails and offerings for the whole 
 year would not amount to five pounds, he was contrivgag 
 how to get it back for nothing, when he thought of the 
 following stratagem. The next day, being holiday, he 
 sent a boy to her house, desiring her to lend him a stone 
 mortar, adding that he had two neighbours to dine with 
 
 
 
 \ 
 
 
 
EIGHTH DAY 385 
 
 him, #00 »o- intended to make them some green sauce. 
 This $he sent; and about dinner time, when he expected 
 that she sod her husband would be set down together, he 
 called »'s clerk and said, ‘‘ Do.you go and take this mortar 
 to Belco'ore, telling her that your master gives her many 
 thanks, arc desires she would send the cloak which he left 
 
 by way of token.” The clerk carried the mortar and found 
 them at table, having just dined, when he delivered his 
 message. She, hearing him demand the cloak, was going 
 to make a reply, but the husband put on an angry look 
 and said, “‘How came you to,take any token from our 
 priest? I have a good mind to box your ears for so doing. 
 Return it, 1 say, directly, and let him want what he will of 
 ours, I charge you never to say him nay.” Upon this she 
 went grumbling to the press for it, and giving it to the 
 clerk she said: ‘‘ Tell your master, the priest, that I say he 
 must expect no more favours from me.” The clerk de- 
 livered it with those very words, upon which the priest 
 laughed, and said, ‘‘When you see her, you may tell her 
 that I desire none at any such rate.” Now the husband 
 imagined that she had spoken in that manner because he 
 had just been quarrelling with her, for which reason he was 
 under no concern about it. But she continued so pro- 
 voked that she would never speak to the priest from 
 that time till. the time of the vintage, when, after she had 
 long threatened to send him to the devil, he found means 
 to pacify her at last with some new wine and chestnuts; 
 and, instead of the five pounds, he tuned her virginals for 
 her ‘and made her a song, which so contented her that they 
 became as good friends as ever. 
 
 NOVEL III 
 
 Calandrino, Bruno, and Buffalmacco go to Mugnone to look for the 
 fleliotrope ; and Calandrino returns laden with stones, supposing 
 that he had found tt. Upon this his wife scolds him, and he beats 
 
 ® her for it; and then tells his companions what. thev knew better 
 than himself. 
 
 THE ladies laughed immoderately at Pamphilus’s novel, when 
 
 the queen turned to Eliza, who began in this manner :— 
 
 @ do not know whether I shall be able to divert you as 
 
 N 
 
386 _ THE DECAMERON 
 
 much with my short novel, though it be true’ as well as 
 comical: but yet I will try. 
 
 In our city, abounding always: with people of different 
 tempers and nations,'there:dwelt not long sincé a painter 
 called Calandrino, a simple sort of man and one that: dealt 
 much in novelties; he was often in company with two of 
 the same profession, the one named Bruno and the ‘other 
 Buffalmacco, both facetious, merry persons, though other- 
 wise subtle enough; and they liked to be with this man 
 on account of his oddities. There lived also in the same 
 city the most agreeable and artful young man in everything 
 he undertook that could be; called Maso del Saggio, who, 
 hearing much of Calandrino’s simplicity, wanted to divert 
 himself at his expense by imposing some monstrous story 
 upon him, as a thing very strange and uncommon. And 
 finding him by chance one day in St. John’s-Church, and 
 observing him very attentive in looking on the carved work 
 and painting of the: Tabernacle, which was just put over 
 the high altar, he thought he had now such an opportunity 
 as he wanted: and acquainting one of his friends with it, 
 they came near to the place where he was sitting by him- 
 self, and pretending not to see him, began to’ reason 
 together upon the virtues of different stones, whilst Maso 
 seemed to talk as well upon the subject as though he had 
 been a professional lapidary./ Calandrino soon began’ to 
 listen to this, and finding they had no particular business 
 he got up and joined them. This was what the other 
 wanted; and as he was. going on with his discourse, 
 Calandrino asked him: where these stones were to ‘be 
 found? Maso replied, ‘‘The greatest part are to ‘be’ met 
 with in Berlinzone, near the city’of Baschi, in a country 
 called Bengodi, where they tie the vines with sausages, 
 and you may buy a goose for a penny and have the 
 Sapa into the bargain ; where there is also a fountain 
 of grated Parmesan cheese, and the people that are upon 
 it do nothing else but make cheese-cakes and mackaro 
 which they boil in capon-broth, and keep constantly throw- 
 ing down from thence, when those that can catch most 
 have most: and there isa river too of the best Malmsey 
 wine that ever was tasted, without one drop of wategy’ 4 
 
 
 
EIGHTH DAY 38) 
 
 ‘*Surely,” says Calandrino, “that must be a fine country 
 indeed! what becomes of the capons after they are 
 boiled?” “Oh,” quoth the other, “the people there eat 
 them.” ‘‘Then,” said Calandrino, “was you ever there?” 
 Maso replied, ‘‘ Was*I ever there, do you say? If I have 
 been there once I have been a thousand times.” Quoth 
 Calandrino, ‘And: how many miles is it off?” He replied, 
 ‘Many thousands.” ‘ Then,” said Calandrino, ‘is’ it 
 farther off than the Abruzzi?” “But a trifle,” said the 
 other... Whilst’ Calandrino, observing that he had told all 
 this whole tale without changing countenance or so much 
 as a smile, held it all for truth; and’ he added, “ Believe 
 me, sir, the journey is too great, or else I should like ‘to 
 go and scramble for those matktroons. \ But are none of 
 the precious stones you are speaking of in that country?” 
 Maso replied, ‘Two there are which are found to be of 
 great virtue: one of these, which comes from Montisci, 
 they make into mill-stones, which will produce flour of 
 themselves. Whence they have a saying, 7hat grace comes 
 from God and mill-stones from Montisci ; such plenty there , 
 is of them, and yet they are as lightly esteemed among us 
 as emeralds are there, of which they have whole mountains, 
 that shine®gloriously all night long. Now these mill-stones 
 they set in rings and send to the Sultan ; who gives them 
 in return whatever they ask for them. ‘The other stone is 
 what we call the Heliotrope, which renders those that have 
 it invisible.” ‘* That,” said Calandrino, “is a rare virtue 
 
 indeed! But where is © © s'one to be found?” Maso 
 replied, “It is usually h upon our plains of Mug- 
 none.” Quoth the ot! what size.and colour then 
 is it?” ~Said Maso, “ are of different sizes, but all 
 of a blackish hue.” Co ino took care to remember all 
 he had. heard, and pr “ag to have other business, he 
 went away with a des ~» © going to seek for this stone; 
 but first he had a mr consult his two friends, and he 
 
 tall that mornir: © ©:eking after them. But hearing 
 ‘at last that they wer’ © work in the monastery at Faenza, 
 he ran: thither, and » g them aside he said to them: 
 “If you will believe ic, -e have it now in our power to be 
 
 @ richest people i ‘lorence; for I am informed, by a 
 
388 THE DECAMERON 
 
 very credible person, that there is a stone in Mugnone 
 which makes those that carry it about thefa invisible:. 
 therefore I wish that we should go and look for it before 
 any one else finds it. We shall certainly meet with it, for 
 I know it very well; and when we have it, what have we 
 else to do but to put it in our pockets, and so-go to the 
 bankers’ shops, and carry away what money we please? 
 Nobody will see us, and we shall grow rich all at once, 
 without spending our whole lives in daubing walls.” » 
 
 Bruno and Buffalmacco were fit to burst with laughter, 
 yet they looked at each other with a kind of surprise, 
 and highly commended their friend’s wisdom. When 
 Buffalmacco asked what the name of it was, Calandrino, 
 having no great memory, had forgot that; therefore he 
 said, ‘‘What have we to do with names, so long as we 
 know the virtues? I think we should go look for it 
 immediately.” ‘*Then,” quoth Bruno, “what sort of stone 
 is it?” ‘They are of all sizes,” he replied, ‘but gene- 
 rally black ; therefore I am of opinion that we should pick 
 up all the black stones we see, till we meet with the true 
 one: so let us lose no time.” 
 
 “Very right,” quoth Bruno, “you talk mighty well; but 
 yet I do not think this is a fit time, for the sun is now very 
 hot, and shines forth with such lustre, that those stones 
 May appear whitish at present, which are black in a 
 morning: besides, many people are now abroad, who 
 seeing us employed in that manner, may gu at our 
 business, and perhaps get the stone before ie aad we 
 lose all our labour. So that we had better go about it 
 in the morning, when we.can more clearly distinguish 
 colours; and on a holiday, because there will be nobody 
 to see us.”” They agreed to go out then on Sunday 
 morning; and in the meantime he desired they would 
 speak of it to no one, because it had been told him as a 
 secret. He afterwards let them know what he had heard of 
 the country of Bengodi, swearing that every word was tyf™igh. 
 
 As soon as he was gone, they agreed, between them- 
 selves, what to do; whilst he\'was very impatient. till 
 Sunday came, when he arose by daybreak, and called upon 
 them; and going through St. Gallo’s Gate, they went ifffto 
 
 ; 5 
 
 
 
 
EIGHTH DAY 389. 
 
 the plains of Mugnone, and began to look for this stone. 
 Now Calan«rino stole along before the other two, skipping 
 from’ one place to another, where he saw anything of a 
 black stone, and put them all into his pockets. And 
 whilst his companions were picking up here and there 
 one, he had filled his pockets, bosom, and coat-skirts, 
 which he had tucked up for that purpose with his belt. 
 On this, they seeing him laden, and it being now dinner- 
 time, one said to the other, ‘‘Where is Calandrino?” TI 
 do not know,” quoth the other, “but he was here just 
 now.” ‘* Then,” said the first, ‘I suppose he is. gone home 
 to his dinner, and has left us here upon a fool’s errand.” 
 “We are rightly served,” replied the other, ‘‘for being so 
 
 weak as to believe him. Who but ourselves could ever _ 
 
 have thought of finding such sort of stones here?” 
 Calandrino, hearing what passed between them, took it 
 for granted that he had the true stone, and so was in- 
 visible: and being over and above rejoiced, he_resolved 
 to go home without speaking a word, leaving them to 
 
 follow if they would. Buffalmacco perceiving his intent, , 
 said to Bruno, ‘What must we do? Why do not we go/ 
 
 lik wise?” Bruno replied, “What should we stay any 
 lonzer for? But I vow and protest he shall put no more 
 tric ©: “pon me; and was he as near to me now as he has 
 be«n #!! this morning, I would give him such a knock on 
 the bee. with this pebble, that he should have cause to 
 rec ober it;” and as he was speaking the words, he hit 
 him a: 
 h 
 1 
 h 
 P 
 v 
 3 
 I 
 
 7 
 
 _ stroke which made him jump again; yet Calandrino 
 “is peace, and got along as fast as he could. Buffal- 
 © ten taking another stone, said, “‘ And I would give 
 » blow over the back with this ;” and so they kept 
 og im all the way, even to the gate of St. Gallo, 
 throwing the rest of their stones down, they let the 
 ‘nto the secret, who humoured the thing, and let 
 98, as if they had not seen him. So he went on, 
 out « slopping to his own house, which was near to the 
 . » end fortune was so favourable to this jest of theirs, 
 hat no od) said a word to him all through the city; and 
 deec he saw but few persons, because they were mostly 
 “> aner. Coming thus laden home, he met his wife 
 
 \ 
 
 | 
 
390 THE DECAMERON 
 
 at the top of the stairs, who, being provoked at his long 
 stay, fell upon him in a violent manner, saying, “The 
 devil sure has possessed the man, that he will never come 
 home till everybody has dined.” Which when he heard, 
 and being sensible that he was now seen, he began, full of 
 wrath and vexation, to say, ‘Oh! thou wicked woman, art 
 thou there? “Thou hast undone me; but I will, be 
 revenged on thee for it.” And throwing down all his 
 stones, he ran violently at her, and beat her most: unmerci- 
 fully. | In the meantime his two friends after they had 
 laughed a little with the guards at the gate, followed him 
 at a distance to his house; and being at the door, heard 
 him beating his) wife: and seeming as if they were just 
 come there, they called aloud to him, whilst he, all in a ° 
 heat, and weary, looked out of the window, and ‘desired 
 them to come up: this they did, seemingly much’ out of 
 temper, and seeing the stairs covered with stones, and she 
 beaten and bruised in one corner of the room, and he in 
 another, all unbuttoned, and like a man quite spent, they 
 said, ‘‘Why, how now, Calandrino! What are you going 
 to build, that you make all this preparation? And you, 
 madam, how comes it to pass that you are so. mis- 
 used?” But he, quite fatigued, and vexed also for his 
 supposed loss, was able to make them no answer. On 
 which Buffalmacco said again, ‘‘Calandrino, if you were 
 angry with any other person, you ought not to have made a 
 jest of us, as you have done, in leaving us yonderylike a 
 couple of fools; where you carried us to -seek for a 
 precious stone, and then went away without saying a 
 word: but assure yourself, you shall serve us so né more.” 
 He replied, after much ‘ado, ‘‘ My friends, do not be in a 
 passion ; the case is different from what you imagine. In- 
 deed I found the stone ; and, observe, I pray, whetherjit was 
 not so. When you inquired after me the first time, I was 
 then close to you; and as you were coming away without 
 seeing me, I then walked before you ;” and relating ony. 
 thing that they had said and done upon it, he added, 
 “ And as IL was coming through the gate, laden with these 
 stones, the guards, though they examine every one, let ¢ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 pass unmolested: besides, I met with divers of my frie 
 
EIGHTH DAY 391 
 
 in the street, who are continually teasing me to go in and 
 drink with them, but not one of them said a word, because 
 they-never saw me. At last, when, I came home, I met 
 with this devil of a woman here, who straightway saw me, | 
 because women, you know, make everything lose.its virtue,_, 
 
 and so 1, who was on the point of being the happiest man 
 in Florence, am now the most unfortunate; and it was 
 upon that account that I beat her, and I could tear her 
 to pieces for it:” and he was going to beat her over again: 
 
 whilst they, seeing, all this, seemed to wonder very much, 
 and began to affirm the same thing, though they were fit 
 to die with laughing. But when he was going to beat her 
 a second time, they interposed, telling him, that she was 
 not to blame in the case, for that he should have given her 
 notice'to keep out of the way all that day; and that this 
 was owing either to his ill fortune, or élse it was a judg- 
 ment upon him for deceiving his friends ; ‘for after he knew 
 that he had found the stone, he ought to have told them of 
 it. At last, with great difficulty, they reconciled them, and 
 leaving him yet much out of sorts, and with his house full 
 of stones, departed. 
 
 NOVEL IV 
 
 The provost of the church of Fiesole is in love with a lady nig: has 
 no liking to him; and he, thinking that he is with her, ts all the 
 time. with her maid, when her brothers bring the "SG thither 
 to witness it. 
 
 Eiza’s novel was ended, when the queen, without delay, 
 turneg to Emilia, who began in this manner :— 
 
 It will appear from our preceding novels, that the priests, 
 friars, and the rest of the clergy, have contributed their full 
 share to our diversion: but as so much can hardly be said, 
 but something may be added, I shall, therefore, tell you a 
 story of a certain provost, who had a mind to make a lady 
 love’ him, whether she would or not, and who. accordingly 
 trestec. yim as he deserved. 
 
 ‘e, the summit whereof you may descry from this 
 ‘as once a great and ancient city, and, though now 
 in, oo os, had always its bishop, and so it has still. Adjoin- 
 
392 THE DECAMERON 
 
 ing to the cathedral, in a little house of ‘her own, lived a 
 certain widow lady for the greatest part of the year, and 
 along with her two of her brothers, both very worthy gentle- 
 men. Now, as she went constantly to church, it happened 
 that the provost fell so much in love with her, that he was 
 never easy but in her company; and in length of time he 
 had the assurance to speak to her, entreating the’ same 
 kind and tender regard for him. This provost, it is true, 
 was something ancient, but yet of a juvenile disposition: 
 he was so proud also and haughty, and did everything with 
 so ill a grace, that he was disagreeable to all the world. 
 This lady in particular had an utter aversion to him; 
 wherefore, she very prudently replied, “Sir, I am much 
 obliged to you for your gracious offer, but we should have 
 regard to both our characters in this case. You are my 
 spiritual father, a priest also, and in years; all which con- 
 siderations should inspire you with different sentiments: 
 on the other part, I am past a child, being, as you see, in 
 my widowhood, and, therefore, more discretion will be 
 expected from me; for which reason I must beg © your 
 pardon, resolving to have nothing to ue with you in the 
 affair you mention.” 
 
 The provost, no way dismayed with one denial, ceased 
 not his solicitations, as well by letters as word of mouth, 
 every time he saw her at church, till she, growing weary of 
 his impertinence, resolved to rid herself of him in such a 
 manner as he deserved, since she saw there was no other 
 way ; but yet she would do nothing without first consulting 
 her brothers; when letting them know his design upon her, 
 and what she meant to do, and having. free leave from 
 them, she went in a few days to church as usual. When 
 he saw her come, he went familiarly to meet her, and she 
 received him with an open countenance, retired purposely 
 apart with him, and fetching a deep sigh, said, “I have 
 often heard, sir, that there is no fort so strong but what it 
 may be taken, which I now find to be my own case, for you 
 have so beset me with complaisance and love, that I have 
 been forced to break my resolution, and am now disposed 
 to be at your service.” He replied, with a great deal of 
 joy, “ Madam, I hold myself much obliged to you, and, to 
 
EIGHTH DAY 393 
 
 tell you the truth, I have often wondered how you could 
 hold out so long, especially as I never met with anything 
 like it before. Nay, I have said, that if women were made 
 of silver, they would not be worth one farthing, because 
 there is none of them would be able to stand the test. 
 But tell me, when can we be together?” She replied, 
 “Sweet sir, it may be whenever you please, as I have no 
 husband to inquire after me at nights; but I cannot think 
 of a place.”’—‘ How so?” he replied ; ‘‘ why not in your 
 own house?” She made answer, “Sir, you know I have 
 two brothers, who have company most evenings, and our 
 house is very small, so that it is impossible for you to come 
 there, unless you could submit to be like a dumb person, 
 and in the dark also; if you will consent to that, it may be 
 done, because they never come into my chamber; but yet 
 theirs is so near to mine, that the least whisper is heard.” 
 —‘‘Madam,” quoth he, ‘never mind it for one or two 
 nights, till I can think of some more convenient place.” 
 ‘She replied, “Sir, that is just as you please ; but I beg of 
 you that it may be a secret.”—‘‘ Madam,” said he, “‘ make 
 no doubt of that ; but, if possible, let it be this evening.”— 
 ‘With all my heart,” said she; and directing him how and 
 ‘when he was to come, she left him and went home. Now 
 she had a maid not over young, and the most ugly creature 
 that ever was born; for she had a flat nose, wry mouth, 
 great thick lips, black rotten teeth, sore eyes, with a com- 
 plexion green and yellow, like a Mulatto; besides all this, 
 she was both lame and crooked, and her name was Giuta, 
 but, having such a miserable countenance of her own, she 
 was called, by way of derision, Ciutazza (z.e., Trull); nor 
 was her temper one jot more amiable than her person. 
 She called this maid to her, therefore, and said, .‘‘ Ciutazza, 
 if thou wilt do a little job for me, I will give thee a new 
 gown.”—‘‘ Madam,” quoth she, “give it me, and I will go 
 through fire and water to serve you.”—‘I mean,” said the 
 lady, ‘to have thee sleep with a man this very night in my 
 bed ; but be sure you do not speak a word, for fear my 
 brothers should hear thee in the next room; and in the 
 morning thou shalt have it.”——“‘ To oblige you, madam,” 
 she replied, ‘I would sleep with half-a-dozen.” So in the 
 N 2 
 
394 THE DECAMERON 
 
 evening the provost came, according to their ugreement 
 whilst the lady's brothers were in their own room, as shc 
 had directed, where they took care that he should hear 
 them; and the provost went silently into her chamber in 
 the dark, as did also Ciutazza, and to bed they went. As 
 soon as this was done she told her brothers, and left them 
 to do the rest, as they had before resolved. Accordingly 
 they went secretly to the piazza, when fortune was more 
 favourable to their design than they could have expected, 
 for they met the bishop coming to their house to:pay them 
 a visit. And he having told them his intention, they 
 turned back with him, and showed him into a court, as it 
 was in the summer; and after they had lighted up the 
 candles, and were seated together to a glass of wine, one 
 of the young gentlemen said, “ My lord, since you are so 
 kind to do us this favour of your. own accord, as we were 
 going to invite you, we desire you would please to see a 
 curiosity which we have ready to show you.” The bishop 
 consented, and one of them, taking a candle, led the way 
 into the chamber where the provost and Ciutazza were in 
 bed, when they found them asleep in each other’s arms. 
 The provost awoke upon this, ashamed and frightened to 
 death, and hid his head under the bed-clothes, whilst the’ 
 bishop rallied him severely, and made him put his head 
 out, that he might see whom he had got in bed with him. 
 When he, finding how the lady had served him, and being 
 sensible of the utter shame he had incurred, was'the most 
 miserable man alive. And having put on his clothes again, 
 by the bishop’s order, he was sent under a guard to his 
 own house, to undergo a penance equal to his crime. The 
 bishop then desired to know how it happened, and they 
 related every particular, on which he highly commended 
 both the lady and her brothers, who, rather than imbrue 
 their hands in a clergyman’s blood, had dealt with him 
 according to his merits, in a different manner. He ordered 
 him, therefore, a penance for forty days, but love and 
 disdain made him mourn nine days more; and, for a long 
 time after, he could never go along the street, but the boys 
 would point at him, and say, ‘Yonder is the priest that 
 lay with Ciutazza;” which was sucha mortification, that 
 
EIGHTH DAY 395 
 
 he was almost distracted. Thus the good and prudent lady 
 freed herself from the provost’s importunities, and the girl 
 obtained her reward. 
 
 NOVEL V_ 
 
 Three young sparks play a trick with a judge, whilst he is Sitting upon 
 the bench hearing causes. 
 
 THE baited in Emilia’s novel was highly commended for what 
 she had done, when the queen looked towards Philostratus, 
 and said, ‘‘It is now your turn to speak.” He conse- 
 quently thus began :— 
 
 A young gentleman, mentioned some time since by Eliza, 
 viz., Maso del Saggio, makes me pass over a story which I 
 meant to have told you, in order to relate one of. him, 
 and certain of his friends ; which, though a little unseemly, 
 may make you laugh nevertheless, and so I shall venture 
 to report. it. 
 
 You must all have heard that we have often had magis- 
 trates come hither from the marquisate of Ancona, the 
 most paltry people imaginable, and so extremely miserable 
 and covetous, that they have brought fellows along with 
 them: by way of judges and notaries, who seem to have 
 been rather taken from the ploughtail, or out of a cobbler’s 
 shop, than the schools of the law. Now there was a 
 certain’ person came once as Podesta, and amongst the 
 judges that attended him was one Nicola da san Lepidio, 
 whose aspect bespoke him rather a tinker than anything 
 else, and who was deputed with the rest of the judges 
 to hear criminal causes. And as it happens that people 
 frequently go to those courts who have no business, so it 
 chanced that Maso del Saggio was there in quest of one of 
 his friends; and being where this Nicola was sitting, he 
 thought him some strange bird that he had never seen 
 before, and began to take a more perfect view of him. He 
 had a greasy fur cap on, with an ink-horn hanging at his 
 girdle, and a gown shorter than his under coat ; but what 
 appeared the most comical of all was, that his breeches 
 came down to his ankles, and yet they were so scantily 
 
396 THE DECAMERON 
 
 made, that he could not keep them buttoned, but they 
 were constantly open all before. Such a figure as this soon 
 made Maso forget what he had come about; and meeting 
 with two of his companions, the one named Ribi, and the 
 other Matteuzzo, people of as much humour as himself, 
 he said to them, ‘‘You will oblige me very much if you 
 will go into the court along with me, for I can show you 
 the oddest figure perhaps that ever you saw:” so he 
 carried them to see the judge and his breeches. As soon 
 as they came into the court, they fell a-laughing, and 
 observing upon a nearer approach, that the boards on 
 which he set his feet were so broken that a man might 
 easily put his hand and arm up, he added, “I wish you 
 would let us pull his breeches down entirely, for it may 
 be easily done.” They saw at once which way he meant, 
 and having agreed about it, they came thither again the 
 next morning. And the court being crowded with people, 
 Matteuzzo crept privately under the bench where the judge 
 was sitting, whilst Maso went on one side, and took hold 
 of his gown, as Ribi did on the other, and began to cry 
 out, ‘‘ For Heaven’s sake, my lord, before this fellow goes 
 away, will you order him to restore me a pair of shoes 
 which he has stolen from me, and now denies it, though I 
 saw him in the fact, and it is not a month since he had 
 them new soled?” Ribi, on the other part, bawled aloud, 
 “My lord, pray do not believe him, for he is a most 
 intolerable villain; and because I came to demand a wallet 
 that he had stolen from me, he has trumped up this story 
 of his shoes. If you will not believe me, I can bring 
 Trecca, my neighbour, and Grassa, the woman that sells 
 tripes, and the person that sweeps St. Mary’s Church, who 
 saw him as he came out of the country.” But Maso made 
 such a clamour on the other side, that he would not let 
 Ribi be heard, and Ribi cried out likewise. » 
 
 The judge standing up to hear what each had to say, 
 Matteuzzo took that opportunity to put his hand up 
 between the boards, and laid hold of his breeches, which 
 came down immediately, as he happened to be lean and 
 thin about the crupper; whilst he, perceiving what: had 
 happened, and not knowing the reason, would have pulled 
 
EIGHTH DAY 397 
 
 his gown before him to have concealed it, and he en- 
 deavoured to sit down again, but Maso held him up on 
 one side, and Ribi on the other, crying out, ‘“‘ My lord, 
 you do me great injustice not to attend to what I say,-and 
 to turn your back upon me, without giving me the hearing 
 (for there were no indictments in writing for such trivial 
 cases), And they kept him in that manner till all the 
 people in the court saw that he had his breeches about his 
 heels. In the meantime Matteuzzo had stolen away un- 
 discovered ; and Ribi, thinking that he had now done 
 enough, said, ‘I will appeal elsewhere for justice, I vow to 
 heaven ;” and Maso let go on the other part also, saying, 
 “Some time or other I shall find you more at leisure than 
 you have been this morning.” Thus they parted different 
 ways, and got out of the court as fast as they could. 
 Whilst the judge, drawing up his breeches before all the 
 people, and being now sensible of the trick that had been 
 put upon him, began to inquire where those two men were 
 gone that had been complaining to him about their shoes 
 and their wallet; and hearing nothing of them, he swore 
 that he would know whether it was a custom at Florence 
 to pull a judge’s breeches down as he was administering 
 justice. The Podesta also was in great rage about it, till 
 being told by some of his friends that this was done only 
 to let him see the people all took notice, that, instead of 
 bringing judges, he had brought some paltry scoundrels 
 among them, to make a. better trade of it, he thought it 
 best to hold his tongue. Consequently nothing further 
 was said about it at that time. 
 
 NOVEL VI 
 
 Bruno and Buffalmacco steal a pig’ from Calandrino, and make a 
 charm to find out the thief with pills made of ginger and some 
 sack; giving him, at the same time, pills made of aloes: whence tt 
 appeared that he had tt himself, and they make him pay hand- 
 somely, for fear they should tell his wife. 
 
 PHILOSTRATUS’s novel was no sooner ended, which had 
 made them all very merry, but the queen turned to Philo- 
 mena, who accordingly began thus :— 
 
 As Philostratus was led to the last story by the mention- 
 
398 THE DECAMERON 
 
 ing the name of Maso, in like manner has the novel 
 concerning Calandrino and his two companions brought 
 to my mind another relating to the same persons, which 
 will, I think, afford you pleasure. Who those people were 
 it would be needless to say, because you had enough of 
 that before. Therefore I shall begin with telling you that 
 Calandrino had a little farm not far from Florence,,which 
 came to him in right of his wife; and, amongst his other 
 goods there, he used to have a pig fatted every year, and 
 some time in December he and his wife went always to kill 
 and salt it for the use of the family. Now it happened 
 once, she being unwell at the time, that he went thither 
 by himself to kill this pig, which Bruno and Buffalmacco 
 hearing, and knowing she was not to:be there, they went 
 to see a priest in the neighbourhood, a great friend of his, 
 and to be with him for a few days. Now he had killed the 
 pig that very day they came thither, and seeing them along 
 with the priest, he called them, and said, “You are kindly 
 welcome, gentlemen; 1 would gladly have you see what a 
 manager I am.” And, taking them into the house, he 
 showed them this pig. They saw that it was fat, and were 
 told by him that it was to salt for his family. When Bruno 
 said, ‘‘Go, you fool you! you had better sell it, for us to 
 spend the money, and then tell your wife that it is stolen,” — 
 No,” said Calandrino, ‘‘she will never believe it; and 
 besides, she would go near to turn me out of doors. 
 Trouble me then no further about any such thing, for I 
 will never do it.” They said a great deal more to him, but 
 all to no purpose; at length he invited them to supper, but 
 did it in such a manner that they refused to go; and, after 
 he was gone away, said one to the other, ‘Suppose we 
 steal this pig from him to-night.”—“ How is it possible? ” 
 replied the other.—‘“ Oh,” quoth the first, “I know well 
 enough how to do it, if he does not remove it in the mean- 
 time from the place where we just now saw it.”——“ Then 
 let us do it,” said the second, “and afterwards we and the 
 parson will make merry over it.” 
 
 The priest assured them that he should like it of all 
 things. ‘We must use a little art,” quoth the first: ‘‘ you 
 know how covetous he is, and how freely he drinks always 
 
EIGHTH DAY 399 
 
 when it is at others’ cost. Let us get him then to the 
 tavern, where the parson shall make a pretence of treating 
 us all, out of compliment to him ; he will soon get drunk, 
 and then the thing will be easy enough, as there is nobody 
 in the house but himself.” This they did, whilst he, 
 finding that the parson was to pay, took his glasses off 
 _ pretty freely, and getting his dose, walked home betimes, 
 and left the door open, thinking that it was shut, and so 
 went to bed. Buffalmacco and Bruno went from thence 
 ‘to sup with the priest, and as soon as supper was over, 
 they took proper materials with them to get into the 
 house; but finding the door open, they carried off the pig, 
 and went to bed likewise. Calandrino, as soon as he had 
 slept his wine off, arose in the morning, and coming down- 
 stairs, and finding the door open, and his pig gone, he 
 began to inquire of people if they knew anything of the 
 matter, and receiving no tidings of it, he made a terrible 
 outcry, saying, “‘What must I do? somebody has stolen 
 my pig.” Bruno and Buffalmacco were no sooner out of 
 bed, but they went to his house to hear what he would 
 say; and the moment he saw them, he roared out, ‘‘Oh, 
 my friends, my pig is stolen!” Upon this Bruno 
 whispered him, and said, ‘“‘ Well, I am glad to see you 
 wise once in your life.”—‘' Alas!” quoth he, “it is too 
 true.” Bruno said, “Keep still in the same story, and 
 make a noise whilst every one believes you.” He now 
 began to baw] louder, and said, “ Indeed! I vow and swear 
 to. you that it is stolen.”-—“ Right,” quoth the other, ‘be 
 sure you let everybody hear you, that it may appear so.” 
 —‘' Do you think,” said he, “that I would forswear myself 
 about it? May I be hanged this moment if it is not so.” 
 —‘ How is it possible?” quoth Bruno; “I saw it but last 
 night; never imagine that I can believe it.”—‘‘It is so, 
 however,” answered he, ‘‘and I am undone: I know not 
 - how to go home again, for my wife will never believe me, 
 and I shall have no peace this twelvemonth.”—‘"It is a 
 most unhappy thing,” said Bruno, “if it be true; but you 
 know I taught you to say so last night, and you should not 
 _make sport both with your wife and us at the same time.” 
 At this he began to roar out afresh, saying, ‘Good God! 
 
400 THE DECAMERON 
 
 you make me mad to hear you talk; I tell you once for all 
 that it was stolen this very night.”—“ Nay if it be,” quoth 
 Buffalmacco, “we must think of some way to get it back 
 again.”—‘‘ And what way must we take,” said he, ‘‘to find 
 it ?”—-‘ Depend upon it,” replied the other, ‘that nobody 
 came from the Indies to steal it; it must be somewhere 
 in your neighbourhood, and if you could get the people 
 together, I could make a charm with some bread and 
 cheese, that would soon discover the person.”—“ True,” 
 said Bruno, ‘‘ but they would know in that case what you > 
 are about, and the person that has it would never come 
 near you.”—“ How must we manage then?” quoth the 
 other. ‘Oh,” replied Bruno, “ you shall see me do it with 
 some pills of ginger and a little wine, which I will ask 
 them to come and drink. They will have no suspicion 
 what our design is, and we can make a charm of these, as 
 well as of the bread and cheese.”—“ Very right,” quoth the 
 other. ‘‘ Well, what do you say, Calandrino? Have youa 
 mind we shall try it? ””—‘‘ For Heaven’s sake do,” he said : 
 ‘were I only to know who the thief is, I should be half 
 comforted.”—“ Well, then,” quoth Bruno, ‘I am ready to 
 go to Florence for the things, if you will but give me money.” 
 He happened to have a few shillings in his pocket, which 
 he gave him. 
 
 Accordingly Bruno went to a friend’s house at Florence, 
 and bought a pound of ginger made into pills, and he got 
 two pills of aloes, which had a private mark that he should 
 not mistake them, being all candied over with sugar; and 
 buying a flask of good sack also, he returned to Calandrino, 
 and said, ‘‘To-morrow you must take care to invite every 
 one that you have the least suspicion of: it is a holiday, 
 and they will be glad to come, and we will complete the ~ 
 charm to-night, and bring the things to your house in the 
 morning, whilst, upon your account, I will take care then to 
 do and say what is necessary upon such an occasion.” ' 
 Calandrino did so, and in the morning he had all the 
 people in the parish almost together under an elm-tree in 
 the churchyard, when his two friends, brought the pills and 
 wine, and making them stand round in a circle, Bruno said 
 to them, ‘Gentlemen, it is fit that I should tell you the 
 
EIGHTH DAY 401 
 
 reason of your being summoned here in this manner, to the 
 end, if anything should happen which you do not like, that 
 I be not blamed for it. You must know, then, that 
 Calandrino had a pig stolen last night ; and, as some of the 
 company here must have taken it, he, that he may find out 
 the person, would have every man take and eat one of 
 these pills, and drink a glass of wine after it; and whoever 
 the guilty person is, you will find he will not be able to get 
 a bit of it down, but it will taste so bitter that he will be 
 forced to spit it out: so that, to prevent such open shame, 
 he had better, whoever he is, make a secret confession to 
 the priest, and I will proceed no further.” 
 
 All the people present showed a readiness to taste; so 
 placing them all in order, he gave every man his pill, and 
 coming to Calandrino, he gave one of the aloe pills to him, 
 which he straightway put into his mouth, and no sooner 
 did he begin to chew it, but he was forced to spit it out. 
 Every one was now attentive to see who spit his pill out, 
 and whilst Bruno kept going round, taking no notice, he 
 heard somebody say behind him, ‘‘ Hey-day! what is the 
 meaning of its disagreeing so with Calandrino?” When, 
 turning suddenly about, and seeing that Calandrino had 
 spit it out, he said, “Stay a little, honest friends, and be 
 not too hasty in judging ; it may be something else that has 
 made him spit, and therefore he shall try another. So he 
 gave him the other aloe pill, and then went on to the rest 
 that were unserved. But if the first was bitter to him, this 
 he thought much more so: however, he endeavoured to get 
 it down as well as he could, but it was impossible ; it made 
 the tears run down his cheeks, and he was forced to spit it 
 out at last, as he had donethe other. In the meantime 
 Buffalmacco was going about with the wine; but when he 
 and they all saw what Calandrino had done, they began to 
 call out, and say that he had robbed himself; and some of 
 the people were greatly incensed at him for it. And after 
 they were all departed, Buffalmacco said, “I always thought 
 that you yourself were the thief, and that you were willing 
 to make us believe it was stolen, in order to keep your 
 money in your pocket, as we should expect a treat upon 
 the occasion.” Whilst he, who had yet the taste of the 
 
402 THE DECAMERON 
 
 aloes in his mouth, fell a-swearing that he knew nothing of 
 the matter. ‘Tell me truly,” then, said Buffalmacco, ‘ did 
 you not sell it?” This made him quite desperate. When 
 Bruno said, “I was just now told by one of the company 
 that you have a mistress in this neighbourhood, to whom 
 you are very kind, and that he is confident you have given 
 it to her. You know you once took us to the plains of 
 Mugnone, to look for some black stones, when you left us 
 in the lurch, and pretended you had found them ; and’ now 
 you think to swear, and make us believe, that your pig is 
 stolen, when you have either given it away, or sold it. You 
 have put so many tricks upon us, that we intend to be 
 fooled no more by you. Therefore, as we have had a deal 
 of trouble in the affair, you shall make us amends, by 
 giving us two couple of fowls, unless you mean that we 
 should tell your wife.” Calandrino now perceiving that he 
 was not to be believed, and being unwilling to have them 
 add to his troubles by bringing his wife upon his back, was 
 forced to give them the fowls, which they took to Flor- 
 ence along with the pork, leaving him there to complain 
 of the loss he had sustained, and the injuries that were 
 done him. 
 
 NOVEL VII 
 
 a certain scholar is in love with a widow lady named Helena ; who, 
 being enamoured of another person, makes the former wait a whole 
 night for her during the midst of winter in the snow. in return, 
 he afterwards contrives that she shall stand naked on the top of a 
 tower in the middle of July, exposed te the sun and all manner of 
 insects. 
 
 THE company could not help laughing at Calandrino’s sim- 
 plicity, though they thought it too hard for him to lose 
 both the fowls and the pig ; and, the story being ended, the 
 queen ordered Pampinea to begin, which she did in this 
 manner :— 
 
 It often happens that the mockery which a man. intends 
 to another falls upon his own head, and therefore it is no 
 mark of a person’s good sense to take delight in such 
 practices. In our former novels we have made ourselves 
 
EIGHTH DAY 403 
 
 very merry with divers tricks that have been put upon 
 people, where no revenge has been taken; but I design to 
 move your compassion for a just return which a certain 
 lady of our city met with, whose jest recoiled upon herself 
 and to the hazard of her life, being mocked in the same 
 manner; the hearing of which may be of great service to 
 you, as it will be a caution not to do the like; and you will 
 be wise if you attend to it. 
 
 There lived not long since at Florence, a young handsome 
 lady, of a good family as well as plentiful fortune, named 
 Helena; who, being left a widow, had for some time con- 
 tinued so, though she was courted by a young gentle- 
 man who was entirely to her good liking; and, by the 
 assistance of her favourite maid, they had frequent inter- 
 views together. In the meantime, a young gentleman of 
 our city who had long studied at Paris, not for the sake of 
 retailing his learning out by the inch as we say, as many do, 
 but only to know the reasons of things and the causes of 
 the same, as becomes a gentleman—he, whose name was 
 Rinieri, returning to Florence, was much respected there, 
 both on account of his rank and learning, and lived as 
 became’ a worthy citizen. But as it often happens that 
 persons of the most sense and scholarship are the soonest 
 caught in the snares of love, so it fell out with our Rinieri. 
 For, being at a feast one day, he met with this lady, clothed 
 in her weeds, when she seemed to him so full of beauty 
 and sweetness that he never saw any one to compare to her ; 
 and happy he thought the man whom fortune should bless 
 with her as his wife. And casting his eye towards her 
 once and again, and being sensible that great and valuable 
 things are not to be attained without trouble, he resolved to 
 make it his whole care to please her and gain her affection 
 if it were possible.’ The lady, who did not always look 
 upon the ground, but thought full as well of herself as she 
 deserved, throwing her eyes artfully about her was soon 
 sensible if any one beheld her with pleasure, when she 
 immediately took notice of Rinieri; and she said, smiling 
 to herself, “I think I am not come out to-day in vain, 
 for I seem to have caught a gudgeon.” And she would 
 give him now and then a glance from the corner of her eye 
 
404 THE DECAMERON 
 
 to let him see she was pleased with him, thinking that the 
 more admirers she had of the greater value would her 
 charms be to that person for whom she had designed them. 
 Our scholar now began to lay all his philosophy aside, 
 and turned his thoughts entirely to her; and learning 
 where she lived, he was continually passing that way, 
 under one pretence or another, thinking thereby to please 
 her; and the lady, for the reason before given, seemed 
 to value herself the more upon it. Thereupon he found 
 means of talking to the maid, desiring her interest and 
 intercession with her mistress, so that he might obtain 
 her favour ; who promised him very fully, and accordingly 
 she let her lady know it, when she made the greatest 
 jest in the world of him, and said, ‘‘ Observe now, this 
 man is come here to lose the little sense that he went to 
 fetch from Paris, and he shall have what he looks for. 
 Go, then, and tell him that my love is equally great for him, 
 but that I must have regard to my honour, which, if he is 
 as wise as he would be thought, he will like’ me the better 
 for.” Alas! poor woman, she knew not what it was to try 
 her wit against a scholar! The maid delivered her message, 
 upon which the scholar, being overjoyed, began to press 
 the thing more closely, and to write letters and send her 
 presents, which were all received, though he had no answer 
 in return but what was general; and in this manner 
 he was long kept im suspense. At last, having related 
 the whole affair to her lover, and he a little uneasy and 
 jealous about it, to convince him that his suspicion was 
 ill-grounded, and being much solicited by the scholar, she 
 sent her maid to tell him that she had yet no opportunity to 
 oblige him since she had made a discovery to him of her 
 love, but that the next day being Christmas Day she 
 hoped to be with him; directing him to come that 
 evening into her court, and she would meet him there as 
 soon as it was convenient. The scholar, overjoyed at this, 
 failed not of coming at the time appointed, when he was 
 put into the courtyard by the maid, and locked up there 
 to wait for the lady, who had invited her lover to be with 
 her that night; and after supping agreeably together, she 
 let him know what she meant to do, adding, “And you 
 
EIGHTH DAY 405 
 
 may now see how great my regard is for you, as well as for 
 him of whom you have been so foolishly jealous.” The 
 lover listened eagerly to this discourse, being desirous of 
 seeing some proof of that, for which he had only her word. 
 Now a great snow had fallen the day before, and everything 
 was covered with it, which made it seem colder to our 
 scholar than otherwise it would have been: however, he 
 bore it with great patience, expecting soon to have amends 
 made him. In alittle time she said to her lover, ‘ Let us 
 go into the chamber, and see out of the window what this 
 man is doing, of whom you are jealous, and what answers 
 he will make to the maid, whom I have sent to talk 
 with him.” So they went upstairs, and looking out, with- 
 out being seen, they heard the girl saying to him, “Sir, 
 my lady is exceedingly uneasy, for one of her brethren is 
 happened to come to see her this evening, and they have 
 had a great deal of talk together, and he would needs sup 
 with her, nor is he yet gone away; but I believe he will not 
 stay long: and for that reason she has not been able to 
 come to you, but will make what haste she can, and she 
 hopes you will not take it ill that you are forced to wait 
 thus.” The scholar, supposing it to be really so, replied, 
 «Pray tell your mistress to have no care for me, till she can 
 conveniently be with me, but that I desire she would be as 
 speedy as possible.” The girl then left him, and went to 
 bed. ‘ Well!” said the lady to her lover, ‘what think 
 you now? Can you imagine, if I had that love for him 
 which you seem to apprehend, that I would let him stay 
 there to be frozen to death?” Thus they talked and 
 laughed together about the poor scholar, whilst he was 
 forced to walk backwards and forwards in the court to 
 keep himself warm, without having anything to sit down 
 upon, or the least shelter from the weather, cursing the 
 brother’s long stay, and expecting that everything he heard 
 was the door opening for him—but expecting in vain. 
 About midnight she said again to her lover, ‘“‘ Well, my 
 dear, what is your opinion now of our scholar? Whether 
 do you think his sense or my love the greater at this time? 
 Sure you will let me hear no more of that jealousy which 
 you seemed to express yesterday; be convinced that I 
 
| 406 THE DECAMERON 
 
 _ value you as much as you can love me. But,” continued 
 she, ‘‘ we will take another look out, and see whether that 
 _ fire be extinct or not, which he used to write me word had 
 well nigh consumed him.” When, going again to the 
 window, they saw him dancing a jig in the snow, to the 
 chattering of his teeth, which was occasioned by the ex- 
 cessive cold: and she said, ‘‘ You see now that I can 
 make people dance without the music either of fiddles 
 or bagpipes; but let us go to the door, and do you stand 
 still and listen whilst I speak to him; perhaps we may 
 have as much diversion in that manner as by seeing him.” 
 So she went softly, and called to him through the keyhole, 
 which made the scholar rejoice exceedingly, supposing that 
 he was now to be admitted ; and he stepped to the door, 
 and said, ‘I am here, madam; for Heaven’s sake open 
 it, for I am ready to die with cold.” She replied, ‘Surely 
 you can never be so starved with this little snow; it is 
 much colder at Paris: but I can by no means let: you in 
 yet; for this unlucky brother of mine, who came to sup 
 with me last night, is yet with me; but he will go soon, 
 and then I will come directly and open the door: it wag 
 with great difficulty that I could get away from him now 
 to come to you, to desire you would not be uneasy at 
 waiting so long.”—‘‘ Let me beg of you, then,” said he, 
 “to open the door, that I may stand only under cover, for 
 it snows fast, and afterwards I will wait as long as you 
 please.” —‘‘ Alas! my dear love,” quoth the lady, “the © 
 door makes sucha noise always in opening, that my brother 
 will hear it; but I will go and bid him depart first, and 
 then open it.”—-“ Make what haste you can,” said the 
 scholar, ‘‘and pray have a good fire ready against I come 
 in, for 1 am so benumbed that I have almost lost all sense 
 of feeling.””—“ That is impossible,” replied she, ‘if it be 
 true what you have so often written to me, that you were 
 all on fire with love; but I see now that you were jesting 
 all the time. Have a good heart, however, for I am 
 going.” The scholar now perceiving that it was all an 
 insult and mockery upon him, made several attempts to 
 open the door, looking round also to see if there was any 
 other way to get out; but not finding any, he began to 
 
EIGHTH DAY | 407 
 
 curse the inclemency of the weather, the lady’s cruelty, 
 and the long nights, together with his great simplicity ; 
 and being outrageously exasperated against her, his most 
 violent love was changed into as rank a hatred, whilst he 
 was contriving various methods of revenge, which: he now 
 longed as much for, as he had before desired to be with 
 her. Thus he was kept all night long; and when daylight 
 began to appear, the maid, as she had before been in- 
 structed, came down into the court, and said, with a show 
 of pity, ‘‘It was very unlucky, sir, that person’s coming to 
 our house last night, for he has given us a world of trouble, 
 and you are, in consequence, almost frozen to death. But 
 you know the reason. Havea little patience ; for what could 
 not be done then may be brought to pass another time. 
 I know very well that nothing could have given my lady 
 so much uneasiness.” » The scholar, as wise as he was full 
 of wrath, knowing that threats serve only as weapons to the 
 persons so threatened, kept all his resentment within his 
 own breast, and, without showing himself the least disturbed, 
 said very submissively, “‘In truth, I never had a worse 
 night in my life; but I know very well that your lady is 
 not at all to blame, because she came to me several times, 
 with a great deal of humanity, to excuse herself, and comfort 
 me. And, therefore, as you say, what could not be now 
 may be another time. Farewell, and pray give my service 
 to her.” Sohe made what shift he could to get home, being 
 almost dead, and threw himself upon the bed to rest, when, 
 upon his awakening, he found he had lost the use of both 
 his hands and feet. He therefore sent for physicians, and 
 let them into the cause of his illness, and in length of time 
 they found means to supple the nerves, so that he could 
 stir his limbs ; but had it not been for his youth, and the 
 warm weather coming on soon after, he would have had a 
 hard task to have recovered. Getting then sound and 
 well again, and keeping his enmity to himself, he yet ap- 
 peared to love her as much as ever; and fortune at last 
 furnished him with an opportunity of satisfying his re- 
 venge: for her lover had taken a fancy to another lady, 
 and turned her adrift, which gave her such concern that 
 she seemed to pine away upon it. But the maid, who was 
 
408 THE DECAMERON 
 
 much grieved, finding no way to comfort her for the loss of 
 her spark, and seeing the scholar pass that way sometimes, 
 had a foolish notion come into her head, that he might be 
 able to bring him back by some magical operation, of 
 which he was said to be a great master ; and she acquainted 
 her with it. The foolish lady, little thinking that had he 
 really been a proficient he would scarcely have applied his 
 knowledge to do her such a service, listened to the girl, 
 and then bid her learn from him whether he was willing to 
 oblige her, promising anything in return he should desire. 
 She delivered the message, when the scholar said, with 
 great joy to himself, “‘Thank Heaven, the time is now 
 come for me to be revenged of this woman for the injury 
 she did me in return for my great love.” And he replied, 
 “Tell your mistress that she need give herself no trouble, 
 for were her lover in the Indies I could bring him back to 
 ask her pardon: but concerning the manner of doing it, 
 that I will impart to her as soon as she pleases ; and so 
 pray acquaint her from me with my service.” 
 
 The girl reported what he said, and they agreed to meet 
 in St. Lucia’s meadow. Accordingly they came thither, 
 and had much conversation by themselves; whilst she, 
 forgetting how he had been served by her, acquainted him 
 with the whole affair, and desired his assistance. The 
 scholar then said, ‘‘Madam, amongst other things that 
 I studied at Paris, was the black art, in which I made 
 a great progress; but, as it is a sinful practice, I have 
 made a resolution never to follow it, either for myself or any 
 other person ; though indeed I love you so much, that I am 
 unable to refuse either that or anything else which you 
 shall require from me: but I must put you in mind that it 
 is a more troublesome operation than you may imagine, either 
 to bring a man back to love a woman, or a woman to love 
 a man ; for it is to be done only by the person concerned, 
 who should have a great presence of mind: for all must be 
 in the night, in a solitary place, and nobody present ; which 
 conditions I do not know whether you will be able to con- 
 form to.” She, more enamoured than wise, replied, “* My 
 love for him is such, that I would undertake anything to 
 have him again, who has abandoned me so wrongfully; 
 
EIGHTH’ DAY. 409 
 
 only tell me in what I must show that presence of mind 
 you speak of.” Said the scholar then to her, ‘‘ Madam, I 
 must make an image of tin in his name whom you wish to 
 have yours, which I shali send to you; and immediately, 
 whilst the moon is in the decline, you must, after your first 
 sleep, bathe seven times with it in the river; after which 
 you must go into some high tree or upon some uninhabited 
 house-top, and, turning to the north, repeat seven times, 
 with the same image in your hand, some certain words which 
 I shall give you in writing ; and then two damsels, the most 
 beautiful that ever you saw, will appear to you, graciously 
 demanding what service you have for them to do, which 
 you may safely tell them, taking care not to name one 
 person for another; when they will leave you and you may 
 go afterwards and dress yourself, and depart to your own 
 house, being assured that before midnight your lover will 
 come with tears in his eyes to beg your pardon, and from 
 that time he will never forsake you more.” The lady, 
 hearing this story; began to think she had already recovered 
 her lover ; and she replied, ‘‘ Never fear, I can do all this 
 very well, having the most convenient place for the purpose 
 that can be; for there is a farm of mine close to the river 
 Arno; and, now I remember, there is an’ uninhabited 
 tower not far off, where the shepherds climb up sometimes 
 by help of a ladder, to look for their strayed cattle; there 
 I can do what you have enjoined me.’”’ The scholar, who 
 knew perfectly both the farm and tower, which was the 
 very. place that he himself» had contrived, answered, 
 “Madam, I never was in that country, and therefore am 
 unacquainted with the farm and tower you mention, but 
 if it be ‘so, it is convenient enough; so, at a proper time, 
 I will send the image, and the words you are to repeat; 
 and I-hope when your point is secured, that you will be 
 mindful of me in the promise you have made me.” She 
 agreed without fail to remember him, and so took her 
 leave. The scholar now concluding that his scheme had 
 taken effect, had an image made, and wrote out an old tale 
 by way of charm, which he sent as soon as he thought it 
 a proper time, to her, letting her know that he would have 
 it done the following night: and he went privately with 
 
410 | THE DECAMERON 
 
 one servant to a friend’s house which was near, to be ready 
 for what he had designed. She also and her maid went to 
 her farm, when, pretending to go to bed, and having sent 
 her maid to sleep, she went to the river’s side; close to the 
 tower, and looking round to see that nobody was near, she 
 stripped, and hid her clothes under a bush, and. bathed 
 herself seven times with the image, and then went naked 
 to the tower with the image in her hand.» The scholar, 
 about the beginning of the night, had hid himself along 
 with his servant in the sallows near to the place; when, 
 seeing her go past him in that manner, ‘and admiring the 
 extraordinary beauty of her person, he began to relent a 
 little, and to have some thoughts of putting up with the 
 injury. Tull calling to mind her unparalleled inhumanity 
 towards him, and what ‘he had suffered, there was an end of 
 pity, and he resolved to put his purpose into execution. So 
 she mounted up into the tower, and having turned to the 
 north, began to say the words which he had given her to 
 repeat, whilst he went softly after her, and took away the 
 ladder, waiting afterwards to see what she would say and 
 do. She had now said the words over seven times, and was 
 expecting the two damsels to come; and thus she waited 
 until daylight began to appear, when, being weary, as it was 
 a little cool withal, and sorry also that it had not happened 
 as the scholar had told her, she began to say to herself, 
 ** Perhaps he has a mind I should pass such a night as I 
 occasioned him to have, but he mistakes the thing, for the 
 nights are not one third part so long now as they were then, 
 and besides the cold was infinitely greater at that time.” 
 -She then determined to come down before it should be 
 broad daylight ; but looking for the ladder, she. perceived 
 it was taken away. Upon this her heart failed her, and 
 she fell down in a swoon: and as soon-as she came to 
 herself she began to lament; and, well knowing that it 
 was the scholar’s doing, to blame herself as well for giving 
 the provocation as for putting herself into his power after- 
 wards. Looking then everywhere to see if there was any 
 other way to come down, and finding there was not, she 
 renewed her complaints, saying to herself, “Unhappy 
 wretch! what will thy brothers, relations, and all the 
 
EIGHTH DAY 4ll 
 
 people of Florence say, when it shall be known. that thou 
 wast found here naked? Thy character will be quite lost; 
 and say what thou wilt in thy own vindication, the scholar 
 will contradict it.. Miserable woman! to losé both thy 
 lover and thy honour at the same time!” Here her grief 
 was such, that she was going to throw herself down head- 
 long; but as the sun was now rising, she got to one corner 
 of the wall to see if she could discover any shepherd’s boy 
 to send for her maid, when it happened that the scholar, 
 who had been taking a nap upon the grass, awoke and saw 
 her, and»she him; on which he said, ‘Good morrow, 
 madam, are the damsels come yet?” At this: she fell a- 
 crying most bitterly, and desired he would come to her, 
 that they might have some talk together. He readily 
 obliged her in that, whilst she lying down, with only her 
 head appearing above the battlements, began to weep: and 
 say, ‘Sir, if I caused you to have a bad night, you are 
 sufficiently revenged : for, though it is in July, yet I have 
 been just starved to death, as Iam naked; not to mention 
 my grief for the trick I put upon you, and for my own folly 
 in believing you, that I have almost cried my eyes out of 
 my head. ©Therefore I entreat you, not out of any regard 
 for me, for none is due from you ; but for your own sake, 
 as you are a gentleman, that you would esteem what you 
 have already made me suffer a sufficient revenge, and that 
 you would order my clothes to be brought, and let me 
 come down ; nor offer to take that away from me which it 
 is not in your power to restore ; I mean my honour. | For 
 if I denied you my company one night, you may have it as 
 many nights as you please in return for that one. Let this 
 therefore suffice, and, like a man of worth, think it enough 
 that you have had me in your power; nor set your wit 
 against a woman. Where is the glory in an eagle’s van- 
 quishing a poor yielding dove? Then for Heayen’s sake, 
 and your own honour, show me some pity!” The scholar 
 found himself alternately influenced by two different mo- 
 tives ; one while he was moved with compassion to see her 
 in that distress, but revenge and fury at length gained - 
 the superiority, and he replied as follows :—‘* Madam, if 
 my prayers (though unattended with tears, and such sooth- 
 
412 THE DECAMERON 
 
 ing expressions as yours) could have procured only a little 
 shelter for me the night that I was dying in your court, all 
 covered with snow, I could, in that case, easily hear now 
 what you ‘have to say: but you may remember that you 
 were then with your gallant, entertaining him with my 
 sufferings ; let him come and bring your clothes, and the 
 ladder: for he will be the best guardian of honour, who 
 has so often had it in keeping. Why do not you call upon 
 him then? It is his business more than any other person’s, 
 and if he do not succour you, whom will he regard? You 
 may now see whether your love for him, or your great 
 understanding, is able to deliver you from my folly ; as you 
 were pleased to make a doubt whether that folly or your 
 love for him was greater. And concerning the offer of 
 your person, I desire it not, neither could you withhold 
 it from me if I did. No, keep it all for your. lover ; for 
 my own part I have had enough of one night. » You’ think 
 to cajole me, by speaking of my great worth and gentility, 
 and would have me believe that I shall lessen myself by 
 this usage of you. But your flattery shall never blind my 
 understanding, as your fair promises once did: I now 
 know myself, and can say that I never learnt so much all 
 the time I was at Paris, as you taught me in one night. 
 But, allowing that I am of a generous disposition, you are 
 no proper object. Amongst savage beasts as you are, the 
 end of vengeance is death, but with men, indeed, what you 
 say should be sufficient. Therefore, although I am no 
 eagle, yet, knowing you to be no dove, but rather a veno- 
 mous serpent, I shall persecute you with all my might as 
 an old enemy ; though what I do cannot be called revenge, 
 so properly as chastisement ; for revenge ought to exceed 
 the offence given, whereas, considering how I was served 
 by you, were I to take away your life, this would not be 
 equal to it, nor even the lives of a hundred more such 
 women as yourself. For what the devil are you better 
 (setting aside a little beauty, which a few years will take 
 away from you) than the paltriest chambermaid? And yet 
 no thanks to you, that the life of a worthy gentleman was 
 not lost, as you were pleased just now to call me, which 
 may be of greater service to the world than a hundred 
 
EIGHTH DAY 413 
 
 thousand such ives as yours could ever be, whilst the 
 world endures. Learn then what it is to mock and abuse 
 people of understanding, and scholars, and be wiser for the 
 time to come, if you happen to escape. But if you have 
 such a desire to come, why do not you throw yourself to 
 the ground? By breaking your neck, if it please Heaven, 
 you may at once escape the punishment which you seem 
 _ to undergo, and make me the happiest man in the world. 
 So I have nothing more to say to you, but that as I have 
 shown you the way up to the tower, do you find a way, 
 if you.can, to come down as readily as you could insult me.” 
 
 All the while the scholar was speaking she was weeping, 
 whilst the time kept going on, and the sun rose higher and 
 higher.. And when he had made an end, she said, “Ah! 
 cruel man; if that unhappy night still galls you, and my 
 crime appears so heinous, that neither my youth, my tears, 
 nor my humblest entreaties can move you, yet let this last 
 _ act of mine alone have some weight to lessen the force of 
 your severity ; consider how I put entire confidence in you, 
 and entrusted you with my most secret designs, for without 
 that you would never have had it in your power to revenge 
 yourself of me, as you desired so much. Away, then, with 
 all this fury, and pardon me this time; I am ready, if you 
 will forgive me and set me at liberty, to abandon that 
 unworthy young man, and to have you only for my lover 
 and my lord. And though you make light of my beauty, 
 esteeming it trifling and transitory, yet it is what other 
 young gentlemen would love and value, and you may think 
 otherwise. And, notwithstanding this cruel treatment, I 
 can never think you could wish to see me dash my brains 
 out before your face, when I was once so agreeable to you. 
 For Heayen’s sake, therefore, show me some pity; the sun 
 now waxes warm, and is as troublesome as the coldness of 
 the night.” The scholar then, who held her in talk only 
 for his diversion, replied, ‘‘ Madam, the confidence you 
 reposed in me was out of no regard you had for me, but 
 only to regain your lover; and you are mistaken if you 
 think I had no other convenient way to come at my 
 revenge: I had a thousand others, and had laid.a thousand 
 different snares to entrap you; so that, if this had not 
 
414 THE DECAMERON 
 
 happened, I must necessarily have taken you in some 
 other; nor was there any one but would have been at- 
 tended with as much shame and punishment to you as 
 this. I have made choice of it, therefore, not because you 
 gave me the opportunity, but that I might gain my end the 
 sooner. And though they had all failed, yet had I my pen 
 left, with which I would have so mauled you, that you 
 should have wished a thousand times’a day that you had 
 never been born. The force of satire is much greater than 
 they are sensible of on whom it was never tried. I swear 
 solemnly, then, that I would have written’ such things of 
 you, that you should have pulled your very eyes out for 
 vexation. As to the offer of your love, that is needless: 
 let him take you, if he will, to whom you’ more properly 
 belong, and whom I now love for what he has done to you, 
 as) much as before I hated him. You women are all for 
 young flighty fellows, without considering that those people 
 are never content with one mistress, but are roving always 
 from one to another, as you have found by experience. 
 Their greatest happiness’ is in gaining favours ftom you, 
 and it is their utmost glory to publish them. Truly, you 
 think your love is all a secret, and that nobody but your 
 maid and I were ever acquainted with it, whilst his 
 neighbourhood and yours both talk of nothing else; but it 
 generally happens that the persons concerned are the last 
 that hear of such things. ‘Therefore, if you have made a 
 bad. choice, keep to it, and leave me, whom you have 
 despised, to another lady whom I have made choice of, one 
 of more account than yourself, and who knows better how 
 to distinguish people. As to my being concerned for your 
 death, if you please, you may make the experiment. But, 
 as I suppose, you will scarcely humour me so far, so I now 
 tell you, that if the sun begin to scorch, you may call to 
 mind the cold you made me endure, and together they will 
 make a proper temperature.” The disconsolate lady, seeing 
 that all these words. tended to some cruel purpose, began to 
 weep again, and say, “Behold, if nothing that concerns 
 myself can move you to pity, yet let your love for that lady 
 whom you say you have met with, who is wiser than I, and 
 by whom you say. you are beloved ; let your regard;'I say, 
 
EIGHTH! DAY Nene} 
 
 for her prevail upon you to forgive me, and to bring me 
 tay clothes, that I may dress myself:and go down.” ‘The 
 scholar fell a-laughing at this, and seeing it. was abou» 
 noon, he replied, “Lo, I know not how to say to. you nay, 
 as you entreat me by that lady; then tell me: where: they 
 are, and I will go for them that you may come down.” She 
 _ was a little comforted at this, and directed him to the 
 place where’’she had laid them: so he went away, and 
 ordered his servant to keep strict watch that nobody came 
 to her relief till his return ; and in the meantime, he went 
 to a friend’s house, where he dined, and laid himself down 
 to sleep. The lady, conceiving some vain hopes of being 
 released, had seated herself down in the utmost agonies, 
 getting to that corner of the wall in which there was the 
 most shade, where she continued, sometimes thinking, and 
 then again lamenting ; this moment in hopes, and the next 
 altogether in despair of his‘return with the clothes; at last, 
 _ musing of one thing after another, being quite spent: with 
 grief, and’ having had no rest the night before, she dropped 
 asleep. The sun was now in the meridian, darting all its 
 foree directly upon her naked: and most delicate body, as 
 also upon’ her head; so that it not only scorched all the 
 skin that lay exposed, but cleft it by little and: little into 
 chinks, and‘ blistered it to that degree that it made her 
 awake; when, finding herself perfectly roasted, and offering 
 to turn about; it all seemed to rend asunder like 'a’piece 
 of burnt parchment that’had been kept upon the stretch. 
 Besidés all this,; her head’ ached’ to that degree as if it 
 would rive’ in pieces, which was no wonder. Moreover, 
 the reflection of the heat against her feet was so. strong, 
 that she could ‘not rest anywhere, but kept crying, and 
 moving from place to place. » And as there was no wind, 
 the flies'and hornets were constantly buzzing about her, 
 striking their stings into the chinks of her flesh, and covef- 
 ing her over with wounds, whilst it was her whole emplay- 
 ment to beat them off, still cursing herself; her lover, and 
 the scholar. Being thus harassed by the’ heat, by insects 
 by hunger, but much more by’ thirst, and pierced to the 
 heart by a thousand ‘bitter reflections, she got up to see f 
 anybody was near, resolving, whoever was within call, P 
 } 
 
 | 
 | 
 
| 
 416 THE DECAMERON 
 
 beg their assistance ; but even this comfort her ill fortune 
 hed denied her. The labourers: were all gone out of the 
 @ lds, on account of the heat, though it happened that 
 ‘nobody had been at work thereabouts all that day, being 
 employed in threshing their corn at home, so that she 
 heard nothing but the grasshoppers, and saw the river 
 Arno, which, by making her long for some of its water, 
 instead of quenching, only added to her thirst. She saw 
 also pleasant groves, cool shades, and country-houses, 
 which made her trouble so much the greater. What can be 
 said more of this unhappy lady? She who, the night before, 
 could, by the whiteness of her skin, dispel even the shade 
 of night, was now all brown and spotted, so that she 
 seemed the most. unsightly creature that could be. Being 
 thus void of all hope, and expecting nothing but death, 
 towards the middle of the afternoon, the scholar happened 
 to awake, when he called her to mind, and returned to the 
 tower, sending the servant back, who was yet fasting, to get 
 his dinner. As soon as she saw him, all weak and miser- 
 able as she was, she came and placed herself down by the 
 battlements, and said, ‘‘O sir, you are most unreasonably 
 revenged ; for if I made you freeze almost with cold, one 
 night in my court, you have roasted and burnt me for a 
 whole day upon this tower, where I have been at death’s 
 door with hunger and thirst ; I conjure you, therefore, that 
 you would come up, and bestow that death upon me, which 
 my heart will not let me inflict upon myself, and which I 
 entirely covet, to put an end to that pain which I can no 
 longer endure; or, if you deny me this favour, that you 
 would send me up a little water to wash my mouth, my 
 tears not being sufficient, such is the drought and scorch- 
 ing I feel.” The scholar was sensible, by her manner of 
 speaking, how weak she was; he perceived, also, by what 
 he saw of her body, how it was scorched and blistered ; for 
 tnat reason, therefore, as well as her entreaties, he began to 
 have a little compassion, but said, ‘‘ Vile woman! thou 
 shalt never meet with thy death from my hands ;-from 
 thine own thou mayest if thou wilt; and just so much 
 water will I give thee, as thou gavest me fire in my 
 xtremity. This only grieves me, that, whilst I was forced 
 

 
 EIGHTH DAY 41] 
 
 to lie in dung for my recovery, thou, nevertheless, wilt be 
 cured with the: coldness of perfumed rose water; and 
 though I was near losing both limbs and life, yet thou, 
 when stripped of thy skin, wilt appear with fresh beauty, 
 like.a serpent just uncased.”—" Alas!” quoth the lady, 
 ‘‘may only my enemies gain charms in that manner! But 
 you, more cruel than any savage beast, how could you 
 bear to torture me as you have done? What could I have 
 expected worse from you, had I put all your relations to 
 death in the cruellest manner imaginable? What greater 
 punishment could be thought of for a traitor, who had been 
 the destruction of a whole city, than to be roasted in the 
 sun, and then devoured by flies? and not to give me a 
 taste of a little water, whilst the vilest malefactors, when 
 chey are about to suffer, are not denied even wine. Now 
 I see you fixed in your barbarous resolution, nor any way 
 moved with what I have suffered, I shall wait patiently for 
 my death. The Lord have mercy on me, and look witha 
 just eye on what you have done!” 
 
 With these words she withdrew to the middle of the 
 place, despairing of her life, and ready to faint away a 
 thousand times with thirst, where she sat lamenting her 
 condition. But it being now towards the evening, and he 
 thinking she had suffered enough, made his servant take 
 her clothes, wrapped up in his cloak, and he went. with 
 them to her house, where he found her maid sitting at the 
 door, all sad and disconsolate for her long absence; and 
 he said to her, ‘‘ Pray, good woman, what is become of 
 your mistress ?”——‘‘ Sir,” she replied, ‘“‘I do not know: I 
 thought to have found her in bed this morning, where I 
 saw her last night, but she is neither to be found there nor 
 anywhere else, nor do I know what is become of her. But 
 can you give me any tidings of her?”—“TI wish only,” 
 - quoth he, “that thou hadst been along with her, that I 
 might have taken the same revenge of thee that I have had 
 of her. But depend upon it thou shalt never escape; I 
 will so pay thee for what thou hast done, that thou shalt 
 remember me every time thou shalt offer to put a trick 
 upon any one.” And then he said to the servant, “Go, 
 carry her clothes, and tell her she may go for her mistress 
 
 ) 
 
418 THE DECAMERON 
 
 if she has.a mind.” The servant accordingly delivered 
 them, with. that message, and the girl knowing them again, 
 and hearing what he said, was afraid she was murdered, 
 and could scarcely help making an uproar about it ; so she 
 ran thither, full of grief. Now it happened that a labourer 
 of hers had lost two of ‘his hogs that day, and coming near 
 to the tower to look for them, just as ‘the scholar was 
 departed, he heard the complaints that the poor creature 
 was making, so he cried out, ‘‘ Who makes that noise?” 
 She immediately knew his voice, and called him by his 
 name, saying, ‘Go, I pray now, and desire my maid ‘to 
 come to me.” The man then knew her, and said, ‘f Alas, 
 madam, who has brought you hither? Your maid. has 
 been looking for you all day long. But who could have 
 thought of finding you: in this place?” And he took the 
 sides of the ladder, and placed them as they should ‘be, 
 binding them about with osiers: and as he was doing this, 
 the maid came, and being able to hold her tongue no 
 longer, she wrung her hands, and fell a+roaring out, “Dear 
 madam, oh, where are you?” She, hearing her, replied, as 
 well as she could, “Good girl, never stand crying, but 
 make haste and bring me my clothes.” She was pretty 
 easy when she heard her speak, and jumping upon the 
 ladder before it was quite made fit, by the man’s help got 
 apon the tower, when, seeing ‘her lie naked there, burnt 
 like a log of wood, and quite spent, she cried over her as if 
 she had been dead. But the lady desired her to be quiet, 
 and dress her; and understanding by her that nobody 
 knew where she was but the persons who brought the 
 clothes to her and the servant that was there, she was a 
 little comforted, begging earnestly of them to keep it’secret. 
 The labourer now took her upon his back, as she had no 
 strength to go, and brought her down safely in that 
 manner; whilst the girl, following after with less caution 
 than was necessary, slipped her foot, and falling down the 
 ladder, broke her thigh, which occasioned her to make a 
 most grievous outcry. The man, after he had set his lady 
 on the grass, went to see what was the matter with the 
 maid, and finding that she had her thigh broke, he laid her 
 down by the lady, who, seeing this addition to her mis- 
 

 
 EIGHTH DAY 41g 
 
 fortunes, and that she was disabled from whom she 
 expected most succour, began to lament afresh, and the 
 man, unable to pacify her, fell a-weeping likewise. But it 
 being now about sunset, he tock her to his own house, and 
 brought two of his brethren and his wife back with him for 
 the maid, whom they carried thither upon a table. Having 
 given the lady some water to refresh her, and used all 
 the kind‘comfortable words they could think of, she was 
 brought to her own chamber; and the man’s wife gave 
 her a little bread soaked in water, and undressed and put 
 her to bed. It was then contrived that they should both 
 be taken to Florence that night, and'so they were. There 
 the lady, who was never at a loss for invention, cooked up 
 an artful story, which was believed by her brothers and 
 sisters, and every other almost, viz., that it was all done by 
 enchantment. Physicians were sent for, who, with a great 
 deal of pain and trouble to her, and not without the loss 
 of her whole skin several times over, cured her of a violent 
 fever, and other accidents attending it; and they also set 
 the girl’s broken thigh. From that time she forgot her 
 lover, and was more careful for the future, both in choosing 
 a spark and in making her sport. The scholar, also, 
 hearing what had happened to the girl, thought he had 
 full revenge, and so no more was said about'it. Thus the 
 
 foolish lady was served for her wit and mockery, thinking 
 
 to make a jest of a scholar, as if he had been a common 
 person, never considering that the greatest part of them 
 have the devil, as. they say, in a string. Then take care, 
 ladies, how you make your jest, but especially with scholars. 
 
 NOVEL VIII 
 
 Two neighbours are very intimate together ; when one making very 
 free with the other's wife, the other finds it out, and returns the 
 compliment, whilst the friend ts locked up in a chest all the time, 
 
 ' Tue lady’s sufferings seemed grievous to all that heard 
 
 them ; though their pity for her was the less, as they 
 judged that she had in some measure deserved them; 
 whilst the scholar was deemed most rigidly obstinate, and 
 
420 THE DECAMERON 
 
 even cruel. But Pampinea having made an end, the queen 
 ordered Flammetta to go on, who spoke as follows :-— 
 
 As I suppose you have been under some concern for the 
 scholar’s severity, it. may be proper, I believe, to revive 
 your drooping spirits with some more cheerful subject. 
 Therefore I shall tell you a story of a certain young man, 
 who received an injury with more mildness than he, and 
 returned it with more moderation. Whence you may learn, 
 that a person ought to be content if he gives people as 
 good as they bring, without desiring an. unreasonable 
 vengeance, and far beyond what the provocation which he 
 may have received requires. 
 
 Know then, that at Siena lived, as I have been told, two 
 young wealthy citizens, the one named Spinelloccio Tanena, 
 and the other Zeppa di Mino, near neighbours to each other. 
 and as intimate together as if they had been brothers; and 
 each had a very handsome wife. Now it happened that 
 Spinelloccio, going often to the other’s house, whether he 
 was at home or not, became too familiar at last with his 
 wife, which continued some time before anybody perceived 
 it. But Zeppa being at home one day, without her know- 
 ing it, Spinelloccio came to inquire for him, and being told 
 by her that he was gone abroad, he began to make free 
 with her as usual, This Zeppa was a witness to, and 
 greatly troubled at; yet knowing that making a clamour 
 would no way lessen the injury, but rather add to 
 his shame, he began to think of some revenge, 
 which should make no noise abroad, and with which 
 he should yet be content. Resolving at length what 
 to do, he went into the room after the friend was gone 
 away, when he found her setting her head-dress a little 
 to rights, and he said, “ What are you doing, madamP” 
 She replied, ‘Do not you see?”—“ Yes, truly,” quoth he, 
 ‘‘and I have seen a great deal more than I could have 
 wished.” So he charged her with the thing, and she came 
 to an open confession, as it was in vain to deny it, and 
 began to weep and beg his pardon. He then said to her, 
 “Vou see you have been guilty of a very great crime; if 
 you expect forgiveness from me, you must resolve to do 
 what I shall enjoin you, which is to tell Spinelloccio that 
 
EIGHTH DAY 421. 
 
 about the third hour to-morrow he must find some pretence 
 of leaving me to go to you, when I will return home; and 
 as soon as you hear me, do you make him go into that 
 chest, and lock him up, and after you have done this I will 
 tell you the rest. Have no doubt, however, about it, for I 
 promise you I will do him no harm.” She agreed to do 
 so ; and the next day, the two friends being together at that 
 time, Spinelloccio, who had promised the lady to be with 
 her then, said to Zeppa, ‘‘I am engaged to go and dine 
 with a friend, whom I would not have wait for me; so fare 
 you well.” Quoth Zeppa, “It is a long while till dinner 
 yet.” Yes,” replied the other, ‘‘ but we have business to 
 confer about, which requires me to be there in good time.” 
 So he left him, and took a little circuit, and went to the 
 lady, and they had no sooner shut themselves in the chamber, 
 but Zeppa returned ; when she, seeming to be very much 
 frightened, made him go into the chest, as the husband 
 had directed, and locked him up, and then came out to 
 her husband, who asked her whether dinner was ready. 
 She replied, “It will be soon.”—‘' Then,” quoth he, “ as 
 Spinelloccio is gone to dine with a friend, and left his 
 wife at home by herself, do you call to her out of the 
 window, to come and dine with us.” She readily obeyed 
 out of fear for herself, and Spinelloccio’s wife came, after 
 much entreaty, hearing that her husband was not to dine 
 at home: when Zeppa showed the greatest fondness towards 
 her imaginable, and making a sign for his wife to go into 
 the kitchen, he took her by the hand and led her into the 
 chamber, when he made fast the door. Upon this she 
 began to say, “‘ Alas, sir, what mean you to do? Is this what 
 you invite me for? This the regard you have for your 
 friend?” Zeppa then drawing near to the chest where 
 her husband was shut up, and holding her fast, he said, 
 ‘* Madam, before you utter any complaints, hear what I am 
 going to tell you: I have loved your husband as if he had 
 _ been my brother; and yesterday, though he knows nothing 
 
 of it, I found out that he has as great an intimacy with 
 my wife as he has with you. Now I respect him so much, that 
 I intend to take no other revenge but what is agreeable to 
 the quality of the offence. If you will not consent to this, 
 
422 THE DECAMERON 
 
 be assured I shall revenge myself in such a manner that 
 both he and you shall have cause to repent it.”——“ Well,” 
 quoth she, ‘‘since your revenge then is to fall upon me, | 
 must be content. Do you only make my peace with 
 your wife for what I do, in like manner as I am ready to 
 forgive her.” «He promised to do that, and to make her a 
 present also of a jewel; Spinelloccio, hearing what passed, 
 was fit to burst with vexation; and had it not been that 
 he was prevented by the fear of Zeppa, he would have 
 clamoured against and have abused her, even shut up as he 
 was. But considering again that he had given the provo- 
 cation, and that Zeppa had reason for what he had done, 
 and had behaved courteously and like a friend, he resolved 
 to respect him more than ever. Coming out of the 
 chamber then together, and she demanding the jewel which 
 he had promised, he called his wife up, who said only. this 
 to her, “‘ Now, madam, we may quit scores,” and she spoke 
 it with a smile. Quoth Zeppa then, ‘‘ Here, open this 
 chest,” which she did, and he showed Spinelloccio to his 
 wife. Now it would be difficult to say which of the two 
 was most confounded, whether the man at seeing his friend, 
 and knowing that he was privy to what he had done, or the 
 woman at seeing her husband, and being conscious that 
 he must have heard what had passed over his head. 
 “Behold,” added Zeppa, ‘‘this is the jewel ; I now give it 
 you.” Spinelloccio hereupon came out of the chest, and 
 said, ‘‘ Well, now we are even; and, as you said before to 
 my wife, itis best for us to continue friends ;” the other was 
 content. So they dined very amicably together; and the 
 same good understanding remained amongst them for the 
 time to come. 
 
 NOVEL IX 
 
 Master Simon, the doctor, ts imposed upon by Bruno and Buffalmacco, 
 and made to believe that he is to be one of the company of rovers, 
 and afterwards they leave him in a ditch, 
 
 THE communication of wives mentioned in the last novel 
 accasioned a good deal of discourse, when the queen, 
 knowing it was her turn, began in this manner: 
 
EIGHTH DAY 423 
 
 Well did Spinelloccio deserve what he met with from 
 his friend Zeppa; and I think they are not to blame who 
 put jests upon people of their’own seeking, and such 
 as they have really merited, though Pampinea was of 
 a different opinion. Now as to Spinelloccio, it was no 
 more than his due; but I purpose to speak of another, 
 who would needs seek after it, and I commend those 
 merry fellows for what they did. 
 
 This then was a certain doctor of physic who returned 
 from Bologna to Florence, strutting in the robes belonging 
 to his profession, though an ass would have become them 
 as well as he. We frequently see your citizens, after they 
 have been to study at Bologna, come back, one a lawyer, 
 another a physician, a third a notary, with their long 
 scarlet gowns and furs, with other things to make a figure; 
 and to what purpose, every day’s experience shows. us. 
 Amongst the rest was one Master Simon da Villa, more 
 rich in estate than learning, who appeared in his scarlet 
 robes and ermine, calling himself a doctor of physic, and 
 took a house in the Via del Cocomero. — Now, this Master 
 Simon, being newly come thither, amongst his other 
 
 the different gestures and manners of people, he observed 
 and noted all. But he had cast his eye more particularly 
 upon two painters, whom we have mentioned before, 
 Bruno and Buffalmacco, who were always together, and 
 lived in hisneighbourhood. And perceiving that they had 
 less regard’ for the world than other people, and were 
 always more cheerful, he asked a great number of persons 
 about them. Being told then by every one that they were 
 both poor men, and painters, he could not conceive how 
 they could possibly live so merrily in their poverty, but 
 supposed, as they were cunning fellows, that they must have 
 some secret way of getting money ; he had a mind therefore 
 to become acquainted with one or both of them, and so he 
 happened tofall inwith Bruno, who, soon seeing to the bottom 
 of him, made the merest game of him that could be, and 
 the doctor was wonderfully delighted always in hearing him 
 
ake THE ‘DECAMERON 
 
 talk. And having invited him several times to dinner, and 
 thinking upon that account that he might discourse the 
 more freely with him, he expressed, at length, his great 
 wonder how he and Buffalmacco, who were both poor, 
 could yet be so cheerful, and desired to know how they 
 managed in that case. Bruno could not help laughing to 
 himself, to hear the doctor put such a simple question, and 
 resolving to give him a suitable answer, he said, “ There 
 are many people, master, that I would never tell that to; 
 but as you are a friend, and I know will keep it secret, I 
 shall be less scrupulous with you. It is true we live as 
 merrily as you imagine, or perhaps more so, and yet all 
 we earn or possess will hardly find us salt to our broth, 
 and I hope you do not think we steal: no, we go a-roying, 
 and bring home with us—everything we can—desire; and 
 thus it comes to pass that we live so merrily, as you 
 observe.” The doctor wondered what this going a-roving 
 could mean, and desired he would inform him, assuring 
 him that he would never reveal the secret. ‘‘ Alas, Master 
 Doctor, what a request is this! It is too great a secret, 
 and I shall be ruined if I disclose it." You may depend 
 upon what I say,” quoth the doctor, “it shall never go 
 farther for me.” He then, after making abundance of 
 excuses, said, ‘‘ Behold, master, the regard I have for your 
 superexcellent understanding, and the confidence I repose 
 in you is such that I can deny you nothing; therefore I 
 will tell you, if you will swear to me, as you have just now 
 promised, never to reveal it.” The doctor swore and swore 
 again. ‘You must. know then, my dear master,” quoth 
 he, “that there was lately a necromancer in this city, 
 called Michael Scotus, because he was a Scotchman, who 
 had great honour shown him by many of the gentry, few 
 of whom are now living; and who, being about to leave 
 this place, at their request, left it in charge with two of his 
 disciples, that they should always be ready to serve those 
 people who had honoured him. Some therefore they 
 obliged in their love affairs, and some in other matters. 
 At last being taken with the city, and the manners of the 
 people, they resolved to make it their place of residence, 
 when they contracted a friendship with divers persons, 
 

 
 EIGHTH DAY 428 
 
 such as were agreeable to their own tempers, without con- 
 sidering whether those people were rich or poor at that 
 time; and to please those friends they established a society 
 of five-and-twenty persons, who were to meet in some place 
 that was fixed upon by them, twice at least in a month, 
 when every one was to say what he wanted, and they 
 supplied him with it that very night. Now_my_friend and 
 I, as a particular mark of f; r-te-us;were admitted into 
 this_society. And it 1s wonderful to behold the costly 
 furniture in the room where we sit, the tables spread in 
 a most royal manner, with the great number of goodly 
 servants, both men and women, at every one’s command ; 
 the basins, flagons, and cups also both of gold and silver, 
 in which we eat and drink, and the great variety and 
 plenty of victuals which are set before us. It is impossible 
 for me to tell you what different musical instruments there 
 are, and the delightful melody that we hear; or what 
 _ numbers of wax candles are burnt at one of these feasts, 
 any more than the immense quantities of sweetmeats con- 
 sumed, and the very rich wines which are then drunk. 
 Now I would not have you suppose, my dear friend, that 
 we appear in the same dress that you behold. No, there 
 is not one of us seems less than an emperor, so richly are 
 we attired. But of all our pleasures, that of having the 
 ladies’ company is the greatest, and who are brought to 
 us, according to every one’s desire, from all quarters of the 
 world. There you may see the great lady of Barbanicchia, the 
 Queen of Baschia, the wife to the great Sultan, the Empress 
 of Osbech, the Ciancianfera of Norveca, the Semistante of 
 Berlinzone, and the Scalpedra of Narsia. But what need 
 have I to recount so many? There are all the queens in 
 the world, even to Prester John’s lady. Then observe, now: 
 after we have eaten and drunk, and taken a dance or two, 
 every one selects that particular lady whom he had desired 
 should be sent for: and you must know that the chambers 
 _ we retire to are a perfect paradise, and no less odoriferous 
 than a perfumer'’s shop; the beds also that we lie in are 
 as beautiful as the very best that belongs to the Duke of 
 Venice. Do you then judge of our happiness. But none 
 seem to fare better at these times than my friend and I, 
 OZ, 
 
426 THE DECAMERON 
 for he generally has the Queen of France, a 
 
 e 
 Queen of [:ngland, who are the two most beautiful ladies 
 in the whole world, and they like no other persons so well 
 as us. Imagine, therefore, if we have not reason to be 
 merry more than any other people; for, besides having the 
 affection of two such queens, if we want a thousand or two 
 thousand ins at any time, they immediately supply us. 
 And. this we call goin ng a-roving ; for, as the corsairs rob 
 and plunder every one they meet, so do we, with this 
 difference only, that they make no restitution, which we do 
 as soon as it has served our purpose. ‘Thus I have told 
 you, master, what we mean by going a-roving: you may 
 easily see. how great a secret it is, and so I need say no 
 more to you upon that head.” 
 
 The doctor, whose knowledge reached no further, per- 
 haps, than to cure children of the itch, gave the same 
 credit to this story as he would have done to the most 
 established truth, and became as desirous of being ad- 
 mitted into this society as he would have been of anything 
 in the world: so he told the other that he did not wonder 
 to see him so cheerful; and could scarcely refrain from 
 asking the favour of being accepted among them, deferring 
 it only till he could do it with a better grace. From that 
 time therefore he was continually inviting him to dine and 
 sup ; and their intimacy was such, that the doctor scarcely 
 knew how to live without him. And im return for these 
 favours, Bruno, that he might not appear ungrateful, 
 painted in his hall the whole story of Lent, an Agnus Dei 
 over his chamber-door, and an urinal over the door to the 
 street, that people who wanted his advice might know 
 where to have it. » He painted also in a little gallery the 
 battle of the cats and the rats; which the doctor thought a 
 pretty fancy. And some nights, when he happened to sup 
 elsewhere, he would say at his return, “I was last night at 
 our meeting, when, being displeased with the Queen of 
 England, I ordered the gumedra of the great Cham of 
 Tartary to be brought me.”—‘“ Pray what does that word 
 mean?” quoth the doctor; “I do not understand such 
 names.”—“T do not wonder at that,” said Bruno; * for 
 Porcograsso and Vannacena take no notice of them.”— 
 
EIGHTH DAY 427 
 
 “You mean,” quoth the doctor, ‘‘ Ipocrasso and Avicenna.” 
 —‘‘ Very likely,” said Bruno; “but I know as little of 
 those names as you know of mine. But gumedra is no 
 more than empress. O! you would think her a fine 
 - woman; she would soon make you forget all your recipes 
 and your plaisters.” Talking frequently in this manner to 
 excite him the more, and the doctor thinking, one night as 
 he held the candle for him whilst he was painting, that he 
 was now under sufficient obligations to grant any favours 
 he should desire, he resolved to open his mind, as they - 
 were alone, and he said, “Bruno, there is nobody that 
 I value so much as yourself; nor is there anything you 
 could ask, but what I should be ready to oblige you in; then 
 be not surprised at my making one request of you. You 
 know, not long since, you were telling me of your meetings ; 
 now there is nothing I desire so much as to make one 
 amongst you, and for a very good reason; for I will bring 
 the prettiest girl into your company that you have seen fora 
 long time, to whom I have devoted my entire love; and you 
 must know I once offered her ten pieces, and she refused 
 them. Tell me then, I pray you, what I must do to be 
 admitted, and do you take care that I be so, and I promise 
 that you shall always find me your true and trusty friend. 
 You may observe that my person is proper and good, and 
 I am a doctor of physic too, and perhaps you have none 
 of that profession among you; moreover I know a great 
 many pretty things, and can sing divers pretty songs, as you 
 shall hear.” Here he began one, whilst Bruno had much 
 ado to keep his countenance, and after he had done he 
 asked him what he thought of it. ‘' Most certainly,” 
 replied he, “the best violin is no way comparable.”— 
 “Then,” quoth the doctor, “‘to this and many other quali- 
 fications too tedious to relate at present, 1 may add, that 
 my father was a gentleman, though he lived in a country 
 village, and my mother of the Vallecchio family. Besides, 
 there is no physician in Florence has better clothes, or a 
 more complete library than myself; and I give you my 
 word, that if you be sick at any time I will cure you for 
 nothing.” Bruno, to make him believe that he was more 
 intent upon his painting, replied, ‘‘Pray, sir, snuff the 
 
420 THE DECAMERON 
 
 candle, and let me finish these rats’ tails, and then I will 
 talk with you.” When, seeming much displeased with the 
 request, he said, “Oh, sir, I have received great favours 
 from you, I must confess, and there is nobody I would 
 serve sooner; but you ask too much. Now though I 
 cannot directly oblige you in what you desire, yet I can put 
 you into a method whereby I am very sure you will suc- 
 ceed.”’—“ Then tell me,” quoth the doctor; “you don’t 
 know how well I can keep a secret. Signor Guasparruolo 
 da Saliceto, when he was a judge, entrusted me with many 
 things.” —“ Well,” quoth Bruno, “if he trusted you, I may 
 do it more securely. The means you are to use are as 
 follows: we have a captain and two counsellors, who are 
 chosen every six months, and next Christmas Buffalmacco 
 will certainly be the captain, and I one of the counsellors. 
 Now it isin the captain’s power to admit you if he pleases, 
 therefore you should immediately get acquainted with him. 
 I know he will be very fond of you, as he is of all men of 
 understanding ; and after you have been often in his com- 
 pany, and ingratiated yourself with him, you may then ask 
 the favour, and he will not know how to refuse you. I 
 have given him a character of you already, and he has 
 conceived a great regard for you, and when this is done 
 you may leave the rest to me.”——‘‘ You say well,” quoth the 
 doctor, ‘‘if he delights in people of sense and learning he 
 will not miss of his aim: I have enough of both to furnish 
 a whole city, and yet leave sufficient for myself.” When 
 the matter was thus agreed, Bruno went and related the 
 whole to Buffalmacco, who was very impatient to let the 
 doctor have what he sought for. Now the doctor, who was 
 eager to be concerned, found it no hard matter to get 
 acquainted with him; and he began to treat them, both 
 noon and night, with everything that was nice and elegant, 
 so that they lived entirely upon him; telling him at the 
 same time that it was a favour they would show to nobody 
 else. At length, when he thought it a fit time, he made 
 the same request to Buffalmacco, that he had done before 
 to Bruno, who seemed much concerned, and made a great 
 clamour at his friend, threatening to break his head for 
 betraying those secrets to the doctor. But the doctor 
 
EIGHTH DAY 429 
 
 excused him very much,- protesting that he had it from 
 another person. 
 
 On this he seemed a little more pacified, and said, ‘‘ Dear 
 doctor, I plainly see you have been at the university, and 
 know how to keep your mouth shut upon occasion ; and I 
 farther tell you, that you have not learned your A,B,C, in 
 the manner most blockheads do: moreover, if I am _ not 
 mistaken, you were born on a Sunday; and though Bruno 
 tells me that your study has been physic, yet to me it seems 
 as if you had learned to captivate men, which you do by 
 your great sense and manner of speaking, far beyond any 
 that ever 1 saw.” Here the doctor interrupted him, and 
 said, turning to Bruno, “This it is to have to do with 
 people of understanding; there are few that could have 
 penetrated into the depth of my designs so easily as this 
 worthy man has done. You did not take my meaning half 
 so soon; but let him know what I said upon your telling 
 me that he delighted in people of sense. Do not you 
 think I spoke truth at that time?”—‘*No doubt,” replied 
 the other. Then said he to Buffalmacco, ‘‘ What wouid you 
 have said, had you seen me at Bologna, where were none, 
 either great or small, doctor or scholar, but doted on me, 
 so much did they:profit by my wise discourses? Nay, more 
 than that, I never spoke but they all laughed, so highly 
 were they pleased tohear me. And when I came away, they 
 expressed the greatest concern imaginable at parting with 
 me, and to encourage me to continue with them, offered 
 me the sole privilege of reading lectures on medicine to all 
 the students. But I refused it, being resolved to come and 
 live here upon my estate, which is very considerable.”— 
 ‘‘ Well,” said Bruno to his friend, ‘‘ what think you now? 
 You would not believe me when I told you there was not a 
 physician in all this country could cast an ass’s water better 
 than himself; nor is there his fellow, I will maintain it, from 
 this place to Paris. Go, then, and use all your endeavours 
 to gratify him in his request.”—“‘ Bruno is in the right,” 
 quoth the doctor ; ‘‘ but here nobody knows me; they are 
 all a parcel of ignorant stupid people; but I wish you had 
 seen how I appeared among the doctors.”—*“ Indeed, 
 Master Doctor,” gquoth Buffalmacco, “you know a great 
 
430 THE DECAMERON 
 
 deal more than I could have thought; in which respect, 
 speaking unto you as becomes me to a person of your under- 
 standing and parts, I dare assure you that you shall be one 
 of our society.” This promise made him increase his 
 favours towards them, and they were extremely diverted 
 with his great simplicity, promising that he should have the 
 Countess di Civillari! for his mistress, who was the good- 
 liest and sweetest creature in the whole world. The doctor 
 asked what countess she was. ‘‘Oh,” quoth Buffalmacco 
 “she is a very great lady, and there are few houses but 
 where she has some jurisdiction. Her officers are all 
 about, and store of her great barons are to be seen every- 
 where, namely, Tamaguin della Porta,? Don Meta, Manico 
 di Scopa, and the rest, whose names have escaped me. 
 You shall leave your old mistress then for this lady, of 
 whom we will give you the full possession.” 
 
 Now the doctor, who had been brought up at Bologna, 
 understood not the meaning of these Florentine terms, 
 and so was pleased with the hopes of enjoying what they 
 had promised him. Ina little time they brought him the 
 news of his being admitted. The day, therefore, that they 
 were to have their meeting, he had them both to dine with 
 him, and after dinner he asked them in what manner he 
 had best go to this assembly. When Buffalmacco replied, 
 ‘‘It behoves you, master, to proceed resolutely, otherwise 
 you may receive an impediment, and do us great injury. 
 Now you shall hear in what manner I would have you do so. 
 You must contrive to be upon one of those raised tombs 
 in New St. Maria’s churchyard, at the time of people’s 
 going to sleep, with your best gown on, in order to make a 
 figure amongst us at your first appearance, and to verify 
 our character of you to the countess, who intends to make 
 you a knight of the bath, at her own expense. There you 
 must wait till we send for you. And, that you may be 
 apprised of everything, I must acquaint you that there will 
 be a black-horned beast, of no great stature, come for you, 
 capering and dancing about to terrify you; but, after he 
 
 1 This means no more than a common jakes, or the nePels of 
 Cloacina. 
 § These are all different words for the same thing. 
 
EIGHTH DAY 431 
 
 finds you are not to be daunted, he will gently come near 
 you, when you may descend from the tomb: and, without 
 thinking of heaven, or any of the saints, mount boldly 
 upon his back; and, as soon as you shall be seated, lay 
 your hands upon your breast, without touching him: he will 
 then move easily along, and bring you to us: but if you 
 mention anything of a prayer, or express the least fear, he 
 _ will throw you down into some noisome place or other, so 
 that you had better not attempt it, unless you can depend 
 upon your own courage, for you may do us a great deal of 
 mischief, and yourself no good.” Said the doctor, “You 
 do not know me yet; because I wear a gown you think me 
 faint-hearted. Ifyou did but know what I have done some 
 nights at Bologna, when I went with some of my com- 
 panions to visit the girls there, you would be surprised. 
 One night, I assure you, I met with a little young baggage, 
 who refused to go along with us, when I dragged her by 
 force a considerable way, and afterwards she went willingly 
 enough. Another time, I remember, having nobody with 
 me but my boy, that I went through the friar’s churchyard, 
 after evening prayers, when a woman had been buried there 
 that night, and I was not at all afraid. Never fear, therefore, 
 but I will be courageous and resolute as you can desire. 
 To do you the greater honour, too, I intend to go in the 
 scarlet robes in which I commenced doctor, and you will see 
 what joy there will be in your assembly at my coming, and 
 if I shall not go near to be immediately declared your cap- 
 tain. You shall see also how the case will go after I have 
 made my appearance, in regard that the countess, having 
 as yet never seen me, is so enamoured with me, that she 
 will make me a knight of the bath; and as to supporting 
 the honour, that you may leave to me.” 
 
 “Very well spoken,” said Buffalmacco: “but take care 
 you do not impose upon us, and so »ot come at all, or be 
 not found there when we send for you. and I give you 
 this caution because the weather o> and you doctors 
 love to take care of yourselves.” ‘o, quoth the doctor, 
 ‘‘T am one of those hardy ones (%«' |» ve no regard for the 
 weather, and if I have occasio™ ‘© « »« in the night, I only 
 
 put a fur gown over my dou!«': you need make no 
 
432 THE DECAMERON 
 
 doubt about it.” As soon as they were departed, and it 
 was night, he made some excuse or other to his wife, and 
 got away his best gown, which he put on when he thought 
 it was the time, and went and stood upon one of the grave- 
 stones, it being a very cold night, expecting the beast. 
 Whilst Buffalmacco, who was pretty lusty, had _ pro- 
 cured a vizard mask, such as they used formerly in farces, 
 and he covered himself with a black fur gown, which was 
 turned inside out, that he seemed like a bear, only that his 
 mask had two horns, and so he had more the appearance 
 of the devil. Being thus equipped, he went to the square 
 by New St. Maria’s, Bruno following at a distance, to see 
 how they went on. And as soon as he found that his 
 doctor was there, he fell a-skipping and roaring about as if 
 he were mad, which put our physician into a most terrible 
 fright, and he began to wish heartily that he was at home 
 again. But as he was come out upon this affair, he 
 resolved to accomplish it, so urgent was his desire to 
 behold the wonders which they had been relating. At 
 last, after Buffalmacco had played his tricks for some time, 
 he grew a little more quiet, and drew near to the stone 
 where the doctor was, and where he stood out of harm’s 
 way; whilst he, who shook all over for fear, was in doubt 
 whether he should mount or not. Till apprehending that 
 some mischief might befall him if he did not, this latter 
 fear expelled the former, and coming down from the tomb, 
 he mounted upon the beast, praying God to help him, and 
 laid his hands upon his breast, as he had been directed. 
 Buffalmacco then began to shape his course towards St. 
 Maria della Scala, and from thence conducted him, grop- 
 ing all the way in the dark, as far as the Ladies of Ripole. 
 Hereabouts were divers ditches, made by the husbandmen 
 to empty the Countess di Civillari into, for the sake of 
 manuring their lands afterwards. Buffalmacco then being 
 come to the brink of one of them, and putting his hand 
 under one of the doctor’s feet, pitched him headlong in, 
 when he began to make a terrible noise, stamping and 
 roaring about, and so went back by. St. Maria della Scala, 
 towards Prata d’Ogni Santi, where he met with Bruno, who 
 had been forced to leave him, because he could not hold 
 
EIGHTH DAY 433 
 
 from laughing, and both turned back once more, to see 
 how the poor doctor would behave in that condition; 
 the, finding himself in such a place, laboured with 
 2ll his might to get released, but falling sometimes on 
 one side, and sometimes on the other, he was all over 
 imbrued ; till at length, with the utmost difficulty, he made 
 shift to scramble out with the loss of his hood, When he 
 cleaned himself as well as he could, and not knowing what 
 . other course to take, he went home, and knocked at the 
 door till they let him in. The door was no sooner shut 
 again, but Bruno and Buffalmacco were there listening to 
 hear what a reception the doctor would meet with from his 
 wife, who met him with all the bad language she could 
 devise, saying, ‘‘ You are in a fine condition, truly—what, 
 you have been with some other woman, and so had a mind 
 to make a figure in your scarlet robes!—Am not I enough 
 for you? l-wish you had been choked when you fell into 
 all that nastiness. Here is a fine physician indeed! who 
 is not content with his own wife, but must be running out 
 at night after other women.” With these and such like 
 words she rallied him till midnight, when she had him 
 washed and made clean. The next morning Bruno and 
 Buffalmacco came with their bodies all painted over with 
 blue spots, as if they had been beaten, to his house, when 
 they found him just risen out of bed, and everything in a 
 sad condition. He seeing them coming, went and wished 
 them a good morning; but they seeming much out of 
 temper, replied, ‘‘ We wished you had been hanged for a 
 sorry man as you are; we have been near losing our lives, 
 meaning to do you honour, being beaten like two asses, 
 and in danger of being excluded our assembly, where we 
 would have had you introduced. If you will not believe 
 us, pray behold our bodies:” so taking him into a corner, 
 where there was not much light, they just opened their 
 bosoms for him to see, and immediately buttoned them up 
 again. The doctor endeavoured to have excused himself, 
 and was telling them of his misfortunes, and where he had 
 been thrown. When Bufialmacco said, ‘I wish you had 
 been thrown from the bridge into the river; what had you 
 to do with prayers? Were, not: you told. of that» before- 
 
434 THE DECAMERON 
 
 hand ?”—‘' Indeed,” quoth he,. “1 used no prayers.”— 
 ‘How do you say! no prayers!” answered the others; 
 ‘‘T am sure our, messenger told us that you prayed and 
 trembled like an aspen leaf. We will never be served so 
 again, either by you or any one else; nor must you expect 
 ever any more to have such favours showed you.” The 
 doctor here began to ask pardon, entreating them not to 
 resent it; and, lest they should expose him, by making it 
 public, he entertained them at his house more than ever. 
 And thus our doctor was taught something more than he 
 had learned at Bologna. 
 
 NOVEL X 
 
 A certain Sicilian damsel cheats a merchant of all the money he had 
 taken for his goods at Palermo. Afterwards he pretends to return 
 with a greater stock of goods than before; when he contrives to 
 borrow a large sum of money of her, leaving sham pledges for her 
 security. 
 
 How much they were all diverted with the queen’s novel it is 
 needless to say; and it being now ended, Dioneus began in 
 this manner :— 
 
 It is certain that. those stratagems are the more enter- 
 taining, the more cunning and artful the person is who is 
 imposed upon by them. Therefore, though the other novels 
 have been agreeable enough, yet 1 think to relate one that 
 will please you better ; inasmuch as the lady outwitted was 
 a greater mistress of those devices than any of the persons 
 before-mentioned. 
 
 It was formerly a custom, and may be still, in seaport 
 towns, for all the merchants that come thither to bring their 
 goods into a common warehouse, under the keeping of the 
 community, or else the lord of the town; when they give a 
 particular account, in writing, of the nature and value of 
 them: the goods are kept under lock and key, and the 
 account entered in a register, for the merchants to pay the 
 accustomed dues, as all or part are sold, and delivered out 
 of the warehouse. From this register the brokers are 
 informed both of the quantity and quality of the goods, 
 
EIGHTH’ DAY 435 
 
 and also who are the owners, to treat with for them, either 
 by exchange, truck, or sale. .This was the way at Palermo, 
 as well asin many other places, where was likewise great 
 plenty of handsome women, not overstored with modesty. 
 And yet, to all appearance, many of them were grand ladies, 
 and pretended to a character: who, making it their whole 
 employ to shave, and even skin, such men as fell into their 
 clutches, no sooner did they see a strange merchant, but 
 they would inform themselves from that register, both of 
 the nature and value of his goods; when by their amorous 
 wiles, they would endeavour to bring him to their lure, 
 which they often did; and some have been choused out of 
 part of their goods ; others have lost ship, goods, and body, 
 to boot; so finely have they been touched over by these 
 cunning shavers. Now it happened not long since, that 
 a certain young Florentine, called Niccolo da Cigniano, 
 though more usually Salabaetto, arrived there by way of 
 factor, with as much woollen cloth, which had been left 
 unsold at the fair of Salerno, as might be worth five hun- 
 dred florins ; and having given in his account to the officers, 
 and laid his goods safely up in the warehouse, he was in no 
 great haste to despatch his business, but took a turn up 
 and down the town to amuse himself. Being a personable 
 young man, one of these female barterers that we have 
 been speaking of, called Madam Jiancofiore, having heard 
 something of his affairs, soon took notice of him, which he 
 perceiving, and supposing she was some great lady who 
 had taken a fancy to him, resolved to conduct the affair 
 with the utmost caution ; so without: saying a word to any 
 one, he used to take his walks frequently by her house. 
 She was soon sensible of this, and when she thought. his 
 affection towards her fully secured, under pretence of 
 languishing for him, she sent one of her women to him, 
 an adept in that sort of business, who told him, with tears 
 in her eyes, that her lady was so in love with him, that she 
 could get no rest night or day; therefore she desired very 
 much, whenever he would do her that favour, to meet her 
 at a bagnio; and with these words she took a ring out of 
 her purse, and gave it him as a token. Salabaetto was 
 overjoyed at the message: so taking the ring, and looking 
 
436 THE DECAMERON 
 
 carefully. at it, and kissing it, he put it upon his finger, and 
 said, “If your lady loves me as you say, be assured she 
 has not misplaced her affection, for I love her more than I 
 do my own life, and shall be ready to meet her at any time 
 and place she shall appoint.” She had no sooner reported 
 this answer, but she was posted back to tell him that her 
 mistress would meet him at such a bagnio that evening. 
 Accordingly he went thither at the time fixed, and found 
 it engaged for that lady’s use. He had not waited long 
 before two women ‘slaves came, the one loaded with a fine 
 cotton mattress and the other a hamper full of things. This 
 mattress they laid upon a bed in one of the chambers, 
 covering it with a pair of sheets, curiously edged with 
 silk, and over the whole was spread a rich Grecian 
 counterpane, with two pillows, worked) in a most 
 delicate manner; after which they went into the 
 bath, and cleaned it very carefully. The lady now came 
 attended by two slaves, and after some sighs and embraces, 
 she said, ‘‘My dear Tuscan, there is nobody could have 
 obtained this favour from me but yourself;” so they went 
 into the bath together, and with them two of their slaves, 
 who washed them with soap, scented with musk and gilli- 
 flowers. The other slaves then brought two fine sheets, 
 smelling of nothing but roses, in one of which they 
 wrapped Salabaetto, and in the other the lady, and carried 
 them to bed, where, after they had lain some time to per- 
 spire, those sheets were taken away, and they were left 
 between the others. After this, they took out of the 
 hamper silver canisters of rose, orange, and jessamine 
 water, which they sprinkled upon the bed, and presented 
 them with sweetmeats and rich wines, by way of collation: 
 he all the time thought himself in paradise, wishing heartily 
 that they would go away, and leave him in possession of 
 his mistress. At length they left a taper light in his 
 chamber, and departed. After they had lain a convenient 
 time, the servants returned, and put on their clothes ; and 
 when they had taken some more refreshment of wine and 
 sweetmeats, and washed their hands and faces with orange 
 water, as they were going to depart, she said, “If it be 
 agreeable to you, I should be vastly pleased if you would 
 
EIGHTH DAY 437 
 
 come and sup with me, and stay all night.” When he, 
 supposing himself as dear to her as her own heart, replied, 
 ““Madam, whatever is pleasing to you, is entirely so to me; 
 now, therefore, and at all times, I shall be ready to obey 
 your commands.” So she went home, and had her apart- 
 ment richly set out, and provided a costly supper for him ; 
 who accordingly went thither as soon as it was dark, and 
 was very elegantly received; and after supper they went 
 into a chamber scented with costly odours, where was a 
 most noble bed, and everything besides that was grand 
 and sumptuous. All which made him conclude that she 
 was some very great and rich lady. And though he had 
 heard various reports about her, yet he would not believe 
 them for the world; nay, had he been convinced of her 
 tricking other people, he could never have been made to 
 believe that she would serve him so. He stayed with her 
 then all that night, and the next morning she made him a 
 present of a fine wrought belt and purse, saying to him, 
 ** My dear Salabaetto, fare you well; and from henceforth 
 be persuaded, as you are entirely to my good liking, that 
 my person and all I possess are at your service.” He then 
 took his leave with great satisfaction, and went to the place 
 where the merchants usually resort. And continuing his 
 visits to her without any expense, and becoming every day 
 more enamoured, it happened that he sold his cloth and 
 gained considerable profit; which she being immediately 
 apprised of, not from himself, but other hands, as he was 
 with her one night, she seemed to express a more than 
 ordinary fondness for him, and would needs make him a 
 present of two beautiful silver cups, worth about thirty 
 florins, which he refused to accept; having had divers 
 things of her before, to the value of thirty more, without 
 giving her the worth of a single farthing. At last, after 
 she had set him all on fire, as it were, with this extra- 
 ordinary love and liberality, she was called out by one of 
 her slaves, as she had contrived beforehand, when she 
 returned in a little time full of tears, and throwing herself 
 down upon the bed, she seemed to grieve most immoder- 
 ately. Salabaetto was under the greatest astonishment, 
 and taking her in his arms, he began to say, “ Alas! my 
 
438 THE DECAMERON 
 
 dear heart, what is it that has happened to you thus sud- 
 denly? Tell me, my life, I entreat you, do.” She at last 
 replied, ‘My dear lord, I know neither what to do, nor 
 what to say. I have just received letters from Messina, 
 wherein my brother informs me, that, though I pawn all I 
 have, I must, without fail, remit a thousand florins of gold 
 in eight days; otherwise he must inevitably lose his head. 
 Now I find it impossible to raise the money upon so short 
 a notice: had I but fifteen days, I could procure it from a 
 place whence I could command even a greater sum; or I 
 could sell some of my lands: but as it cannot now be 
 done, I wish I had been in my grave rather than live to 
 know this trouble;” and she continued weeping; whilst 
 Salabaetto whose love had taken away his understanding, 
 thinking that her tears were real, and what she said was 
 true, made answer: “ Madam, I am unabie to furnish you 
 with a thousand, but with five hundred I can, as you think 
 you will be able to pay me in fifteen days: and it is your 
 good fortune that I happened to sell my cloth yesterday, 
 otherwise I could not have spared you one farthing.”— 
 “ Alas,” quoth the lady, ‘‘then have you been in want of 
 money? Why did not you speak to me? For though I 
 have not a thousand, I have always a hundred or two to 
 spare for you. You deprive me of the assurance to accept 
 your proffered favour.” He, quite captivated with these 
 fine speeches, made answer, ‘“‘ Madam, you shall have it 
 nevertheless ; had I been in the like circumstance I should 
 have applied to you.”—‘' Dear me!” she replied, ‘‘I: am 
 convinced of your most constant and entire love towards 
 me, to supply me with such a sum of your own accord: I 
 was yours before, and now. am much more so; nor shall I 
 ever forget that it is to you I am indebted for my brother’s 
 life. But Heaven knows I accept it very unwillingly, con- 
 sidering that you are a merchant, and must have occasion 
 for a great deal of ready money; but being constrained by 
 necessity, and assured also that I shall be able to return it 
 at your time, I will make use of it; and I will pawn all my 
 houses rather than fail in my engagement to you.” With 
 these words she fell down, weeping, in his arms. He did 
 all he could to comfort her, and stayed with her all that 
 
EIGHTH DAY 439 
 
 night ; and the next morning, to show what a liberal lover 
 he was, and without waiting for any further request, brought 
 her the five hundred florins, which she received with 
 laughter in her heart, though with tears in her eyes, he 
 looking only to her simple promise... But after she had 
 got the money, the times were soon changed ; and whereas 
 before he had free admittance to her as often as he pleased, 
 now reasons were given that he could not get a sight of her 
 once in seven times that he went; nor did he meet with 
 those smiles and caresses, nor with the same generous 
 reception, as:before. Moreover, the time limited was past, 
 and one or two months over, and when he demanded. his 
 money he could get nothing but words by way of payment. 
 Whilst he, now sensible of the arts of this wicked woman, 
 as well as of his own want of sense, and knowing that he had 
 no proof against her, but what she herself would please to 
 acknowledge, there being nothing of any writing between 
 them, was ashamed.to make his complaint to any one, both 
 because he had notice of it before, and also on account of 
 the disgrace he must undergo for his monstrous credulity ; 
 so he continued uneasy and disconsolate to the last degree. 
 And receiving frequent letters from his masters, in which 
 he was required to get bills of exchange for the money, and 
 remit to them, he resolved, to prevent a discovery, to leave 
 the place ; and he embarked on board a little vessel, not 
 for Pisa, as he should have done, but for Naples. 
 
 At that time lived there Signor Pietro della Canigiano, 
 treasurer to the Empress of Constantinople, a very subtle, 
 sensible man, and a great friend to Salabaetto and his 
 masters: to whom he made his case known, requesting his 
 assistance in getting himself a livelihood, and declaring that 
 he would never more return to F lorence, Canigiano, who 
 was much concerned for him, replied, ‘‘You have done 
 very ill ; very ill indeed have you behaved yourself: small 
 is the regard which you have showed to your principles, too 
 much have you expended upon your pleasures. Iti is done, 
 however, and we must remedy it as well as wecan.” Then, 
 like a prudent man, he considered what course it was best 
 to take, and acquainted him with it. Salabaetto was 
 pleased with the scheme, and resolved to follow it ; and 
 
440 THE DECAMERON 
 
 having some money of his own, and Canigiano lending him 
 some, he made divers bales of goods well packed together, 
 and procured about twenty casks for oil, which he filled, 
 and returned'with them to Palermo, where he entered them 
 as on his own account in the register, with what value he 
 pleased to put upon them; and he laid them up in the 
 warehouse, declaring that they were not to be meddled with 
 till more goods of his should arrive, which he was daily 
 expecting. The lady hearing of this, and understanding 
 that the goods he had already there were worth two 
 thousand florins, and that what remained to come were 
 rated at three thousand more, began to think that she had 
 as yet got too little from him; therefore she thought of 
 returning the five hundred to come in for a better part of 
 the five thousand, and accordingly she sent for him. He 
 went with malice in his heart, whilst she, seeming to know 
 nothing of what he had brought, appeared wonderfully 
 pleased at seeing him, and said, ‘‘ Now, were you really 
 vexed because I failed giving you your money at your 
 time?” He smiled, and replied, “In truth, madam, I was 
 a little uneasy, since I would pluck my very heart out if I 
 thought it would please you ; but you shall see how much 
 I was offended. Such is my regard for you, that I have 
 sold the greatest part of my estate, and have brought as 
 much merchandise as is worth two thousand florins, and 1 
 expect from the Levant what will amount to three thousand 
 more; resolving to have a warehouse, and to abide here, 
 for the sake of being near you, as I think nobody can be 
 happier in their love than I am in yours.” She then 
 replied, “‘ Now trust me, Salabaetto, whatever redounds to 
 your benefit is extremely pleasing to me, as I hold you 
 dearer than my own life; and I am glad you are returned 
 with an intention of staying, because I hope to have a great 
 deal of your company; but it is fit that I excuse myself to 
 you, in that sometimes you came to see me, and were not 
 admitted, and at other times not so cheerfully received as 
 before ; and besides this, for my not paying you the money 
 according to promise. Now you must know that I was 
 then in very great trouble, and upon such occasions, be 
 one’s love what it will, one cannot look so pleasantly as at 
 
EIGHTH DAY 441 
 
 another time: I must tell you likewise that it is a very 
 difficult thing fora lady to raise a thousand florins, people 
 impose upon us in that manner, without ever minding what 
 they promise; so that we are forced to deceive others. 
 Hence it is, therefore, and for no other reason, that I did 
 not return you your money; but I had got it ready just as 
 you went away, and would have sent it after you, had I 
 _ known where to have found you; but as I did not, I kept 
 it carefully for you.” So sending for a purse, which had 
 the very same florins in it, that he had delivered to her, she 
 put it into his hand, saying, ‘‘See, and count if there are 
 five hundred.” Never was Salabaetto so overjoyed as at 
 that present time; so telling them over, and finding there 
 were just five hundred, he replied, ‘Madam, I am con- 
 vinced that what you say is true; but let us talk no more 
 about it, you have done your part, and I.assure you, upon 
 that account, as well as the love I have for you, that what- 
 ever sum of money you shall want at any time, if it be in 
 my power to supply you, you may command it; as you 
 may soon see upon trial.” Thus their love being renewed, 
 in word at least, he continued artfully his visits as before; 
 whilst she showed him all the respect and honour that 
 could be, expressing the same fondness as ever. But he, 
 willing to return measure for measure, being invited one 
 night to sup with her, went thither all sad and melancholy, 
 like a person in despair. When she kissing and embracing 
 him, would needs know the cause of all that sorrow. He, 
 having suffered her to entreat him for some time, at last 
 said, ‘I am undone, for the ship which had the goods on 
 board, that I have been expecting, is taken by the corsairs 
 of Monaco, and put up at the ransom of ten thousand 
 florins, one thousand of which falls to my share, and I have 
 not one farthing to pay it with; for the five hundred which 
 you paid me, I sent instantly to Naples, to lay out in cloth 
 to be sent hither, and were I to offer to sell the goods I 
 have here, as it is an improper time, I must do it to very 
 great loss, and being a stranger, I have nobody to apply 
 to; so that I know neither what to say nor what to do, and 
 if the money be not sent immediately, they will be carried 
 into Monaco, and then they will be past redemption.” 
 
442 THE DECAMERON 
 
 She was under great concern at hearing this, reckoning a 
 good part of it as lost to herself; and considering how to 
 prevent the goods ‘being sent to Monaco, at last she said, 
 *‘Heaven knows how much my love for you makes. me 
 grieve for your misfortune. But to what purpose is that? 
 Had I the money, I would instantly give it-you, but I have 
 not. : Indeed there is a person that lent me five hundred 
 florins the other day, when I was in distress, but he expects 
 an exorbitant interest, viz.,.no less than thirty in~ the 
 hundred. If you will have the money of this, man, you 
 must give him good:security. Now-l am ready to pledge 
 my goods here, and pass my word as far as that will. go 
 to serve you; but how will you secure the remainder?” 
 Salabaetto knew the reason of her proposing this piece of 
 service, and that she herself was to lend the money; so 
 being well pleased, he returned -her thanks, and said, that 
 let the interest be what it would, his necessity was. such 
 that he must agree to it; then he added, that he would 
 make a security by his goods which he had in the. ware- 
 house, and that they should be assigned over in the-register 
 to the person who advanced the money, but that he would 
 keep the key, as well for the sake of showing them, if any- 
 body should want to see them, as to prevent their being 
 exchanged or meddled with. The lady replied, ‘ You 
 speak extremely well, the security is sufficient ;” and at the 
 time appointed she sent for a broker, in whom she put 
 great confidence, when she told him what he was to do, and 
 gave him the money, which he carried straightway to 
 Salabaetto, who assigned over his goods to him at the 
 custom-house, and they were entered in his name; thus 
 they parted, giving each other counter-security. Salabaetto 
 now immediately embarked with the fifteen hundred florins 
 and went to Pietro dello Canigiano at Naples, from whence 
 he remitted to his masters at Florence the entire account 
 of what he had made of their cloth; and having paid Pietro 
 and every one else what he owed them, they laughed very 
 heartily together at the trick put upon his Sicilian mistress. 
 From thence, resolving to trade no longer, he went to 
 Florence. In the meantime; the lady, finding Salabaetto 
 was not at Palermo, began to wonder, and grow half- 
 
EIGHTH DAY 443 
 
 suspicious; and, after waiting two months, and hearing 
 nothing of his return, she made the broker force open the 
 warehouse, when first she tried the casks, which she sup- 
 posed had been full of oil, and found them full of. salt 
 water, with a small quantity of oil at the top, just at the 
 bung-hole. She then looked into the bales of goods, only 
 _ two of which had cloth in them; and the rest were stuffed 
 with coarse hurds of hemp; that, in short, the whole was 
 not worth two hundred florins. So she, finding herself 
 thus imposed upon, was under great affliction for a long 
 time with regard to the five hundred florins that she had 
 restored, and much more for the thousand she had lent, 
 often saying, that whoever had to do with a Tuscan had 
 need of all their eyes about them. Thus she became a 
 common jest afterwards, having found to her cost that some 
 people have as much cunning as others. 
 
 After Dioneus had made an end, Lauretta, knowing 
 that her reign was concluded, and having commended the 
 good advice of Pietro Canigiano, as appeared by its effect, 
 and the sagacity of Salabaetto, no less to be admired in 
 putting it in execution, took the crown from her own head, 
 and placed it upon Emilia, saying, “ Madam, I do not 
 know whether you will make a pleasant queen or not, but 
 a pretty one I am sure you will. See then that your works 
 correspond with your beauty.” 
 
 Emilia, not so much for the honour conferred upon her, 
 as for hearing herself commended on account of that which 
 ladies most of all covet, blushed a little, seeming like the 
 opening of a rose in the morning ; but after she had turned 
 her eyes down to the ground, till the redness was some- 
 thing gone off, and having given her orders to the master 
 of the household, concerning what she would have done, 
 she began in this manner: “ We often see, ladies, that after 
 oxen have laboured at the yoke all the day, they are then 
 turned loose, and permitted to graze through the forests at 
 their pleasure. It is also certain that gardens, which have 
 a variety of trees in them, are more delightful than groves, 
 where nothing is seen but oaks: for which reasons, con- 
 sidering how many days we have been confined to certain 
 laws, it may be convenient for us all to take a little liberty, 
 
444 THE DECAMERON 
 
 to refresh and gain strength against our returning to the 
 yoke. I shall, therefore, give you no particular subject for 
 to-morrow, but leave you all to please yourselves, being of 
 opinion that a variety of things will be no less entertaining 
 than keeping strictly to one. My successor, if he pleases, 
 may keep to the old laws.” She then gave them leave to 
 depart till supper-time. The queen’s order was generally 
 approved, and they went to their different amusements. 
 The ladies made nosegays and chaplets of flowers, and the 
 gentlemen sat down to play, or else to sing ; and thus they 
 were employed till supper, when they placed themselves by 
 the fountain-side, and supped very merrily together. After- 
 wards they began to dance and sing, when the queen, to 
 pursue the method of her predecessors, besides what many 
 of them had voluntarily given, ordered Pamphilus to sing 
 a song, which he did as follows :— 
 
 SONG 
 
 I 
 
 Such the abundant am’rous joy 
 With which my heart elate hath been, 
 As no restraint, no bounds to know, 
 And flushing in my face is seen ! 
 
 II 
 
 In vain my feeble song essays 
 To paint what cannot be expressed 3 
 And which more fully to have known, 
 Would bring but jealousy at best. 
 
 II! 
 
 Could I have formed a wish like this, 
 My utmost hope have reached so far, 
 To clasp her yielding taper waist, 
 And press my eager lips to her? 
 
 Every one joined in Pamphilus’s song; nor was there 
 any among them but made more conjectures than were 
 necessary, to find out what he meant to conceal; and 
 though they imagined different things, yet none of them 
 was in the right. But the queen, seeing the song was 
 ended, and that the company were disposed to rest, gave 
 orders for them all to retire to bed. 
 
THE NINTH DAY 
 
 Aurora had now changed the heavens from blue to purple, 
 and the flowers along the meadows began to cpen to the 
 rising sum, when the queen arose with all her company; 
 and they took a walk together to a grove, not far from the 
 palace, where they saw a variety of creatures, such as deer, 
 goats, &c., so secure from the hunter, by reason of the then 
 raging pestilence, that they stood gazing upon them as if 
 they had been tame. Upon a nearer approach, first to one, 
 and then to another, as if they meant to play with them, 
 they were greatly delighted to see them run and skip about 
 them. But the sun being now risen to a good height, it 
 was thought convenient to return. They had all oak gar- 
 lands on, with their hands full of flowers, or sweet-smelling 
 herbs ; so that whoever had seen them must needs have 
 concluded, either that death would not be able to vanquish 
 them, or at least that he would find them no otherwise than 
 merry. In this manner they came step by step to the 
 palace, laughing, joking, and singing, all the way, where 
 they found everything in order; and, after reposing them- 
 selves awhile, they sung half-a-dozen songs before they 
 would sit down to table. They then washed their hands, 
 and dinner was served up; when, being sufficiently regaled, 
 and after indulging in a dance or two, the queen gave leave 
 for such as were so disposed to go to rest. At the usual 
 hour they met at the usual place, when the queen, looking 
 on Philomena, desired her to begin for that day, which she 
 did in this manner :— 
 
 445 
 
446 THE DECAMERON 
 
 NOVEL I 
 
 Madam Francesca having two lovers, and liking neither of them, rids 
 herself of both by making one go and lie down in a person’s grave, 
 and sending the other to fetch him out. 
 
 I am well pleased, madam, as it is your will, to run the first 
 ring, in this free and open field of relating novels, in which 
 your courtesy has placed us, not doubting, if I perform 
 well, but that they who come after will do as well or better. 
 It has often been made appear in our discourses, how great 
 the force of love is; nor do I think the subject would be 
 exhausted were we to talk of nothing else from year’s end 
 to year’s end: because it hath led its -votaries not only 
 ito various dangers of death, but even into the very man- 
 sions ‘of the dead. I. purpose to add a story to what has 
 been already given, wherein, besides the power of love, will 
 be shown the contrivance of a certain lady to rid herself 
 of. two lovers, who were neither of them to her liking: 
 
 In the city of Pistoia there was a handsome widow lady, 
 whom two of our townsmen, who were banished thither 
 from hence, were desperately in love with, and who’ used 
 their utmost endeavours to gain her affection; ‘the one 
 named Rinuccio Palermino, ang the other Alessandro 
 Chiarmontesi. Now this lady, who was called Francesca 
 de’ Lazari, had been often solicited by them, when she 
 listened too hastily to their importunities ; and being after- 
 wards desirous to quit herself of those engagements, with- 
 out being able to dovit, it came into her head at last to ask 
 a piece of service of them, which, though possible to be 
 done, she: supposed neither would undertake, and ‘that, 
 from their not complying, she might haye a just pretence 
 for turning them adrift.. The thing was this:— 
 
 The very day that she first thought of it,a man was 
 buried at Pistoia, who, though of a good family, was reputed 
 to have been one of the vilest wretches that ever was born: 
 moreover, he was so deformed, that they who did not know 
 him would have been frightened at the first sight of him. 
 This circumstance, she thought, fell in very aptly with her 
 design ; therefore, she said to her maid: 
 
NINTH DAY 447 
 
 ‘Thou knowest what plague and trouble I have had with 
 these two 'Florentines ; now I have a mind’ to have neither 
 the one nor the other. In order, then, to shake them. off, 
 I intend to make a trial of them in a certain affair which I 
 am confident they will refuse to do, and thou. shalt: hear 
 what it is. Last might thou knowest, was interred in the 
 churchyard belonging to the lesser friars, Scannadio (for so 
 was the man called whom we have been speaking of), who, 
 even when alive, was frightful to most people. Do thou 
 go, then, privately, to Alessandro, and say that thy mistress 
 orders thee to acquaint him that the time is now come 
 when he may be secure of her love, in the following 
 manner :—That one of her relations, for a reason which he 
 will know afterwards, is to bring that: man’s: corpse to her 
 house, ‘which she is much averse to; therefore she begs it 
 as a favour of him, that he would go, about the beginning 
 of the night, into the grave, and put the man’s shroud on, 
 waiting there till the person comes to take him away, which 
 he is to suffer him to do, without speaking a word, and to 
 let him carry him to her house, where she will be ready to 
 receive him;*and the rest he may leave to her. If he 
 agrees to it,.it is well; but if he refuse, charge him at his 
 peril not'to come any more in her sight, or to trouble her 
 with his messages. After this, thou’ must go to Rinuccio, 
 and tell him that thy mistress is ready to gratify him upon 
 condition that he will do her one piece of service, which is 
 to fetch Scannadio out of‘his grave about midnight, and 
 bring him to her house, the meaning of which he-will see at 
 that time; and if he should refuse, that he offer to come 
 no more near her.” The maid obeyed, and: going to both, 
 delivered her messages... They replied, that they would not 
 only go into a grave, but even to hell, if it was. her. desire. 
 She accordingly reported their answers to the lady, who was 
 waiting to see if they would be such fools.as to do'so.. At 
 night, therefore, Alessandro stripped into ‘his waistcoat and 
 went to supply Scannadio’s place in the .vault, when he was 
 seized ‘with sudden terror by the way, and began to say to 
 himself, ‘What a foolam I! Whither am I going? How 
 do I knowbut'this is a trap laid by some of her-relations, 
 who have made a discovery of my love, to murder me in the 
 
448 THE DECAMERON 
 
 vault, which may be effected, and nobody know anything 
 of the matter;. or how can I be assured but it is. a 
 stratagem of some rival, whom she may love better than me? 
 But suppose again, on the other hand, that none of these 
 things are intended, and that her relations carry me to her 
 house, I must conclude that they cannot want Scannadio’s 
 body, either to keep themselves or to present to her, but 
 rather that they mean to mangle it, it having deserved such 
 treatment from them. She also enjoins me not to speak 
 a word, whatever shall be done to me. But suppose they 
 pluck out my eyes, or lop off my hands, how can I. bear 
 that? and should I cry out, and they know me, they might 
 then use me ill; or, otherwise, they may not leave me: with 
 the lady, and so she may pretend that I have disobeyed her 
 orders, and my labour will be all lost.” Full of these 
 reflections, he was on the point of returning home, till his 
 love spurred him on with more prevailing arguments to the 
 contrary, and he hurried along to the vault, which he 
 opened, and having entered, he stripped the dead body, 
 and put on the shroud; and, after he had closed the grave 
 again, he laid himself down in Scannadio’s place, when 
 calling to mind the man’s character, and the reports which 
 he had heard of his ransacking people’s graves, and com- 
 mitting all kinds of villainy, he was so terrified that his hair 
 stood on end, and he was expecting every moment that the 
 man should rise up and strangle him there. Yet still his 
 love got the better of his fear, and he lay as if he was 
 dead, waiting for the event. As soon as it was midnight, 
 Rinuccio went out also to obey his mistress’s commands ; 
 and as he passed along, he began to think of many things 
 which might happen to him; particularly his being met by 
 the sheriff's officers with Scannadio’s body on his back, and 
 so punished for sacrilege, or else his falling under the 
 resentment of the man’s relations, if they should chance to 
 know it; with more such apprehensions, enough ‘to have 
 deterred him from the enterprise. Till considering with 
 himself, he said, ‘‘ What, and shall I say no to the lady’s 
 first request, whom I have loved, and do still love so much; 
 especially as it 1s to gain her favour?. Undoubtedly, were 
 I sure to die in the attempt, I would fulfil my promise.” 
 
NINTH DAY | 449 
 
 Full of that resolution, he went to the grave, and opened 
 it. Alessandro, though he was very much frightened, lay 
 still nevertheless. Whilst Rinuccio, thinking that it was 
 Scannadio’s body, took Alessandro by the feet, and drew 
 him out, and hoisting him upon his shoulders, he went on 
 towards Francesco’s house. But carrying him along without 
 any great care, he would frequently hit him a great thump 
 against the wall, first on one side, and then on the other: 
 the night also was so dark, that he scarcely knew where he 
 went ; and being now got to the door, and she sitting with 
 her maid at the window, expecting their coming, and pre- 
 pared to send them about their business, it happened that 
 the officers were waiting there, to take a certain outlaw, 
 when, hearing the noise of Rinuccio’s steps, they drew out 
 their lanterns to see who it was, whilst they raised up their 
 halberds, and cried out, ‘‘Who is there?” Rinuccio, upon 
 this, without any great deliberation, threw his burden down, 
 and ran away as fast as his legs could carry him. 
 Alessandro too got up as speedily as he could, though the 
 dead man’s clothes were a good deal too long for him, and 
 made off as well as the other.—Now the lady saw plainly, 
 by the officers’ light, how Rinuccio had the other upon his 
 back, with the dead man’s shroud on, and was astonished 
 at the resolution of both; laughing heartily, however, as 
 soon as she saw Alessandro thrown down, and that each 
 of them took to his heels. And being thankful for her 
 deliverance, she returned into her chamber, declaring to 
 her maid, that surely their love must be very great to fulfil 
 such conditions. Rinuccio stayed at a distance, cursing 
 his hard fortune, till the officers were gone, when he came 
 groping about to find where he had thrown Alessandro 
 down, desiring to complete his commands ; but not meeting 
 with him, and supposing that the officers had taken him 
 away, he departed, vexed at his disappointment. Ales- 
 sandro, also, not knowing what to do, and being ignorant 
 who the person was that had carried him thither, went home 
 with the like concern. And in the Morning scannadio’s 
 vault being found open, and the body not seen therein, 
 ‘because Alessandro had rolled it to the bottom, the town 
 was all in an uproar about it, many people believing that 
 : P 
 
 y 
 
450 THE DECAMERON 
 
 the devil had certainly carried him off. Nevertheless, both 
 the lovers signified to the lady what they had done, and how 
 they had been disappointed, excusing themselves thereby 
 for not having fully executed her commands, and still 
 entreating her favour and love: whilst she, seeming to credit 
 neither, cut them both short with an absolute denial, in- 
 asmuch as both had failed im the performance of the 
 conditions required. 
 
 NOVEL II 
 
 An abbess, going in haste, and in the dark, to surprise one of her nuns, 
 instead of her vetl, puts on the priest's breeches. The lady accused 
 makes a just remark upon this, and so escapes. 
 
 PHILOMENA was now silent, and the lady’s contrivance to 
 free herself from two troublesome people, whom she could 
 not love, generally approved; their daring presumption 
 being judged the effect, not of love, but folly. When the 
 queen pleasantly said, “Eliza, do you follow;” who 
 immediately began:—The lady you have just mentioned 
 saved herself very dexterously from trouble; but a cer- 
 tain nun escaped the most imminent danger by a word 
 or two aptly spoken, more through her good fortune. 
 There are many simple people who prove the rigid masters 
 and correctors of others, whom fortune takes occasion 
 sometimes very justly to expose and humble, as was the 
 case of the abbess, under whose government the nun was, 
 of whom I am going to speak. 
 
 In Lombardy was a monastery, famous for its sanctity; 
 and amongst the other nuns belonging to it was a lady, 
 named Isabella, of exquisite beauty, as well as of a noble 
 family, who had fallen in love with a young gentleman that 
 came witha relation of hers to see her at the grate. He 
 also had conceived the same affection for her, and this 
 love continued some time without effect, to the great con- 
 cern of both. At last he thought of a way to get to her, and 
 continued visiting her in that manner till he was discovered 
 by one of the ladies. She communicated the affair to some 
 others ; and first, they were resolved to accuse her to the 
 
NINTH DAY ; 451 
 
 abbess, a worthy good lady in the opinion of the nuns and 
 other people that knew her: but afterwards, for fear she 
 should deny it; it was agreed that the abbess should sur- 
 prise them together; and so they kept watch by turns, in 
 order to find them out. One night, therefore, Isabella 
 having her lover in her chamber, without the least sus- 
 picion of their designs, the scouts immediately perceived 
 it, and dividing themselves into parties, one guarded the 
 entrance into her room, whilst the other ran to the lady 
 abbess’s chamber, when, knocking at the door, they cried, 
 “Pray, madam, get up as quick as you can, for our sister 
 Isabella has a man in her apartments.” Now that night it 
 happened that the abbess had a priest with her, who had 
 been frequently brought to her in a chest; and fearing lest, 
 out of their great hurry and eagerness, they might force the 
 door open, she immediately arose, and dressed herself as 
 well as she could in the dark; and thinking that she had 
 taken a certain plaited veil, which she usually wore, she 
 chanced to lay hold of the priest’s breeches, and threw them 
 over her head in its stead. She now went forth, and 
 locking the door after her, she said, ‘‘ Where is this wicked 
 woman?” Away then she posted along with the nuns, who 
 were so zealous and intent upon finding out poor Isabella, 
 that they never took notice of what she had upon her 
 head : and coming to her chamber, they found her and her 
 lover together, who were so confounded that they could 
 not speak a word. She was then taken and carried to the 
 chapter-house, the young gentleman being left in the 
 chamber, waiting to see what the end would be, and 
 resolving to revenge himself, if any harm was offered to his 
 mistress, and afterwards to take her away. 
 
 The abbess having taken her place in the chapter, with 
 her nuns about her, who had all their eyes only on the 
 guilty person, she began to give her a most severe repri- 
 mand for having defiled, as she told her, by her most dis- 
 orderly and wicked actions, the sanctity, honesty, and good 
 name of the monastery, adding thereto most bitter threats. 
 The lady, quite confounded between fear and shame, was 
 able to make no defence, moving many of them to com- 
 passion with her silence; but the abbess still continuing 
 
452 THE DECAMERON 
 
 her abuses, she happened to raise up her head, when 
 she saw the breeches hanging on each side of the abbess’s 
 neck, and being a little comforted with that, as she con- 
 jectured the fact, she said, “‘ Please, madam, to button your 
 coif, and then tell me what you would have.” “ What coif is 
 that you mean?” replied she, ‘you wicked woman, you! 
 Have you the assurance to laugh at me? Do you think 
 jests will serve your turn in such an affair as this?” The 
 lady said once more, *‘I beg, madam, that you would first 
 button your coif, and then speak.” Upon which they all 
 perceived Isabella’s meaning. And the abbess, finding that 
 she was detected of the very same crime, soon changed her 
 note, and began to excuse and palliate the matter. So she 
 returned to her priest, as Isabella did to her lover. And 
 - they continued their interviews together, in spite of all such 
 as envied their happiness, whilst the rest procured them. 
 selves lovers as soon as they could. : 
 
 NOVEL Iil 
 
 Master Simon the doctor, with Bruno, and the vest, make Calandrino 
 believe that he ts with child; who gives them fowls and money to 
 compose a medicine for him; and he recovers without being delivered. 
 
 AFTER Eliza had concluded her novel, and the company 
 all expressed their joy for the lady’s happy escape from the 
 invidious censures of her sister-nuns, the queen ordered 
 Philostratus to proceed, which he immediately did in this 
 manner :— 
 
 The odd figure of a judge, that was spoken of yesterday, 
 prevented my giving you a story of Calandrino, which I 
 had ready to tell you; therefore, as whatever is related of 
 him must be entertaining, though we have had a great deal 
 already about him and his companions, I shall now say 
 what I had then in my mind. 
 
 You have heard who Calandrino was, as well as the rest 
 of the people concerned in this novel, so I shali tell you, 
 without further preface, that he had an aunt died who left 
 him about twenty pounds, on which he began to talk of 
 
NINTH DAY. 453 
 
 purchasing an estate, and was running to treat with every 
 broker in Florence, as if he had been worth the Indies, but 
 there was an end always when they came to talk of a price. 
 Now Bruno and Buffalmacco, who knew all this, had often 
 told him that he had better spend it with them than lay it 
 out on a little paltry land, butin vain; he would never part 
 with a farthing. One day being in company with another 
 paimter, whose name was Nello, and having agreed to feast 
 ‘themselves well at his expense, and being resolved too in 
 what manner, the next morning, as he was going out of his 
 house, he was met by Nello, who said, “Good morning to 
 you, and a good year also.” After which the other began 
 to look wistfully in his face, when he said, “What do you 
 look at?” Quoth Nello, ‘‘Has anything been the matter 
 with you last night? You are quite a different person.” 
 Calandrino grew thoughtful at this, and said, ‘ Alas! now, 
 what do you think Lail?” Nello replied, “Oh! I do not 
 speak it upon that account, it may be something else;” 
 and away he went. Calandrino, went on a little diffident, 
 though feeling nothing all the time, when Buffalmacco 
 came up to him, seeing him part from Nello, and asked 
 him whether he was well. Calandrino replied, ‘‘ Indeed, J 
 do not know: is it possible to be otherwise, and I not 
 perceive it?” Said Buffalmacco, ‘‘It may be so, or it may 
 not; but I assure you, you look as though you were half 
 dead.” He now thought himself in a high fever, when 
 Bruno came up, and the first word he said was, “‘ Monstrous ! 
 how you look! why, you are dead. . Have you any sense of 
 feeling?” He now concluded it was really so, and he 
 asked them, in a great fright, what he had bestdo. “I 
 advise,” quoth Bruno, ‘‘that you go home and get to. bed, 
 covering yourself up close, whilst you send your water to 
 Master Simon the doctor: he is our friend, you know, and 
 will put you into a method ; in the meantime we will go 
 with you, and do what we can for you.” So they took him 
 to his own house, and he went upstairs ready to die away 
 every moment, when he said to his wife, ‘‘Come and cover 
 me up well in bed, for I find myself extremely ill.” And 
 being laid down, he sent his water by alittle girl to the 
 doctor, whose shop was in the old market, at the sign of 
 
454 _ THE DECAMERON 
 
 the Melon. Bruno now said to his friends, ‘* Do you stay 
 here, and I will go and hear what the doctor says, and 
 bring him with me if there be occasion.” Said Calandrino, 
 ‘Pray do, my good friend, and let me know how it stands 
 with me, for I feel myself strangely within.” Bruno getting 
 to the doctor’s before the girl, let him into the secret. 
 When the child came therefore, and he had examined the 
 water, he said to her, ‘Go and bid him keep warm, and I 
 will come instantly, and direct what to do.” She returned, 
 and told Calandrino, and in a little time the doctor and 
 Bruno came together, when the doctor sat down by him, 
 and began to feel his pulse; at last he said, the wife being 
 present, “I must tell you, as a friend, that your illness is 
 nothing else but your being with child.” As soon as he 
 heard this, he began to roar out, and say to his wife, ‘‘ Alas, 
 this is all your doing!” Whilst the poor woman was so 
 surprised, and out of countenance, that she left the room. 
 He then continued his complaints, saying, ‘‘ What must I 
 do? Or how shall I be delivered?” His companions had 
 much ado to keep from laughing, seeing him in all this fright ; 
 and as for the doctor, he showed all his teeth in such a 
 manner that you might have drawn every one out; till, at 
 length, Calandrino requesting the doctor’s best advice and 
 assistance, the doctor replied, ‘‘Calandrino, I would not 
 have you make yourself too uneasy, for since I know your 
 ailment, I doubt not but I shall soon give you relief, and 
 with a very little trouble; but it will be with some expense.” 
 ‘Oh, doctor,” quoth he, ‘I have twenty pounds, which 
 should have bought me an estate; take it all, rather than 
 let it come to a labour; for I hear the women make such 
 a noise at those times, that I shall never get through it.” 
 **Never fear,” said the doctor, “I shall prepare you a 
 distilled liquor, very pleasant to the taste, which will resolve 
 and bring it away, so that in three days you shall be as 
 well as ever, nor subject any more to the like mishap. 
 Now I must have six fat fowls, and for the other things, 
 which will cost about ten shillings, you must give one of 
 your friends here the money to buy, and bring them to my 
 shop; and to-morrow morning I will send you the distilled 
 water, which you must drink by a large glassful at a time.” 
 
NINTH DAY 455 
 
 He replied, ** Doctor, I rely upon you.” So he gave Bruno 
 ten shillings, and money also for the fowls, and desired he 
 would take that trouble upon him. The doctor then made 
 a little hippocrass, and sent it him. Whilst Bruno, with 
 his companions and the doctor, were very merry over the 
 fowls, and other good cheer purchased with the rest of the 
 money. After Calandrino had drunk the hippocrass for 
 the three mornings, the doctor came with his companions 
 to see him, and on feeling his pulse, he said, ‘‘ You are now 
 quite well, and need confine yourself within doors no longer.” . 
 He was overjoyed at this, and gave the doctor great thanks, 
 telling everybody he met what a cure Doctor Simon had 
 wrought him in three days’ time, and without the least 
 pain. Nor were his friends less pleased in overreaching 
 his extreme avarice; but as to the wife, she saw into the 
 trick, and made a great clamour about it. 
 
 NOVEL IV 
 
 Fortarrigo played away all that he had at Buonconvento, as also the 
 money of Angiolieri, who was his master ; then running away in 
 his shirt, and pretending that the other had robbed him, he caused 
 him to be seized by the country people, when he put on his clothes, 
 and rode away upon hts horse, leaving him there in his shirt. 
 
 CALANDRINO’S simplicity had occasioned a good deal of 
 diversion ; when Neiphile, as it was the queen’s pleasure, 
 began in this manner :— 
 
 If it were not more difficult for people to show their 
 worth and good sense, rather than their bad dispositions 
 and folly, they would not need to lay their tongues under 
 the severe restraint that many are forced to do; now I 
 mean to tell a story quite contrary to the last, namely, how 
 the vileness of one man came beyond the understanding of 
 another, to the great detriment and derision of the person 
 so outwitted. 
 
 There dwelt, not long since, at Siena, two young men of 
 equal years, the one named Angiolieri, and the other 
 Fortarrigo, who, as they resembled each other in many 
 things, so, more particularly in their disobedience to their 
 
456 THE DECAMERON 
 
 fathers, by which means they became inseparable friends. 
 But Angiolieri, who was an accomplished gentleman, 
 finding that he could not subsist very well there upon his 
 father’s allowance, and hearing that a certain cardinal was 
 come to Ancona, as the pope’s legate, who had showed a 
 particular regard for him, he resolved to go thither, in hopes 
 of bettering his condition. So making his mind known to 
 his father, he got half a year’s stipend beforehand, in order 
 to furnish himself with clothes and horses for his more 
 creditable appearance. And being in want of a servant, 
 Fortarrigo, who had notice of it, came and requested the 
 favour that he would take him along with him in that 
 capacity, offering to be his valet, footman, and everything 
 else, without a farthing of wages more than his expenses, 
 which the other.refused, not that he thought him -unfit for 
 his service, but because he knew him to be a gamester, and 
 one that would frequently_get.drunk. Fortarrigo assured 
 him that he would be constantly on his guard with respect 
 to both, confirming it with many protestations, and begging 
 so hard besides, that at last he gave his consent. 
 Accordingly they set out upon their journey, and rode.as 
 far as Buonconvento, where they stopped to dine; and after 
 dinner, as it was very hot weather, Angiolieri ordered a bed 
 to be prepared, when he made his man undress him, and 
 went to sleep, ordering him to call him up exactly as the 
 clock struck nine. Whilst he was asleep, therefore, Fortar- 
 rigo went to the tavern, and, after drinking pretty heartily, 
 began to play with some people there, who soon won what 
 little money he had, as also the clothes off his back. . When, 
 being desirous of retrieving what-he had lost, he went, 
 stripped as he was, to Angiolieri’s bedside, and finding 
 him fast asleep, he took all the money out of his pocket, 
 and returning to play, lost it, as he had done the. rest. 
 As soon as Angiolieri awoke, he arose and dressed him- 
 self, inquiring for Fortarrigo, who, not being to be found, 
 he supposed he was gone somewhere or other to sleep, as 
 he was used to do; therefore he determined to leave him 
 there, ordering the saddle and portmanteau to be put upon 
 his horse, with a design of providing himself with another 
 servant at Corsignano. And putting his hand into his 
 
NINTH DAY 457 
 
 pocket to pay his landlord, he found he had no money, 
 upon which he made a great uproar, declaring he had been 
 robbed, and threatening to have them all sent prisoners to 
 Siena; when, behold, Fortarrigo came running in his shirt, 
 with a design of stealing his clothes, as he had before 
 his money, and seeing him about to ride away, he said, 
 ‘* What is the meaning of this, sir? Why should we go so 
 soon? Do stay a little. A man has got my coat in pawn 
 for eight-and-thirty shillings, and I daresay he will let us 
 have it for five-and-thirty to be paid down.” But as he 
 was saying this, a person came and told Angiolieri that For- 
 tarrigo was a thief, as appeared from the quantity of money 
 he had lost; upon which Angiolieri was in a most violent 
 passion, threatening to have him hanged up and gibbeted ; 
 saying this, he mounted his horse. “ But,” said Fortarrigo, 
 as if he had been no way concerned, “pray, sir, leave off 
 this idle talk, and let us have regard to the main point; 
 we may have this coat now for five-and-thirty shillings, 
 which, if we stay till to-morrow, the person who lent me 
 the money may expect eight-and-thirty for. Then why 
 should we lose these three shillings?” Angiolieri was out 
 of all patience, hearing this from him, and seeing the sur- 
 prise of the people all around him, who seemed to him to 
 think not that Fortarrigo had gamed away his money, but 
 rather that he had some of Fortarrigo’s money in keeping ; 
 so he said, “ Plague take thee and thy coat! Is it not 
 enough to have robbed me, but thou must insult me into 
 the bargain, and stop my going away?” Still Fortarrigo 
 continued, as if he had not been the person spoken to, 
 adding, “ Consider these three shillings. Do you think I 
 shall never pay you again? If you have any regard for me, 
 pray do. Why need you be in such a hurry? We shall 
 be time enough at Torrenieri. Then open your purse. I 
 may go to every shop in Siena, and not get such another 
 coat. And to tell me that I must leave it for eight-and- 
 thirty shillings, when it is worth more than forty, is doing 
 me a double injury.” Angiolieri, vexed to the last degree 
 at seeing himself robbed, and then kept in talk in that 
 manner, turned his horse, and rode towards Torrenieri. 
 When Fortarrigo, who had still a more knavish design, ran 
 
 PZ 
 
458 THE DECAMERON 
 
 after him for two miles together, begging for his coat; and 
 as the other was going to push on, in order to get rid of his 
 noise, it happened that there were some labourers by the 
 road where Angiolieri was to pass, when he called out to 
 them, “Stop thief ;” so they took their forks and spades, 
 and seized him, imagining that he had robbed the other, 
 who was following after in that manner. And it was in 
 vain that he offered to tell them how the case really was. 
 In the meantime, Fortarrigo came up, and said, with an 
 angry countenance, “‘I have a good mind to knock your 
 brains out, you rascal, you! to ride away with what belongs 
 to me;” and turning to the people, he added, ‘‘ You see, 
 gentlemen, in what plight he left me yonder at the inn, 
 having first gamed away all that he had of his own. I may 
 well say that it is you I am obliged to for getting them 
 back, and I shall always acknowledge it.” Angiolieri then 
 told them a different story, but they had no regard to 
 what he said. So Fortarrigo dismounted him, with their 
 assistance, and stripped him of his clothes, which he put 
 on himself, and got upon his horse, leaving him there in 
 his shirt, and barefoot; when he returned to Siena, giving 
 it out everywhere that he had won Angiolieri’s horse and 
 clothes at play; whilst Angiolieri thinking to have visited 
 the cardinal in a sumptuous manner, returned poor and 
 naked to Buonconvento, and he was so ashamed of himself, 
 that he would not go back to Siena, but procuring some 
 money upon the horse that Fortarrigo had ridden on, he 
 clothed himself, and went to his relations at Corsignano, 
 where he stayed till he got a supply from his father. Thus 
 Angioliero’s good design was entirely frustrated by the 
 other’s subtle villainy, which yet in due time met with its 
 deserved punishment. 
 
 NOVEL V 
 
 Calandrino is in love with a@ certain damsel, when Bruno prepares a 
 charm for her, by virtue of which she follows him, and they are 
 found together by his wife. 
 
 NEIPHILE’s short novel was concluded, without either too 
 much talk or laughter, when the queen ordered Flammetta 
 
NINTH DAY 459 
 
 to follow, which she did cheerfully in this manner :—There 
 is nothing can be so often repeated, but what will please 
 the more always, if mentioned in due time and place. 
 When I consider, therefore, the intent of our meeting, 
 which is only to amuse and divert ourselves whilst we are 
 here, I judge nothing either ill-timed or ill-placed which 
 serves to answer that purpose. For which reason, though we 
 have had much about Calandrino already, yet I will venture 
 to give you another story concerning him ; in relating which, 
 were I disposed to vary from the truth, I should carefully 
 have disguised it in different names; but, as romancing 
 upon these occasions greatly lessens the pleasure of the 
 hearer, I shall report it in its true shape, relying on the 
 reason before assigned. 
 
 Niccolo Cornacchini was a citizen of ours, and a very 
 rich man, who, amongst his other estates, was possessed of 
 one at Cameratta, where he built himself a seat, and agreed 
 with Bruno and Buffalmacco to paint it, but there being a 
 great deal of work, they took Nello and Calandrino in to 
 assist them. Where, as there were some chambers fur- 
 nished, and an old woman there to look after the house, a 
 son of this Niccolo’s named Philippo, being a gay young 
 gentleman, would frequently bring a mistress thither for a 
 day or two, and then send her away. Amongst the rest 
 that used to: comealong with him, was one named Niccolosa, 
 an agreeable and facetious woman enough, who going from 
 her chamber one morning in a loose white bedgown, to 
 wash her hands and face at a fountain in the court, it hap- 
 pened'that Calandrino was there at the same time, when 
 he made his compliments to her, which she returned with 
 a kind of a smile at the oddity of the man. Upon this he 
 began to look wistfully at her, and seeing she was very 
 handsome, he found pretences for staying, but durst not 
 speak a word. Still her looks seemed to give him en- 
 couragement, whilst the poor man became so enamoured, 
 that he had no power to leave the place, till Philippo 
 chanced to call her into the house. He then returned to 
 his friends in a most piteous taking, which Bruno perceiv- 
 ing, said, ‘‘ What the devil is the matter with you, that you 
 seem to be in all this trouble?” He replied, “Ah! my 
 
460 THE, DECAMERON 
 
 friend, if I had any one to. assist, me, 1 should do well 
 enough,”—“ As how?” quoth the other.—‘* I will: tell you,” 
 he replied. ‘The most beautiful woman you ever saw, 
 exceeding even the fairy queen herself, fell in love with me 
 just now, as, I went to the well.”—‘ Alas!” said Bruno, 
 ‘you must take care-it) be not Philippo’s mistress.”—‘‘ I 
 believe it is the same,” he replied; ‘‘ for she »went away the 
 moment he called her: but why should I mind that? Was 
 she the king’s I would lie with her if I could.” Well,” 
 quoth Bruno, “‘I will find out who it is, and if she proves 
 the same, I can tell you in two words what you have to do; 
 for we are well acquainted together; but how shall we 
 manage that Buffalmacco may know nothing of the matter? 
 I can never speak to her but he will be present.”—‘“‘ As to 
 Buffalmacco,” said he, ‘‘I.am in no pain for him, but we 
 must take care of Nello; he is my wife’s relation, and would 
 spoil our whole scheme.” Now Bruno knew her very well, 
 and as Calandrino was gone out one day, to get a sight of 
 her, he acquainted Buffalmacco and Nello with it, when 
 they agreed together what to do in the thing. «Upon his 
 return, therefore, Bruno whispered him, and said, “‘ Have 
 you seen her?”—‘‘ Alas!” quoth he, ‘I have, and she has 
 slain me outright.” I will go and see,” said he again, 
 ‘“‘ whether it be the person I mean; if it should, you may 
 leave the whole to me.” So he wert and told Philippo 
 what had passed, and how they had resolved to serve him ; 
 when he came back and said, ‘‘It is the same, therefore we 
 must be very cautious; for if Philippo should chance to 
 find it out, all the water in the river would never wash off 
 the guilt in his sight. But what shall I say to her on your 
 part?” He replied, “First you must let her know that 
 she shall have joy and pleasure without end, and afterwards 
 that I am her most obedient servant, and so forth. Do 
 you take me right?”-—‘‘ Yes,” quoth Bruno, “I do, and 
 you may now trust me to manage for you. When supper 
 time came, they left their work, and went down into the court, 
 where they found Philippo and his mistress waiting to make 
 themselves merry with the poor man, whilst Calandrino 
 began to ogle her in such a manner, that a person that was 
 blind almost must have perceived it; in the meantime 
 
NINTH DAY 461 
 
 Philippo pretended to be talking to the others, as if he saw 
 nothing of the matter. But after some time they parted, 
 and as they were returning to Florence, said Bruno to 
 Calandrino, “I tell you now, that you*have made her melt 
 like ice before the sun; do you bring your guitar, and play 
 her a tune, and she will throw herself out of the window to 
 you.”—“Do you think so?” quoth Calandrino.—“ Most 
 certainly,” replied the other.—‘ Well,” quoth he again, 
 ““who’ but myself could have made such a conquest in so 
 small a time? I am not like your young fellows, that 
 whine for years together to no. manner of purpose. Oh! 
 you would be vastly pleased to hear me play and sing: 
 besides, Iam not old, as you suppose, which I will soon 
 convince her of.” Thus he was so overjoyed that he could 
 scarcely contain himself, and accordingly the next morning 
 he carried his instrument with him, and diverted them all 
 very much; whilst he was running to the window and to 
 the door, at every turn, to see her, so that he did little or 
 no work. 
 
 Bruno, on the other part, answered all his messages, as 
 from her; and when she was’ not there, he would bring 
 letters; which gave him hopes that she would soon gratify 
 his desirés, but that then she was with her relations, and 
 could not see him. Thus they diverted themselves at his 
 expense for some time, often getting little presents from 
 him to her, as a purse, or knife, or some such thing, for 
 which he brought him in return counterfeit rings of no 
 value, with which he was vastly delighted. Having gone 
 on in this manner for two months, when seeing that the 
 work was nearly finished, and imagining that unless he 
 brought his love to a conclusion before that time, he should 
 have no opportunity of doing it afterwards, he began to be 
 very urgent with Bruno about it. When the lady being 
 returned, and Bruno having conferred with her and Philippo 
 upon the matter, he said to Calandrino, ‘‘ You know that 
 she has made us a thousand promises to no purpose, so 
 that it appears to me as if she only did it to lead us by the 
 nose ; my advice therefore, is, that we will make her comply, 
 whether she will or not.” The other replied, ‘‘ Let us do 
 it then immediately.” —‘“ But,” says Bruno, ‘‘ will your heart 
 
462 THE DECAMERON 
 
 serve you to touch her with a certain charm that I shall 
 give your ””—“ You need not doubt that,” quoth Calan- 
 drino.—“ Then,” continued Bruno, “you must procure me 
 a little virgin-parchment, a living bat, three grains of incense, 
 and a consecrated candle.” All that night was he employed 
 in taking a bat, which at length he brought with the other 
 things to Bruno, who went into a room by himself and 
 scribbled some odd characters upon the parchment, when 
 he gave it him, saying, “ Be careful only to touch her with 
 this, and she will do that moment what you would have 
 her. Therefore, if Philippo should go from home, take an 
 opportunity of coming near, and having touched her, then 
 go into the barn, which is a most convenient: place for your 
 purpose, whither she will follow you, when you. know what 
 you have to do.” Calandrino received. it with great joy, 
 saying, ‘‘ Let me alone for that.” Whilst Nello, whom, he 
 was most afraid of, was as deep as any in the plot, and 
 went, by Bruno’s direction, to Calandrino’s wife, at Florence, 
 when he said, ‘‘ Cousin, you have now a fair opportunity to 
 revenge yourself of your husband, for his beating you the 
 other day without cause ; if you-let it slip, I will never look 
 upon you more, either as a’ relation or friend.. He hasa 
 mistress, whom he is frequently with, and at this very time 
 they have made an appointment to meet; then pray be a 
 witness to it, and correct him as he deserves.” This 
 seemed to her beyond a jest; so she said, ‘‘Oh, the villain! 
 But I will pay all his old scores.” Accordingly, taking her 
 hood, and a woman to bear her company, she went along 
 with him; and when Bruno saw them at a distance, he 
 said to Philippo, ‘‘Behold, our friends are coming, you 
 know what you have to do.” .On this, Philippo went where 
 Calandrino and the people were at work, and said, “Sirs, I 
 must go to Florence, you will take care not to be idle when 
 I am away.” And he went and hid himself in a place 
 there he might see what passed ; whilst Calandrino, think- 
 ing that he was far enough off, went into the court, where 
 he found the lady, who, well knowing what he meant to do, 
 came near to him, and, showed herself freer than. usual, 
 upon which he touched her with the writing, and then 
 withdrew towards the barn, whilst she followed him in, and 
 
NINTH DAY 469 
 
 thought what you would say; such thanks.a person, has 
 for currying a scald head! But thinkjas you will, I spoke 
 it with a good design, and I advise you again to stay at 
 home, or, atleast not to go into such a grove.”—‘“‘ Well,” 
 she replied, ‘‘I will oblige you in that.” Afterwards, she 
 began, to say to herself, ‘‘ This. rogue has been making 
 an assignation with some base woman or other in yonder 
 place, and thinks to fright me from going thither: I should 
 be blind, indeed; not. to see through this artifice; but I 
 will see what sort of cattle they are he is to,meet, though 
 I stay the whole day.” Having-said this, the husband was 
 no sooner out of one door but she went out at the other, 
 posting away to the grove ; and being come into the thickest 
 part of it, she stood waiting to see whether anybody came. 
 Continuing upon the watch in this manner, without any 
 fears of the wolf, behold, a monstrous large one rushed 
 out of a close thicket, and seized her. by the throat,. before 
 she had time, from the first seeing of it, to say so much as 
 Lord, help me! and was carrying her away as he would a 
 lamb.» She could make no noise, because he pinched her 
 _ throat, nor was she able to help herself in any other manner, 
 so that she must inevitably have been strangled had he 
 not come in the way of some shepherds, who made a noise, 
 and forced him to quit her. When, being known by them, 
 she was carried to her own house, all torn as she was, 
 attended by several surgeons, who made a cure at last; 
 yet not in such a manner, but that one side of her face 
 was strangely seamed and disfigured, so that there was an 
 end of her beauty. Afterwards, being ashamed to appear 
 abroad, did she lament all her life long her perverse dis- 
 position, in not giving credit, in a point which would have 
 cost her nothing, to the true dream of her husband, 
 
 NOVEL VIII 
 
 Biendello imposes upon one Ciacco with regard to a dinner: who 
 revenges himself afterwards, and causes the other to be soundly 
 beaten, 
 
 Ir was generally agreed, that what Talano had seen in his 
 sleep was no dream, but rather a vision, every part of it 
 
470 THE DECAMERON 
 
 having so exactly come to pass. But, being all silent, the 
 queen commanded Lauretta to follow, who therefore said :— 
 
 As everybody that has spoken hitherto has given some- 
 thing which has been treated of before, the severe revenge 
 taken by the scholar, as related by Pampinea, reminds me 
 of another revenge, grievous enough to the person con- 
 cerned, although less cruel than that was. 
 
 In Florence there was a man, the greatest epicure per- 
 haps that ever was born, for which reason he was nick- 
 named Ciacco, #.¢. glutton; who, unable to support the 
 expense which such a craving disposition required, and 
 being in other respects a very agreeable and merry com- 
 panion, he used frequently to go amongst the rich 
 people, such particularly as loved to live well, and to dine 
 and sup with them, though perhaps he was not always 
 invited. There was also a little dapper spark called Bion- 
 dello, a perfect butterfly ; so exact and finical always as to 
 his person, that there never was a hair amiss; and he fol- 
 lowed the same way of life. Being therefore in the fish- 
 market one morning in Lent, and buying a couple of very 
 large lampreys for Signor Vieri de’ Cierchi, he was taken 
 notice of by the other, who immediately asked who they 
 were for? He replied, ‘‘ Yesterday Signor Corso Donati 
 had three larger than these sent him, along with a sturgeon; 
 which, not thinking sufficient for all his company, he has 
 ordered me to buy two more: will not you go?” Ciacco 
 replied, ‘You know very well that I shall.” So soon as 
 he thought it was the time, he went to Signor Corso’s 
 house, when he found him with some of his neighbours, 
 dinner not being quite ready, who asked him whither: he 
 was going? He replied, “Sir, I came to dine with you 
 and your friends.” Signor Corso replied, ‘‘You are wel- 
 come; it is about the time then, let us goin.” So they 
 sat down to some peas, and a few small fish fried, without 
 anything more. Ciacco now saw the trick, and resolved to 
 return it. A few days afterwards he met with Biondello, 
 who had made many people merry with the thing, who had 
 accosted him, asking how he liked Signor Corso’s lampreys? 
 Ciacco replied, “ Before eight days are at an end, you will 
 know much better than J.” So the moment he’ parted 
 
NINTH DAY 471 
 
 from him, he met with a porter, whom he carried near to 
 the hall of Cavicciuli, where he showed him a certain 
 knight named Philippo Argenti, the most boisterous ill- 
 conditioned man that could be; and he said, ‘‘ Go, take 
 this bottle in your hand, and say thus to yonder gentleman, 
 ‘Sir, Biondello gives his service, and desires you would 
 erubinate this flask with some of your best red wine, to 
 treat his friends with;’ but take care he does not lay 
 his hands upon you, for you would have a bad time of it 
 if he should, and my scheme be quite defeated.” Quoth 
 the porter, “Must I say anything else?”—‘*No,” said 
 Ciacco, “only say as I bid you, and when you come here 
 again I will pay you.’’ Accordingly the man delivered his 
 message, whilst Philippo, who was easily provoked, imagin- 
 ing that this was done on purpose to enrage him, arose in 
 a great passion, saying, ‘‘Stay a little, honest friend, and I 
 will give thee what thou comest for;” and was going to 
 have laid hold of him, but the man was aware of it, and 
 took to his heels, returning to Ciacco, who saw the whole 
 proceeding, and who paid him with a great deal of pleasure. 
 His next business was to find out Biondello; when he said, 
 “‘Have you been lately at the Cavicciuli?”—‘ No,” he 
 replied, ‘‘but why do you ask the question ?””—“‘ Because,” 
 quoth he, “* Philippo has been everywhere to seek for you; 
 I do not know what it is for.”——‘‘ Then,” said he, ‘I will 
 go and speak to him.” So he went, whilst the other fol- 
 lowed at some distance, to see how he would be received. 
 Now Philippo had not yet digested the porter’s message, 
 and thinking! over and over about it, he concluded it 
 could have no other meaning than that Biondello had a 
 mind to affront him. In the meantime Biondello comes 
 up to him, when he arose, and struck him with his double 
 fist; whilst Biondello cried out, “Alas! what is this for?” 
 He took him by the hair, and threw him upon the ground, 
 saying, “ Villain, I will teach thee to make thy jests of me.” 
 At last, after he had ‘beaten him a good deal, the people in- 
 terposed, and rescued him, telling him how it came to pass, 
 and blaming him for the message, adding: ‘‘ You should 
 know Philippo better than to exercise any of your wit 
 upon him.” He protested that he never sent any such 
 
472 THE DECAMERON 
 
 message, and departed full of grief to his own house, con- 
 cluding that this was a trick of Ciacco. Some time after- 
 wards Ciacco happened to meet with him, when he said, 
 with a laugh, ‘Well! what think you of Philippo’s wine?” 
 He replied, “Just as you thought of Corso’s lampreys.”— 
 ‘Whenever you are disposed then,” quoth Ciacco, “to 
 give me such a dinner, I can give you as good wine as 
 this you have tasted.” Biondello now finding that the 
 other was more than his match, begged to be friends, and 
 from that time took care to give him no more provocation. 
 
 NOVEL IX 
 
 Two young men go to King Solomon for his advice; the one to know 
 how he is to behave to be beloved, the other how to manage an 
 untoward wife, To the first he replies, Love; to the second, Go 
 to Goosebridge. 
 
 ONLy the queen now remained to speak, saving his. privi- 
 lege to Dioneus ; who, after they had laughed at the unfor- 
 tunate Biondello, began in this manner :— 
 
 Whoever rightly considers the order of things may plainly 
 see the whole race of woman-kind is by nature, custom, 
 and the laws, made subject to man, to be governed accord- 
 ing to his discretion: therefore it is the duty of every one 
 of us that desires to have ease, comfort, and repose, with 
 those men to whom we belong, to be humble, patient, and 
 obedient, as well as chaste; which is the great and principal 
 treasure of every prudent woman. And though the laws 
 which regard the good of the community may not teach 
 this in every particular, any more than custom, the force 
 of which is very great, and worthy to be esteemed, yet it is 
 plainly showed by nature, who has formed us with delicate 
 and sickly constitutions, our minds timorous and fearful, 
 gentle and compassionate as our tempers, of little bodily 
 strength, our voices soft and pleasing, and the whole motion 
 of our limbs sweetly pliant, as so many apparent proofs 
 that we stand in need of another’s guidance and protection. 
 And whom should we have for our rulers and helpers but 
 men? To them, therefore, let us submit ourselves with 
 
NINTH DAY — 473 
 
 all due reverence and honour; and she that shall depart 
 from this, I hold worthy not only of reproof, but severe 
 chastisement. I am led to these reflections by what Pam- 
 pinea has just now told us of the perverse wife of 'Talano, 
 on whom Providence inflicted a heavier judgment than 
 the husband ever could have thought of. Therefore, as I 
 said before, such women as are’ not mild, gracious, and 
 compassionate, as nature, custom, and the laws require, 
 are deserving of the greatest punishment; for which reason 
 I shall give you some of Solomon’s advice, as a salutary 
 medicine, which I would not have understood by such as 
 stand in no need of it, as if any way designed for them. 
 Although men have the following proverb, ‘A good horse 
 and a bad one both require spurs—a good wife and a bad 
 one both want a cudgel.” Which words we will admit to 
 be true, if spoken only by way of mirth and pastime; and 
 even in a moral sense, we will allow that women are natur- 
 ally prone and unstable, and therefore a stick may be 
 requisite to correct the evil dispositions of some, as well as 
 to support the virtue of others, who behave with more dis- 
 cretion, and to be a terror to prevent them from offending. 
 But to let preaching alone, and to proceed with my story. 
 The fame of Solomon’s most wonderful wisdom being 
 carried throughout the whole world, and his being very 
 communicative to such as resorted to him for proofs of it, 
 people were flocking to him from all parts to beg his advice 
 in their most urgent and momentous affairs. Amongst the 
 rest was a young nobleman of great wealth, called Melisso, 
 who came from the city of Laiazzo, where he was born and 
 dwelt; and as he was riding on towards Jerusalem, he 
 happened, going out of Antioch, to meet with another 
 young gentleman, named Gioseffo, passing the same road, 
 when they travelled for some time together, falling into 
 discourse, as is usual for people that travel, and knowing 
 who Gioseffo was, and from whence he came, he inquired 
 whither he was going, and upon what account. When 
 Gioseffo replied that he was going to King Solomon for 
 advice what method to take with a most perverse ill- 
 conditioned woman that he had married, and whom no 
 entreaties nor fair speeches had the least effect upon to 
 
474 THE DECAMERON 
 
 cure her of that temper. He then asked whither he was 
 bound, and upon what occasion. Melisso made answer, 
 “IT am of Laiazzo, and have an affair that troubles me in 
 like manner; I am rich, and keep a most noble table, 
 entertaining all my fellow-citizens, and yet it is a most un- 
 accountable thing, there is nobody that cares for or respects 
 me: so ] am going to the same place to know what I must 
 do to be beloved.” Thus they rode on together till they 
 came to Jerusalem; when they were introduced to King 
 Solomon by one of his barons. Melisso briefly set forth 
 his misfortune, and Solomon replied, “ Learn to love.” 
 Immediately he was showed out of doors, and Gioseffo 
 related his grievance: when Solomon made no reply but 
 this, “Go to Goosebridge.” Accordingly he was also 
 dismissed ; and coming to Melisso, who was waiting for 
 him without, he told him what the answer was he had 
 received ; who thinking much upon the words, and being 
 able to find out no sense or meaning in them, or to draw 
 any use from them, they considered it as all a mockery, and 
 were making the best of their way home again. After travel- 
 ling some days, they came to a bridge, where being a great 
 caravan of mules and horses laden, they were obliged to stay 
 till these had passed. The greater part was now on the 
 other side; but there was a mule that took fright, which 
 would by no means go over: upon which one of the 
 drivers took a stick, and began to beat her gently, in order 
 to make her pass; but she leaped this way and that way, 
 and sometimes would turn back; therefore when he found 
 her so stubborn, he began to lay on as hard as ever he 
 could strike, but all to no purpose. This our two gentle- 
 men saw, and would often say to the man, ‘‘ You sorry 
 rascal! have you a mind to kill the mule? You should 
 lead her gently over; she will go better in that manner 
 than by so much beating.” The man replied, ‘‘ Gentlemen, 
 you know your horses, and I know my mule; suffer me, 
 then, to manage her as I will.” And he beat her again, 
 laying on her so thick, that at last he got the better of her, 
 and made her pass. So as they were going away, Gioseffo 
 asked a man that was sitting at the end of the bridge, what 
 the name of it was? ‘‘Sir,” quoth the man, “this place 
 
NINTH DAY 475 
 
 is called Goosebridge.” This made him call to mind the 
 words of Solomon; and he said to Melisso, ‘‘ Now, trust 
 me, friend, Solomon’s counsel may be very good and true ; 
 for I never yet beat my wife, but this man hath just now 
 showed me what I have to do.” And, coming to Antioch, 
 he kept Melisso at his house for some days, when, being 
 received by her with great joy, he ordered her to dress the 
 supper according to Melisso’s direction, who, seeing that it 
 was his friend’s will, gave his instructions for that purpose. 
 But she, according to custom, did everything quite the 
 reverse of what Melisso had told her; which Gioseffo saw 
 with a good deal of vexation, and said, “ Were not you told 
 in what manner to dress this supper?” She replied, with 
 great disdain, ‘‘ What is that to you? If you havea mind 
 to eat, do; if not, you may let it alone.” Melisso was 
 surprised at her reply, and began to blame her for it. But 
 Gioseffo said, ‘‘I find, madam, you are still the same person ; 
 but I will make you change your manners.” ‘Then, turning 
 to Melisso, he added, ‘‘ Well, we shall now make trial of 
 Solomon’s advice ; however, I must beg of you to consider 
 it all as a joke, and not to offer me any hindrance; but 
 remember what the man said when we were pitying the 
 mule.” Quoth Melisso, ‘‘I am in your house, and shall 
 conform to your pleasure.” So he took a good oaken 
 stick, and followed her into the chamber, whither she was 
 gone in a pet, and began to give her some severe discipline. 
 When she cried out, and threatened him very much; but 
 finding that he still persisted, she threw herself upon her 
 knees, and begged for mercy, promising that for the future 
 she would always be obedient to his will and pleasure. 
 He continued, nevertheless, laying on till he was weary, 
 that in short she had not a free part about her. And 
 when he had done, he came to Melisso, and said, ‘* To- 
 morrow we shall see the effect of the advice to go to 
 Goosebridge.” Then he washed his hands, and they sat 
 down to supper, and afterwards, when it was the time, they 
 went to repose themselves. The poor lady had much 
 trouble to get up from the ground, when she threw her- 
 self upon the bed, and betimes in the morning she arose 
 and sent to her husband, to know what he would have 
 
476 THE’ DECAMERON 
 
 for dinner.’ He smiled at this, with his friend, and told 
 her. 
 When the time came, therefore, they found everything 
 prepared according to the directions given; upon which 
 they highly commended the advice which they so ill under- 
 stood. Some time afterwards Melisso parted from Gioseffo, 
 and went home; when heacquainted a certain wise man in 
 the neighbourhood with what Solomon had told him; who 
 said, ‘‘ No better or truer advice could possibly be given 
 you; you know that you have a regard for no one person, 
 and that the entertainments you make are for no love you 
 bear those people, but only mere pomp and show. Love, 
 then, as Solomon advises, and you shall be beloved.” . Thus 
 the unruly woman was managed, and the man by loving 
 others was himself beloved. 
 
 NOVEL % 
 
 Don John, at the request of kis companion Peter, proceeds by enchant- 
 ment to turn his wife into a mare ; but when he ts about to attach 
 the tail, Peter, i crying out that he well not have the tail, breaks 
 the enchantment. 
 
 THE foregoing novel related by the queen, though it made 
 the men laugh, caused some disapprobation among the 
 ladies ; but they were presently appeased: and it. being the 
 turn of Dioneus, he said :— 
 
 By your leave, fair ladies, I will tell you a tale which 
 shall not be so long, by which you will understand how 
 carefully we must observe whatever.is commanded by those 
 who are about to do anything by force of incantation, and 
 how a trifling mistake will frustrate everything the enchant- 
 ment would have effected. 
 
 There was last year at Barletta, a priest named Don John 
 of Barolo, whose benefice being so poor as not to afford a 
 sufficient livelihood, he began, with a single mare, to carry 
 on a traffic at the fairs of Puglia. In travelling the country 
 he became particularly intimate with a man who followed 
 the same trade, and carried his merchandise on an ass, and 
 
NINTH DAY 477 
 
 who was called Pietro di Tresanti. Don John, in tokem of 
 kindness and friendship, and according to the custom of 
 Puglia, never called his acquaintance otherwise than his 
 ‘Comrade Peter ;” and whenever he came to Barletta he 
 invited him to sleep at his poor dwelling, and gave him the 
 best cheer in his power. Peter, however, was still poorer, 
 having only a little cabin in the village of Tresanti, which 
 was merely big enough for himself, his young and handsome 
 wife, and his ass; nevertheless, when Don John came to 
 Tresanti he brought him to his cabin, and received and 
 honoured him in the best manner he could, out of gratitude 
 for the treatment he had met with at Barletta. But when 
 bed-time arrived, Peter could not accommodate Don John 
 in the manner he could wish, for he had but one little bed 
 for himself and wife; therefore Don John was obliged to 
 sleep on some straw near to his mare, who was lodged in a 
 little stable with the ass. Peter’s wife, knowing the hospitable 
 reception which the priest gave her husband when he went 
 to Barletta, was desirous of going to sleep with a female 
 neighbour, in order that he might have her half of the bed. 
 The priest would not suffer this, but said to her, ‘‘ My good 
 Dame Gemmatta, be not troubled on my account, for I am 
 very well off; I can when I please turn this mare into a 
 beautiful girl, and be happy with her; and when I wish to 
 go, I can again transform her into a mare: therefore I never 
 separate myself from her.” The young wife was greatly 
 astonished at this, but believing it implicitly, related it to 
 her husband, saying, ‘‘If he is so much your friend as you 
 tell me, why do you not make him teach you this enchant- 
 ment, in order that you might make a mare of me, and 
 carry on your business with the ass and the mare, by which 
 means we should gain double: when we came home, you 
 could make me return intoa woman,asIam.” Peter, who 
 was more dull than otherwise, thought well of it, agreed to 
 her proposition, and began, with the best grace he could 
 put on, to solicit Don John to teach him the secret. Don 
 John endeavoured to persuade him from such nonsense, 
 but Peter would not be refused. He therefore said, ‘‘ Since 
 you will have it so, we must rise to-morrow, as usual, before 
 daybreak, and I will show you how it is done; but the 
 
478 THE DECAMERON 
 
 most difficult part of this affair is the putting on the tail, as 
 you will see.” 
 
 Peter and his wife having scarcely slept during the night, 
 and being so anxious. about this affair, rose the moment the 
 time had arrived, and called Don John, who got up and 
 came in his shirt to their chamber. He said, “I know no 
 one in the world for whom I would do this but you; but 
 as it pleases you, I'll do it: you must, however, do what I 
 tell you, if you wish the incantation to succeed.” They 
 promised to do everything he bade them; Don John then 
 took a candle, and putting it in the hand of Peter, said, 
 “ Notice well what I do, and remember what I say; but 
 have a care, as you love yourself, that whatever you see 
 you utter not a single word, or you will spoil the whole, 
 and pray to God that the tail may be well put on.” After 
 this, Don John made Gemmatta strip herself stark naked, 
 and go down upon all-fours, after the manner of a mare. 
 He then began with his hands to rub her face and head, 
 saying, “this will be a fine mare’s head ;” and touching 
 her hair, “this will be a fine mare’s mane;” examining her 
 arms, ‘‘these will be fine legs and fine feet for a mare;” 
 next, he felt her stomach, and finding it. firm and round, 
 he made her rise up and stand erect, saying, “this will 
 make a good mare’s chest;” and when he had in this 
 manner gone over her back, her buttocks, her thighs, and 
 her legs, and there remained nothing else to make but the 
 tail, vata la camiscia, e presso il piuolo col quale egli pian- 
 tava gli uomint, e prestamente nel solco per cto fatto messolo, 
 saying, “‘and this will be a fine mare’s tail.” Peter, 
 who to this moment had silently regarded everything that 
 was done, seeing this conclusion, and thinking everything 
 was not right, cried, ‘Stop, Don John, I will not have a 
 tail—I will not have a tail.” Era gia Lumido vradicale, 
 per lo quale tutte le piante § appiccano, venuto, quands 
 Donno Gianni tiratolo indietro, saying, “Alas, my dear 
 friend Peter, what have you done! did I not tell you not 
 to utter a word about what you saw? the mare was almost 
 made; but you have spoilt the whole affair by speaking, 
 and ’tis now impossible to repair the mischief you have 
 done.” Peter replied, ‘It is as well as it is, for I will not 
 
NINTH DAY 479 
 
 have such a tail; why did you not tell me to do it myself? 
 you have also attempted to put it ontoolow.” ‘‘ Because,” 
 said Don John, “you would not, for the first time, have 
 _known how to put it on so well as Ido.” The young wife 
 hearing these words, raised herself on her feet, and said, in 
 good earnest to her husband, “ Brute that you are; why 
 have you ruined both your own fortune and mine? What 
 mare have you ever seen without a tail? You are poor; 
 but if God aids me you shall be well employed if you are 
 not still poorer.” There being no other means of turning 
 the young wife into a mare, in consequence of the words 
 spoken by Peter, she, in a grievous and melancholy mood, 
 put on her clothes, and her husband endeavoured to carry 
 on his usual business, as he had previously done, with his 
 single’ass, and did not go with Don’ John to the fairs of 
 Bitonto ; nor did he, ever since that period, seek to enrich 
 himself by the aid of such services. 
 
 This tale was received with considerable laughter, and it 
 appeared that the ladies understood it better than Dioneus 
 had intended. 
 
 The novels were now concluded, and the sun began to 
 grow warm, when the queen, knowing that her reign was at 
 an end, arose, and taking the crown from her own head, 
 she placed it upon Pamphilus, who was the only person on 
 whom that honour had not yet been conferred, saying, with 
 a smile, ‘‘Sir, a very great charge now rests upon you; for, 
 as you are the last, you have.to supply my defect, and that 
 of the rest who have been in my place, which I hope you 
 will do.” Pamphilus, pleased with the honour done him, 
 replied, “ Your virtue, madam, and that of my other 
 subjects, will cause me to receive praise, as well as the rest 
 that have gone before me.” So, after giving the usual 
 orders to the master of the household, he turned to the 
 ladies, and said, “It was Emilia’s great prudence yesterday 
 to let us choose our own subjects by way of ease and 
 respect: therefore, being now a little recruited, I will that 
 we return to our old law; and for to-morrow the subject 
 shall be as follows: of such persons who have done some 
 gallant or generous action, either as to love or anything 
 else. The relating such stories as these will kindle in our 
 
480 THE DECAMERON 
 
 minds a generous desire of doing the like; so that our 
 lives, the continuance of which in these frail bodies can be 
 but short, may be made immortal in an illustrious name; 
 which all persons, not devoted to their lustful appetites, like © 
 brute beasts, ought, with their whole study and diligence, 
 to covet and seek.” 
 
 The theme was agreeable to the whole assembly. And 
 with the leave of the new king they parted, and went, 
 as they were severally disposed, to divert themselves till 
 supper, when everything was served up with great elegance 
 and order. Afterwards they danced as usual, singing, also 
 a thousand songs, more agreeable indeed as to the words 
 than music; when the king, at last, ordered Neiphile to 
 give one relating more to herself, which she did very 
 agreeably in the following manner :— 
 
 SONG. 
 
 I, 
 Regardful through the meads I stray, 
 Where flowers their various hues display ; 
 When all that’s sweet and pleasing there, 
 I to my lover’s charms compare. 
 
 II. 
 
 I pick out such as fairest seem, 
 
 And laugh and talk as ’twere to him, 
 Which, when my am’rous tale is said, 
 I to my lover’s charms compare. 
 
 III. 
 Whilst thus employed an equal joy 
 I find, as though himself were by : 
 How great! no language can reveal, 
 Tis that my sighs alone can tell: 
 
 IV. 
 
 Which, harshness and distrust apart, 
 Breathe warm the dictates of my heart; 
 Such as he ever shall approve, 
 
 And meet with equal zeal and love. 
 
 The song was much commended by the king, as well as 
 the whole company ; and, a good part of the night being 
 spent, they were ordered to go and repose themselves til] 
 the next day. 
 
THE TENTH DAY 
 
 Now began certain little clouds, that were in the west, to 
 blush with a vermilion tint, whilst those in the east grew 
 bright at their extremities, like burnished gold, owing to 
 the sunbeams approaching near, and glancing upon them, 
 when Pamphilus arose, and assembled all his company. 
 After concluding whither they were to go, he led the way 
 with an easy pace, attended by Philomena and Flammetta, 
 the rest all following at a distance talking of many things 
 relating to their future conduct ; and taking a considerable 
 circuit, they returned, as the sun grew warm, to the palace. 
 There, plunging their glasses in the clear current, they quaffed 
 their morning draughts, from whence they went amidst the 
 shady walks of the garden to amuse themselves till dinner. 
 After dining and sleeping as usual, they met where the 
 king appointed, when he laid his first commands on 
 Neiphile, who began very pleasantly in this manner :— 
 
 NOVEL I 
 
 4 certain knight in the service of the King of Spain thinks himself not 
 sufficiently rewarded, when the king gives a remarkable proof that 
 tt was not his fault so much as the knight's ill fortune ; and after 
 wards nobly requites him. 
 
 BEHOLD it, ladies, as a singular favour, that the king has 
 appointed me to speak first on so noble a subject as that 
 of magnificence, which, as the sun is the glory of heaven, 
 is the ornament and lustre of every other virtue. I shall 
 relate, therefore, a pleasant novel enough, in my opinion, 
 and which can be no other than useful. 
 
 Know, then, that amongst other worthy knights of our city 
 
 485 
 Q 
 
482 THE DECAMERON 
 
 was one Ruggieri de’ Figiovanni, whose worth and valour 
 made him equal at least to the best; and who, finding, 
 according to the dispositions of his countrymen, that he 
 had no opportunity of showing his courage at home, re- 
 solved to go into the service of Alphonso, King of Spain, 
 the most celebrated prince of his time. So he went 
 attended with an honourable train, and was most graciously 
 received by the king, to whom he soon made his merit 
 known as well by his gallant way of life, as glorious feats of 
 arms. Continuing then some time there, and having parti- 
 cular regard to every action of the king’s, he found that he 
 gave away castles, cities, and baronies, sometimes to one, 
 and sometimes to another, without the least judgment, and 
 where there was no show of merit in the case, and that he 
 came in for no part himself. Therefore being sensible of 
 his own worth, and fearful lest his character should suffer 
 by such an oversight, he took a resolution to depart, 
 desiring the king’s leave, which was granted him. His 
 majesty also made him a present of a fine mule, which was 
 very acceptable, on account of the long journey he had to 
 perform. After which the king gave it in charge to one of 
 his servants to contrive to fall in with him upon the road, 
 but in such a manner that the knight should have no 
 suspicion of his sending him, when he was to note what he 
 should say concerning the king, in order to carry a full 
 account back, and the next morning he was to command his 
 return with him tothe king. Accordingly the servant waited 
 for the knight’s departure, and soon joined him, giving 
 him to understand that he was going towards Italy. Thus 
 they rode on, chattering together. The knight being upon 
 the mule which the. king had given him, and it being now 
 about three o’clock, he said, “We should do well to. give 
 our beasts a little rest.” This being agreed, they put them 
 in a stable, when they all staled except the mule. Going 
 on afterwards, the servant attentive all the time to the 
 knight’s words, they came to a river, where, watering all 
 their beasts, the mule chanced to stale in the river, which 
 when the knight saw, he said, “ Plague on thee for an ill- 
 conditioned beast, thou art just like thy master that gave 
 thee to me.” The servant took particular notice of this, 
 
TENTH: DAY 453 
 
 and though he had picked up many things upon the road, 
 there was no: other but what redounded to the king’s credit ; 
 so the next morning, as they had mounted their horses, 
 and were setting out for Italy, he delivered the king’s 
 mandate, upon which the knight immediately turned back. 
 And the king being informed of what he had said con- 
 cerning the mule, had him brought before him, when he 
 received him with a cheerful countenance, demanding why 
 the mule and he were compared to each other. He very 
 frankly replied, ‘‘It is, my lord, because you give where you 
 ought not, and where you ought, there you give nothing ; 
 just as the mule would not stale where she should, but did 
 it where she should not.”—‘‘ Believe me, Signor Ruggieri,” 
 replied the king, ‘‘if I have not given to you as I have done 
 to divers others, who are no way your equals, this happened 
 not because I have not known you to be a valiant knight, 
 and deserving of all I could do for you; but it was entirely 
 your ill fortune, as I will soon convince you.”—‘ My lord,” 
 answered the knight, ‘‘I do not complain because I have 
 yet received nothing from your majesty, out of any desire 
 of becoming richer, but only as you have borne testimony 
 in no respect to my virtue; and though I hold your 
 excuse to be good, I should yet be glad to see what you 
 promise to show me, notwithstanding I want no such 
 proof.” The king then led him into a great hall, where as he 
 had before given order, stood two large coffers, when he 
 said, in the presence of many of his lords, ‘‘ Sir Knight, in 
 one of these coffers is my imperial crown, sceptre, globe, 
 with all the best jewels that I have; the other is filled only 
 with earth; then choose which you will, and 1t shall be 
 yours; so you will see whether it is I that am ungrateful to 
 your merit, or whether it be your ill fortune.” Ruggieri, 
 seeing it was the king’s pleasure, made his choice of one, 
 which the king ordered to be opened, and it was full of 
 earth, upon which the king laughed, and said, ‘‘ You ‘see 
 now, sir, that what I said of your fortune is true; but most 
 assuredly your valour deserves that I interpose in the case. 
 I know very well that you have no desire to become a 
 Spaniard, for which reason I would give you neither castle 
 nor city; but this chest, which your ill fortune deprived you 
 
484 THE DECAMERON 
 
 of, I will shall be yours, in despite of her. Take it home with 
 you, that you may value yourself upon your virtue amongst 
 ae neighbours and friends, by this testimony of my 
 ounty.” The knight received it, and, after returning his 
 majesty the thanks that were due for such a present, 
 departed joyfully therewith to his native country. 
 
 NOVEL II. 
 
 Ghino di Tacco takes the Abbot of Cligni prisoner, and cures him of a 
 pain in his stomach, and then sets himat liberty ; when he returns 
 to the court of Rome, and reconciling him with Pope Boniface, he 
 ts made prior of an hospital. 
 
 ALPHONSO’s magnificence was much applauded, when the 
 king, who seemed more particularly pleased with it, laid his 
 next command upon Eliza, and she immediately said :— 
 
 For a king to be magnificent, and to give proofs of it 
 to a person that had served him, must be allowed a great 
 and commendable action. But what will you say to the 
 wonderful generosity of a clergyman towards one too that 
 was his enemy ; can anything be objected tothat? Nothing 
 surely can be said less than this, that if the one was a virtue 
 in a king, the other in a churchman was a perfect prodigy ; 
 inasmuch as they are for the most part more sordid than 
 even women, and avowed enemies to everything of 
 generosity. And though it is natural to desire revenge, 
 they, notwithstanding their preaching up patience, and 
 recommending the forgiveness of injuries to others, pursue 
 it with more rancour than other people. \ This thing, there- 
 fore (I mean the generosity of a certain prelate) will be. 
 made appear in the following story. 
 
 Ghino di Tacco was a man famous for his bold and 
 insolent robberies, who being banished from Siena, and at 
 utter enmity with the Counts di Santa Fiore, caused the town 
 of Radicofani to rebel against the church, and lived there 
 whilst his gang robbed all who passed that way. Now 
 when Boniface the Eighth was pope, there came to court 
 the Abbot of Cligni, reputed to be one of the richest 
 
TENTH DAY 485 
 
 prelates in the world, and having debauched his stomach 
 with high living, he was advised by his physicians to go to 
 the bath of Siena, as a certain cure. And, having leave 
 from the pope, he set out with a goodly train of coaches, 
 carriages, horses, and servants, paying no respect to the 
 rumours concerning this robber. Ghino was apprised of 
 his coming, and took his measures accordingly; when, 
 without the loss of a man, he enclosed the abbot and his 
 whole retinue in a narrow defile, where it was impossible 
 for them to escape.’ This being done, he sent one of his 
 principal fellows to the abbot, with his service, requesting 
 the favour of him to alight and visit him at his castle. 
 Upon which the abbot replied, with a great deal of passion, 
 that he had nothing to do with Ghino, but that. his 
 resolution was to go on, and he would see who dared to 
 stop him. ‘ My lord,” quoth the man, with a great deal of 
 humility, “you are now in a place where all excommuni- 
 cations are kicked out of doors; then please to oblige my 
 master in this thing, it will be your best way.” Whilst they 
 were talking together, the place was surrounded with 
 highwaymen, and the abbot, seeing himselfa prisoner, went 
 with a great deal of ill-will with the fellow to the castle, 
 followed by his whole retinue, where he dismounted, and 
 was lodged, by Ghino’s appointment, in a poor, dark, little 
 room, whilst every other person was well accommodated 
 according to his respective station, and the carriages and all 
 the horses taken exact care of. This being done, Ghino 
 went to the abbot, and said, ‘‘My lord, Ghino, whose 
 guest you are, requests the favour of you to let him know 
 whither you are going, and upon what account?” The 
 abbot was wise enough to lay all his haughtiness aside for 
 the present, and satisfied him with regard to both. Ghino 
 went away at hearing this, and resolving to cure him 
 without a bath, he ordered a great fire to be kept constantly 
 in his room, coming to him no more till next morning, 
 when he brought him two slices of toasted bread, in a fine 
 napkin, and a large glass of his own rich white wine, saying 
 to him, “ My lord, when Ghino was young, he: studied 
 physic, and he declares that the very best medicine for a 
 pain in the stomach is what he has now provided for you, 
 
486 THE DECAMERON 
 
 of which these things are to be the beginning. Then take 
 them, and have a good heart.” ‘The abbot, whose hunger 
 was much greater than was his will to joke, ate the bread, 
 though with a great deal of indignation, and drank the glass 
 of wine; after which he began to talk a little arrogantly, 
 asking many questions, and demanding more: particularly 
 to see this Ghino. But Ghino passed over part of what he 
 said as vain, and the rest he answered very courteously, 
 declaring that Ghino meant to make him a visit very soon, 
 and then left him. He saw him no more till next morning, 
 when he brought him as much bread and wine as before, 
 and in the same manner. And thus he continued during 
 many days, till he found the abbot had ate some dried 
 beans, which he had left purposely in the chamber, when he 
 inquired of him, as from Ghino, how he found his stomach. 
 The abbot replied, “‘I should’ be well enough were I out of 
 this man’s clutches. There is nothing I want now so much 
 as to eat, for his medicines have had such an effect upon 
 me, that I am fit to die with hunger.” Ghino, then, having 
 furnished a room with the abbot’s own goods, and provided 
 an elegant entertainment, to which many people of the 
 town were invited, as well as the abbot’s own domestics, 
 went the next’ morning. to him, and said, “ My lord, now 
 you find yourself recovered, it is time for you to quit this 
 infirmary.” So.he took him by the hand, and led him into 
 the chamber, leaving him there with his own people; and 
 as he went out to give orders about the feast, the abbot was 
 giving an account how he had led his life in that place, 
 whilst they declared that they had been used by Ghino with 
 all possible respect. When the time came, they sat down, 
 and were nobly entertained, but still without Ghino’s 
 making himself known. But after the abbot had continued 
 some days in that manner, Ghino had all the goods and 
 furniture brought into a large room, and the horses were 
 likewise led into the courtyard which was under it, when he 
 inquired how his lordship now found himself, or whether 
 he was yet able to ride... The abbot made answer, that he 
 was strong enough, and his stomach perfectly well, and that 
 he only wanted to quit this man. Ghino then brought him 
 into the room where all his goods were, showing him also:to 
 
‘TENTH DAY 487 
 
 the window, that he might take a view of his horses, when 
 he said, ‘‘My lord, you must understand it was no evil 
 disposition, but his being driven a poor exile from his own 
 house, and persecuted with many enemies, that forced 
 Ghino di Tacco, whom I am, to be a robber upon the 
 highways, and an enemy to the court of Rome. You seem, 
 however, to be a person of honour; as, therefore, I have 
 cured you of your pain in your stomach, I do not mean to 
 treat you as I would:do another person that should fall into 
 my hands, that is, to take what) I please, but I would have 
 you consider my necessity, and then give me what you will 
 yourself. Here is all that belongs to you; the horses you 
 may see out of the window: take either part or the whole, 
 just as you are disposed, and go or stay, as is most 
 agreeable to you.” The abbot was surprised to hear a 
 highwayman talk in so courteous a. manner, which did not a 
 little please him ; so, turning all his former passion and resent- 
 ment into kindness and good-will, he ran with a heart full of 
 friendship to embrace him: ‘I protest solemnly, that to 
 procure the friendship of such a one as I take you to be, I 
 would undergo more than what you have already made me 
 suffer. Cursed be that evil fortune which has thrown you into 
 this way of life!” So taking only a few of his most neces- 
 sary things, and also of his horses, and leaving all the rest, he 
 came back to Rome. The pope had heard of the abbot’s 
 being a prisoner, and though he was much concerned at it, 
 yet upon seeing him, he inquired what benefit he had‘: re- 
 ceived from the baths. The abbot replied, with a smile, 
 ‘* Holy father, I found a: physician much nearer, who has 
 cured me excellently well ;” and she told him the manner 
 of it, which made the pope laugh heartily, when, going on 
 with his story, and moved with a truly generous spirit, he 
 requested of his holiness one favour. The pope, imagining 
 he would ask something else, freely consented to grant it. 
 Then said the abbot, ‘‘ Holy father, what I mean to require 
 is, that you would bestow a free pardon on Ghino di Tacco, 
 my doctor, because, of all people of worth that I ever met 
 with, he certainly is most to be esteemed, and the damage 
 he does is more the fault of fortune than himself: Change 
 but his condition, and give him something to live upon, 
 
488 THE DECAMERON- 
 
 according to his rank and station, and I dare say you will 
 have the same opinion of him that Ihave.” The pope, being 
 of a noble spirit, and a great encourager of merit, promised 
 to do so, if he was such a person as he reported, and, in 
 the meantime, gave letters of safe conduct for his coming 
 thither. Upon that assurance, Ghino came to court, when 
 the pope was soon convinced of his worth, and reconciled 
 to him, giving him the priory of an hospital, and creating 
 him a knight. And there he continued as a friend and 
 loyal servant to the holy church, and to the Abbot of Cligni, 
 as long as he lived. 
 
 NOVEL IIf 
 
 Mithridanes envied the generosity of Nathan, and went to hillihim; 
 when, conversing together, without knowing him, and being informed 
 in what manner he might do tt, he went to meet him in a wood as 
 he had directed. There he calls him to mind, ts ashamed, ana 
 becomes his friend. 
 
 THE abbot’s extraordinary generosity seemed next to a 
 miracle to all that heard it; when Philostratus was com- 
 manded to speak, who instantly said,—Great, most noble 
 ladies, was the magnificence of the King of Spain; and that 
 of the Abbot of Cligni something quite unusual; but per- 
 haps it will appear no less strange to you to be told how a 
 person, as a proof of his liberality to another, who thirsted 
 after his blood, nay, and his very soul too, should: contrive 
 industriously to gratify him. And, he had done so, if the 
 other would have taken what was so offered, as I am going 
 to show you. 
 
 Most certain it is, if any faith may be given to the Genoese, 
 and others that have been in those parts, that in the country 
 of Cattaio lived a person of noble extract, and rich beyond 
 comparison, called Nathan, who, having an estate adjoining 
 to the great road which led from the east to the west, and 
 being of a generous spirit, and desirous of showing it by 
 his good works, summoned together many master artificers, 
 and in a very short time raised one of the most grand and 
 beautiful palaces that ever was seen, furnishing it with every- 
 
TENTH DAY 489 
 
 thing necessary for the more honourable reception of per- 
 sons of distinction. He had also great numbers of servants, 
 and kept open house for all comers and goers, continuing 
 this noble way of living; till not only the east but the west 
 also resounded his fame. Being grown into years, and his 
 hospitality no way abated, it happened that his renown 
 reached the ears of a young gentleman named Mithridanes, 
 living in a country not far from the other, who, thinking 
 himself full as wealthy as Nathan, began’to envy his fame 
 and virtue, resolving to’annul or cloud them both by a 
 superior generosity. So he built such another palace as 
 Nathan’s, and was extravagantly generous to everybody, that 
 how famous he soon became it is needless to say. Now 
 one day it happened, as he was all alone in his palace- 
 court, that a woman came in at one of the gates, and de- 
 manded alms, which she received ; after which she came in 
 at a second, and was relieved a second time, and so on for 
 twelve times successively, and returning the thirteenth, he 
 said, ‘‘Good woman, you grow troublesome;” but yet he 
 gave her. The old woman, at hearing these words, said, 
 “The prodigious generosity of Nathan! O how greatly is it 
 to be admired! I went in at all the thirty-two gates which 
 are at his palace, as well as this, and received an alms at 
 every one, without being known all the time, as it seemed 
 to me, and here I come but thirteen, and am known and 
 flouted!” and so went away without ever coming there 
 more. Mithridanes, imagining that this concerning Nathan 
 was a diminution of his own fame, grew extremely incensed, 
 and said, ‘‘ Alas! when shall I come up to Nathan in great 
 things, not to say surpass him, as is my intention, when I fall 
 short even in the smallest matters? Undoubtedly, it is all 
 labour in vain, unless I dismiss him from the world, which, 
 seeing old age ineffectual, I must do instantly with my own 
 hands. So rising up in a passion, without making any one 
 acquainted with his design, he mounted his horse, taking 
 very few attendants with him, and the third day he arrived 
 at Nathan’s palace, when he ordered his people not to seem 
 to belong to him, but provide themselves with lodgings till 
 they heard further from him. Coming there towards the 
 evening, and being left by himself, he found Nathan alone 
 Q2 
 
 ad 
 
490 THE DECAMERON 
 
 not far from his palace, taking a walk for his amusement, 
 in a very plain habit, when he, not knowing him, desired 
 he would show him the way to Nathan’s dwelling. Nathan 
 cheerfully replied, ‘Son, there is nobody in this country 
 can show you better than myself; then, if you please, I 
 will conduct you thither.” The young gentleman replied, 
 ‘IT should be extremely obliged to you; but could wish, if 
 it were possible, neither to be seen nor known by Nathan.” 
 —-‘*This also,” quoth Nathan, “I will do for you, if it be 
 your design.” So he alighted, and walked along with him, 
 falling agreeably into discourse together, till they came to 
 the palace, when Nathan bid one of his servants take the 
 horse, and he whispered in the fellow’s ear for him to 
 acquaint all the people in the house that none of them 
 should let the gentleman know he was Nathan, which was 
 done. Being entered into the palace, he put Mithridanes 
 into a very fine apartment, where nobody should:.see him 
 but those whom he had appointed to wait upon: him; and 
 showed him all possible respect, himself constabiy; keeping 
 him company. 
 
 After Mithridanes had been for some time’ with him, he 
 asked, with a great deal of reverence, who he was. ._When 
 he replied, ‘‘] am_an inferior servant of Nathan’s, who have 
 grown old in his service, and yet he never promoted: me 
 to anything more than what you see me; and, therefore, 
 though other people commend him, Ihave little reason: to 
 do so.” These words gave Mithridanes:some hopes-that 
 he might the better and more securely effect his base pur- 
 pose. Nathan then inquired very courteously, of- him 
 concerning who he was, and the occasion: of his coming 
 thither, offering him his best advice and assistance... Mithri- 
 danes hesitated a little upon that, but at length resolved to 
 let him. into his design; so, after a long preamble request- | 
 ing secrecy, and that: he would Jend: him a helping hand, 
 he declared who he was, what he came thither for;:and his 
 inducement. Nathan, hearing his detestable resolution, 
 was quite changed within himself; nevertheless, without 
 any appearance thereof, he replied boldly, and with a:steady 
 countenance, “‘ Mithridanes, your father was truly a noble 
 person, nor are you willing to degenerate, having .under- 
 
TENTH. DAY 491 
 
 taken so glorious an enterprise as is that of being liberal to 
 all people; I do greatly commend the envy you bear to 
 Nathan’s virtue, because, were there many more men of the 
 same principle, the world, though bad enough at present, 
 would soon grow better. Your affair I shall most assuredly 
 keep secret, which I can further more by my advice, than 
 any help I am able to give you, and that in the following 
 manner :— 
 
 ** About half a mile from hence is a grove, where he 
 generally takes a walk for a considerable time every morn- 
 ing ; there you may easily meet with him, and do what you 
 purpose. If you should kill him, in order to return home 
 without any hindrance, do not go the way you came, but 
 take a path that leads out of the grove to the left, which, 
 though not so much frequented as the other, is yet a shorter 
 way to your house, as well as more secure.” When Mith- 
 ridanes had received this instruction, and Nathan was de- 
 parted, he let his attendants, that were in the same house, 
 know privately where they were to wait for him the next 
 day. And early in the morning Nathan arose, his mind 
 being no way changed from the counsel given to Mithri- 
 danes, and went to the grove with a design of meeting with 
 his death. Mithridanes also took his bow and sword, having 
 no other weapon, and rode to the same place, where he 
 saw Nathan walking at a distance by himself; and being 
 minded before he put him to death, to hear what he had 
 to say, he laid hold of the turban’ that was upon his head, 
 and cried out, ‘‘ Old dotard! thou arta dead man.” Nathan 
 made no reply but this: ‘‘ Then I have deserved it.” Mithri- 
 danes, hearing: his voice, and looking in his face, found it 
 was the same person that had so kindly received him, kept 
 him company, and faithfully advised him: upon which his 
 rage and malice were turned into shame and remorse, and 
 throwing away his sword, which he had ready drawn to stab 
 him, he dismounted, and fell with tears at his feet, saying, 
 ‘My dearest father, I am now convinced of your liberality, 
 considering what pains you have taken to bestow your life 
 upon me, which I was very unjustly desirous of having. 
 But God, more:careful of my doing my duty than I was 
 myself, opened the eyes of my understanding, which envy 
 
492 THE DECAMERON 
 
 had closed, at a time when there was the greatest need of 
 it. The more ready, therefore, you were to oblige me, so 
 much the greater I acknowledge my remorse to be. Take 
 that revenge then, of me which you think adequate to the 
 nature of my crime.” Nathan raised him up and embraced 
 him, saying, ‘Son, your design, call it wicked, or what 
 you will, needs neither your asking any pardon nor yet my 
 granting it; because it was out of no hatred, but only a 
 desire to excel. Be assured, then, there is nobody regards 
 you more than I do, considering the greatness of your soul, 
 which was given you not for the amassing of wealth, as is 
 the case of misers, but the distribution of it; be not ashamed 
 of your design of cutting me off, to become more famous, 
 nor think I am at all surprised at it: the greatest monarchs, 
 by no other art than that of killing not one man only, as 
 you would have done, but infinite numbers, destroying 
 whole countries, and laying cities in ruins, have enlarged 
 their empire, and consequently their fame. Therefore, to 
 kill me alone, to make yourself famous, is neither new nor 
 strange.” Mithridanes far from excusing his evil intent, 
 but commending Nathan’s honest gloss upon it, proceeded 
 so far as to tell him, that he wondered exceedingly how he 
 could bring himself to such a readiness to die, and be even 
 advising and aiding to it. 
 
 When Nathan replied, ‘I would not have you wonder 
 at all at it; for ever since I have been my own master, 
 and resolved to do that wherein you have endeavoured to 
 follow my example, nobody ever came to my house, whom 
 IT did not content to the utmost of my power, as to what 
 was required of me. Now it was your fortune to come for 
 my life; therefore, that you should not be the only person 
 who went away ungratified, I resolved to give it, advising. 
 you in such a manner that you might be secure of it with- 
 out losing your own. Therefore I conjure you to take it, 
 if it will be any pleasure to you: I do not know how I can 
 better bestow it. Eighty years have I had the full enjoy- 
 ment of it; and, according to the course of nature, and as 
 it fares with other men, and all other things, I can keep it 
 but very little time longer: so I hold it better to part with it 
 of my own accord, as I have done my wealth and estate, than 
 
TENTH DAY 493 
 
 to keep it till it is wrested from me by nature. A hundred 
 years are no great matter; what then, are six or eight, 
 which are all that are left me? Take it, then, I say again, 
 if you please, for I never. met with any one before that 
 desired it, nor do I expect any other will accept it, if you 
 do not. Besides, the longer it is kept, of the less value it 
 grows, so take it once for all, whilst it is worth something.” 
 Mithridanes was extremely confounded and said, ‘‘God 
 forbid that, so far from touching a thing of the value your 
 life is, I should even desire it as I did just now. Instead 
 of lessening your years, I would willingly add of my own, 
 if it were possible.”—‘‘ And would you,” he replied, ‘if 
 you could? That would be doing to you what I have 
 done yet to no one, I mean robbing you to enrich my- 
 self. But I will tell you what you shall do: you shall come 
 and live here, and be called Nathan, and I will go to 
 your house, and take the name of Mithridanes.” He 
 replied, ‘“‘If I knew how to behave as well as you do, I 
 should readily embrace your offer; but as I am sensible I 
 should only lessen the fame of Nathan, I shall never seek 
 to impair that in another which I cannot increase in myself, 
 s0 pray excuse me.” With these and more such compli- 
 ments, they returned to the palace, where Nathan showed 
 great respect to Mithridanes, confirming him in his great 
 and noble design; who, being disposed to return home, 
 took his leave, fully convinced that he could never come 
 up to Nathan in liberality. 
 
 NOVEL IV 
 
 Signor Gentil de’ Carisendi takes a lady out of her grave, whom he had 
 loved, and whowas buried for dead. She recovers, and ts brought to 
 bed of a son, which he presents along with the lady to her husband. 
 
 It seemed strange to them all for a man to be lavish of his 
 blood, and it was agreed that Nathan had outdone both the 
 King of Spain and the Abbot of Cligni. When the king 
 signified his will to Lauretta that she should begin, which 
 she did to this effect -— 
 
494 THE DECAMERON 
 
 Great, as well as beautiful, most noble ladies, are the 
 incidents which have been already related, nor does any- 
 thing seem wanting, in my opinion, to bring our argument 
 home to the subject, but that we take in the affair of love, 
 which affords matter enough for discourse upon any ques- 
 tion whatever. For this reason, then, and as it is always 
 an agreeable topic to youth, I shall mention the generosity 
 of an enamoured young gentleman, which, all things con- 
 sidered, will appear, perhaps, no way inferior to the others: 
 if it be true that people give away their wealth, forget 
 animosities, run a thousand risks of their lives, and, what 
 is more, their fame and honour too, and all to come at the 
 thing desired. 
 
 In Bologna was a knight, of great consequence and 
 worth, called Gentil Carisendi, who was in love with Cata- 
 lina, the wife of Niccoluccio Caccianimico; and, meeting 
 with no return, he went in a kind of despair to Modena, 
 whither he was called as Podesta. In the meantime, 
 Niccoluccio being absent from Bologna, and his lady at 
 a country-house about three miles distant, where she was 
 gone to stay, being with child, it happened she was taken 
 with an hysteric fit, which quite extinguished all signs of 
 life, so that her physician declared her dead. And because 
 her acquaintance said they had been informed by her that 
 she was not quick with child, she was immediately buried 
 in a vault belonging to a neighbouring church. This was 
 soon signified by a friend to Signor Gentil, who, though he 
 had never received the least mark of her favour, grieved 
 extremely, saying at last to himself, “ Behold, my dear 
 Catalina, you are dead; living you would never deign me 
 one kind look ; now, however, that you cannot prevent it, 
 I will please myself with a kiss.” So, giving orders that his 
 departure should be a secret, towards evening he mounted - 
 his horse, and taking a servant along with him, .he rode 
 directly to the vault where she was buried, which he opened, 
 and lying down by her, he put his cheek to hers, and wept. 
 At length, laying his hands. for some time upon her bosom, 
 he thought he felt something beat, when, throwing all fear 
 aside, and attending more nicely to the circumstance; he 
 was convinced she had a smail spark of life’ remaining 
 
TENTH DAY 495 
 
 in her; therefore, by the help of his servant, he took he1 
 out of the vault as gently as possible, and, laying her upon 
 the horse, he brought her privately to his house at Bologna. 
 There his mother, a worthy, good lady, having the whole 
 account from him, by warm baths and other means, soon 
 brought" her to herself; when, after fetching a deep sigh, 
 she said, “Alas! where am I?” The good lady replied, 
 “Make yourself easy, you are in a very good place.” 
 Looking then all round, and seeing Signor Gentil before 
 her, her astonishment was great, and she desired his 
 mother to inform her by what means she had come thither. 
 He then related everything to her; at which she was con- 
 cerned, and, after giving due thanks, she requested of him, 
 by his love and generous deportment, to attempt nothing 
 contrary to her honour and that of her husband, and that, 
 when it was daylight, he would suffer her to go home. 
 ** Madam,” he replied, ‘‘ whatever my love has been hereto- 
 fore, I promise both now and hereafter, seeing I have been 
 so fortunate as to bring you to life, to use you with the same 
 regard as I would my sister; but, as I think myself entitled 
 to some reward, I must insist upon your granting me one 
 favour.” —‘“‘Sir,” said she, “‘you may command anything 
 from me consistent with modesty.” He made answer, 
 ** Madam, your relations and all the people of Bologna 
 are assured of your being dead; therefore I insist only 
 upon your staying here with my mother till I return from 
 Modena, which will be very soon. My reason is, that 1 
 would then, in the presence of the principal inhabitants 
 here, make a valuable and solemn present of you ‘to your 
 husband.” The lady, knowing her obligations to the 
 knight, and that his demand was honourable, consented, 
 and gave her word to abide by it, notwithstanding she 
 longed extremely to gratify her relations with the news of 
 her being alive. And whilst they were talking, she felt 
 labour-pains come upon’ ‘her, and she was soon delivered 
 of a‘son, which added greatly to their’joy. Signor. Gentil 
 ordered that she should have the same care taken’ of her 
 as if she had been his own wife; and then returned privately 
 to Modena. ‘There he continued till the expiration of his 
 office, and the morning he was to come home, he ordered 
 
496 THE, DECAMERON 
 
 a great entertainment to be: made at his» house, to which 
 Niccoluccio Caccianimico, with many -of the © principal 
 citizens, were invited: and after he had dismounted, and 
 found the company waiting for him, understanding too 
 that the lady and child were both very well, he received 
 them all with a great deal of joy; and dinner was imme- 
 diately served up in the most magnificent manner possible. 
 Towards the end, having concerted everything beforehand 
 with the lady, he addressed himself to his guests in the 
 following manner: ‘Gentlemen, I remember to have 
 heard of a pretty custom in Persia, that when any one has 
 a mind to show the greatest respect in his power to any of 
 his friends, that he invites them to his house, and produces 
 that thing, be. it what it will, wife, mistress, or daughter, that 
 is most dear to him, declaring thereby that he would, if he 
 was able, lay his very heart before them. This;custom I 
 mean to introduce at Bologna. You do me. honour with 
 your company at this feast, and I will return it, by showing 
 that thing which is the most, dear to me of all that I have 
 in the world, or ever shall possess... But I: must first beg 
 your solution of a difficulty which I am going to start to 
 you. 
 
 ‘A certain person had a very honest and trusty servant, 
 who was taken extremely ill, whom, without more to do, 
 he sent out into the street.in that condition; when a 
 stranger, out of mere compassion, took him into his house, 
 and with a great deal of trouble and expense had him 
 restored to his former health. Now I would gladly know 
 whether the first master has any right to complain of the 
 second, for keeping him in his service, and refusing to 
 restore him.” This occasioned a great deal of argument, 
 - and all agreed at last in opinion, leaving Niccoluccie 
 Caccianimico, who was an elegant speaker, to report it. 
 He, therefore, after commending the Persian custom, said, 
 they were all persuaded that the first master had no righs, 
 after he had not only abandoned him, but thrown him away 
 as it were; and that, on account of the kindness done to 
 him, he justly belonged to the second, who. offered’ no 
 violence or injury to the first in detaining him. . The rest 
 of the company, being all wise and worthy persons, declared 
 
TENTH DAY 499 
 
 that they joined in opinion with Niccoluccio.. When the 
 knight, pleased with the answer, and having it too from 
 Niccoluccio, affirmed that those were his sentiments, adding, 
 ‘It is now time for me to honour you according to promise.” 
 So he sent two of his servants to the lady, whom he had 
 taken care to be very gaily. dressed, desiring. her to favour 
 his guests with her company. Accordingly, she came into 
 the hall, followed by two servants, with the little infant in 
 her arms, And after she had seated herself, he said, ‘* Be- 
 hold, this is what I value beyond everything else; see if 
 you think I am in the right.”. The gentlemen all praised 
 her extremeiy, pronouncing her worthy of his esteem: and, 
 after looking more nicely at her, many of them were going 
 to have owned her, had it not been that they thought her 
 dead. But none viewed her so muchas Niccoluccio, who, 
 the knight having stepped.a little aside, grew impatient to 
 know who she was; and, unable any longer to contain 
 himself, demanded of her if she was a citizen or stranger. 
 The lady, hearing this from her husband, could scarcely 
 refrain from giving him an answer, yet, in regard to her 
 injunctions, she held her peace. Another inquired whether 
 that was her child; and a third, whether she was wife, or 
 any relation to Signor Gentil. | Still she made no reply to 
 any. So when the knight returned, one of the company 
 said, ‘‘Sir, this is really a pretty creature, but she appears 
 to be dumb: is: she actually so?” © ‘*Gentlemen,” he 
 replied, ‘‘her silence is no small argument of her virtue.” — 
 ‘Tell us, then,” quoth one, ‘who she is.” ‘*That I will,” 
 said the knight, “‘ with all my heart, if you will promise me 
 in the meantime that none of you stir from your places till 
 I have made an end.” This being agreed, and the tables 
 all removed, he went and sat down by her, saying, ‘‘ Gentle- 
 men, this lady is that good and faithful servant of whom I 
 proposed the question; who, being set at nought by her 
 friends, and thrown into the street, as it were, for a thing 
 of no account, was by me with great care taken up, and 
 _ redeemed from death, and from so terrible an object as she 
 once was, brought to what you now see. . But, for your 
 - more perfect understanding of what has happened, I will 
 make it plain to you in a few words.” So he began from 
 
498 THE DECAMERON 
 
 his being first enamoured, and related everything particu- 
 larly that had happened, to the great amazement of the 
 hearers ; adding, at last, ‘‘ For these reasons, if you stick 
 to what you said just now, and Niccoluccio especially, the 
 lady is mine, and nobody has any right to demand her 
 from me.” No reply was made to this, but all stood 
 expecting to hear what he had further to say. In the 
 meantime, Niccoluccio and the rest’of the company, as 
 well as the lady, were so affected, that they all wept. © But 
 Signor Gentil arose, and taking the child invhis arms, and 
 the lady by the hand, he went towards Niccoluccio, and 
 said, “Rise, my friend; behold I do not give you your 
 wife, whom you and her relations had thrown away, but I 
 bestow this lady upon you, as an acquaintance of mine, 
 along with her little son, which is yours, and whom I have 
 called by my own name: and I entreat you not to have the 
 worse opinion of her, for having been three months in my 
 house ; for I. call Heaven to witness, that, though my love 
 was the cause of her being preserved, she has lived with the 
 same honour in my house, along with my mother, as. she 
 could have done with her own parent.” Then, turning to 
 the lady, he said, “Madam, I now acquit you of your 
 promise, and give you freely up to your husband.”: So 
 giving him the lady and the child into his arms, he re- 
 turned, and sat down. Niccoluccio received them with the 
 greater joy, as it was the more unexpected, loading the 
 knight with infinite thanks, whilst the company, who could 
 not refrain from weeping, highly commended his generosity, 
 as did every one also that heard it. The lady now was 
 brought to her own house with great demonstrations of 
 joy, and the people all beheld her with the same wonder ~ 
 as if she had been raised from the dead.’ “Moreover; the — 
 knight was in the greatest esteem ever after, both with her © 
 and Niccoluccio, as well as their relations and friends. 
 What will you say, then, ladies? Is aking’s giving away — 
 his crown and sceptre,.an abbot’s reconciling a malefactor 
 to the pope, or an old man’s offering his throat to an 
 enemy’s'dagger, anything like this action of Signor, Gentil’s ? 
 who, being in the: bloom and heat’of!‘youth, and seeming — 
 to have a good title to that which other people’s careless- 
 
TENTH DAY 499 
 
 ness had thrown away, and he by good fortune happened 
 to pick up, not only restrained his desire, much to his 
 honour, but generously resigned what he had entirely 
 coveted, and sought at all events to possess. To me they 
 seem no way comparable. 
 
 NOVEL V 
 
 Dianora requires Ansaldo to present her with a garden in January as 
 beautiful as in May. He engages a necromancer to do it. Her 
 husband, upon this, gives her leave to keep her word with Ansaldo; 
 who, hearing of the husband’s generosity, quits her of her promise ; 
 and the necromancer likewise takes nothing for his trouble. 
 
 SIGNOR GENTIL was extolled to the very skies by the whole 
 assembly, when the king ordered Emilia to follow; who 
 immediately, as though she were desirous of speaking, began 
 in this manner :— 
 
 There is no one but must allow that Signor Gentil did a 
 very noble action, but to say that nothing greater could be 
 done is saying too much, as I shall show in a very short 
 novel. 
 
 In the country of Frioli, which, though very cold, is yet 
 beautified with many pleasant mountains, fine rivers, and 
 crystal springs, is a place called Udine, where lived a 
 worthy lady, named Dianora, the wife of a very agreeable 
 man, and one of great wealth, called Gilberto. Now she 
 had taken the fancy of a great and noble lord, called 
 Ansaldo, one of extraordinary generosity and prowess, and 
 known ‘to all the country; who used frequently to solicit 
 her with messages and offers ‘of love, but in vain. At 
 length, being quite wearied with his importunity, and 
 seeing that he still persisted, notwithstanding her repeated 
 denials, she resolved to rid herself of him’ by a new, and, 
 as*she thought, impossible demand. So she said to his 
 emissary one day, ‘‘Good: woman, you have often told me 
 that Ansaldo loves me beyond all the world, and have 
 offered ‘me great presents.on his part, which he may keep 
 to’ himself, for I shall never’ be prevailed upon to a com- 
 pliance in that manner. Could I be assured, indeed, that 
 
500 THE DECAMERON 
 
 his love is. really such as you say, them J should certainly 
 be, brought to return it: therefore, if he will convince me 
 of that by a proof which I shall:require, I will instantly be 
 at his service.” ‘‘ What is it, then,” quoth the good woman, 
 ‘that you desire him to do?” ‘It is this,” she replied: 
 “T would have a garden in the month of January, which is 
 now coming on, as full of green herbs, flowers, and trees 
 laden with fruit, as though it were the month of May: 
 unless he does this for me, charge him to trouble me no 
 more, for that I will instantly.make a complaint to my 
 husband and all my friends.” 
 
 He being acquainted with the demand, which seemed 
 next to an impossibility, and knowing that it was contrived 
 on purpose to deprive him of all hopes of success, resolved 
 yet to try all possible means in such a.case, sending. to 
 every part of the world to find out a person able to assist 
 him; when at length he. met. with a magician, who would 
 undertake it for a large sum of money; and having agreed 
 upon a price, he waited impatiently for the time of its being 
 done, On the first of January, therefore, at night, the cold 
 being extreme, and everything covered with snow, this wise 
 man, in a meadow near to the city, made one of the finest 
 gardens spring up. that ever was seen, filled with all kinds 
 of herbs, flowers, and. fruits, which Ansaldo saw with infinite 
 pleasure, and picking some of the fairest fruit and flowers, 
 he sent them privately to the lady, inviting her to come and 
 see the garden which she had required, in order to be con- 
 vinced of his love, and that she might call to mind the 
 promise she had made, and so be reputed a woman of her 
 word. The lady, viewing the present, and hearing also 
 from many people of this wonderful garden, began to 
 repent of what she had done. But with all this repentance, 
 being still desirous of seeing strange sights, she went thither 
 with many more ladies, and having highly commended it, 
 returned home sorrowful enough, thinking of her engage- 
 ment. She continued so very uneasy, that her husband at 
 last perceived it, and demanded the reason. For some 
 time she was ashamed to speak, but being constrained at 
 last, she related the whole thing. Gilberto was greatly 
 disturbed about it, till, considering the upright intention of 
 
TENTH DAY 50% 
 
 his lady in the affair, he began’ to be something pacified, 
 and said, “No wise and virtuous lady would ever receive 
 any messages, or make: any conditions with regard to her 
 chastity. Words have a more ready admittance to the 
 heart than many people imagine, and with lovers nothing 
 is impossible. You were highly to blame first to listen, 
 and afterwards to covenant: but as I know the purity 
 of your intention, and to, free you from your engage- 
 ment, I will grant what nobody else would do in such 
 a case. For fear of this necromancer, who, by Ansaldo’s 
 instigation, may do us some mischief if you disappoint 
 him, I consent that you go to Ansaldo, and if you can 
 by any means get quit of that tie with safety to your 
 honour, that you endeavour to do it, otherwise that you 
 comply, in deed, though your will be chaste and pure.” She 
 wept and showed great reluctance, but he insisted upon it. 
 So, early in the morning, without any great care to make 
 herself fine, she went with her woman and two men-servants 
 to Ansaldo’s house, who, hearing the lady was there, arose 
 with great surprise, and called the wise man, saying to him, 
 ‘*VYou shall now see the effect of your skill.” So he went 
 to meet her, and showed her into a handsome room, where 
 there was a great fire, and sitting down together, he said, 
 “Madam, I beg; if the long regard I have had for you merit 
 any reward, that you would please to tell me why you come 
 here at this time, and with this company.” She blushed, 
 and replied, with tears, ‘Sir, it is neither love, nor yet 
 regard to my promise, but merely my husband’s order, 
 who, showing more respect to the labours of your inordinate 
 love than his honour and mine, has forced me to come 
 hither ; therefore, as it is commanded, I submit to your 
 pleasurex’ If Ansaldo was surprised at the sight of the 
 lady, he was now much more so at hearing her talk; and, 
 being moved with Gilberto’s generosity, his love was changed 
 into compassion, and he said, ‘‘ Madam, Heaven forbid that 
 I should ever take away the honour of a person who has 
 showed such pity for my love: therefore, you are as safe 
 with me as if you were my sister, and when it seems good 
 to you, you may depart, upon condition that you tender 
 your husband, in my name, those thanks which you think 
 
502 THE DECAMERON 
 
 are due to his great generosity, requesting him. for the time 
 to come, to esteem me always as his brother and faithful 
 servant.” The lady, overjoyed with this, replied, ‘* All the 
 world, sir, could never make me believe, when I consider 
 your character, that anything could have happened on my 
 coming hither, otherwise than now it has done; for which 
 I shall always be obliged to you.” So she took her leave, 
 and returned to her husband, when, relating what had 
 happened, it proved the occasion of a strict friendship ever 
 after between him and Ansaldo. The necromancer now 
 being about to receive his reward, and having observed 
 Gilberto’s generosity to Ansaido, and that of Ansaldo to 
 the lady, said, “As Gilberto has been so liberal of his 
 honour, and you of your love, you shall give me leave to 
 be the same with regard to my pay: knowing it then to be 
 worthily employed, I design it shall-be yours.” Ansaldo 
 was ashamed, and pressed him. to take all or part, but in 
 vain. And after the third day was passed that the necro- 
 mancer had taken away his: garden, and was willing to 
 depart, he, thankfully dismissed him, having extinguished 
 his inordinate desires out of a mere principle of honour. 
 What say you now, ladies ?, Shall we prefer the dead lady 
 and the love of Gentil, grown cold, as destitute of all hope, 
 to, the liberality.of Ansaldo, who loved more than ever, and 
 who.was fired with the greater expectation, since the prey 
 so long pursued was then in his power? It is mere folly 
 to suppose that generosity can ever be compared to this. 
 
 NOVEL VI 
 
 Old King Charles, surnamed the Victorious, being in love with a young 
 lady, and ashamed afterwards Zi. his folly, marries bath her and her 
 sister much to their advantage. 
 
 Wuo can recount the various disputes that arose amongst 
 the company, whether Gilberto’s generosity, or Ansaldo’s, 
 or, lastly, the necromancer’s, with regard to Dianora, was 
 the greatest?, Surely it would be too tedious: at this time. 
 But the king, after suffering them to disputea while, ordered 
 
TENTH DAY 503 
 
 Flammetta to put an end to the debate ; who began presently 
 to this effect :-— Bie 
 
 Ladies, I was always of opinion that, in such company 
 as ours, people should speak so fully as to leave no room 
 for doubt concerning the meaning of anything that is 
 advanced ; for disputes more properly belong to students 
 in the schools than tous, who can scarcely manage our 
 wheels and our distaffs.. Therefore, seeing you have been 
 already embroiled, I shall leave something of doubt which 
 I was going to mention, to relate an affair of no insignificant 
 person, but of a most mighty king, stating how he behaved 
 with. regard to his honour. 
 
 You must all have heard of King Charles the Ancient, or 
 the First, by whose glorious enterprise and great victory 
 obtained over King Manfredi, the Ghibelline faction was 
 driven out of Florence, and the Guelphs restored. On 
 which account acertain knight, called Neri degli Uberti, 
 departed with his whole family and great store of wealth, 
 meaning yet to live under the protection of no other king; 
 and choosing a solitary place, witha design to end his days 
 in quiet, he went to Castello da Mare, where he purchased, 
 about a bow-shot from all other houses, amongst the olives 
 and chestnuts with which that place abounds, a little estate, 
 and built'a small convenient house upon it, by the side of 
 which wasa most delightful garden, and in the middle of 
 that, according to our taste, as there was a great command 
 of water, he made a fine canal, storing it well with fish; .and 
 attending only to the care of his garden, it happened that 
 King Charles came during the summer to amuse himself at 
 Castello: da Mare fora few days; when, hearing of Neri’s 
 fine garden, he hada great desire to see it ; and, considering 
 he was of the adverse: party, he resolved to use the more 
 familiarity‘towards him ; so he sent him word, that he and 
 four friends should come and sup with him the next evening 
 in his garden. This was an agreeable message to Signor Neri, 
 who made the necessary provision for his entertainment, 
 receiving him afterwards in the best:manner he was able. 
 The king highly commended both the houses and garden; 
 and the table being spread: by the:side of the! canal, he sat 
 down, ordering Count Guido di Monforte, who was amongst 
 
504 THE DECAMERON 
 
 his attendants, to sit on one side, and Signor Neri on the 
 other ; and as for the remaining three, they sat as they were 
 placed by Signor Neri. Supper now was served up in the 
 most delicate order, with the best and richest wine, greatly 
 to the king’s liking; and whilst: he was eating, with great 
 admiration of the beauty of the place, two young damsels, 
 of about fifteen years of age, entered the garden, with their 
 hair like golden:wire, most curiously curled, and garlands 
 of flowers upon their heads, whilst their mien and deport- 
 ment bespoke them rather angels than mortal creatures: 
 their garments were of fine linen cloth, as white as snow, 
 which were girt round their waists, and hung in large folds 
 from thence to their feet. She that came first had two 
 fishing-nets, which she carried in her left hand upon her 
 shoulder, andvin her right was a long stick: the other that 
 followed had a frying-pan upon her left shoulder, and under 
 the same arm a faggot of wood, with a trevet in her hand, 
 and. in the other hand a bottle of oil and a lighted torch ; 
 at which the king was greatly surprised, and waited atten- 
 tively to see what it meant. 
 
 The damsels being come before him, made their obeis- 
 ance in the humblest and modestest manner; and. at the 
 entrance of the pond, she that had the pan with the other 
 things, laid them down upon the ground; and taking up 
 the stick which the other carried, they both stepped into 
 the canal, the water of which came up to their breasts. A 
 servant immediately kindled a fire, and laying the pan 
 upon the trevet, and putting oil therein, he began to wait 
 till the damsels should throw him some fish. So one of 
 them beating the places where the fish lay, and the other 
 holding the net, they soon caught fish enough, to the great 
 diversion of the king; and throwing them to the servant, 
 who put them alive as it were into the pan, they took out 
 some of the finest, as they had been before instructed, and 
 cast them upon the table before the king, Count Guido, and 
 their father. The king was highly delighted with seeing 
 them jump about, and he took and tossed them about in 
 like manner, and so they diverted themselves, till the 
 servant had fried that which he had in his pan, which 
 was set before the king by Signor Neri’s order, more as a 
 
TENTH DAY 505 
 
 curiosity than anything nice and dainty. The damsels, 
 thinking they had now done enough, came out of the 
 water, with their garments hanging about them in sucha 
 manner as scarcely to conceal any part cf their bodies, and 
 modestly saluting the king as before, they returned into the 
 house. The king, with the count and gentlemen that 
 attended, were much taken with their extraordinary beauty 
 and modest behaviour: the king especially, who was per- 
 fectly lost in admiration, and finding a secret passion steal- 
 ing upon him, without knowing which to prefer, they were 
 so exactly alike, he turned to Signor Neri, and asked who 
 _those two damsels were. When he replied; ‘My lord, 
 they are my daughters, born at a birth, one of whom is 
 called Gineura, the pretty, and the other Isotto, the fair.” 
 The king commended them very much, and advised him 
 to marry them; but he excused himself, alleging that he 
 was not in circumstances to do it. Nothing now remained 
 to be served up but the dessert, when the two ladies: came 
 attired in rich satin, with two silver dishes in their hands, 
 full of all manner of fruit, which they set before the king ; 
 and retiring afterwards to some distance, they sang a song, 
 beginning in the following manner: 
 
 ‘““Thy power, O love! who can resist?” &c., 
 
 with such exquisite sweetness, that it seemed'to the king as 
 if choirs of angels were descended from heaven for his enter- 
 tainment. No sooner was the song ended, but they fell upon 
 their kneés before him, to take their leave, which the king, 
 though he was secretly grieved at it, seemed graciously to 
 comply with. When supper was concluded, the king, with his 
 attendants, mounted their horses, and returned to the palace, 
 where, being unable to forego the love that he had conceived 
 for Gineura, for whose sake he also loved her sister, as 
 resembling each other, he grew so uneasy that he could think 
 of nothing else; upon which accounthe cultivated, under 
 other pretences, a strict friendship with the father, and 
 used frequently to visit him at his garden, in order to see 
 Gineura; till, unable to contain any longer, seeing he 
 could think of no better way, he resolved to take not one 
 only, but both from him by force, and be signified his 
 
506 THE DECAMERON 
 
 intention to Count Guido, who, being a nobleman of strict 
 honour, said to this effect: “My liege, I am greatly sur- 
 prised at what you now say, and more perhaps than any 
 other person would be, since I have known you more, even 
 from. your infancy, and as I never remember any such 
 thing of you in your youth, when ‘love has the greatest 
 power over us, it seems so odd and out of the way, that I 
 can scarcely give credit to it. Did it become me to reprove 
 you, I know very well what I might say, considering that 
 you are yet in arms in a’ kingdom newly conquered, 
 amongst a people not known to: you, abounding with 
 treachery and deceit, and have many great and weighty 
 affairs upon your hands; yet you can sit down atiease in 
 such circumstances, and give way to such an idle passion 
 as love. This is not like’a great king, so much as an 
 inglorious stripling. And what‘is worse, you' say you are 
 resolved to take the two daughters away from a’ poor 
 gentleman, whom he had. to’ wait upon’ you out of: his 
 abundant respect, as well as to show his great confidence 
 in you, believing you to be a generous prince, and not a 
 rapacious wolf: Have you so soon forgotten that it was 
 Manfredi’s taking the same liberties which opened your 
 way to this kingdom? Can there be a baser crime than to 
 take away from one that honours you, his honour, his hope, 
 and entire comfort? What will people say in such a case? 
 Do you think it any excuse, his: being of a different party? 
 Is this kingly justice, to treat people in that manner, be 
 they of what party they will, that throw themselves under 
 your protection? It was great glory to conquer Manfredi, 
 but, let me tell you, it will be much greater to conquer 
 yourself. You, therefore, who are ordained to correct 
 vice in others, learn to subdue your own; curb that unruly 
 appetite, nor stain with so foul a blot the' character you 
 have so gloriously acquired.” These words touched the 
 king to the quick, and so much the more as he knew them 
 to be true: therefore he sighed, and'said, ‘*Count, I hold 
 it an easy conquest over any enemy, however formidable, 
 compared to one’s own passion; but, be the difficulty ever 
 so great, such is the force of your words, that, before many 
 days are past, I will convince’ you, if: I know how to con- 
 
‘TENTH DAY 507 
 
 quer others, that 1 am able also to withstand myself.” So 
 he went to Naples soon after, when, to put it out of his 
 power to do a base thing, as well as to reward the knight for 
 the favours shown him, he resolved, however grating it 
 seemed, to give another the possession of that which he 
 himself coveted, to marry both the ladies, not as Signor 
 Neri’s daughters, but his own. Bestowing, then, large 
 fortunes upon them, Gineura, the pretty, he gave to Signor 
 Maffeo da Palizzi; and Isotto, the fair, to Signor Gulielmo 
 della Magna, both worthy knights, retiring himself after- 
 wards to Puglia; where, with great pains and trouble, he 
 got the better at last of his passion, and lived with ease and 
 quiet ever after. Now some people, perhaps, may say, that 
 it isa small thing fora king to have bestowed two ladies in 
 marriage. I allow it: but for a king to give away the very 
 lady that he himself was in love with, and without plucking 
 the least bud, flower, or fruit of his love, that I will main- 
 tain to be great indeed. Such, then, were the virtues: of 
 this most generous king ; rewarding the courtesy of a noble 
 knight, showing a great and proper regard to his beloved 
 fair one, and subduing his own desires with strict resolution 
 and honour. 
 
 NOVEL Vit 
 
 King Pietro, knowing that a lady was love-sick for him, makes her a 
 visit, and marries her to a worthy gentleman; then kissing her 
 forehead, calls himself ever afterwards her knight. 
 
 FLAMMETTA’s novel was concluded, and the manly king’s 
 generosity much commended, although there were some of 
 the Ghibelline faction present that seemed not to relish 
 it; when Pampinea, Lagat the a command, began as 
 follows :— 
 
 Every one must praise the king for what he did, except- 
 ing such as bear him ill-will upon some other account; but 
 as I now call to mind a thing no less praiseworthy, that 
 was done by an enemy of his to a lady of our city, I shall 
 beg leave to relate it. 
 
 At the time »when the French were driven out of Sicily, 
 there dwelt at Palermo, a Florentine apothecary, called 
 
508 THE DECAMERON 
 
 Bernardo Puccini, one of very great substance, and who 
 had an only daughter, a fine young lady, and of age to be! 
 married. Now King Pietro being become lord of the 
 whole island, made a great feast for all his barons at 
 Palermo; and, jousting in the street called Catalana, it 
 chanced that Barnardo’s daughter, whose name was Lisa, 
 observed him, as she was in company with other ladies, 
 out of a window, with great pleasure, and she gazed so long, 
 that at last she found herself deeply in love. The feast 
 being over, she returned home, still, thinking of nothing 
 but this great and exalted love. But what troubled her 
 most was the consideration of her mean rank, which left 
 her. no hopes. of success; nevertheless, she’ would by no 
 means withdraw her affection, at the same time that she 
 was afraid to disclose it. Love thus getting every day 
 more power over her, the fair maid, unable to hold up any 
 longer, fell at last into a languishing sickness, wasting 
 manifestly like snow before the sun. The father and 
 mother, by their own continual care, as well as the help of 
 physicians, did all in their power to relieve her, but to no 
 purpose; she despaired in her love, and so desired to die. 
 Now one day it happened, as the father was offering his 
 best services, that a thought came into her head, to make 
 her love known to the king before her death, and she desired 
 that Minuccio d’Arezzo might cometoher. This Minuccio 
 was a fine singer, and often with the king. The father, 
 therefore, supposing that she had a mind to be a little 
 diverted, sent for him; when he came and played a tune 
 or two upon his violin, and sang her several songs, which, 
 instead of appeasing, only added to her love. At length 
 she expressed a desire to speak to him in private; so every 
 one else having left the room, she spoke to this purpose: 
 ‘‘Minuccio, I have chosen to entrust you with a secret, 
 hoping in the first place, that you will only reveal it to the 
 person concerned ; and secondly, I desire you would assist 
 me to the utmost of your power. The case, you must 
 know, is this: the day of King Pietro’s rejoicing for his 
 accession, I fell so much in love on seeing him run his 
 tilts, that it has brought me to what you see. Knowing, 
 therefore, how ill-placed my loveis on a king, and not being 
 
TENTH DAY 509 
 
 able to shake it off, or any way impair it, I have resolved, 
 seeing it is too grievous to be borne, to die. It is true, I 
 shall die with great uneasiness, unless he knows it first; 
 and as I have nobody that I can trust in this affair but 
 yourself, I therefore commit it entirely to you, in hope that 
 you will not refuse me this service; and when you have 
 done to let me know it, that so, being disburdened, I may 
 die with more ease and comfort.” Minuccio was surprised 
 both at the greatness of her soul, and her cruel resolution ; 
 and being grieved for her, he thought of a way whereby 
 he might fairly do her service; so he said, ‘‘ Madam, be 
 assured I will never deceive you: I commend your fancy 
 in the choice of so great a king, and offer you my best 
 assistance, hoping that before three days are expired, I 
 shall bring you news that will be agreeable. To lose no 
 time, then, I will go directly about it.” She promised to 
 comfort herself as well as she could, and wished him 
 success. He consequently went to one Mico da Siena, a 
 tolerable poet in those days, who, at his request, composed 
 the following song :— 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Go, love, and to my lord declare 
 The torment which for him I find; 
 
 Go, say I die, whilst still my fear 
 Forbids me to declare my mind, 
 
 I 
 
 With hands uplifted, I thee pray, 
 O love! that thou wouldst haste away, 
 And gently to my lord impart 
 The warmest wishes of my: heart ; 
 Declare how great my sorrows seem, 
 Which sighing, blushing, I endure for him, 
 Go, love, &c. 
 
 II 
 
 Why was I not so bold to tell, 
 For once, the passion that I feel? 
 To him for whom I grieve alone, 
 The anguish of my heart make known? 
 He might rejoice to hear my grief 
 Awaits his single pleasure for relief, 
 Go, love, &c. 
 
$10 THE DECAMERON 
 
 1iy 
 
 But if this my request be vain, 
 Nor other means of help remain, 
 Yet say, that when in armour bright 
 He march’d as if equipp’d for fight, _ 
 Amidst his chiefs, that fatal day 
 I saw, and gaz’d my very heart away. 
 Go, love, &c. 
 
 These words he set to a soft languishing air, as the 
 subject required: and the third day he went to court, 
 where the king was at dinner; and being ordered to give 
 him a song, he began that, in such an easy, sweet manner, 
 that all the people in the room seemed converted to 
 statues; so silently, so attentively did they stand to 
 listen. But the king was more affected than all the rest, 
 and after Minuccio had made an end, he demanded why he 
 had never heard that song before. ‘ My lord,” the other 
 replied, ‘‘ the words and tune both are not yet three days 
 old.” The king then inquiring whom it was they con- 
 cerned, he made answer, “That I can only tell your 
 majesty.” The king being desirous of knowing it, went 
 with him into the chamber, as soon as the cloth was taken 
 away, when Minuccio related the whole affair; with which 
 the king seemed greatly pleased, and desired him to go 
 directly to her, and assure her, on his part, that he would 
 certainly visit her that evening. Minuccio, overjoyed to be 
 the bearer of such news, went immediately with his violin, 
 and after relating to her in private what had been done, he 
 sung her the very song. From that time there appeared 
 great signs of amendment; and, without any one having 
 the least suspicion of it, she waited in full expectation of 
 the evening, when she should see her lord. The king, who 
 was a gracious and good prince, having thought much of 
 what Minuccio told him, felt more and more pity for the 
 lady, as being no stranger to her extraordinary beauty. So, 
 getting on horseback in the evening, as if he was taking a 
 ride, he rode to this apothecary’s house, desiring to see a 
 fine garden that he had; where after walking for some 
 time together, the king inquired what was become of his 
 
TENTH DAY 511 
 
 daughter, and whether she was yet married. Bernardo 
 replied, “‘“My lord, she is not married; she has been 
 extremely ill, and is still so, though we think since nine 
 o'clock, that she is wonderfully mended.” The king knew 
 what that amendment meant, and said,.“‘ In good truth it 
 would be a pity to lose such a pretty young lady; let us 
 go and see her.” So he went with two attendants only, 
 and the father, into the chamber: and going to the bed- 
 side, where she sat raised up, and full of expectation at his 
 coming, and taking her by the hand, he said, “ Fair maid, 
 how comes it that you are ill? You are young, and should 
 be a delight to others ; then why will you suffer this illness 
 to prey upon you? For my sake be comforted, and get 
 well.” The lady, feeling the touch of his hand, whom she 
 loved beyond all the world, though she could not help 
 blushing, thought herself in perfect paradise, and answered 
 as well as she could: “My lord, by opposing my little 
 strength to too heavy a burden, I have happened to 
 languish in this manner; but you will soon see an amend- 
 ment.” Only the king knew her covert way of speaking, 
 and after he had stayed some time longer with her, and 
 encouraged her as much as possible, he took his leave. 
 This condescension of the king’s was much commended, 
 and thought a great honour both to the apothecary and his 
 daughter, who was as much pleased withit as any other 
 lady:could be with her lover; and being assisted by better 
 hopes, became in a little time quite well, and more fair 
 than. ever. Some time after, the king, having consulted 
 with the queen about it, on a day appointed, went on 
 horseback, attended by many of his barons, to the apothe- 
 cary’ house, and walking in the garden, he sent for him 
 and his daughter. Presently after the queen came with 
 a great number of ladies, and after they had spent some 
 time in diversion, the king and queen called Lisa to them, 
 when he said, ‘‘ Fair lady, your love for me has obtained 
 you this favour, with which; for my sake, I beg you would 
 be satisfied; what I mean is, to give you a husband, but 
 still I would preserve the character of your knight, without 
 requesting anything in return but a kiss.” She blushed, 
 and replied, with a low and humble voice, to this effect : 
 
512 THE DECAMERON 
 
 ‘My lord, were it to be publicly known that I had fixed 
 my affection upon your majesty, I doubt not but I should 
 be reckoned the greatest of fools, and unacquainted with 
 my Own meanness as much as your grandeur. But God, 
 who knows my heart, is my judge, that I then thought of 
 you as a great king, and of myself as an apothecary’s 
 daughter, and was serisible how ill it became me to fix my 
 love upon an object so infinitely above me. But your 
 majesty knows, as well as myself, there is no choice in love, 
 it is fancy only; I opposed my feeble might, which was all 
 I could do; so that I did, do still, and always shall love 
 you. Since, therefore, I have found myself captivated by 
 you, I thought it my duty to make your will my own; if 
 then, you would command anything else, I should certainly 
 obey it. But for you, who are my king, to be called my 
 knight, that it becomes me not to speak to, any more than 
 the kiss, which you require as the sole recompense of my 
 love, without leave from our lady the queen.. Nevertheless, 
 for your great kindness towards me, as well as that-of the 
 queen, may Heaven shower down its blessings upon you 
 both ; for my part I am able to make no return.” Here 
 she was silent. The queen was pleased with the lady’s 
 reply, thinking her as prudent as the king had reported 
 her; who instantly called for her father and mother, and 
 finding they approved of his intention, he sent for a young 
 gentleman of small fortune, whose name was Perdicone, 
 and caused him, not unwillingly, to espouse her; when, 
 besides many jewels and other valuable presents given by 
 them both, he bestowed Ceffalu and Calatabellotta, two 
 very considerable estates, upon them, saying, ‘‘ These I 
 give by way of dowry with your wife; what I intend for 
 yourself, you shall see some time hence.” Then, turning 
 to her, he said, “I must now receive the fruit that is due 
 to me from your love ;” and he just saluted her forehead. 
 So the marriage was solemnised, to the great joy both of 
 her husband, father, and mother: and many report that the 
 king was very constant to his promise; for that, as long as 
 he lived, he always styled himself her knight, and never 
 carried any other token of favour upon: his arms, but what 
 she sent him. Such actions as these gain the hearts.of the 
 
TENTH DAY 513 
 
 people, serve as an example for others to imitate, and 
 secure at last an everlasting fame. But there are few now- 
 adays that trotble their heads about that, the greatest part 
 of our princes being rather cruel tyrants. 
 
 NOVEL VIII 
 
 Sophronia, believing herself to be the wife of Gisippus, ts really married 
 to Titus Quintus Fulvius, who carries her to Rome; where 
 Gisippus arrives some time after in great distress, and, thinking 
 himself despised by Titus, confesses himself guilty of a murder, in 
 order to put an end to hits life. Titus recollects him, and, to save 
 him, accuses himself ; which, when the murderer sees, he delivers 
 himself up as.the guilty person. On which account they are all set 
 at liberty MA Octavius, and. Titus marries Gisippus to his sister, 
 and gives him half his estate. 
 
 PHILOMENA now, by the king’s order (Pampinea having 
 ceased to speak, and King Pietro being much commended 
 by the whole company, but especially the Ghibelline lady) 
 began in this manner :— 
 
 We all know, ladies, that kings can do, as often as they 
 are so disposed, everything that is great and noble. Such 
 things are more particularly required of them. He, there- 
 fore, that does his duty does well; but yet we should not 
 wonder in that ‘manner, and extol them so highly for it, as 
 we would do another, who, not having the ability, has less 
 incumbent upon him, and yet does as much.’ If, therefore, 
 you’ commend the actions of princes to that degree, and 
 think them glorious, I make-no doubt but those of our 
 equals will be much more admired ‘by you, when they are 
 found to resemble, or ‘even exceed them. I shall, there 
 fore, relate the great and noble behaviour of two citizens 
 and friends. 
 
 At the time when Overvirs Czesar (afterwards Augustus) 
 governed the empire as one of the triumvirate, there dwelt 
 at Rome a gentleman called Publius Quintus Fulvius, who 
 having a son named Titus Quintus Fulvius, a youth of 
 - wonderful parts and learning, sent him to Athens to study 
 philosophy; recommending him to a nobleman there, 
 
 R 
 
514 THE DECAMERON 
 
 called Chremes, who was his old friend. This noble 
 person kept him in his own house, as a companion to a 
 son of his own, named Gisippus, and they were both put 
 under the tuition of a philosopher, whose name was 
 Aristippus. Being brought up thus together, their ways 
 and tempers were so conformable, that a brotherly affection 
 and strict friendship sprang up between them, inseparable 
 by any other accident than death; nor had they either 
 happiness or repose but in each other’s company. They 
 began their studies together, and proceeded, as they had 
 each an uncommon genius, to the greatest depths of 
 philosophy with equal steps and marvellous applause. 
 Thus they went on for three years, to the great joy of 
 Chremes, who seemed to have the same regard for both; 
 when it chanced»that he died, being stricken in years, at 
 which they expressed a like concern: nor could it be well 
 said which was most disconsolate. In afew months after- 
 wards, the friends and relations of Gisippus came to see 
 him, and, along with Titus, began to comfort and persuade 
 him to take a wife, recommending a citizen of theirs, a 
 lady of extraordinary beauty and family, about. sixteen 
 years of age. The time of their marriage drawing near, 
 Gisippus prevailed upon Titus, who had not yet seen her, 
 to go with him to pay her a visit. Coming then to the 
 house, and she seating herself between them, ‘Titus, con- 
 sidering the charms of his friend’s contracted spouse, began 
 to view her with the. greater attention; and being im- 
 moderately taken with every part and every feature of her, 
 and praising them secretly to himself, he soon grew as 
 much, enamoured as,ever man in the world was with a 
 woman, without, however, showing the least sign of. it. 
 After they had stayed some time, they left. her, and 
 returned home; and Titus, going into his) chamber by 
 himself, began to reflect upon what he had seen, and the 
 more he thought, the more he grew in love. . Recollecting 
 himself at last, after many passionate sighs, he broke out to 
 this effect: ‘‘Ah! unhappy Titus, where and on whom 
 hast thou fixed thy heart, thy affection, and. thy whole 
 hope?. Knowest thou not, that for the favours received 
 from Chremes and his family, as well as the close friend- 
 
TENTH DAY 515 
 
 ship betwixt thee and Gisippus, to whom she is espoused, 
 thou oughtest to reverence her as a sister? Whom, then, 
 dost thou love? Why suffer thyself to be thus ensnared ? 
 To what purpose that deceitful hope? Open the eyes of 
 thy understanding, O miserable man! and know thyself. 
 Give way to reason, curb thy inordinate appetite, moderate 
 thy irregular desires, and direct them to a different object ; 
 subdue thy lascivious passion in the beginning, and be thy 
 own master whilst it is in thy power. It is not convenient 
 what thou desirest: it is not honest. What thou art in 
 pursuit of, even wert thou sure to obtain it, as thou art not, 
 thou oughtest to flee from, if thou hast any regard to what 
 true friendship and thy own duty both require. What, 
 then, wilt thou do? To act reasonably, thou must quit 
 this love.” 
 
 Then calling to mind the lady, and renouncing what he 
 had before alleged, he said, ‘‘The laws of love are of 
 greater force than any other; they disannul those of friend- 
 ship, or even the laws divine. How often has a father 
 loved his daughter, a brother his sister? which are much 
 stranger things than one friend to love another friend’s wife. 
 Besides, I am young, and youth is wholly subject to the 
 government of love. What that directs, then, I approve. 
 Let people of more years think of what is honest: I can 
 will nothing but to love. This her beauty commands from 
 every one. How am I then to blame? I love her, not 
 because she is espoused to my friend, but I should. love 
 her to whomsoever she belonged. It is only fortune that is 
 in fault, in having bestowed her upon him; and perhaps he 
 may be less uneasy at my admiring her, than he would be 
 with any other person.” . 
 
 Thus he kept reasoning with himself backwards and 
 forwards, not that day and night only, but many others, 
 insomuch that he neither ate nor slept, till at last he was 
 forced to. keep his bed. Gisippus had observed him pen- 
 sive for some time, and now seeing him fall sick, was 
 extremely grieved, and sought, by all manner of means, to 
 comfort him, pressing earnestly to know the cause of his 
 grief. When he returned frivolous answers, far from truth, 
 which Gisippus knew to be such; and as he was still urgent 
 
516 THE DECAMERON 
 
 to know the real cause, Titus, compelled, as it were, at 
 length to speak, began with sighs and tears to this effect : 
 
 “© Gisippus! if it had pleased the gods, death would 
 have been much more welcome to me than to live any 
 longer, now I come to reflect that fortune has brought me 
 into a strait, in which trial is to be made of my virtue, and 
 I perceive that it is vanquished to my eternal reproach. 
 But I expect ere long the proper reward, namely, death ; 
 which will be much more dear to me than to live with the 
 consciousness of my own baseness; which, as I neither 
 can nor ought to conceal anything from you, I now dis- 
 close with shame.” 
 
 Here he related from the beginning the whole cause of 
 his uneasiness and conflict within himself; as also which 
 way the victory inclined; owning his extreme passion for 
 Sophronia, and declaring, on account of the dishonourable- 
 ness of it, his resolution to die, which he hoped would 
 shortly come to pass. Gisippus, hearing this discourse, 
 and seeing his affliction, stood some time in suspense, 
 having a love for the lady, though in’a more moderate 
 degree ; but at length his friend’s life was preferred, and, 
 sympathising with him, he wept,'and said, “Titus, were it 
 not that you stand more in need of comfort, I should 
 upbraid you for a breach of friendship, in keeping your 
 passion so long a secret. Admitting it to’ be dishonourable, 
 yet ought it no more to be concealed than if it were other- 
 wise; for if it be the part of a friend to rejoice at what 
 redounds to his friend’s credit, it is no less so to attempt to 
 drive from that friend’s heart what he judges contrary to it. 
 But to leave this subject, and come to that of which you 
 stand most in need. ‘That you are so passionately in love 
 with Sophronia, who is affanced to me, I am not at all sur- 
 prised, but should wonder rather if it were otherwise, con- 
 sidering her extraordinary beauty, and the generosity of 
 your soul, so much the more susceptible of love, in pro- 
 portion to the excellency of the object. The more reason, 
 then, there is for your loving Sophronia, the more unjustly 
 do you complain of fortune in having bestowed her upon 
 me, supposing your love would have been more reputable 
 had she belonged to any other person. But you should 
 
TENTH DAY 517 
 
 rather be pleased that fortune has made her mine; for an 
 indifferent person would have given the preference to 
 himself, which you can never suppose in me, if you hold 
 me as much your friend as I really am. And my reason 
 is this; I do not remember, since the commencement of 
 our friendship, that I ever possessed anything but it was 
 as much yours as my own; andif it was so in every other 
 case, it shall be the same inthis. It is true she is my 
 spouse, and I have loved her most affectionately, waiting 
 with impatience the consummation of our nuptials: but, as 
 your desire and passion for her are the stronger, be assured 
 that she shall be conducted into my chamber, not as my 
 wife, but yours. Then leave these despairing thoughts, shake 
 off that cloudy disposition, reassume your former health 
 and cheerful temper, and from this hour expect the reward 
 and completion of your love, far more deserving of the 
 lady than mine.” 
 
 As much pleasure as Titus’s hopes afforded him, with so 
 much shame was he overwhelmed from this consideration, 
 that the greater his friend’s liberality, the greater disgrace it 
 would be to accept it. Therefore, unable to refrain from 
 tears, he thus feebly replied: ‘‘Gisippus, your sincere and 
 generous friendship points out to me what on my part 
 ought to be done. Heaven forbid that I should take her 
 for mine, who was more deservedly destined to be yours: 
 had the gods thought her a fit wife for me, they would have 
 ordered it to have been so. Accept thankfully, then, thy 
 own choice and her gift, and leave me to waste away in 
 tears as unworthy of such a blessing ;, for either I shall get 
 the better of this passion, and so continue your friend, or 
 else it will get the better of me, and I shall then be out of 
 my misery.” Gisippus replied, ‘‘My dear friend, if our 
 intimacy might permit me to force you in any respect to 
 comply with my will, it is in this case that I would make 
 use of such influence; if, then, you refuse to condescend 
 to my entreaties, I shall, with that compulsion which is 
 necessary for my friend’s welfare, take care that Sophronia 
 be wholly yours. I know full well the force of love, and 
 that many of its votaries have been brought by it to an 
 unhappy end; I see you also in such danger, that you 
 
518 THE DECAMERON 
 
 would unavoidably sink under the burden; nor should J 
 be long behind you. Therefore, were there no other reason, 
 yet for my own sake would your life be dear to me. You, 
 then, shall be possessed of her because you will never meet 
 with any so agreeable to yourself: but for my part I may 
 fancy some other as well. There is no such generosity in 
 this; women are easier found than friends; another wife I 
 can easily procure, but such a friend, perhaps, never. I 
 can better transfer my affection to another, than think of 
 losing you. Rouse yourself, then, I entreat you, if you have 
 any regard for me, from this affliction. Comfort at once 
 both yourself and me, and prepare to receive the joy which 
 your most passionate love so eagerly thirsts after.” 
 Although Titus was ashamed to give his consent, yet 
 love, and his friend’s importunities, at length prevailed, and 
 he replied, ‘‘ Gisippus, in doing what you entreat, and say 
 is so much your desire, I know not whether I may be sup- 
 posed principally to consult your pleasure or my own. As, 
 therefore, your liberality is such that it surmounts all shame 
 in me, I will do as you command. But remember, it is not 
 being gratified in my love only, however great that may be; 
 but it is receiving my life also at your hands, for which I 
 must own myself your debtor. And may the gods grant 
 that I may be able, some time or other, to show how much 
 I think myself obliged, in your manifesting a greater regard 
 for me than I had for myself!” After this was over, 
 Gisippus said to him, ‘‘ Titus, in order that we succeed in 
 this affair, I hold it best to take this method: you know 
 everything is concluded between her friends and mine, and 
 were I now to declare my refusal of her, it would be a 
 matter of great reproach, and I should for ever disoblige 
 both her relations and mine, though the latter I should not 
 so much regard, could I be assured you would obtain her 
 by that means: but I am afraid, in such case, lest they 
 should bestow her upon some other person, and so you 
 lose what I gain not. If you think well of it, then I intend 
 to proceed in the affair, and bring her home as’ my own 
 spouse, when you shall privately be put to bed to her, as if 
 she was your wife, and at a proper time the thing shall be 
 made public; if they approve of it, it will be well; if 
 
TENTH DAY 519 
 
 otherwise, it will be done, and cannot then be undone, for 
 which reason they must be satisfied.” \Titus liked this 
 stratagem, and as soon as he was perfectly recovered, 
 Gisippus brought her home with great rejoicings, when the 
 women put her into his bed, and departed. Now Titus’s 
 chamber adjoined to Gisippus’s, so that a person might 
 go out of one into the other ; Gisippus, therefore, having 
 put out the candles, went silently to Titus, and told him 
 that he might now go to bed to his lady. Upon which 
 Titus’ was sO overcome with shame, that’ he began: t¢ 
 repent, and refused it. But Gisippus, who was as much 
 his friend’ as he had always professed himself, after a 
 long contest, sent him to her.. When being gotten into 
 bed, he softly asked if she was willing to be his wife. 
 She, thinking it was Gisippus, replied, “Yes.” Then 
 taking a ring of value, and putting it upon her finger, 
 he said, “And I will be your husband.” Thus every- 
 thing was consummated, she thinking all the time that 
 she had been with Gisippus. By this time Publius, the 
 father of Titus, departed this life, when letters came to 
 Titus, requiring him instantly to depart for Rome upon 
 his private affairs; which he instantly resolved upon, 
 designing also to take with him Sophronia and Gisippus ; 
 but not seeing how this could be well managed, without 
 his first making a full discovery of what had been done, 
 he therefore one day called her into the chamber, and 
 told her the whole affair, which he made clear to her 
 by many remarkable circumstances. Upon which she 
 gazed first at one, and then the other, with a good deal 
 of confusion, and at length burst out» into tears, com- 
 plaining bitterly of Gisippus’s trick upon her; but before 
 she madé any stir about it in the house, she went 
 directly to her father’s, and declared to him and her 
 mother the whole treachery, affirming that she was not 
 the wife of Gisippus, as they imagined, but of Titus. 
 This was a most grievous thing both to them and all 
 her relations, who complained heavily of Gisippus, and 
 there was much disturbance and confusion about it. Great 
 was the resentment of his own relations, as well as hers, 
 and all declared him worthy not of reproof’ only, but severe 
 
520 THE DECAMERON 
 
 chastisement. But he, notwithstanding, justified what he 
 had done, averring that thanks were rather due to him from 
 her friends, inasmuch as he had married her to one better 
 than himself. Titus, on the other part, beheld all this with 
 great concern, and knowing it to be the temper of the Greeks 
 to make a mighty noise and stir when no opposition is made, 
 but where there is any resistance, then to be tame and 
 submissive, he resolved to bear their reproaches no longer 
 without a reply; and having an Attic genius, with a true 
 Roman spirit, he had all Gisippus’s and Sophronia’s friends 
 summoned together into a temple; and coming thither, 
 accompanied only by Gisippus, he addressed himself to the 
 expecting multitude in the following manner :— 
 
 “It is the opinion of many philosophers that we mortals 
 do nothing but what is preordained by the immortal gods, 
 from whence some conclude that our actions are determined 
 by a fatal necessity, though others refer that necessity to 
 things already past. Whoever has regard to either of these 
 tenets, must allow, that to find fault with what cannot be 
 revoked, is, in other terms, to quarrel with Providence, 
 whom we should believe to govern by perpetual laws, not 
 subject to error, both us and all our affairs; and yet you 
 yourselves are the people that presume to do this, if it be 
 true what | hear, that you are continually exclaiming against 
 my marriage with Sophronia, whom you had given to Gisip- 
 pus, never considering that it was decreed from the be- 
 ginning that she should not be his wife, but mine, as the 
 effect now proves. However, as discoursing upon the 
 secrets of Providence is too knotty and intricate a subject 
 for most people to comprehend, I am willing to suppose 
 that no regard is had to what is done here below, and shall 
 confine myself altogether to the dictates of human reason. 
 Speaking, therefore, in that manner, I.am forced to do two 
 things contrary to my natural temper: to commend myself, 
 and to blame or lessen other people. But as I shall keep 
 strictly to the truth in both respects, and the nature of the 
 case requires me to do both, I therefore proceed. . Your 
 complaints arise more from rage than reason; you are con- 
 tinually reviling Gisippus, because he generously parted 
 with a lady whom. you designed to be his wife. This 
 
TENTH DAY 521 
 
 action, nevertheless, deserves the highest commendation, 
 and that for two reasons. First, because he has thereby 
 performed a most noble act of friendship; and, secondly, 
 he has acted more wisely than yourselves would have done. 
 How far the sacred bonds of friendship oblige one friend 
 to go for another, I shall not at present examine, but con- 
 tent myself barely with reminding you, that they are much 
 stronger than the ties of blood. Our friends are our own 
 choice, but our relations we receive from the hands of 
 fortune. If, therefore, Gisippus, who is my friend, valued 
 my life beyond your favour, you need not be surprised. 
 But, secondly, I will show, by divers instances, seeing that 
 you know little of Providence, and much less of the effects 
 of friendship, that he has proved himself wiser than you all. 
 You gave Sophronia to him, being a young gentleman and 
 a philosopher ; he bestowed ‘her on a young gentleman and 
 a philosopher also. You gave her to an Athenian ; he con- 
 ferred her upon a Roman. You gave her to one of a good 
 family; he to a person of a better. You to one that was 
 rich ; he to another much richer. You to one who but little 
 esteemed and scarcely knew her; he to one that loved her 
 as his own life.’ Consider, then, what I have said, article 
 by article. We are of equal years, and our studies have 
 been the same; he, indeed, is an Athenian, and I a Roman, 
 but no one can pretend to put those two cities in competi- 
 tion. Rome is an independent, free city ; Athens, a tribu- 
 tary one. Rome is mistress of the whole world; whilst 
 Athens is under her subjection. Rome is justly famed for 
 arms, extent of empire, and all sorts of polite learning ; 
 whilst Athens is only remarkable for a little philosophy. 
 And though you see me here a scholar, and of no great 
 account, yet I am not descended from the dregs of the 
 people. My houses and the public places are filled with 
 the statues of my ancestors, and our annals record the 
 numiberless triumphs of the Quintii brought home by them 
 into the Roman Capitol. Nor has time itself tarnished our 
 glory, but the lustre of our house continues the same as 
 ever. I say nothing of my wealth, out of mere shamie, re- 
 membering that a virtuous poverty was the noblest patri- 
 mony of the ancient Romans: but if you be of a different 
 R 2 
 
522 THE DECAMERON 
 
 opinion, and think with the ignorant multitude there is any 
 real excellence in riches, I can then tell you that I am 
 abundantly provided, not from my own covetous desires, 
 but the gift of fortune.. I know very well that you. desired 
 his alliance, as he is of your own city: but why should not 
 I be as’ much esteemed by you at Rome, considering that 
 you will then have a faithful friend and advocate in all your 
 affairs, both public and private? Upon all these-accounts 
 I must conclude that Gisippus has judged more wisely than 
 yourselves... Sophronia is married to a noble and wealthy 
 citizen of Rome, one of an ancient family, and a friend of 
 Gisippus ; therefore, whoever makes|,any,complaint or stir 
 about it, neither does as he ought, nor yet knows what he 
 does. But some, perhaps, may say, ‘We do not.so much 
 blame the thing, as, the manner in which it was done, she 
 being made his. wife, as it were, by, stealth.’ Why, this is 
 no such strange matter! How many examples are there of 
 this kind in the world? Do not daughters marry without 
 their parents’ consent? Some go into foreign. countries 
 with their gallants, and others never discover their marriages 
 at all, till their appearance.or lying-in does it for them. 
 Now there is nothing like this in Sophronia’s case; she was 
 decently and honourably disposed of by Gisippus to me. 
 Others may allege that: she was married to, a:person for 
 whom she was never designed; but those complaints are 
 now very foolish, and to no purpose. . Fortune makes use 
 of strange methods sometimes to bring things to- pass 
 What is it to me, whether it be a cobbler or a philosopher 
 that does any business of mine, or whether it be in public 
 or private, provided the end be good? Indeed, if I find 
 the cobbler indiscreet in his management, he shall have no 
 more to do for me, but. still I am obliged to thank him 
 when he does me any real service. Gisippus has married 
 Sophronia well; then to what purpose is it how he did it? 
 If you question his prudence, let him have no more of your 
 daughters to dispose of; but. still thank him for providing 
 so well for this. I never meant to throw a Stain upon your 
 family, in the person of Sophronia; and though I married 
 her in that manner, I neither came as a ravisher, nor one 
 refusing your alliance; I was charmed with her beauty and 
 
TENTH DAY 523 
 
 virtue; and fearing if I proceeded in the usual way, that 
 you would never give your consent, on account of my taking 
 her away to Rome, I therefore had recourse to this artifice, 
 and made Gisippus espouse her for me. Moreover, though 
 I loved her most immoderately, yet, to show that my designs 
 were strictly honourable, I first espoused her with my own 
 ring, as she can bear me witness, asking her whether she 
 was willing to take me for her husband, when she made 
 answer that she was; if she was deceived, she herself is to 
 blame for not asking me who I was. © This, then, is the 
 mighty crime committed by him asa friend, and me asa 
 lover: for this you lay snares for, and threaten his life. 
 What could you do more, had he given her to the -veriest 
 scoundrel in the universe? But letting this alone for the 
 present, the time is now come, on account of my father’s 
 unexpected death, for my returning to Rome; and, intend- 
 ing to take Sophronia along with me, I have thought it 
 proper to declare what might otherwise have been kept 
 secret ; if you be wise, you will take it in good. part, for 
 were I capable of such an action, I might basely have left 
 her. But Heaven forbid that such a thought should ever 
 enter the breast of a Roman! Sophronia, therefore, is 
 mine, by the will of Heaven; the laws of men, the gen- 
 erosity of my friend, and the innocent artifice wherewith 
 love inspired me: whilst you, thinking yourselves wiser 
 than other people, or even the gods themselves, contest 
 this my title two ways, both very injurious to me: first, by 
 detaining Sophronia, over whom you have no more power 
 than what I please to give you; and, secondly, by your 
 ill treatment of my friend, to whom yourselves are greatly 
 obliged. How indiscreet you are in both cases I shall not 
 say at present, but only advise you amicably to give up 
 your resentment, and deliver Sophronia to me, that I may de- 
 part your friend, and continue so ; assuring you, whether you 
 be. pleased or otherwise with what is done, that, if you offer 
 to proceed in a different manner, I will then take Gisippus 
 along with me; and when I come to Rome, fetch her, who 
 is mine by right, in spite of you all, from amongst you, 
 making you sensible, at the same time, what it-is to incur 
 the just displeasure of the Romans.” ) 
 
$24 THE DECAMERON 
 
 After Titus had done speaking, he took Gisippus by the 
 hand, and went out with him, knitting his brows, and show- 
 ing all the marks of passion at those within the temple; 
 whilst they, moved partly with the reasons he had given, 
 and partly terrified with his last words, thought it better to 
 adinit him as a relation, since Gisippus had refused it, than 
 to lose the alliance of one, and procure the enmity of the 
 other. So they went with one accord, and told him that 
 they consented he should have Sophronia, and should 
 esteem him as their kinsman, and Gisippus as their friend. 
 Thus they made a solemn agreement together, and departed, 
 delivering Sophronia up to him; who, being wise enough to 
 make a virtue of necessity, the love which she had borne 
 to Gisippus she immediately transferred to Titus, and went 
 with him to Rome, where she was received with: great 
 honour and respect. 
 
 Gisippus continued at Athens in ‘little esteem with the 
 people; and powerful parties were formed against him, 
 insomuch that he was at length driven from the place, and 
 doomed, with all his family, to perpetual banishment. Being 
 thus destitute of all friends, and no better than a common 
 beggar, he travelled, as well as he could, for Rome, to see 
 if Titus would take any notice of him. When, finding that 
 he was alive, and in great favour with the people, he in- 
 quired for his house, and went thither, waiting till he should 
 come past. 
 
 Not daring to speak’a word, on account of his poverty, he 
 yet put himself in his way, in hopes that he would recollect 
 and challenge him ; but he passed by, and Gisippus imagin- 
 ing that he had seen and despised him, and calling to mind 
 what he had formerly done for him, he went away confounded 
 with grief and despair. It was now night, and he had been 
 fasting all that day, and being without a penny of money 
 in his pocket, and desiring nothing so much’ as to die, he 
 rambled, without knowing whither, till he came toa solitary 
 part of the city, where he found a great cavern, and went 
 into it, with a design of staying all night, when, laying him- 
 self down, almost naked, upon the hard ground, he wept 
 himself asleep. To this place two thieves, who had been 
 robbing ali night, came with their booty towards break of 
 
TENTH DAY 525 
 
 day, and, quarrelling together about it, one killed the other, 
 and departed. This Gisippus perceiving, and thinking he 
 had now found a way to die, without laying hands upon 
 himself, he stayed there till the officers, who had notice of 
 the murder, came and hurried him violently away. Upon 
 examination, he confessed that he had committed the fact, 
 and had not the power afterwards to stir from the place. 
 
 On this, Marcus Varro, who was the pretor, gave sentence 
 that he should be crucified; as was the usual manner of 
 death in those cases. Now it happened, by great chance, 
 that Titus came into the hall at the very time, and looking 
 attentively in the prisoner’s face, and hearing the cause of 
 his condemnation, he instantly knew him to be Gisippus. 
 He wondered, therefore, greatly at this change of fortune, 
 and what could bring him thither; and was determined, at 
 all events, to save him; but seeing no other way but by 
 accusing himself, he stepped resolutely forwards, and called 
 aloud to the pretor in this manner: ‘‘ Marcus Varro, recall 
 thy sentence; for the person whom thou hast condemned 
 is innocent: it was I who offended the gods, by the murder 
 of that man whom the officers found slain this morning: 
 then do not offend them still more by the murder of another 
 innocent person.” Varro was quite astonished, and grieved 
 to that degree, that the whole hall heard him; but not 
 being able, with regard to his own honour, to alter the 
 course of the laws, he ordered Gisippus to come back, 
 when he said, in the presence of Titus, ‘‘ How couldst thou 
 be so foolish to confess, without any torture, a crime whereof 
 thou art no way guilty, and which would affect thy life? 
 Thou saidst that thou wert the person that slew the man, 
 and now here is another come, who says it was not thou, 
 but he, that did it.” 
 
 Gisippus lifted up his eyes, and saw that it was Titus, 
 when, concluding that this was done out of a grateful re- 
 membrance of the favours he had received, he fell into 
 tears, and said, ‘‘ Indeed, sir, I did murder him, and Titus’s 
 regard for my safety comes now too late.” Titus, on the 
 other part, said, ‘‘ Marcus Varro, take notice, this man is a 
 stranger, and was found, without any arms, by the man’s 
 side that was murdered; it is only his poverty that makes 
 
526 THE DECAMERON 
 
 him desirous of dying ; then set him at liberty, and punish 
 me, who have deserved it.” Varro was greatly astonished 
 at the pressing instances of both, presuming that neither 
 one nor the other was guilty; and as he was thinking of a 
 method how they might both be acquitted, behold, a young 
 fellow, named Publius Ambustus, one of a notorious char- 
 acter, and who had actually done the thing, had the humanity, 
 seeing each accuse himself, to come before the preetor, and 
 say, “‘Sir, the Fates have forced me hither, to solve this 
 difficulty.. Some god or power within me spurs me on to 
 make a confession of my own guilt. Know, therefore, that 
 neither of these people was any way accessory, who are 
 impeaching themselves: I murdered the man early this 
 morning, and this poor wretch was there asleep, whilst I 
 and the man who is killed were dividing our spoil. As for 
 Titus, there is no occasion for my vindicating him; his 
 character is without reproach. Set them both, then, at 
 liberty, and let me suffer what the laws require.” 
 
 This affair was soon told to Octavius Cesar, who, being 
 desirous of knowing why they wanted so much to suffer, had 
 all three brought before him, when each related fully how 
 the thing really was: Upon which he set the two friends at 
 liberty, because they were innocent, and pardoned the third 
 also for their sakes. ‘Titus then took his friend Gisippus, 
 and, after reproving him for his distrust and cool credence 
 of his friendship, brought him to his own house, when 
 Sophronia received him with the same affection as if he 
 had been her brother; and giving him clothes suitable to 
 his worth and quality, he afterwards divided his whole sub- 
 stance with him, and bestowed a sister of his, named Fulvia, 
 an agreeable young lady, upon him in marriage; saying 
 further to him, “Gisippus, you have your free choice, 
 whether to stay with me, or to go, ‘with what I have given 
 you, into Greece ;” but he, moved partly by his exile, and 
 partly by his love and friendship for Titus, agreed to stay 
 at Rome, where they all lived together in one house, he 
 with his Fulvia, and Titus with his fair Sophronia, to their 
 mutual satisfaction, every day adding something, if possible, 
 to their felicity. A most sacred thing, therefore, is friend- 
 ship; and worthy not only of singular reverence, but to be 
 
TENTH DAY 527 
 
 celebrated with perpetual applause, as being the prudent 
 mother of magnificence and honesty, the sister of gratitude 
 and charity, and the enemy of hatred and avarice ; always 
 ready, without being requested, to manifest that virtuous 
 kindness to others which she would have showed to her- 
 self ; whose divine effects are rarely now to be met with, to 
 the great reproach of the sordidness of mankind, which has 
 driven it in a long exile to the farthest corner of the earth. 
 What degree of love, wealth, or affinity, could have wrought 
 so effectually upon the heart of Gisippus, to make him feel 
 the pangs of his friend, and give up to him his beloved 
 spouse P What laws, what threats, or fears, could cause 
 the youth and vigour of Gisippus to forsake his own bed, 
 where a beautiful young lady lay expecting him, and betake 
 himself to dark: and lonesome places? What greatness, 
 what rewards, could make him heedless of disobliging all 
 his own relations, as well as Sophronia’s, despising the 
 unjust murmurs and insults of the people, to serve his 
 friend?) What, I say, but this only? On the other part, 
 what could prompt Titus, without deliberation, when he 
 might have fairly pretended not to have seen him, to con- 
 trive his own death, in order to save Gisippus? What made 
 him so liberal in parting with half his substance to Gisippus, 
 whom fortune had dispossessed of his own patrimony? 
 What induced Titus, when he saw him poor and destitute, 
 to give him his sister, but only this? ‘To what purpose, 
 then, do men covet numbers of relations, brethren, and 
 children, and procure, at a vast expense, great plenty of 
 servants, when, for the least inconvenience that they may 
 sustain, people are apt to forget their duty to parent, brother, 
 or master? Whereas, in true friendship it is quite other- 
 wise, that sacred obligation serves instead of all degrees of 
 affinity. 
 
528 THE DECAMERON 
 
 NOVEL LX 
 
 Saladin, disguising himself like a merchant, ts generously entertained by 
 Stgnor Torello; who, going upon an expedition to the Holy Land, 
 allowed his wife a certain time to marryagain. Inthe meantime 
 he is taken prisoner, and being employed to look after the hawks, 
 ts known to the Soldan, who shows him great respect. Afterwards 
 Torello falls sick, and is conveyed, by magic art, in one night, to 
 Pavia, at the very time that his wife was to have been married: 
 when he makes himself known to her, and returns with her home. 
 
 PHILOMENA had now concluded. her story, and Titus’s 
 gratitude was much applauded; when the king began in 
 this manner :— | 
 
 Most certainly, ladies, Philomena is in the right as to 
 what she has said upon friendship; and it was with reason 
 she complained, last of all, of its being in such little esteem 
 with mankind: and, had we met here to correct or reprove 
 the vices of the age, I could proceed in a loose harangue 
 to the same purpose; but, as that is foreign to our design, 
 I intend to relate, in a long but pleasant novel, one out of 
 the many generous actions of Saladin; to the-end, that if, 
 through our imperfections, we cannot attain the friendship 
 of any one, we should yet make it a pleasure to oblige, in 
 hopes that a reward may ensue some time or other. 
 
 I say, therefore, that, in the reign of the Emperor 
 Frederick the First, a general crusade was undertaken 
 by all the Christian princes, for the recovery of the Holy 
 Land; which design of theirs coming first to the ears of 
 Saladin, a most renowned prince, then Soldan of Babylon, 
 he resolved to go in person to see what preparations were 
 making against him, in order to provide the better for his 
 own defence. So, settling all his affairs in Egypt, and 
 taking with him two of his most sage and principal nobles, 
 and three servants only, he set forwards, in the habit of a 
 merchant, as if he was going on a pilgrimage. After travel- 
 ling over many Christian countries, and riding through 
 Lombardy, in order to pass the mountains, it happened, 
 towards the evening, that, between Pavia and Milan, he 
 met with a gentleman, named Torello d’Istria, who was 
 
TENTH DAY —- 529 
 
 going with his hawks, hounds, and servants, to a country: 
 house that he had on the river Tesino. Torello, upon 
 seeing them, supposed that they were strangers of some 
 quility, and as such was desirous of showing them respect. 
 Therefore, Saladin having asked one of the, servants how 
 farit was to Pavia, and if they could get there in. time enough 
 to be admitted, Torello would not let the servant reply, but 
 anjwered. himself, ‘* Gentlemen, it is impossible for you to 
 reich Pavia now before the gates are shut.” ‘Then,’ quoth 
 Saadin, ‘‘ please to inform us, as we are strangers, where 
 wé may meet with the best entertainment.” Torello re- 
 pled, ‘‘ That I will do with all my heart; I was just going 
 tosend one of my fellows to a place near Pavia, upon some 
 paticular business ; he shall go with you, and bring you to 
 a blace where you will be accommodated well enough.” So 
 tating one of the most discreet of his men aside, and having 
 tod him what he should do, he sent him along with them, 
 wiilst he made the best of his way to his own house, 
 wiere he had as elegant a supper provided for them as 
 cald be supposed for the time, and the tables all spread in 
 tl: garden; which when he had done he went to the door 
 tc wait for his guests. The servant rode chatting along 
 wih them, leading them by other roundabout ways, till at 
 lat, without their perceiving it, he brought them to his 
 mster’s house. As soon as Torello saw them, he advanced 
 piasantly, saying, “‘ Gentlemen, you are heartily welcome.” 
 Sladin, who was a very shrewd person, perceived that the 
 kight was doubtful whether they would have accepted. his 
 ivitation, had he asked them to go with him home, and 
 tht he had contrived this stratagem not to be denied the 
 prasure of entertaining them. So he returned his compli- 
 rent, and said, “If it was possible for one person to com- 
 fain of another's courtesy, we should have cause to blame 
 yurs, which, not to mention the hindrance of our journey, 
 cmpelled us, without deserving your notice otherwise than 
 t a casual salutation, to accept of such great favours as 
 
 se.” Torello, being both wise and eloquent, replied, 
 
 entlemen, it is poor respect you receive from me, com- 
 red to what you deserve, so far as I can judge by your 
 cantenances 5 but in truth there was no convenient place 
 
 | 
 | 
 | 
 
 | 
 
530 THE DECAMERON 
 
 out of Pavia that you could possibly he at; then pray take 
 it not amiss that you have stepped a little out of your way, 
 to be something less incommoded.” 
 
 Having said this, the servants were all at hand to ‘ake 
 their horses, when they alighted, and were shown into rooms 
 prepared for them; where they had their boots pulled off, 
 and were refreshed with a glass of wine ; falling into agée- 
 able discourse together afterwards till supper-time. ' 
 
 Now Saladin and his people all spoke Latin extrenely 
 well, so that they were easily understood by each other, ind 
 Torello seemed, in their judgment, to be the most gracicus, 
 accomplished gentleman, and one that talked the best of 
 any they had ever met with. On the other part, Torllo 
 judged them to be people of great rank and ‘figure, ind 
 much beyond what he at first apprehended; for whch 
 reason he was extremely concerned that he could not tlen 
 have an entertainment and guests suitable. But for thishe 
 resolved to make’ amends the following day; and havng 
 instructed one of his servants what he would have done,he 
 sent him to Pavia, which was near at hand, and by a ray 
 where no gate was locked, to his wife, who was a ladyof 
 great sense and magnanimity. 
 
 Afterwards, taking his guests into the garden, he coute- 
 ously demanded of them who they were. Saladin replid, 
 ‘‘We are merchants from Cyprus, and are going upon ur 
 affairs to Paris.” ‘* Would to Heaven, then,” ’said Tordo, 
 “that our country produced such gentry as I] see Cypus 
 does merchants!” So they fell from one discourseto 
 another till the hour for supping, when they seated thm- 
 selves just as they pleased, and a supper, entirely unexpectd, 
 was served up with great elegance and order. In sme 
 little time, after the tables were removed, Torello, sp- 
 posing they might be weary, had them conducted to thir 
 chambers, where most sumptuous beds were prepared 9r 
 them, and he in like manner went to take his rest. 
 
 The servant that was sent te Pavia delivered his messze 
 to the lady ; who, not with a feminine disposition, but a sul 
 truly loyal, got together great numbers of the friends ad 
 servants of Torello, and had everything provided to mie 
 a feast indeed, sending through the city by torchlighto 
 
TENTH DAY 531 
 
 mvite most of the nobility, and setting forth all the rooms 
 with rich furniture of cloth of gold, fine tapestry, velvets, 
 &c., according to his directions. 
 
 In the morning the gentlemen arose, and mounted their 
 horses along with Torello, who ordered out his hawks, and 
 carried them to a neighbouring lake, where he showed two 
 or three fair flights. But Saladin requesting somebody to 
 direct him to the best inn in Pavia, Torello said, ‘‘ That I 
 will do, because I have business there.” So they were 
 satisfied, and rode on along with him, arriving there about 
 the third hour of the day. And whilst they supposed that 
 he would carry them to the best inn, he brought them 
 directly to his own house, where were about fifty of the 
 principal persons of the city ready to receive them. Saladin 
 and his friends perceiving this, readily guessed how the 
 matter was, and they said, “‘Sir, this is not what we desired ; 
 you did enough for us last night, and more than we could 
 have wished; you might now, therefore, very well let us 
 pursue our journey.” He made answer, ‘‘ Gentlemen, last 
 night I was obliged to fortune, which surprised you upon 
 the road in such manner that you were necessitated to take 
 up with my little mansion ; but now I shall be indebted to 
 you, and these noble persons all around equally with me, 
 if, out of your great courtesy, you will not refuse the favour 
 of dining with me.” Thus they were prevailed upon, and 
 they alighted from their horses, when they were welcomed 
 by the company with great joy and respect, and conducted 
 into several apartments most richly set out for their recep- 
 tion, where, laying aside their riding dresses, and taking 
 some refreshment, they then made their appearance in the 
 grand hall. After washing their hands they sat down all in 
 order, when such a prodigious entertainment was served up, 
 that if the emperor himself had been present, he could not 
 have been more sumptuously regaled. Even Saladin and 
 his friends, who were people of figure, and accustomed to 
 everything of grandeur, could not help being astonished, 
 having regard to the rank of the person, whom they knew 
 to be only a private gentleman. 
 
 When dinner was over, and they had discoursed a little 
 together, the Pavian gentry, the weather being extremely 
 
) 532 THE DECAMERON 
 ae 
 
 hot, all withdrew to repose themselves; and Torello, being 
 
 _ left with his three guests, showed them into a drawing-room, 
 _ where, that nothing which he valued might be left unseen 
 _ by them, he sent for his lady. She, therefore, being a person 
 of. extraordinary beauty, and most sumptuously attired, 
 
 was speedily introduced between her two little sons, who 
 
 seemed like angels, when she very modestly and genteelly 
 
 saluted them. At her coming, they arose, and received 
 her with great deference and respect, seating her down by 
 
 them, and taking great notice of the children. In a little 
 
 time, after some discourse together, and Torello was gone 
 
 out of the room, she, in a modest and graceful manner, 
 began to inquire of them whence they came, and whither 
 they were going. To which they returned the same answer 
 they had doneto Torello. ‘‘ Then,” said she, very pleasantly, 
 
 “TT see, gentlemen, that my poor design may be acceptable. 
 I beg, then, as a particular favour, that you will not think 
 lightly of a very small present which I mean to offer you; 
 but, considering that women give little things, according to 
 their slender abilities, that you would accept it, more out 
 of respect to the good intention of the. donor, than the real 
 value of the present.” So she ordered two robes to be 
 brought for each, the one lined with taffeta, and the other 
 with fur, not so much becoming a citizen or a merchant as 
 a great lord; and three doublets of sarsenet, with the same 
 of linen, saying, ‘Gentlemen, pray accept of these things: 
 ‘Iclothe you as I do my husband; and, for the rest, con- 
 sidering that you are a great way from your wives, that you 
 
 _have come a long journey, and have far yet to go, they may 
 
 be of service, though of small value; especially as you 
 merchants love always to be genteel and neat.” They were 
 ‘greatly surprised, seeing plainly that Signor Torello would 
 let, no part of his respect be wanting; doubting likewise, 
 
 _ when they came to see the richness of the presents, whether 
 
 they were not discovered. But at length.one of them said, 
 _“ Madam, these are very great things, and such as we ought 
 not to accept, unless you force them upon us; in which 
 case we must comply.” Her husband now returned, when 
 she took her leave, and went and made suitable presents to 
 their servants.. Torello, with much entreaty, prevailed upon 
 
TENTH: DAY 533 
 
 them to stay all that day: therefore, after taking a little 
 sleep, they put on those robes, and took a ride with him 
 round the city, and at their return were nobly entertained 
 with a great deal of good company at supper. At due 
 time they went to bed, and when they arose in the morning, 
 instead ‘of their wearied steeds they found three strong, 
 handsome, fresh ones, with new serviceable horses also 
 for their servants; which, when Saladin saw, he turned 
 to his friends, and said: ‘‘I vow to Heaven, a more com- 
 plete, courteous, or a more understanding gentleman I 
 never met with anywhere; and if the Christian kings be 
 in degree like to him, the Soldan of Babylon would never 
 be able to stand against one, much less so many as are 
 now preparing to'invade us.” Knowing well that it would 
 be in vain to refuse them, after returning all due thanks, 
 he and his attendants got on horseback, whilst Torello, 
 with a great number of his friends, went with them a 
 considerable distance from the city: and, though Saladin 
 was grieved to separate, such was the regard he had con- 
 ceived for him, yet, being constrained to depart, he begged 
 he would return. He, yet loth to leave them, replied, 
 ‘Gentlemen, I will do so, as it is your desire; but this I 
 must tell you, I know not who you are, nor do I seek to 
 be informed any further than you desire I should; but, be 
 you who you will, you shall never make me believe that 
 you are merchants, and so I commend you to Providence.” 
 Saladin then took leave of all the company ; and to Torello 
 he said, ‘Sir, we may chance to show you some of our 
 merchandise, and so convince you; but, in the meantime, 
 fare you well.” Thus Saladin departed, and his com- 
 panions, with a firm resolution in case he lived, and the 
 approaching war did not prevent it, to show no less respect 
 and honour to Signor Torello than he had received from 
 him: and talking much of him, his lady, and everything 
 that he had said and done, he commended all to the 
 greatest degree imaginable. At length, after he had 
 travelled over the west, not without great labour and 
 fatigue, he embarked on board a ship for Alexandria, and 
 being fully informed as to every particular, he prepared for 
 a vigorous defence. Signor Torello returned to Pavia, full 
 
534 THE DECAMERON 
 
 of conjectures who these three people should be,-in which, 
 however, he was far from the truth. But the time now 
 drawing nigh for the march of the forces, and great 
 ‘preparations being made everywhere, Torello, notwith- 
 standing the prayers and tears of his lady, resolved to go; 
 and having everything in readiness, and being about to 
 mount his horse, he said to her, whom he loved most 
 affectionately, ‘‘My dear, you see I am going upon this 
 expedition, as well for the glory of my body as the safety 
 of my soul; I commend my honour and everything else to 
 your care; and, as my departure is certain, but my return, 
 by reason of a thousand accidents which may happen, 
 uncertain, 1 request, therefore, this one favour, that, 
 happen what will to me, if you have no certain account 
 of my being alive, you would only wait a year, a month, 
 and a day, without marrying again, reckoning from the day 
 of my leaving you.” The lady, who wept exceedingly, 
 thus replied, ‘‘ My dear husband, I know not how I shall 
 be able to bear the grief in which you leave me involved 
 for your going from me: but, if I should outlive it, and 
 anything happen amiss to you, you may live and die 
 assured that I shall live and die the wife of Torello, and 
 of his memory.” He then said, ‘I make not the least 
 doubt, but that what you promise will be performed, as far 
 as lies,in your power; but you are young, beautiful, and 
 well descended, and your, virtues so. universally known, 
 that [ am afraid, should there be the least suspicion of my 
 death, lest any great lords and noble personages should 
 come, and demand you of your brethren and other 
 relations, from whose most urgent solicitations you could 
 never defend yourself, however you might be disposed, and 
 so you be compelled to give way. It is then for this 
 reason that I would tie you down to that time, and not 
 a moment longer.” The lady said, “I will do all in my 
 power with regard to my promise; but should I ever think 
 of acting otherwise, yet your injunction I will steadily 
 abide by. Heaven grant, however, that I see you long 
 before that time!” Here she embraced him, shedding 
 abundance of tears, and taking a ring from her finger, 
 | ware it him, and said, ‘If I. should chance to die before 
 
TENTH DAY © 535 
 
 your return, remember me always when you look upon 
 this.” He received it, and bidding every one farewell, 
 mounted his: horse and. rode away, with a handsome re- 
 tinue, for Genoa, where they all embarked, and soon 
 arrived at Acre, when they joined. the. Christian army, 
 which was visited by a mortal pestilence, that. swept away 
 a great part of the people; and the thin remains of it were; 
 by the dexterity or good fortune of Saladin, taken prisoners 
 almost to a man, and distributed into divers cities to be 
 imprisoned; when it was Torello’s fortune to be sent to 
 Alexandria; »where, being unknown, and fearing lest he 
 should be discovered, he was driven by necessity to under- 
 take the care of hawks, of which he was a great master. 
 By that means he soon feil under the notice of Saladin, 
 who set him at liberty, and .made.. him his falconer. 
 Torello, who. went by no; other name than that of the 
 Christian, and neither remembered. the soldan, nor the 
 soldan him, had all his thoughts at Pavia, and was often 
 contriving how to make his escape, though without success. 
 But some ambassadors from Genoa being come thither, to 
 treat with the soldan about the redemption of certain of 
 their countrymen, as they were just upon)their departure, 
 he resolved to write to his lady, to let. her know he was 
 alive, and would make all possible haste home; praying 
 her, therefore, to be in daily expectation of his coming ; 
 and so he did. He earnestly entreated also one of the 
 ambassadors, whom he knew, that he would take care 
 those letters came to the hands of the abbot of San Pietro, 
 who was his uncle. Whilst Torello remained in this con- 
 dition, it happened one day, as Saladin was talking with 
 him about his hawks, that: he chanced to laugh, when he 
 made a certain motion with:his lips, which Saladin, when 
 he was at his house m Pavia, had taken particular notice 
 of. Upon which he recollected him, and looking stead- 
 fastly at him, believed he was the same person. Now 
 leaving his former discourse, he said, ‘‘Tell me, Christian, 
 of what country in the west art thou ?”—‘ My lord,” 
 replied he, ““I-am a Lombard, and born in a city called 
 Pavia; but am a poor man, and of no account.” When 
 Saladin heard that, he became assured of what he doubted 
 
536 THE DECAMERON 
 
 before, saying joyfully to himself, ‘‘ Providence has now 
 given me an opportunity of showing how acceptable his 
 generosity was to me.” So, causing his wardrobe to be set 
 open, he carried him thither, and said, “Take notice, 
 Christian, if there is any one robe amongst these that thou 
 hast seen before.” Torello soon cast his ‘eye upon that 
 which his lady had given to Saladin, but not imagining it 
 could be the same, he replied, ‘‘ My lord, I know not one; 
 two there are, indeed, which are like what I have worn 
 formerly, and which I gave to three merchants that were at 
 my house.” Now Saladin could’contain no longer, but 
 taking him: joyfully in his arms, he said, “ You are Signor 
 Torello d’Istria, and I am one of the three merchants to 
 whom your lady gave these robes: and: now the time is 
 come for me to convince you what my merchandise is, as I 
 said at my leaving you might possibly happen.” Torello, 
 at hearing these words, was overwhelmed both with joy 
 and shame; joy in having had such a guest, and shame 
 to think how indifferently he had received him. When 
 ‘Saladin said, ‘‘ Torello, as Providence hath sent you hither, 
 account yourself to be master, and not me.” So, after great 
 expressions of joy, he clothed him in royal apparel, and 
 having recommended him to all his principal barons, and 
 spoken highly in his praise, he commanded them to show 
 him the same respect and honour as they would himself, 
 if they expected any favour at his hands; which accord- 
 ingly they all observed, especially the two lords who had 
 accompanied Saladin to his house. 
 
 The great pitch of grandeur and glory to which Torello 
 saw himself so suddenly advanced, had made him forgetful 
 of his affairs in Lombardy, especially as he was in hopes 
 that his letters had been conveyed safely to his uncle. 
 Now there was amongst the Christians, on the day they 
 were surprised by Saladin, a gentleman of small esteem, 
 dead and buried, called Torello di Dignes; consequently, 
 as Torello d’Istria was universally known through the 
 whole army, on account of his nobility, whoever heard 
 that Torello was dead concluded it was he of Istria, and 
 not of Dignes: and they being all taken prisoners imme- 
 diately upon it, prevented people being undeceived, so 
 
TENTH DAY 537 
 
 that many Italians returned home with the news, and 
 some were daring enough to affirm that they had seen 
 him dead,’ and were present at his interment. This 
 occasioned great grief both to his wife and relations, as 
 also to every one that knew him. It would be tedious to 
 show the lady’s trouble and affliction, who, after wearing 
 out some months in mourning, and beginning now to bea 
 little comforted, was much pressed by her brethren and 
 relations, seeing she was courted by divers great lords of 
 Lombardy, to marry again. She several times, with tears, 
 withstood, their solicitations, till, being over-importuned, 
 she consented at last, provided they would let her wait the 
 time prescribed by Torello. 
 
 Things proceeding thus at Pavia, and there wanting only 
 eight days for her taking a second husband, it happened 
 one day that Torello met with one of the people whom he 
 had seen go on board with the Genoese ambassadors, 
 and inquired of him what sort of a voyage they had, 
 and when they arrived at Genoa. The other replied, 
 ‘Sir, they had a very bad one, as we understood at 
 Crete, whither I was bound; for, as they came near 
 to Sicily a strong north. wind arose, which drove them 
 upon the sands of Barbary, so that every soul of them 
 perished, and amongst the rest two of my brethren were 
 lost.” Torello gave credit to this account, which indeed 
 was very true, and calling to mind that the limited time was 
 near expiring ; supposing likewise that no tidings had come 
 to Pavia concerning him, he took it for granted that she 
 would be married again, and laid it so much to heart that 
 he began to loathe his victuals, and was brought to death’s 
 door; which, when Saladin understood, who had a great 
 affection for him, he came to visit him, and learning after 
 great importunity the cause of his disorder, he reproved 
 him for not acquainting him with it sooner, desiring him 
 nevertheless to be easy, and promising that he should be 
 at Pavia within the time, and he told him in what manner, 
 Torello gave credit to these words, hearing it was possible, 
 and had been often done, and he began to take heart, and 
 to press Saladin about it; who, therefore, had recourse to 
 a necromancer, whose skill he had made trial of, desiring 
 
538 THE DECAMERON 
 
 he would convey Torello upon a bed to Pavia in one 
 night’s time. . The necromancer promised it should be 
 done, but said it would be convenient for him to be 
 thrown into a sleep. This was concerted, whilst Saladin 
 returned to Torello, and found him bent upon being at 
 Pavia, if possible, within the time, otherwise wishing to 
 di¢é; when he said to him, “Torello, if you have that 
 prodigious value for your lady, and are-in such concern 
 lest she should be given away to another, Heaven knows 
 my heart, I can in no way blame you for it; because, of 
 all the women I ever saw, her address and behaviour, 
 setting beauty aside, whichis only a fading flower, are 
 most to be commended and esteemed.’ I should have 
 been glad, as fortune has sent you hither, that what 
 time we have to live we might have reigned together in 
 these our kingdoms. But as I am not likely to have this 
 favour, and you seem resolved to go to Pavia in due time, 
 or else to die, I could greatly have wished to have known 
 it early enough, that I might have sent you home with that 
 state and equipage which your virtue justly requires. But 
 as this did not happen, and you are desirous of being 
 instantly there, I will take care you shall be conveyed in 
 ‘the manner I related to you.” Torello then replied, “My 
 lord, the effects, without words, have sufficiently made 
 manifest your disposition towards me, and which, in that 
 supreme degree, is far beyond my deserts; and what you 
 say, living or dying, I shall most assuredly rely upon you. 
 As that then, is my desire, I beg it may be done immedi- 
 ately, for to-morrow is the last day of my being expected.” 
 This Saladin promised, and resolving to send him away 
 the following night, he had a most beautiful and rich bed 
 put up in his grand hall, made of fine velvet and cloth of 
 gold, according to their custom, over which was a most 
 curious counterpoint, wrought in certain figures, with the 
 largest pearls and other precious stones, supposed to be of 
 an immense value, with two noble pillows, suitable to such 
 a bed. When this was done, he ordered Torello to be 
 clothed after Saracen manner, with the richest and most 
 beautiful robes that were ever seen, and a large turban 
 folded upon his head; and, it now growing late, he went 
 
TENTH DAY a 
 
 with divers of his nobles to the chamber where Torello 
 was; when, sitting down by him, he began to weep, and 
 say, “ Torello, the hour is now at hand which must divide 
 us; and, as I can neither attend you myself, nor cause you 
 to be attended, through the nature of the journey you have 
 to go, which will not admit of it, I must, therefore, take 
 leave of you in your chamber, for which purpose I am now 
 come hither. First, then, I commend you to God’s provi- 
 dence, begging you, by the love and friendship existing 
 between us, to be mindful of me always, and, if it be 
 possible, before we finish our lives, that you would settle 
 your affairs in Lombardy, and come once more at least 
 to see me, in order to make some amends for the pleasure 
 which your hasty departure now deprives me of: and, till 
 this shall happen, do not think much to visit me by letters, 
 asking whatever favours you please from me, being assured 
 there is no person living whom I would so readily oblige 
 as yourself.” Torello could not refrain from tears, and 
 answered, as well as he could for weeping, in a few words, 
 that it was impossible the favours he had received should 
 ever be forgotten by him, and that, at a proper time, he 
 would not fail to do what he desired. Saladin then 
 embraced him, and saying, “God be with you!” departed 
 out of the chamber, weeping: the nobles also took their 
 leave, and went with Saladin into the great hall, where the 
 bed was provided. But it now waxing late, and the necro- 
 mancer desiring despatch, a physician came with a certain 
 draught, and telling him that it was to fortify his spirits, he 
 made him drink it off, when he was immediately cast into 
 a profound sleep. He was then, by Saladin’s order, laid 
 upon that magnificent bed, on which was set a most 
 beautiful crown, of prodigious value, written upon in such 
 a manner, as to show that it was designed by Saladin as 
 a present to Torello’s lady. On his finger he put a ring, 
 wherein was a carbuncle that appeared like a flaming 
 torch, the value of which was not to be estimated. To 
 his side was a sword girt with such ornaments, that the 
 like was scarcely ever seen. About his neck was a kind 
 of solitaire, not to be equalled for the value of the pearls. 
 and other precious stones, with which it was embellished. 
 
1949 THE DECAMERON 
 And lastly, on each side were two great basins of gold, full 
 
 _of double ducats, with many strings of pearls, rings, girdles, 
 and other things too tedious to mention, which were laid 
 all round him. When this was done, he kissed Torello 
 - once more, as he lay upon his bed, commanding the necro- 
 mancer then to use all possible expedition. Instantly the 
 bed, with Torello upon it, was carried away in presence of 
 them all, leaving them in discourse about it, and set in the 
 church of San Pietro di Pavia, according to his own request, 
 where he was found by the sacrist, fast asleep, with all 
 these jewels and other ornaments, in the morning when it 
 rung to matins; who, coming into the church with a light 
 in his hand, and seeing that rich bed, was frightened out of 
 his wits, and ran out. When the abbot and monks saw 
 him in this confusion, they were greatly surprised, and 
 inquired the reason, which the monk told them. ‘‘ How!” 
 quoth the abbot, ‘‘thou art no child or stranger here, to be 
 so easily terrified; let us go and see this bugbear.” They 
 then took more lights, and went altogether into the church, 
 where they saw this wonderful rich bed, and the knight 
 lying upon. it fast asleep. And as they stood gazing at 
 a distance, and fearful of taking a nearer view, it happened, 
 the virtue of the draught being gone, that Torello awoke, 
 and fetched a deep sigh; at which the monks and abbot 
 cried out, ‘Lord, have mercy upon us!” and away they 
 ran. Torello now opened his eyes, and looking all around 
 him, saw he was where he had desired Saladin to have him 
 conveyed, at which he was extremely satisfied; so raising 
 himself up, and beholding the treasure he had with him, 
 whatever Saladin’s generosity seemed to him before, he 
 now. thought it greater than ever, as having had more 
 knowledge of it. Nevertheless, without stirring from the 
 place, seeing the monks all run away in that manner, and 
 _ Imagining the reason, he began to call the abbot by name, 
 and to beg of him to entertain no doubts in the affair, for 
 that he was Torello, his nephew. The abbot, at hearing 
 this, was still more afraid, as he supposed him dead many 
 months before: till being assured, by good and sufficient 
 reasons, and hearing himself again called upon, he made 
 the sign of the cross, and went to him. When Torello 
 
TENTH DAY 541 
 
 said, “* Father, what are you in doubt about? I am alive, 
 God be thanked, and now returned from beyond sea.” The 
 abbot, notwithstanding he had a great beard, and was 
 dressed after the Turkish fashion, soon remembered him ; 
 and assuming some courage, he took him by the hand, and 
 said, ‘Son, you are welcome home.” And he added, “ You 
 need not be surprised at my fear, for there was nobody here 
 but was fully persuaded of your death, insomuch that, I 
 must tell you, your lady, Madam Adalieta, overpowered by 
 the prayers and threats of her friends, is now married again, 
 contrary to her own will, and this morning she is to go 
 home to her new husband, and everything is prepared for 
 solemnising the nuptials.” 
 
 Torello. now arose and saluted the abbot and all the 
 monks, begging of them to say nothing of his return, till 
 he had despatched a certain affair. Afterwards, having 
 carried all the jewels and wealth into a place of safety, 
 he related all that had passed to the abbot, who was ex- 
 tremely rejoiced. He then desired to know who that 
 second husband was, and the abbot informed him; when 
 he replied, ‘‘I should be glad before she knows of my 
 return, to see how she relishes this wedding; therefore, 
 though it be unusual for the clergy ‘to go to such enter- 
 tainments, yet, for my sake, I wish you would contrive so 
 that we may be both there.” The abbot answered, that 
 he would with all his heart. When it was daylight, he 
 sent to the bridegroom to let him know, that he and a 
 friend would come together to his wedding. The bride- 
 groom replied, that he’ should be obliged to them for the 
 favour. And when dinner-time came, Torello, in the same 
 habit in which he arrived, went along with the abbot to the 
 bridegroom’s house, where he was wonderfully gazed at, 
 though known by nobody; the abbot giving out that he 
 was going as an ambassador from the soldan to the King 
 of France. Torello then was seated at a table opposite to 
 his wife, whom he beheld with great pleasure, and thought 
 he saw uneasiness in her looks at these nuptials. She 
 would likewise give a look sometimes towards him, not 
 out of any remembrance she had of him, for that was quite 
 taken away by his great beard, strange dress, and her full 
 
542 THE DECAMERON 
 
 persuasion that he was dead. At last, when he thought it 
 a fit time to try if she would remember him, he took the 
 ring in his hand which she had given him at his departure, 
 and calling one of the young men that was in waiting, he 
 said, “Tell the bride, from me, that it is a custom in 
 our country, when any stranger as I may be, is at such 
 an entertainment. as this, for the bride, in token of his 
 being welcome, to send the cup in which she_ herself 
 drinks, full of wine; when after the stranger has drunk 
 what he pleases and covered the cup, the bride then 
 pledges him with the rest.” The youth delivered the 
 message to the lady, who, thinking him to be some great 
 personage, to let him see his company was agreeable, 
 ordered a large golden cup, which she had before her, 
 to be washed and filled with wine, and to be carried 
 to him. Torello, having put the ring into his mouth, 
 contrived to let it fall into the cup, without any one’s 
 perceiving it; and leaving but little wine therein, he 
 covered it up and sent it to the lady, who received it; 
 and, in compliance with the custom, uncovered and put 
 it to her mouth, when she saw the ring; and, considering 
 it a while, and knowing it to be the same she had given her 
 husband, she took it, and: began to look attentively at the 
 supposed stranger; when, calling him to mind, like a dis- 
 tracted person, she threw all the tables down before her, 
 crying out, “This is my lord! This is truly Torello!” 
 Then running to the table where he was sitting, without 
 having regard to anything that was on it, she cast that 
 down likewise, and clasped her arms about him in sucha 
 manner, as if she would never separate from him more. 
 At last, the company being in some confusion, though for 
 the. most part pleased with the return of so worthy a 
 knight, Torello, after requesting silence, gave them a full 
 account of what had befallen him to that hour; concluding, 
 that he hoped the gentleman who had married his wife, 
 supposing he was dead, would not be disobliged, seeing he 
 was alive, that he took her back again. The bridegroom, 
 though he was_not a little disappointed, replied freely, and 
 as a friend, that no doubt he might do what he pleased 
 with his own. She consequently gave up the ring and 
 
TENTH DAY 543 
 
 crown, which she had received from her new husband, and 
 put on that ring instead which she had taken out of the 
 cup, and likewise the crown sent to her by Saladin; and, 
 leaving the bridegroom’s house, she went home with all 
 nuptial pomp along with Torello, whither his friends and 
 relations, whom his loss rendered disconsolate, and all the 
 citizens likewise, looking upon him as a miracle, went 
 joyfully to see him, and pay him their respects. Part of 
 the jewels Torello gave to him who had been at the expense 
 of the marriage-feast, and part to the abbot, and to divers 
 others; and having signified his happy arrival to Saladin, 
 he remained from that time his friend and faithful servant, 
 living many years afterwards with his most worthy spouse, 
 and continuing more generous and hospitable than ever. 
 This, then, was the end of both their afflictions, and the 
 reward of their most cheerful and ready courtesy. Many 
 there are that attempt the like, who, though they have the 
 means, do it yet with such an ill grace, as turns rather to 
 their discredit. If, therefore, no merit ensue from thence, 
 neither they nor any one else ought to be surprised. 
 
 NOVEL X 
 
 The Marquis of Saluzzo having been prevailed upon by his subjects to 
 marry, in order to please himself in the affair, made chotce of @ 
 countryman’s daughter, by whom he had two children, which he 
 pretended to put to death. Afterwards, seeming as though he wqs 
 weary of her, and had taken another, he had his own daughter 
 brought home, as tf he had espoused her, whilst his wife was sent 
 away tn a most.dtstressed condition. At length, being convinced of 
 her patience, he brought Rer home again, presented her children to 
 her, who were now of considerable years, and ever afterwards loved 
 and honoured her as his lady. 
 
 Yue king’s long novel, being concluded, which had all the 
 appearance of pleasing, Dioneus, as the only person left to 
 speak, began in this manner :— | 
 
 We seem, to-day, most gracious ladies, to have had only 
 to do with kings, soldans, and such-like people: therefore, 
 that I may not be left too far behind, I intend to speak of 
 
 fr, 
 
ba THE DECAMERON 
 
 a marquis; not with regard to anything noble and great, 
 but rather monstrously vile and brutish, although it ended 
 well at last; which, notwithstanding the event, I would yet 
 advise nobody to imitate. 
 It is a long time ago, that, amongst the marquises of 
 _Saluzzo, the principal or head of the family was a youth, 
 called Gualtieri, who, as he was a bachelor, spent his whole 
 time in hawking and hunting, without any thought of ever 
 being encumbered with a wife and children; in which 
 respect, no doubt, he was very wise. But this being dis- 
 agreeable to his subjects, they often pressed him to marry, 
 to the end he might neither die without an heir, nor they 
 be left without a lord; offering themselves to provide such 
 a lady for him, and of such a family, that they should have 
 great hopes from her, and he reason enough to be satisfied. 
 “Worthy friends,” he replied, “you urge me to do a thing 
 which I was fully resolved against, considering what a 
 difficult matter it is to find a person of a suitable temper, 
 with the great abundance everywhere of such as are other- 
 wise, and how miserable also the man’s life must be who 
 is tied to a disagreeable woman. As to your getting at a 
 woman’s temper from her family, and so choosing one to 
 please me, that seems quite a ridiculous fancy: for, besides 
 \the uncertainty with regard to their true fathers, how many 
 daughters do we see resembling neither father nor mother? 
 Nevertheless, as you are: so fond of having me noosed, | 
 will agree to be so. Therefore, that I may have nobody to 
 blame but myself, should it happen amiss, I will make my 
 Own choice; and I protest, let me marry whom I will, that, 
 unless you show her the respect that is due to her as my 
 lady, you shall know, to your cost, how grievous it is to me 
 to have taken a wife at your request, contrary to my own 
 inclination.” The honest men replied that they were well 
 satisfied, provided he would but make the trial. Now he 
 had taken a fancy, some time before, to the behaviour of a 
 ‘poor country girl, who lived in a village not far from his 
 palace; and thinking that he might live comfortably enough 
 with her, he determined, without seeking any farther, to 
 marry her, Accordingly he sent for her father, who was a 
 very poor man, and acquainted him with it. Afterwards 
 
TENTH DAY 545 
 
 he summoned all his subjects together and said to them, 
 " Gentlemen, it was and is your desire that I take a wife: 
 I do it rather to please you, than out of any liking I have 
 to matrimony. You know that you promised me to be 
 satisfied, and to pay her due honour, whoever she is that I 
 shall make choice of. The time is now come when [ shall 
 fulfil my promise to you, and I expect you to do the like to 
 me: I have found a young woman in the neighbourhood 
 after my own heart, whom I intend to espouse, and bring 
 home in a very few days. Let it be your care, then, to do 
 honour to my nuptials, and to respect her as your sovereign 
 lady ; so that I may be satisfied with the performance of 
 your promise, even as you are with that of mine.” The 
 people all declared themselves pleased, and promised to 
 regard her in all things as their mistress. Afterwards they 
 made préparations for a most noble feast, and the like did 
 the prince; inviting all his relations, and the great lords in 
 all parts and provinces about him: he had also most rich 
 and costly robes made, shaped by a person that seemed to 
 be of the same size with his intended spouse; and provided 
 a girdle, ring, and fine coronet, with everything requisite 
 fora bride. And when the day appointed was come, about 
 the third hour he mounted his horse, attended by all his 
 friends and vassals ; and having everything in readiness, he 
 said, ‘*‘ My lords and gentlemen, it is now time to go for 
 my new spouse.” Soon they rode to the eat and when 
 
 reese 
 
 with some of her acquaintance to see the new marchioness ; 
 when he called her by name, which was Griselda, and 
 inquired where her father was. She modestly replied, 
 “ My gracious lord, he is in the house.” He then alighted 
 from his horse, commanding them all to wait for him, and 
 went alone into the cottage, where he found the father, who 
 was called Giannucolo, and said to him, “ Honest man, 
 I am come to espouse thy daughter ; but would first ask 
 her _some questions before..thee.” He then inquired 
 whether she would make it her study to please him, and 
 
 not beat uneasy ‘at any time, wubgtever he should do or say; 
 BMG ¥ + She WOUId alway: dient: with more ta 
 
546 THE DECAMERON 
 that purpose. To which she answered esa AG then 
 led her out by the hand, and made her strip before them 
 all; and ordering'the rich apparel to be brought which he 
 had provided, he had her clothed completely, and a coronet 
 set upon her head, all disordered as her hair was; after 
 which, every one being i in amaze, he said, “ Behold, this is 
 the person whom I intend for my wife, provided she will 
 accept of me for her husband.” Then, turning towards 
 her, who stood quite abashed, “Will you,” said he, “have 
 me for your husband?” She replied, “Yes, if so please 
 your lordship. %__ Well,” he replied, “ and I take you. for 
 my wife.” So he espoused her in that public manner, and 
 mounting her.on.a palfrey, conducted her honourably to his 
 palace, celebrating the nuptials with as much pomp and 
 gtandeur as though he had been married to the daughter 
 of the King of France; and the young bride showed ap- 
 parently that with her earments she had changed both her 
 mind and hea iones She hada most agreeable | person, and 
 was So amiable, so good-natured. withal, that she seemed 
 rather a lord’s daughter than that of a poor shepherd; at 
 which’ every one that knew hér before was greatly surprised. 
 She was, too, so obedient to her husband, and so obliging 
 in all respects, that he thought himself the happiest 1 man 
 in the world; and to her subjects likewise..so gracious 
 and ‘condescending that they all honoured and loved her 
 as their ‘own ‘lives ;’ praying for her health and prosperity ; ; 
 and declaring, contrary to their former opinion, that 
 Gualtieri was the most prudent and sharp-sighted prince 
 in the whole world; for’ that no one could have’ dis- 
 cerned such virtues "ander a mean habit and | ‘country 
 disguise, but himself. In a very short time, her discreet 
 behaviour and “good works were the common subject of 
 discourse, not'i.1 that country only, but everywhere else ; 
 and what had been objected to the prince, with regard 
 to his marrying’ her, now took a contrary turn. They 
 had not lived long together before she proved with child, 
 and at length brought forth a daughter, for which he 
 made great rejoicings, But soon afterwards a new. fancy 
 came into his head; and that was, to make a “trial. of . 
 her patierice by long and intolerable ‘sufferings: so “he 
 
and— 
 
 tio 
 Fy sees 
 
 ‘TENTH DAY. 547 
 
 | pegan. with harsh words, and an appearance of great un 
 
 easiness; telling her that his subjects were greatly dis- 
 
 pleased with her for her mean parentage, ‘especially as 
 they saw she bore children ; ; and that they did nothing 
 but murmur at the daughter already born, Which, when 
 she heard, without changing countenance. or her resolution 
 in any respect, she replied, ‘‘My Tord, pray dispose of 
 me as you think most, for your honour and happiness : 
 
 I shall entirely acquiesce, knowing myself to be meaner 
 than the meanest of the people, and that I was altogether 
 unworthy_of. that dignity, to which. your favour was pleased 
 to advance me,” This was/very agreeable to the prince, 
 seeing that she was no. wa elevated with the honour he 
 had conferred upon her. “Afterwards, having often told 
 
 her, in, general terms, that. his subjects could not bear 
 
 with the daughter that was born of her, he sent one of 
 his servants, whom he had instructed what to do, who, 
 with a very ‘sorrowful countenance, said.to her, ‘* Madam, 
 I must either lose, my own life, or obey my lord’s com- 
 mands: now he has ordered me to take | your ‘daughter, 
 ” without saying anything more. 
 
 She, hearing these words, and noting the fellow’s looks, 
 remembering also what she had heard before from. her 
 lord, concluded. that he had orders to destroy the child. 
 50 she took it out of the cradle, kissed it, and gave it 
 her blessing ; when, without. changing countenance, though 
 
 her heart throbbed with’ maternal affection, she tenderly 
 
 laid it in the servant’s arms, and said, epee it, and do 
 what thy lord and mine has commanded; but prithee 
 leave it not to be devoured by the fowls or wild beasts, 
 unless that be his will.” ‘Taking the child, he acquainted 
 the prince with what, she said; who was greatly sur- 
 prised at her_constancy, and he sent, the same person 
 with it to a relation at Bologna, desiring her, without 
 
 revealing whose child it was, to, see it carefully brought 
 
 up and, educated. | Afterwards the lady became with 
 child the second time, ‘and was delivered of a son, at 
 which. he was extremely pleased. But, not satisfied with 
 what he had already. done, he began to grieve and per- 
 secute her still more; saying one day to her, seemingly 
 
548 THE DECAMERON 
 
 much out of temper, “Since thou hast brought me this 
 son, I am able to live no longer with my people; for 
 they mutiny to that degree, that a poor shepherd’s 
 grandson is to succeed, and be their lord after me, that, 
 unless I would run the risk of being driven out of my 
 dominions, I must be obliged to dispose of this child 
 as I did the other; and then to send thee away, in 
 order to take a wife more suitable to.me.” She heard 
 this with a great deal of resignation, making only this 
 reply: ‘‘ My lord, study only your own ease and happiness, 
 without the least care for me; for nothing is agreeable to 
 me but what is pleasing to yourself.” Not many days after, 
 he sent for the son in the same manner as he had done for 
 the daughter; and, seeming alsp as if he had procured him 
 to be destroyed, had him conveyed to Bologna, to be taken 
 care of with the daughter. This she bore with the same 
 resolution as before, at which the prince wondered greatly, 
 declaring to himself that no other woman was capable of 
 doing the like. And, were it not that he had observed her 
 extremely fond of her children, whilst that was agreeable to 
 him, he should have thought it want of affection in her; 
 but he saw.it was only her entire obedience and con- 
 descension. ‘The people, imagining that the children were 
 both put to death, blamed him to the last degree, thinking 
 him the most cruel of men, and showing great com- 
 passion for the lady. Who, whenever she was in company 
 with the ladies of her acquaintance, that they condoled 
 with her for her loss, she would only say, ‘It was not my 
 will, but his who begot them.” But more years being now 
 passed, and he resolving to make the last trial of her 
 patience, declared, before many people, that he could no 
 longer bear to keep Griselda as his wife, owning that he 
 had done very foolishly, and like a young man, in 
 marrying her, and that he meant to solicit the pope for 
 a dispensation to take another, and send her away: for 
 which he was much blamed by many worthy persons; 
 but he said nothing in return, only that it should be so. 
 She, hearing this, and expecting to go home to her 
 father’s, and possibly tend the cattle as -1« bad done 
 before; whilst she saw some other lady possessed of him 
 
 
 
TENTH DAY 549 
 
 whom she dearly loved and honoured, was perhaps secretly 
 grieved ; but as she had withstood other strokes of fortune, 
 so she determined resolutely to do now. Soon afterwards, 
 Gualtieri had counterfeit letters come to him, as from Rome, 
 acquainting all his people that his holiness thereby dis- 
 pensed his marrying another, and turning away Griselda; 
 he had her brought before them, when he said, ‘‘ Woman, by 
 the pope’s leave I may dispose of thee, and take another 
 wife. As my ancestors, then, have been all sovereign 
 princes of this country, and thine only peasants, I intend 
 to keep thee no longer, but to send thee back to thy father’s 
 cottage, with the same portion which thou broughtest me; 
 and afterwards to make choice of one more suitable in 
 quality to myself.” It was with the utmost difficulty she 
 could now refrain from tears; and she replied, ‘‘ My lord, I 
 was always sensible that my servile condition would no way 
 accord with your high rank and descent. For what I have 
 been, I own myself indebted to Providence and you; I con- 
 sidered it as a favour lent me: you are now pleased to 
 demand it back; I, therefore, willingly restore it. Behold 
 the ring with which you espoused me; I deliver it to you. 
 You bid me take the dowry back which I brought you; you 
 will have no need for a teller to count it, nor I for a 
 purse to put it in, much less a sumpter-horse to carry it 
 away ; for I have not forgotten that you took me naked: 
 and if you think it decent to expose that body which has 
 borne you two children in that manner, I am contented ; 
 but I would entreat you, as a recompense for my virginity, 
 which I brought you, and do not carry away, that you would 
 please to let me have one shift over and above my dowry.” 
 He, though ready to weep, yet put on a stern countenance, 
 and said, “‘ Thou shalt have one only then.” And notwith- 
 standing the people all desired that she might have an old 
 gown, to keep her body from shame who had been his wife 
 thirteen years and upwards, yet it was all in vain. So she 
 left his palace in that manner, and returned weeping to her 
 ‘ather’s, to the great grief of all who saw her. The poor 
 an, never supposing that the prince would keep her long 
 his wife, and expecting this thing to happen every day, 
 _¢ safely laid up the garments of which she had been 
 
 a i 
 Oe 
 
oR a rn ee Ty 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 S50 THE DECAMERON 
 
 despoiled the day he espoused her. He now brought then 
 to her, and she put them on,. and went as usual. aboul 
 her father’s little household affairs, bearing this fierce trial 
 of adverse fortune with the greatest courage. imaginable. 
 The prince then gave it out that he was to espouse a 
 daughter, of one of the Counts of Panago; and, seeming as 
 if he made great preparation for his nuptials, he sent for 
 Griselda to come to him,,and said to her, “I am going to” 
 bring this lady home whom I have just married, and intend 
 to show her all possible respect, at her first coming : thou : 
 knowest that I have no women with me able to set out the | 
 rooms, and do many, other things which are requisite on ‘con | 
 solemn an occasion. _ As, therefore, thou art best acqtiainted — 
 with the state of the house,. I would have thee make such — 
 provision as thou shalt judge proper, and invite what ladies — 
 thou wilt, even as though thou wert mistress of the house; _ 
 and when the marriage is ended, return thee home to thy — 
 father’s again,” ‘Though these words pierced. like daggers 
 to the heart of Griselda; who was unable to part with Here 
 love for the prince_so easily as she had done her great 
 fortune, yet she teplied, “My lord, I am ready to fulfil all 
 your commands.” She then went into the palace, in her 
 coarse attire, from whence she had but just before departed ‘ 
 in her shift, and with her own hands did she begin to SWEEP, — 
 and set all the rooms to rights, cleaning the stools and — 
 benches in the hall like the meanest servant, and directing _ 
 what was to be done in the kitchen, never giving over +11 
 everything was in order, and as it ought to be. After this’ wa: } 
 done, she invited, in the prince’s name, all the ladies in the — 
 country. to, come to the feast. _And on the day appointec 
 for the marriage, meanly clad as she was, she received then © 
 in the most genteel and cheerful manner imaginable. © __ 
 Now Gualtieri, who had. his children. carefully broug gb 
 
 up at Bologna (the g girl being about. twelve years old, sa 
 one of the prettiest creatures that ever was seen, and. th 
 boy six), had sent to his kinswoman there, to desire s’ 
 would bring them, with an honourable retinue, to. Saluz 
 giving it out all.the way she came that she was bringing 
 young lady to be married to him, without nine any 
 know to the contrary, ney 
 
fi . TENTH, DAY,. 551 
 é 
 
 Accordingly, ae all set forwards, attended by a goodly 
 
 > train of gentry; and, after travelling some days, reached 
 _ Saluzzo, about dinner- time, when they found the whole 
 Bune assembled, waiting to see their new lady. The 
 
 , young lady was most, graciously received by all the women 
 : present ; and being come into the hall where the tables 
 were all covered, Griselda, meanly dressed as she was, went 
 
 q cheerfully to meet her, saying, “ Your ladyship. is. most 
 
 kindly: welcome.” ‘The'ladies, who had greatly importuned 
 the prince, though to no purpose, to let Griselda be in a 
 room by herself, or else that she might have some of her 
 own clothes, and not appear before strangers in that manner, 
 were now seated, and going to be served round ; whilst the 
 young lady was universally admired, and every one said that 
 the prince had made a good change; but. Griselda in 
 i particular highly commended both her ‘and her_ brother. 
 _ The marquis now thinking that he had seen enough with 
 regard to his wife’s patience, and perceiving that in all her 
 trials she was still the same, being persuaded likewise that 
 this proceeded. from no want of understanding in’ her, 
 because he knew her to be singularly prudent, he thought 
 _ it time to take her from that anguish -which he supposed 
 _ she might conceal under her firm and constant deportment. 
 So, making her come before all the company, he said, with 
 ‘\ a smile, “ What thinkest thou, Griselda, of my. bride?” 
 a lord,” she replied, “T like her extremely well; and if 
 she bi as prudent ; as she is fair, you may be the happiest man 
 in the world with her: but I most humbly beg you would 
 _ not.take those heart-breaking measures with this lady as you 
 _ did with your last wife; because she is young, and has 
 been tenderly educated, whereas the other was inured to 
 _ hardships from a child. 
 
 Gualtieri perceiving, that though Griselda thought that 
 _ person was to. be his wile, that’ she nevertheless answered 
 _’ him with great humility and sweetness of temper, he made 
 her sit down by him, and said, “ Griselda, it is now time 
 _ for you to reap the fruit, of your long patience, and that 
 they who have reputed me to be cruel, unjust, and a 
 monster in nature, may know that what I have done has 
 aes been all ‘along with a view to teach you how to behave as a 
 
 ¢ 
 
 
 
552 THE DECAMERON 
 
 wife; to show them how to choose and keep a wife; and 
 lastly, to secure my own ease and quiet as long as we live 
 together, which I was apprehensive might have been en- 
 dangered by my marrying. Therefore I had a mind to 
 prove you by harsh and injurious treatment ; and not being 
 sensible that you have ever transgressed my will, either in 
 word or deed, I now seem to have met with that happiness 
 I desired: I intend, then, to restore in one hour what I have 
 taken away from you in many, and to make you the sweetest 
 recompense for the many bitter pangsI have caused you to 
 to suffer. Accept, therefore, this young lady, whom you 
 thought my spouse, and her brother, as your children and 
 mine. ‘They are the same which you and many others be- 
 lieved that I had been the means of cruelly murdering ; 
 and I am your husband, who love and value you above all 
 things ; assuring myself that no person in the world can be 
 happier in a wife than I am.” 
 
 With this he embraced her most affectionately, when, — 
 
 rising up together, she weeping for joy, they went where 
 
 their daughter was sitting, quite astonished with these 
 
 things, and tenderly saluted both her and her brother, 
 undeceiving them and the whole company. At this the 
 women all arose, overjoyed, from the tables, and taking 
 Griselda into the chamber, they clothed her with her own 
 noble apparel, and as a marchioness, resembling such an 
 one even in rags, and brought her into the hall. And being 
 extremely rejoiced with her son and daughter, and every 
 one expressing the utmost satisfaction at what had come to 
 pass, the feasting was prolonged many days. The marquis 
 
 was judged a very wise man, though abundantly too severe, re 
 and the trial of his lady most intolerable; but as for Griselda, 
 
 she was beyond compare. In a few days the Count de 
 
 Panago returned to Bologna, and the marquis took Gian- _ 
 nucolo from his drudgery, and maintained him as his _ 
 father-in-law, and so he lived very comfortably to a good ae 
 
 old age. 
 
 Gualtiet afterwards married his daughter to one of equal 4 
 
 nobility, continuing the rest of his life with Griselda, and 
 showing her all the respect and honour that was possible. 
 What can we say, then, but that divine spirits may descend _ 
 
 
 
ay 
 ) - 
 
 TENTH DAY ° §53 
 
 ‘om heaven into the meanest cottages ; whilst royal palaces 
 hall produce such as seem rather adapted to have the care 
 f hogs, than the government of men. Who but Griselda 
 ould, not only without a tear, but even with seeming satis- 
 ction, undergo the most rigid and unheard of trials of her 
 usband? Many women there are who, if turned out of 
 oors naked in that manner, would have procured them- 
 elves fine clothes, adorning at once their own persons and 
 aeir husbands’ brows. 
 
 Dioneus’s novel, which was now concluded, was much 
 anvassed by the company, this blaming one thing, and 
 hat commending another, according to their respective 
 ancies; when the king, seeing the sun was now far in the 
 rest, and that the evening drew on apace, said, without 
 ising from his seat, ‘‘I suppose you all know, ladies, that 
 
 person’s sense and understanding consist, not only in 
 smembering things past, or knowing the present; but to 
 e able, by both these means, to foresee what is to come, 
 , by the more knowing part of mankind, judged the greatest 
 
 roof of wisdom. To-morrow, you are sensible, it will have 
 
 een fifteen days since we, by way of amusement, and for 
 \e preservation of our lives, came out of Florence, avoid- 
 g all those cares and melancholy reflections which con- 
 ually haunted us in the city, since the beginning of that 
 tal pestilence. And, in my opinion, we have done honestly 
 id well. For, though some light things have been talked 
 , and a loose given to all sorts of innocent mirth, yet am 
 not conscious of anything blameworthy that has passed 
 nong us; but everything has been decent, everything 
 irmonious, and such as might well beseem the community 
 brothers and sisters. 
 
 Lest, therefore, something should happen, which might 
 ve us uneasiness, and make people put a bad construction 
 ‘on our being so long together, now all have had their 
 
 _ys, and their shares of honour, which at present rests in 
 
 >, I hold it most advisable for us to return from whence 
 ‘came. Besides, as people know of our being together, 
 r company may probably increase, which would make it 
 
 _tirely disagreeable. If you approve of it, then, I will 
 
 ep the power till to-morrow, that we depart; but if you 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 554 THE DECAMERON 
 
 resolve otherwise, I have a person in my eye to stcheed, | 
 me.” This occasioned great debates, but at last. it was 
 thought safest and best to comply with the king. He con- 
 sequently called’ the master of the household, and, after 
 giving proper directions for ‘the next morning, dismissed | 
 them all till supper- time.’ They ncw betook themselves, as | 
 usual, some to one thing, and some to another, for their 
 amusement; and, when the hour came, supped very agree 
 ably together, after ‘which they began’ their’ music ; and 
 whilst Lauretta led up a dance, the king ordered F lammetta 
 to sing a song, which she did in a pretty, i ae manner, as 
 follows :-— : 
 
 SONG Re akillte, sir ba 
 CHORUS cK 
 
 Did love no jealous cares inf on oye 
 No eywph on.earth would be so biesta ae 
 
 oo ae “4 os 
 |» Ef sprightliness, and blooming si 
 An easy and polite address, 
 Strict honour, and regafd for truth, | 
 Are charms which may command succens # 
 Then sure you will’my choice approve, » 
 For these ali centre in my love, . ' 
 CuoRus,; \Did love, &e. * 
 Worniltyrre 4 
 But when I see’ what arts are tried, 
 By nymphs as fair and wise asf, 
 A thousand fears my heart betide, ae 
 _. Lest they should rob me of my, joy: 
 Thus that iter which I triumph’d so” 
 Becomes the causeof all my woes © > ae 
 
 Cuorus. Did love, &e. 
 
 UI 
 
 Would he prove firm to my desi, he piss a 
 » No more'l should myself pipiens * OPO \6 
 ; ‘But virtues like to his inspire yy sais 
 es _ The same regard i in all our Sex: 4 (‘cubed 
 Hg a 
 
TENTH DAY 555 
 
 This makes me dread what nymph be nigh, 
 And watch each motion of his eye. 
 
 CuHorvus. Did love, &e. 
 
 lv 
 Hence, then, ye damsels, I implore, 
 As you regard what’s just and ft, 
 That you, by am’rous wiles, no more 
 This outrage on my love commit : 
 EKor know, whilst thus you make me grieve, 
 You shall repent the pain you give. 
 
 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Did love no jealous cares infest, 
 No nymph on earth would be so blest. 
 « 
 
 ty 
 | As soon as Flammetta had finished her song, Dioneus, 
 who sat close to her, laughed, and said, ‘‘ Madam, it would 
 be kind to let ladies know whom you mean, for fear some 
 other should take possession out of ignorance, and you have 
 cause to be offended.” ‘This song was followed by many 
 others, and, it now drawing near midnight, they all went, 
 at the king’s command, to repose themselves. By break 
 of day they arose, and, the master of the household having 
 sent away their carriages, returned, under the conduct oi 
 their discreet king, to Florence, when the three gentlemen 
 left the seven ladies in New St. Mary’s Church, where they 
 first met, going from thence where it was most agreeable 
 to themselves; and the ladies, when they thought fit, 
 repaired to theiz several houses. 
 
 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Printed in England at THE BALLANTYNE PRESS 
 SPOTTISWOODE, BALLANTYNE & Co. LTD. 
 Colchester, London & Bion 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
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SOME OUTSTANDING VOLUMES 
 IN THE 
 
 T. MARTIN’S LIBRARY 
 
 
 
 By W. N. P. BARBELLION 
 Tue Journal or a Disappoinrep Man 
 with an introduction by H. G. Wells 
 
 By ARNOLD BENNETT 
 
 Booxs AND PErsons 
 
 By BOCCACCIO 
 
 THe DECAMERON 
 
 By G. K. CHESTERTON 
 
 A Suort History or ENGLAND 
 
 By CHARLES DICKENS 
 Tue SPEECHES OF CHARLES DICKENS 
 with a Portrait 
 
 By Sir W. S. GILBERT . 
 OricinaL Puays 
 In Four Series 
 
 First Srrtes: The Wicked World : Pygmalion and Galatea : 
 Charity : The Princess : The Palace of Truth : Trial by 
 Jury : Tolanthe 
 Seconp Szries: Broken Hearts : Engaged : Sweethearts 
 Gretchen : Dan’l Druce : Tom Cobb : H.M.S. Pinafore : The 
 Sorcerer : The Pirates of Penzance 
 Tuirp Series : Comedy and Tragedy: Foggerty’s Fairy : Rosen- 
 crantz and Guildenstern : Patience : Princess Ida : The 
 Mikado : Ruddigore : The Yeoman of the Guard : The Gon- 
 doliers ; The Mountebanks. ;. Utopia, Limited 
 
\ 
 
 ST. MARTIN’S LIBRARY (continued). GILBERT’s Piavs, 
 Fourrn Serms: The Fairy’s Dilemma : Gs: Grand Duke : tis 
 Excellency : “ Haste to the Wedding”: Fallen; Fairies :;The © 
 Gentleman in Black": _Brantinghame Hall : Aereabuce’ of Tinphl ah’: 
 
 Randall’s Thumb : The Fortune-Hunter : Thespis : The 
 Hooligan : Trying a Dramatist. With a Portrait of the Author 
 
 _ “By "THOMAS HARDY ' 
 Unper ‘Tue GREENWOOD ‘TREE. 
 
 L 
 
 By, ALEXANDER, HERZEN 
 
 Translated from the Russian by Constance Garnett 
 My Past anp THoucuts: THe Memoirs or 
 ALEXANDER ,HERZzEN 
 .First, 4 volumes; 
 
 By: C.;E., MONTAGUE 
 
 ‘DisENCHANTMENT 
 
 By? Dr.i FRANCIS’ RABELAIS 
 — GarcAntua! AND’ PANTAGRUEL — 
 The translation of Sir Thomas Urquhart and Peter Le 
 
 Motteux. In 3 vols. 
 
 By H.! A... FAINE 
 Hisrory oF Encrish Literature 
 bao ody spose with 33 snpirers 
 
 By ANTON TCHEHOV 
 
 Translated, from the Russian by Constance Garnett. 
 
 Tue Ranks 
 
 Vol. 'T. Tue Dartino, Fe: apts Darling : Tolstoy's Criticism on 
 
 “The ‘Darling’: Ariadne’ :’'Polinka ‘:’ Anyuta’ : The “Two 
 
 Volodyas : The’ Trousseau *: The Helpmate': Talent: : Ab Artist’s: 
 iStory SPR eats Ae ee 
 
 tad ate 
 
 
 

 

 

 
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