 Day seven, the ninth story of the Decameron. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Eugene Smith. The Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio. Translated by J. M. Rigg. Day seven, the ninth story. Lydia, wife of Nicostratus, loves Pyrrhus, who, to assure himself thereof, asks three things of her, all of which she does, and therewithal enjoys him, in the presence of Nicostratus, and makes Nicostratus believe that what he saw was not real. So diverting did the ladies find Nayfeele's story, that it kept them still loving and talking, though the king, having bidden from Philo tell his story, had several times enjoyed silence upon them. However, as soon as they had done what Philo thus began. He thinks, worshipful ladies, there is no venture, though fraught with gravist peril, that whoso loves ardently will not make. Of which truth, exemplified though it has been in stories not a few, I purpose to afford you yet more signal proof in one which I shall tell you. Wherein you will hear of a lady who, in her enterprises, owed far more to the favor of fortune than to the guidance of reason. Wherefore I should not advise any of you rashly to follow in her footsteps, seeing that fortune is not always in a kindly mood, nor are the eyes of all men equally holding. In Argos, the most ancient city of Arkaya, the fame of whose kings of old time is out of all proportion to its size, there dwelt of your Nicostratus, a nobleman, to whom, when he was already verging on old age, fortune gave to wife a great lady, Lydia by name, whose courage matched her charms. Nicostratus, as suited with his rank and wealth, kept not a few retainers and hounds and hawks, and was mightily addicted to the chase. Among his dependents was a young man named Pyrrhus, a gallant of no mean accomplishment, and goodly of person and beloved and trusted by Nicostratus above all other. Of whom Lydia grew mightily enamored, in so much that neither by day nor by night might her thoughts stray from him. But, whether it was that Pyrrhus wist not her love, or would have none of it, he gave no sign of recognition. Whereby the lady's suffering waxing more than she could bear, she made up her mind to declare her love to him. And having a chambermaid, Lusca by name, in whom she placed great trust, she called her, and said, Lusca, tokens thou hast had from me of my regard that that should ensure thy obedience and loyalty, wherefore have a care that what I shall now tell thee reach the ears of none but him to whom I shall bid thee impart it. Thou seest, Lusca, that I am in the prime of my youth, in lusty head, and have neither lack nor stint of all such things as folk desire, save only, to be brief, that I have one cause to repine, to wit, that my husband's ears so far outnumber my own. Wherefore, with that, whereon young ladies take most pleasure, I am but ill provided, and as my desire is no less than theirs, it is now some while since I determine that if fortune has shown herself so little friendly to me by giving me a husband so advanced in years, at least I will not be my own enemy by sparing to devise the means whereby my happiness and health may be assured. And that herein, as in all other matters, my joy may be complete. I have chosen thereto to minister by his embraces our appearance, deeming him more worthy than any other man, and have so set my heart upon him that I am ever ill at ease, save when he is present, either to my sight or to my mind. In so much that, unless I forgather with him without delay, I doubt that will be the death of me. And so, if thou wouldst hold my life dear, thou wilt show him my love on such wise of thou may esteem best, and make my suit to him that he be pleased to come to me, when thou shalt go to fetch him. That, gladly will I, replied the chambermaid, and as soon as she found convenient time and place, she drew Pyrrhus apart, and as best she knew how, conveyed her ladies' message to him. Which Pyrrhus found passing strange to hear, for it was in truth a complete surprise to him, and he doubted the lady did but mean to try him. Wherefore, he presently, and with some asperity, answered thus, Lusca, believe I cannot, this message comes from my lady. Have a care, therefore, what thou sayest. And if, perchance, it does come from her, I doubt she does not mean it. And if, perchance, she does mean it, why, then I am bound by my Lord above what I deserve, and I would not for my life do him such a wrong. So have a care, never to speak of such matters to me again. Lusca, no wise disconcerted by his uncompliant tone, rejoined, I shall speak to thee, Pyrrhus, of these and all other matters, wherewith I may be commissioned by my lady, as often as she shall bid me, whether it pleases or irks thee. But thou art a blockhead. So, somewhat chafed, Lusca bore Pyrrhus's answer back to her lady, who would faint have died when she heard it, and some days afterwards resumed the topic, saying, Now notice, Lusca, that is not the first stroke that fells the oak. Wherefore, me thinks, thou art best go back to this strange man, who is minded to evince his loyalty at my expense, and choosing a convenient time, declare to him all my passion, and do thy best endeavor that the affair be carried through, for if it should thus lapse, it would be the death of me. Besides which, he would think we had but trifled with him, and whereas tis his love we would have, we should earn his hatred. So, after comforting the lady, the maid hide her in quest of Pyrrhus, whom she found in a glansome and propitious mood, and thus addressed. Tis not many days, Pyrrhus, since I declared to thee how ardent is the flame with which thy lady and mine is consumed for love of thee, and now again I do thee wit thereof, and that, if thou shalt not relent of the harshness that thou didst manifest the other day, thou mayest rest assured that her life will be short. Wherefore, I pray thee to be pleased to give her solace of her desire, and shouldst thou persist in thy audacity, I, that give thee credit for not a little sense, shall deem thee a great fool. How flatter thou shouldst be to know thyself beloved above all else by a lady so beauteous and high-born, and how indebted shouldst thou feel thyself to fortune, seeing that she has in store for thee a boon so great, and so suited to the cravings of thy youth, I, and so like to be of service to thee upon occasion of need. Be think thee, if there be any of thine equals whose life is ordered more agreeably than thine will be, if thou but be wise. Which of them wilt thou find so well furnished with arms and horses, clothes and money as thou shalt be, if thou but give my lady thy love? Receive then my words with open mind. Be thyself again. Be think thee that his fortunes weigh to confront a man but once with smiling mean and open lap, and if he then accept not her bounty, he has but himself to blame, if afterward he find himself in want, in beggary. Besides which no such loyalty is demanded between servants and their masters as between friends and kinsfolk, rather it is for servants, so far as they may, to behave towards their masters as their masters behave towards them. Thinkest thou that, if thou hadst a fair wife or mother or daughter or sister that found favor in Nicostratus' eyes, he would be so scrupulous on the point of loyalty as thou art disposed to be in regard of his lady? Thou art a fool, if so thou dost believe. Hold it for certain that if blandishments and supplications did not suffice, he would, whatever thou mightest think of it, have recourse to force. Observe we then towards them and theirs the same rule which they observe towards us and ours. Take the boon that fortune offers thee, repulse her not, rather go thou to meet her, and hail her advance. For be sure that if thou dost not do so, to say not of thy lady's death, which will certainly ensue, thou thyself will repent thee thereof, so often that thou wilt be fain of death. Since he had last seen Lusca, Pyrrhus had repeatedly pondered what she had said to him, and had made his mind up that, should she come again, he would answer her in another sort, and comply in all respects with the lady's desires, provided he might be assured that she was not merely putting him to the proof. Wherefore, he now made answer. Lo now, Lusca, I acknowledge the truth of all that thou sayest, but on the other hand, I know that my lord is not a little wise and wary, and as he has committed all his affairs to my charge, I sorely missed out me that his with his approbation, and by his advice, and but to prove me that Lydia does this. Wherefore, let her do three things which I shall demand of her for my assurance, and then there is not that she shall crave of me, but I will certainly render her prompt obedience. Which three things are these? First, let her in Nicostratus's presence kill his fine sparrowhawk. Then she must send me a lock of Nicostratus's beard, and lastly, one of his best teeth. Hard seemed these terms to Lusca, and hard beyond measure to the lady, but love, that great fodder of enterprise and master of stratagem, gave her resolution to address herself to their performance. Wherefore, through the chambermaid, she sent him word that what he required of her, she would do, and that without either reservation or delay. And there with all she told him that, as he deemed Nicostratus so wise, she would contrive that they should enjoy one another in Nicostratus's presence, and the Nicostratus should believe that it was a mere show. Pyrrhus, therefore, anxiously expected what the lady would do. Some days thus passed, and then Nicostratus gave a great breakfast, as was his frequent want, to certain gentlemen. And when the tables were removed, the lady, robed in green Samite, and richly adorned, came forth of her chamber into the hall wherein they sat, and before the eyes of Pyrrhus and all the rest of the company, hide her to the perch on which stood the sparrow-hulk, that Nicostratus so much prized, and loosed him, and, as if she were minded to carry him on her hand, took him by the jesses, and dashed him against the wall so that he died. We're upon. Alas, my lady, what hast thou done? exclaimed Nicostratus. But she vouchsafed no answer, save that, turning to the gentleman that had sat at meet with him, she said, My lords, ill-fitted were I to take vengeance on a king that had done me despite. If I lacked the courage to be avenged on a sparrow-hulk, you are to know that by this bird I have long been cheated of all the time that ought to be devoted by gentlemen to pleasuring their ladies. For with the first streaks of dawn, Nicostratus has been up and got him to horse and hawk on hand, hide him to the champagne to see him fly, leaving me, such as you see me, alone, an ill-content, a bed. For which cause I have often times been minded to do that which I have now done, and have only refrained therefrom that, biding my time, I might do it in the presence of men that should judge my case justly, as I trust you will do. Which hearing, the gentleman who deemed her affections no less fixed on Nicostratus than her words imported, broke with one accord into a laugh, and turning to Nicostratus, who was so displeased, fell as saying, Now well done of the lady to avenge her wrongs by the death of the sparrow-hulk. And so the lady being withdrawn to her chamber, they passed the affair off with diverse pleasantries, turning the wrath of Nicostratus to laughter. Pyrrhus, who had witnessed what had passed, said to himself, Nobly indeed has my lady begun, and on such wise as promise as well for the felicity of my love. God grant that she so continue. And even so Lydia did. For not many days after she had killed the sparrow-hulk, she, being with Nicostratus in her chamber, from caressing, passed to toying, and trifling with him, and he, sportively pulling her by the hair, gave her occasion to fulfill the second of Pyrrhus' demands, which she did by nimbly laying hold of one of the lesser tufts of his beard, and laughing the while, plucking it so hard that she tore it out of his chin. Which Nicostratus, somewhat resenting, now what cause has thou, quote she, to make such a rye face? Tis but that I have plucked some half-dozen hairs from thy beard. Thou didst not feel it as much as did I, but now thy tugging of my hair. And so they continued jesting and sporting with one another, the lady jealously guarding the tuft that she had torn from the beard, which the very same day she sent to her cherished lover. The third demand caused the lady more thought. But, being amply endowed with wit, and powerfully seconded by love, she failed not to hit upon an apt expedient. Nicostratus had in his service two lads, who, being of gentle birth, had been placed with him by their kinsfolk, that they might learn manners, one of whom, when Nicostratus sat at meat, carved before him, while the other gave him to drink. Both lads, Lydia called to her, and gave them to understand that their breath smelt, and admonished them that, when they waited on Nicostratus, they should hold their heads as far back as possible, saying never a word of the matter to any. The lads, believing her, did as she bade them. Whereupon she took occasion to say to Nicostratus, asked them, mark what these lads do when they wait upon the truth that have I, replied Nicostratus. Indeed, I have often had it in mind to ask them why they do so. Nay, rejoin the lady, spare thyself the pains. For I can tell thee the reason, which I have for some time kept close, as it should vex thee. But as I now see that others begin to beware of it, it need no longer be withheld from thee. Tis for that thy breath stinks shrewdly, that they thus avert their heads from thee. It was not want to be so, nor know I why it should be so, and tis most offensive when thou art in converse with gentleman, and therefore it would be well to find some way of curing it. I wonder what it could be, return Nicostratus. Is it perchance that I have a decayed tooth in my jaw? That may well be, quote Lydia. And taking him to a window, she caused him open his mouth, and after regarding it on this side and that. Oh, Nicostratus, quote she, how couldst thou have endured it so long? Thou hast a tooth here, which, by what I see, is not only decayed, but actually rotten throughout. And beyond all manner of doubt, if thou let it remain long in thy head, twill infect its neighbors. So tis my advice that thou out with it before the matter rose worse. My judgment jumps with thine, quote Nicostratus, wherefore send without delay for a chaiurgeon to draw it. God forbid, return the lady, that chaiurgeon come hither for such a purpose. He thinks the case is such that I can very well dispense with him and draw the tooth myself. Besides which, these chaiurgeons do these things in such a cruel way that I could never endure to see thee or know thee under the hands of any of them. Wherefore my mind is quite made up to do it myself, that at least if thou shalt suffer too much, I may give it over at once as a chaiurgeon would not do. And so she caused the instruments that are used on such occasions to be brought her, and having dismissed all other attendants, saved Lusca from the chamber, and locked the door, made Nicostratus lie down on a table, set the pincers in his mouth, and clapped them on one of his teeth, which, while Lusca held him so that, albeit he roared for pain, he might not move, she wrenched by main force from his jaw, and keeping it close, took from Lusca's hand another and horribly decayed tooth, which she showed him, suffering at half dead as he was, saying, See what thou hadst in thy jaw, mark how far gone it is. Believing what she said, and deeming that now the tooth was out, his breath would no more be offensive, and being somewhat eased of the pain, which had been extreme, it still remained, so that he murmured not little by diverse comforting applications, he quitted the chamber, whereupon the lady forthwith sent the tooth to her lover, who, having now full assurance of her love, placed himself entirely at her service. But the lady being minded to make his assurance yet more sure, and deeming each hour a thousand, till she might be with him, now saw fit for the more ready performance of the promise she had given him to feign sickness, and Nicostratus, coming to see her one day after breakfast, attended only by Pyrrhus, she besought him for her better solismate to help her down to the garden, wherefore Nicostratus, on one side and Pyrrhus on the other, took her and bore her down to the garden, and set her on a lawn at the foot of a beautiful pear tree, and after they had sat there awhile, the lady, who had already given Pyrrhus to understand what he must do, said to him, Pyrrhus, I should greatly like to have some of those pears, get thee up the tree, and shake some of them down. Pyrrhus climbed the tree in a trice, and began to shake down the pears, and while he did so, Fie, sir, quote he, what is this you do? And you, madam, have you no shame that you suffer him to do so in my presence? Think you that I am blind? Twice but now that you were greatly indisposed. Your cure has been speedy indeed to permit of your so behaving, and as for such a purpose, you have so many goodly chambers, why be take you not yourselves to one of them, if you must need so to sport yourselves, to be much more decent than to do so in my presence? Whereupon the lady, turning to her husband, now what can Pyrrhus mean, said she, is he mad? Nay, madam, quote Pyrrhus, mad am not I. Thank you, I see you not. We're at Nicostratus Marble, not a little, and Pyrrhus, quote he, I verily believe thou dreamest. Nay, my lord, replied Pyrrhus, not a whit do I dream, neither do you. Rather, you wag it with such vigor that if this pear-tree did the like, there would be never a pear left on it. Then the lady, what can this mean, quote she, can it be that it really seems to him to be as he says? Upon my hope of salvation were I but in my former health, I would get me up there to judge for myself what these wonders are, which he professes to see. Whereupon, as Pyrrhus and the pear-tree continued talking in the same strange strain, come down, quote Nicostratus, and when he was down. Now what, said Nicostratus, is it thou sayest, thou seest up there? I suppose, replied Pyrrhus, that you take me to be deluded or dreaming, but as I must needs tell you the truth, I saw you lying upon your wife, and then when I came down, I saw you get up and sit you down here, where you now are. Therein, said Nicostratus, thou wast certainly deluded, for since thou clomest the pear-tree, we have not budged a jot, save as thou seest. Then said Pyrrhus, why make more words about the matter? Saw you, I certainly did, and seeing you, I saw you lying upon your own. Nicostratus's wonder now waxed momently, in so much that he said, I am minded to see if this pear-tree be enchanted, so that whoso is in it sees marvels. And so he got him up into it. Whereupon the lady and Pyrrhus fell to desporting them, and Nicostratus, seeing what they were about, exclaimed, Ah, lewd woman, what is this thou doest? And thou, Pyrrhus, in whom I so much trusted! And so saying, he began to climb down. Meanwhile the lady and Pyrrhus made answer, we are sitting here. And seeing him descending, they placed themselves as they had been when he had left them, whom Nicostratus, being come down, no sooner saw than he fell or raiding them. Then, quote Pyrrhus, verily, Nicostratus, I now acknowledge that as you said a while ago, what I saw when I was in the pear-tree was but a false show. Albeit I had never understood that so it was, but that I now see and know that thou hast also seen a false show. And that I speak truth, you may sufficiently assure yourself, if you but reflect, whether it is likely that your wife, who for virtue and discretion has not her peer among women, would, if she were minded so to dishonor you, see fit to do so before your very eyes. Of myself I say not, albeit I had leave her be hewn in pieces, and that I should so much as think of such a thing, much less do it in your presence. Wherefore, it is evident that to some illusion of sight that is propagated from the pear-tree, for not in the world would have made me believe that I saw not you lying there in carnal intercourse with your wife, had I not heard you say that you saw me doing that which most assuredly, so far from doing, I never so much as thought of. The lady then started up with a most resentful mean, and burst out, foul, foul thee, if thou knowest so little of me as to suppose that, if I were minded to do thee such foul dishonor as thou sayest thou did see me do, I would come hither to do it before thine eyes. Rest assured that for such a purpose were it ever mine, I should deem one of our chambers more meat, and that should go hard, but I would so order the matter that thou shouldst never know of it. Nicostratus, having heard both, and deeming that what they both averred must be true, to wit, that they would never have mentioned upon such an act in his presence, passed from chiding to talk of the singularity of the thing, and how marvelous it was that the vision should reshape itself for everyone that combed the tree. The lady, however, made a show of being distressed that Nicostratus should so have thought of her, and verily quoth she, no woman, either I nor another, shall again suffer loss of honor by this pear tree. Run, Pyrrhus, and bring hither an axe, and that one at the same time vindicate thy honor and mine by felling it, albeit to her better for Nicostratus' skull should feel a way to the axe, seeing that in utter heedlessness he so readily suffered the eyes of his mind to be blinded, for, albeit this vision was seen by the bodily eye, yet off the understanding, my no means to have entertained and affirmed it as real. So Pyrrhus presently hide him to fetch the axe, and returning therewith felled the pear, whereupon the lady, turning towards Nicostratus, now that this foe of my honor is fallen, quoth she, my wrath is gone from me. Nicostratus then craving her pardon, she graciously granted it him, bidding him never again to suffer himself to be betrayed into thinking such a thing of her, who loved him more dearly than herself. So the poor, duped husband went back with her, and her lover, to the palace, where not seldom in time to come, Pyrrhus and Lydia took their past time together more at ease. God grant us the like. End of Day 7, the Ninth Story Day 7, the Tenth Story of the Decameron This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For further information or to volunteer, please go to LibriVox.org Reading by Andy Minter The Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio translated by J. M. Rigg Day 7, the Tenth Story Two Sienese-lover Lady, one of them being her gossip. The gossip dies, having promised his comrade to return to him from the other world, which he does, and tells him what sort of life is led there. None was now left to tell. Save the king, who, as soon as the ladies had seized mourning over the fall of the peer-tree, that had done no wrong, and were silent, begins us. Most manifest it is, that is the prime duty of a just king to observe the laws that he has made. And if he do not do so, he is esteemed no king, but a slave that has merited punishment, into which fault, and under which condemnation, I, your king, must of necessity fall. For indeed, when yesterday I made the law which governs our discourse of today, I thought not today to avail myself of my privilege, but to submit to the law no less than you, and to discourse of the same topic, whereof you all have discoursed. But not only has the very story been told, which I had intended to tell, but therewith all so many things else, and so very much goodlier have been said, that search my memory as I may. I cannot mind me of ought, nor what I, that touching such a matter there is indeed ought for me to say, that would be comparable with what has been said. Wherefore, as infringe I must, the law that I myself have made, I confess myself worthy of punishment, and instantly declaring my readiness to pay any forfeit that may be demanded of me, I am minded to have recourse to my wanted privilege. And such, dearest ladies, is the potency of Eliza's story of the Godfather and his gossip, and therewith of the simplicity of the C&E's, that I am prompted thereby to pass from this topic of the beguilement of foolish husbands by their cunning wives, to a little story touching the same C&E's, which, albeit there is not a little therein which you are best not to believe, may yet be, in some degree, entertaining to hear. No, then, but at Siena, the dwelt in Porta Sallia, two young men of the people, named the one, Tingoccio Mini, and the other, Muccio Dettura, who, by what appeared, loved one another not a little, for they were scarce ever out of one another's company, and being want like other folk to go to church and listen to sermons, they heard from time to time of the glory and the woe which in the other world are allotted, according to merit, to the souls of the dead, of which matters, craving, but being unable to come by, more certain assurance, they agreed together that, whichever of them should die first, should, if he might, return to the survivor, and certify him of that which he would feign know, and this agreement they confirmed with an oath. Now, after they had made this engagement, and while they were still constantly together, Tingoccio chanced to become sponsor to one Ambrugio Ancelmini, the dwelt in Camporeggi, who had had a son by his wife from Monimita. The lady was exceeding fair and amorous with all, and Tingoccio being want sometimes to visit her as his gossip, and to take Muccio with him. He, notwithstanding his sponsorship, grew enamoured of her, as did also Muccio, for she pleased him not a little, and he heard her much commended by Tingoccio, which love each concealed from the other, but not for the same reason. Tingoccio was averse to discover it to Muccio, for that he deemed it an ignominious thing to love his gossip, and was ashamed to let any one know it. Muccio was on his guard for a very different reason to it, but he was already aware that the lady was in Tingoccio's good graces. Wherefore, he said to himself, if I avow my love to him, he will be jealous of me, and as, being her gossip, he can speak with her as often as he pleases, he will do all he can to make her hate me, and so I shall never have any favour of her. Now, the two young men being thus, as I have said, on terms of most familiar friendship, it befell that Tingoccio, being the better able to open his heart to the lady, did so order his demeanour and discourse that he had from her all that he desired. Nor was his friend's success hidden from Muccio, much as it vexed him, yet still cherishing the hope of eventually attaining his end, and fearing to give Tingoccio occasion to bulk or hamper him in some way, he feigned to know naught of the matter. So Tingoccio, more fortunate than his comrade and rival in love, did with such aciduity till his gossip's good land that he got there by a malady, which in the course of some days waxed so grievous that he succumbed there too, and departed this life. And on the night of the third day after his decease, the chance because earlier he might not, he made his appearance according to his promise in Muccio's chamber, and called Muccio, who was fast asleep by his name, whereupon "'Who art thou?' quote Muccio as he awoke. "'Tis I, Tingoccio,' replied he, come back in fulfilment of the pledge I gave thee to give thee tidings of the other world. For a while Muccio saw him not without terror, and then his courage reviving. "'Welcome, my brother,' quote he, and proceeded to ask him if he were lost. "'Not is lost, but what is irrecoverable,' replied Tingoccio. "'How then should I be here if I were lost?' "'Nay,' quote then Muccio, I mean it not so. I would know of thee whether thou art of the number of souls that are condemned to the penal fire of hell.' "'Why, no,' returned to Tingoccio, not just that, but still for the sins that I did I am in most sore and grievous torment.' Muccio then questioned Tingoccio in detail of the pains there meted out for each of the sins done here, and Tingoccio enumerated them all, whereupon Muccio asked if there were ought he might do for him here on earth. Tingoccio answered in the affirmative to wit that he might have masses and prayers said and arms deeds done for him, for that such things were of great service to the souls there. "'That gladly will I,' replied Muccio, and then as Tingoccio was about to take his leave he bethought him of the gossip, and raising his head a little he said, "'I mind me, Tingoccio, of the gossip, with whom thou wast want to lie when thou was here. Now what is thy punishment for that?' "'My brother,' replied Tingoccio, as soon as I got down there I met one that seemed to know all my sins by heart, who bade me betake myself to a place where, in darest torment, I bewet my sins. I found comrades not a few condemned to the same pains, and so standing there among them, and calling to mind what I had done with the gossip, and foreboding in requital thereof a much greater torment than had yet been allotted me, albeit I was in a great and most vehement flame, I quaked for fear in every part of me, which one that was beside me observing. "'What, quote, he hast thou done more than the rest of us that are here, that thou quakeest thus as thou standest in the fire? My friend, quote, I, I am in mortal fear of the doom that I expect for a great sin that I once committed.' He then asked what sin it might be. "'Twas on this wise,' replied I. I lay with my gossip, and that so much that I died thereof. Whereat he did but laugh, saying, Go to fool, make thy mind easy, for here there is no account taken of gossips, which completely revived my drooping spirits. "'Twas now near daybreak. Wherefore, adieu, Mioccio,' quote his friend, for longer tarry with thee I may not.' And so he vanished. As for Mioccio, having learnt that no account was taken of gossips in the other world, he began to laugh at his own folly, in that he had already spared divers such, and so, being quit of his ignorance, he, in that respect, in course of time, waxed wise. Which matters, had Frarin Aldo but known, he would not have needed to go about syllogising in order to bring his fair gossip to pleasure him. End of Day 7 The Tenth Story Day 7 The Conclusion of the Decameron This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. City Cameron by Giovanni Bocaccio. Translated by H. M. Rake. Day 7 The Conclusion The sun was wistering, and the light breathed blue, when the king, his story ended, and none else being left to speak arose, and taking off the crown, set it on Loretta's head, saying, Madam, I crown you with yourself queen of our company, just now for you, as our sovereign, lady, to make our ordinances as you shall deem meat for our common solace and delectation. And having so said, he set him down again. Queen Loretta sent for the seneschal, and bade him have a care, that the tale will should be set in the pleasant wail, somewhat earlier than had been there once, that their return to the palace may be more leisurely, after which she gave him to know what else he had to do during her sovereignty. Then turning to the company, yesterday I quelled she, the onale would have it, that today we would discourse of the tricks that wives play their husbands. And but that I am minded not to show as of the breed of helping curse, that are ever prompt to retaliate, I would ordain that tomorrow we discourse of the tricks that husbands play their wives. Cove, ever, in loyals therefore, I will have every one take thought to tell of those tricks, that daily women place men, or men women, or one man another, wherein I doubt not, there will be matter of discourse no less agreeable than has been of that of today. So saying she rose, and dismissed the company until supper time. So the ladies and the men being risen, some barred their feet, and betook them to the clear water, there to desport them, while others took their pleasure upon the green lawn, amid the trees, that there grew goodly and straight. For no brief while Dioneo and Fiamata sang in concert of Arsita and Palamon, and so, each and all taking their several post-times, they spent the hours with succeeding great delight until supper time. Which being come, they sat them down a table beside the little lake, and there, while a thousand songsters charmed their ears, and the gentle breeze, that blew from the environing hills, fan them, and never a fly annoyed them, reposefully and joyously they sapped. The tables removed, they rode awhile about the pleasant wail, and then the sun being still high, for it was but half-westers. The queen gave the ward, and they rendered their ways back to their wanted abode, and going slowly and beguiling the waves quips in gurgs, without number upon diverse matters. Nor those alone of which they had the day discourced, they arrived hard upon nightfall at the goodly palace. There, the short walks fatigued dispelled by wines most cool and confets, they presently gathered for the dance about the fair fountain, and now they floated it to the strength of Tindaro's corny muse, and now to other music. Which, down to the queen, made Filomena give them a song, and thus Filomena sang. Oh, woe is me, my soul! Oh, shall I ever thither fear again, once I was parted to my grievous door? For sure I know not, but within my breast, so I observe the same fire of yearning there, where erst I was to be. O thou in whom is all my will, my rest, Lord of my heart's desire, I'll tell me thou, for none to ask safety, neither dare I nor see. Ah, dear my lord, this wasted heart disdain, thou wilt not, but with hope at length console. Kindle the flame, I know not, but delight, which me dost so devour, that day and night, alike I find no ease, for whether it was by hearing, touch, or sight, unwanted was the power, and fresh the fire that me each day did seize. Wherein, without release, I languish still, and if, dear lord, I'm faint, for thou alone canst comfort and make whole. Ah, tell me, if it shall be, and how soon, that I again day meet, where dost death-dealing eyes I kiss, thou chief, will of my soul, my very soul, this boon, that I not, say that fleet, thou highest hither, comfort dost my grief. Ah, let the time be brief, till thou art here, and then long time remain, for I, love's dragon, grave but love's control. Let me but once again, mine own, they call, no more so indiscreet, as erst I'll be, to let thee from me part, nay, I'll still hold thee, let what may befall, and I've dine out so sweet, such solace take as may content my heart, so this be all my art, thee to entice, me with dine arms to enchain, whereon but musing in light chance my soul. The song said of the company conjecturing, what new and delightsome love might now hold Wilomena in its way, and as its words imported, that she had more joy in their off, than sight alone might yield, some that were there grew envious of her excess of happiness. However, the song being ended, the queen, by singing her that tomorrow was Friday, thus graciously addressed them all. Give out noble ladies, and you also my gallants, that tomorrow is the day that is sacred to the passion of our lord, which, if ye remember, we kept devotely when Nayfila was queen, intermitting delectable discourse, as we did also on the ensuing Saturday. Therefore, being minded to fellow Nayfila's excellent example, I deem that now, as then, it were a singly thing to surcease from this our pastime of storytelling, for those two days, and compose our mind to meditation on what was at that season accomplished for the will of our souls. All the company having approved their queen's devout speech, she, as the night was no part spent, dismissed them, and so they all betook them to slumber. End of Conclusion of the Seventh Day Day Eight The Introduction Off the Decameron This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio, translated by M. Rigg. Day Eight The Introduction End us here the Seventh Day of the Decameron, Beginneth the Eight, in which, under the rule of Lauretta, discourses had of those tricks, that daily, woman plays man, or man woman, or one man another. The summits of the loftiest mountains were already illumined, by the rays of the rising sun, the shades of night were fled, and all things plainly visible, when the queen and her company arose, and heared them first to the duvy mead, where for a while they walked. Then, about half-years, they went at their way to a little church that was hard by, where they heard divine service, after which they returned to the palace, and having breakfasted with gay and gladsome cheer, and thung and danced a while, where dismissed by the queen, to rest them as to each might seem good. But when the sun was past the meridian, the queen mustered them again for their wanted pastime, and all being seated by the fair fountain, thus at her command, Mayfula began. End of Introduction of the Day Eight Day Eight The First Story of the Decameron This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. Recording by Ruth Golding The Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio, translated by J. M. Rig. Day Eight The First Story Golfardo borrows monies of Guasparuolo, which he has agreed to give Guasparuolo's wife that he may lie with her. He gives them to her, and in her presence, tells Guasparuolo that he has done so, and she acknowledges that tis true. Sith God has ordained that tis for me to take the lead today with my story, well pleased am I. And for that, loving ladies, much has been said touching the tricks that women play men, I am minded to tell you of one that a man played a woman, not because I would censure what the man did, or say that was not merited by the woman, but rather to commend the man and censure the woman, and to show that men may beguile those that think to beguile them, as well as be beguiled by those they think to beguile. For per adventure what I am about to relate should, in strictness of speech, not be termed beguilement, but rather retaliation. For as it behoves woman to be most strictly virtuous, and to guard her chastity as her very life, nor on any account to allow herself to sully it, which, notwithstanding tis not possible by reason of our frailty that there should be as perfect an observance of this law as were meet, I affirm that she that allows herself to infringe it for money merits the fire. Whereas she that so offends under the prepotent stress of love will receive pardon from any judge that knows how to temper justice with mercy, witness what but the other day we heard from Filastrato touching Madonna Filippa at Prato. Know, then, that there was once at Milan a German mercenary, Golfardo by name, a doubty man, and very loyal to those with whom he took service, a quality most uncommon in Germans. And as he was wont to be most faithful in repaying whatever monies he borrowed, he would have no difficulty in finding a merchant to advance him any amount of money at a low rate of interest. Now, tarrying thus at Milan, Golfardo fixed his affection on a very fine woman, named Madonna Ambroogia, the wife of a wealthy merchant, Juan Guasparuolo Cagastraccio, with whom he was well acquainted and on friendly terms, which amour he managed with such discretion that neither the husband nor anyone else wist ought of it. So one day he sent her a message beseeching her of her courtesy to gratify his passion, and assuring her that he on his part was ready to obey her every behest. The lady made a great many words about the affair, the upshot of which was that she would do as Golfardo desired upon the following terms, to which, that in the first place, he should never discover the matter to a soul. And secondly, that as for some purpose or another she required two hundred florins of gold, he, out of his abundance, should supply her necessity. These conditions being satisfied, she would be ever at his service. Offended by such base sordidness in one whom he had supposed to be an honourable woman, Golfardo passed from ardent love to something very like hatred, and cast about how he might flout her. So he sent her word that he would right gladly pleasure her in this and in any other matter that might be in his power. Let her but say when he was come to see her, and he would bring the monies with him, and none should know of the matter except a comrade of his in whom he placed much trust, and who was privy to all that he did. The lady, if she should not rather be called the punk, gleefully made answer that in the course of a few days her husband, Guasparuolo, was to go to Genoa on business, and that when he was gone she would let Golfardo know, and appoint a time for him to visit her. Golfardo thereupon chose a convenient time, and hide him to Guasparuolo, to whom, I am come, quote he, about a little matter of business which I have on hand, for which I require two hundred florins of gold, and I should be glad if thou would lend them me at the rate of interest which thou art won't to charge me. That gladly will I, replied Guasparuolo, and told out the money at once. A few days later, Guasparuolo being gone to Genoa as the lady had said, she sent word to Golfardo that he should bring her the two hundred florins of gold. So, Guasparuolo hide him with his comrade to the lady's house, where he found her expecting him, and lost no time in handing her the two hundred florins of gold in his comrade's presence, saying, you will keep the money, madam, and give it to your husband when he returns. Witting not why Guasparuolo so said, but thinking that it was but to conceal from his comrade that it was given by way of price. The lady made answer, that will I gladly, but I must first see that the amount is right. Whereupon she told the florins out upon a table, and when she found that the two hundred were there she put them away in high glee, and turning to Golfardo took him into her chamber, where, not on that night only, but on many another night, while her husband was away, he had of her all that he craved. On Guasparuolo's return, Golfardo presently paid him a visit, having first made sure that the lady would be with him, and so in her presence. Guasparuolo, quote he, I had, after all no occasion for the money, to which the two hundred florins of gold that thou didst lend me the other day, being unable to carry through the transaction for which I borrowed them, and so I took an early opportunity of bringing them to thy wife, and gave them to her. Thou wilt'st therefore cancel the account. Whereupon Guasparuolo turned to the lady, and asked her if she had them. She, not daring to deny the fact in presence of the witness, answered, Why, yes, I had them, and quite forgot to tell thee. Good, quote then, Guasparuolo, we are quits, Golfardo, make thy mind easy, I will see that thy account is set right. Golfardo then withdrew, leaving the flouted lady to hand over her ill-gotten gains to her husband, and so the astute lover had his pleasure of his greedy mistress for nothing. End of Day 8, The First Story, Recording by Ruth Golding. Day 8, The Second Story of the Decameron. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Eugene Smith. The Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio, translated by J. M. Rigg. Day 8, The Second Story. The priest of Valungo lies with Mona Belcalore. He leaves with her his cloak by way of pledge, and receives from her a mortar. He returns the mortar, in demands of her the cloak that he had left in pledge, which the good lady returns him with a jib. Ladies and men alike, commanded Golfardo for the check that he gave to the creed of the millennia's lady. But before they had done, the queen turned to Pamphilo, and with a smile, bathed him full of suit. Wherefore, thus Pamphilo began. There, my ladies, it occurs to me to tell you a short story, which reflects no credit on those by whom we are continually wronged without being able to retaliate, to wit, the priests, who have instituted a crusade against our wives, and deem that, when they have made conquest of one of them, they have done a work every wit as worthy of recompense by remission of sin and punishment, as if they had brought the sold-on and chains to Avignon. In which respect, it is not possible for the hapless laity to be even with them, albeit they are as hot to make reprisals on the priests' mothers, sisters, mistresses, and daughters as the priests to attack their wives. Wherefore, I am minded to give you, as I may do, in few words, the history of a rustic amour, the conclusion whereof was not a little laughable, nor barren of moral, for you may also gather therefrom, that is not always well to believe everything that a priest says. I say, then, that at Varlungo, a village hard by here, as all of you, my ladies, should want either of your own knowledge or by report, there dwelt a worthy priest, and doubty of body in the service of the ladies, who, albeit he was none too quick at his book, had no lack of precious and lessened solicisms to edify his flock with all of a Sunday under the Elbe. And when the men were out of doors, he would visit their wives as never a priest had done before him, bringing them feast-day gowns and holy water, and now again a bit of candle, and giving them his blessing. Now it so befell that among those of his fair parishioners, whom he most affected, the first place was at length taken by one Mona Belcolore, the wife of a husbandman, that called himself Ventivegna del Matzo. And in good soothe, she was a winsome and lusty country lass, brown as a berry and buxom enough, and fitter than air another for his mill. Moreover, she had not her match in playing the tablet and singing. The borage is full sappy, and in leading a brawl or a breakdown, no matter whom might be next to her, with a fair and dainty kerchief in her hand. Which spells so wrought upon Master Priest, that for love of her he grew distracted, and did not all day long but loiter about the village on the chance of catching sight of her. And if of a Sunday morning he has spied her in church, he strove might and main to acquit himself of his Kyrie and Sanctus in the style of a great singer, albeit his performance was like her to the braying of an ass. Whereas, if he saw her not, he scarce exerted himself at all. However, he managed with such discretion that neither Ventivegna del Matzo, or any of the neighbors, wist awe of his love. And hoping thereby to ingratiate himself with the Mona Belcalore, he from time to time would send her presents, now a clove of fresh garlic, the best in all the countryside from his own garden, which he tilled with his own hands, and anon a basket of beans or a bunch of chives or shallots. And when he thought it might serve his turn, he would give her a sly glance, and follow it up with a little amorous mocking and mowing, which she, with rustic awkwardness, feigned not to understand, and never maintained her reserve, so that Master Priest made no headway. Now it so befell that one day, when the priest at high noon was aimlessly gating about the village, he encountered Ventivegna del Matzo at the tail of a well-laden ass, and greeted him, asking him whether he was going. Efe, sir, quoth Ventivegna, for sure, tis to tell, and I go, having an affair or two, to attend to there, and I'm taking these things to Ser Bona Corre de Gina Stretto, to get him to stand by me, and I what not what matter, whereof the justice of the quorum has by his provoker served me with a pertumpery summons to appear before him, whereupon. Tis well, my son, quoth the priest, overjoyed, my blessing go with thee. Good luck to thee, at a speedy return, and, harky, shouldst thou see Lapuccio or Naldino, do not forget to tell them to send me those thongs for my flails. It shall be done, quoth Ventivegna, and jogged on towards Florence, while the priest, thinking that now was his time to hide him to Belcalore and try his fortune, put his best leg forward, and stayed not till he was at the house. Which entering, he said, God be gracious to us who is within! Belcalore, who was up in the loft, made answer, Welcome, sir, but what dost thou gattie about in the heat? Why, as I hope for God's blessing, quoth he, I have just come to stay with thee for a while, having met thy husband on his way to town. Whereupon down came Belcalore, took a seat, and began sifting cabbage seed that her husband had lately threshed. By and by the priest began, So Belcalore, wilt thou keep me ever a-dying, thus? Where at Belcalore, tittered, and said, Why, what's it I do to you? Truly, nothing at all, replied the priest, But thou sufferest me not to do to thee that which I had leave, and which God commands. No, way with you, returned Belcalore, and do priests do that sort of thing? Indeed, we do, quoth the priest, and to better purpose than others. Why not? I tell you, our grinding is far better. And which thou know why? Tis because tis intermittent. And in truth, it will be well worth thy while to keep thine own counsel, and let me do it. Worth my while, ejaculated Belcalore, how may that be? There is never a one of you but would overreach the very devil. Tis not for me to say, returned the priest, Say, but what thou wouldst have? Shall it be a pair of dainty shoes? Or wouldst thou prefer a fillet? Or perchance of gay rebound? What's thy will? Marry, no lack have I, quoth Belcalore, and have such things as these. But if you wish me so well, why do me not as service? And I would then be at your command. Name but the service, returned the priest, and gladly will I do it. Quoth then, Belcalore. On Saturday I have to go to Florence to deliver some wool that I have spun, and to get my spinning wheel put in order. Lend me but five pounds, I know you have them. And I will redeem my purse petticoat from the pawn shop, and also the girdle that I wear on Saints' Day's, and that I had when I was married. You see that without them I cannot go to church or anywhere else. And then I will do just as you wish, thenceforth and forever. We're upon. So, God, give me a good year, quoth he, as I have not the money with me, but never fear that I will see that thou hast it before Saturday with all the pleasure in life. I rejoin, Belcalore. You all make great promises, but then you never keep them. Think you to serve me as you serve Biliuza, whom you left in the lurch at last. God's faith you do not so. Do think that she turned woman of the world just for that. If you have not the money with you, why go and get it. Prithee, returned the priest, send me not home just now. For see is thou, tis the very nick of time with me, and the coast is clear. And, perchance, it might not be so on my return, and in short I know not when it would be likely to go so well as now. Where too she did but rejoin. Good, if you are minded to go, get you gone. If not, stay where you are. The priest, therefore, seeing that she was not disposed to give him what he wanted, as he was feigned to wit on his own terms, but was bent on having a quid pro quo, changed his tone. And, lo now, quoth he, thou doubtest I will not bring thee the money, so to set thy mind at rest I will leave thee this cloak. Thou seest his good sky-blue silk in pledge. So, raising her head and glassing at the cloak, and what made the cloak be worth, quoth bel colore, worth, ejaculated the priest, I would have thee know that tis all do I, not to say true I make. Nay, there are some of our folk here that say tis quadruy, and tis not a fortnight since I bought it of Locto, the second-hand dealer, for seven good pounds, and then had it five good sold I under value, by what I hear from Bullietto, who, thou knowest, is an excellent judge of these articles. Oh, say you so, exclaimed bel colore, so help me God, I should not have thought it. However, let me look at it. So, master priest, being ready for action, doth the cloak, and handed it to her. And she, having put it in a safe place, said to him, Now, sir, we will away to the hut. There is never a soul goes there. And so they did. And there, master priest, give here many a mighty bus, and straining her to his sacred person, solaced himself with her no little while. Which done, he hide him away in his cassock, as if he were come from officiating at a wedding. But when he was back in his holy quarters, he bethaw him that not all the candles that he received by way of offering in the course of an entire year, would amount to half of five pounds, and saw that he had made a bad bargain, and repented him that he had left the cloak in pledge, and cast about how he might recover it without paying anything. And as he did not lack cunning, he had upon an excellent expedient, by which he compassed his end. So, on the morrow, being a saint's day, he sent a neighbor's lad to Mono Belcalore, with a request that she would be so good as to lend him her stone mortar, for that Binguccio del Poggio and Nuto Bulietti were to breakfast with him that morning, and he therefore wished to make a sauce. Belcalore, having sent the mortar, the priest, about breakfast time, reckoning that Ventivania del Matzo and Belcalore would be at their meal, called his clerk, and said to him, Take the mortar back to Belcalore, and say, My master, thanks you very kindly, and bid you return the cloak that the lad left with you in pledge. The clerk took the mortar to Belcalore's house, where, finding her at table with Ventivania, he set the mortar down and delivered the priest's message. Where to Belcalore would Thane have demurred? But Ventivania gave her a threatening glance, saying, So then thou take us to pledge from Master Priest? By Christ I vow I have half a mind to give thee a great card of the chin. Go give it back at once, or marane on thee. And look to it that whatever he may have a mind to, were in our very ass, he be never denied. So, with a very bad grace, Belcalore got up and went to the wardrobe, and took out the cloak, and gave it to the clerk, saying, Tell thy master from me, Would to God he may never apply pestil in my mortar again? Such honor has he done me for this turn. So the clerk returned with the cloak, and delivered the message to Master Priest, who, laughing, made answer, Tell her, when thou next seized her, That so she lend us not the mortar, I will not lend her the pestil, be it tit for tat. Ventivania made no account of his wife's words, deeming that it was but his chiding that had provoked them. But Belcalore was not a little displeased with Master Priest, and had never a word to say to him till the vintage, after which, what with the salutary fear in which she stood in the mouth of Lucifer the Great, to which he threatened to consign her, and the must and roast chestnuts that he sent her, she made it up with him, and many a jolly time they had together. And though she got not the five pounds from him, he put a new skin on her tabret, and fitted it with a little bell, wherewith she was satisfied. End of Day 8, The Second Story Calandrino, Bruno, and Bufal Makko, go in quest of the heliotrop beside the muñone. Thinking to have found it, Calandrino gets him home laden with stones. His wife chides him, where at he waxes froth, beats her, and tells his comrades what they know better than he. Ended Panfilo's story, which mowed the ladies to an extinguishable laughter, the queen made a lisa-fellow suit, whereupon, laughing, she says, began. I know not, debonair my ladies, whether with my little story, which is no less true than entertaining, I shall give you occasion to laugh as much as Panfilo has done with his, but I will do my best. In our city, where there has never been lack of odd humours and queer folk, there dwelt, not long time ago, a painter named Calandrino, a simple soul of uncouth manners, that spent most of his time with two other painters, the one Bruno, the other Bufal Makko, by name, pleasant fellows enough, but not without their full share of sound and shrewd sense, and who kept with Calandrino, for that they not seldom found his singular ways, and his simplicity very diverting. There was also, at the same time, at Florence, one mazzo del saggio, a fellow marvelously entertaining by his cleverness, dexterity and unfailing resource, who, having heard somewhat touching Calandrino's simplicity, resolved to make fun of him by playing him a trick, and inducing him to believe some prodigy. And happening one day to come upon Calandrino, in the church of San Giovanni, where he sat intently regarding the paintings and intaglios of the tabernacle above the altar, which had then but lately been set there, he deemed time and place convenient for the execution of his design, which he accordingly imparted to one of his comrades, whereupon the two men drew nigh the place where Calandrino sat alone, and feigning not to see him fell a talking of the virtues of diverse stones, of which mazzo spoke as aptly and pertinently as if he had been a great and learned lapidary. Calandrino heard what passed between them, and, witting that was no secret, after a while got up and joined them to mazzo's no small delight. He therefore continued his discourse, and, being asked by Calandrino, where the stones of such rare virtues were to be found, made answer, chiefly in Berlinzone, in the land of the Basques. The district is called Bengodi, and there they bind the vines with sausages, and a denier will buy a goose and a gosling into the bargain. And, on a mountain, all of great parmesan cheese, dwell folk that do not else but make macaroni and ravioli, and boil them in capence broth, and then throw them down to be scrambled for, and hard by flows a rivulet of vernaccia, the best that ever was drunk, and never a drop of water therein. Ah, this a sweet country, quote Calandrino, but tell me, what becomes of the capence that they boil? They are all eaten by the Basques, replied Mazzo. Then, what's thou ever there, quote Calandrino, whereupon was I ever there, says thou, replied Mazzo? Why, if I have been there once, I have been there a thousand times, and how many miles is it from here, quote Calandrino? Oh, returned Mazzo, more than thou could snumber in a night without slumber. Father of, then, Diabruzzi, said Calandrino? Why, yes, this a bit farther, replied Mazzo. Now, Calandrino, like the simple soul that he was, marking the composed and grave countenance with which Mazzo spoke, could not have believed him more thoroughly if he had uttered the most patent truth and thus taking his words for gospel. Tis a trifle too far for my purse, quote he, where at Nyer I warned thee, I would go with thee thither one while, just to see the macaroni come tumbling down and take my fill thereof. But tell me, so good luck befall thee, are none of these stones that have these rare verches to be found in these regions? A, replied Mazzo, two sorts of stone are found there, both of Virtus Extraordinary. The one sort are the sandstones of Setignano and Monteschi, which, being made into millstones, by virtue thereof flower is made, wherefore, tis a common saying in those countries that blessings come from God and millstones from Monteschi. But for that these sandstones are in great plenty, they are held cheap by us, just as by them are emeralds, whereof they have mountains bigger than Monte Morello, that shine at midnight a God's name. And know this, that Housseau should make a goodly pair of millstones and connect them with a ring before ever a hole was drilled in them, then take them to the soldan should get all he would have thereby. The other sort of stone is the Heliotrop, as we lapidaries call it, a stone of very great virtue, inasmuch as Housseau carries it on his person, is seen so long as he keep it by never another soul, where he is not. These be Virtus great indeed, quote Calandrino, but where is the second stone to be found? Where too Masso made answer that there were usually some to be found in Mugnone. And what are its size and color? Quote Calandrino. The size varies, replied Masso, for some are bigger and some smaller than others, but all are of the same color being nearly black. All these matters, Julie marked and fixed in his memory, Calandrino made as if he had other things to attend to, and took his leave of Masso, with the intention of going in quest of the stone, but not until he had let his special friends, Bruno and Bufal Makko know of his project. So that no time might be lost, but postponing everything else, they might begin the quest at once, he set about looking for them and spent the whole morning in the search. At length, when it was already past none, he called to mind that they would be at work in the fainting women's convent, and though it was excessively hot, he let nothing stand in his way, but at a pace that was more like a run than a walk, he'd him thither, and so soon as he had made them aware of his presence, thus he spoke, comrades. So you are but minded to hearken to me, tis in our power to become the richest men in Florence, for I am informed by one that may be trusted, that there is a kind of stone in the Mugnone which renders whoso carries it invisible to every other soul in the world. Wherefore, me things, we were wise to let none have the start of us, but go search for the stone without any delay. We shall find it without a doubt, for I know what tis like, and when we have found it, we have but to put it in the purse and get us to the money changers, whos counters, as you know, are always laden with groats and Florence, and help ourselves to as many as we have a mind to. No one will see us, and so, hey presto, we shall be rich folk in the twinkling of an eye and have no more need to go besmearing the walls all day long like so many snails. Where had Bruno and Bufal Makko began only to laugh and exchange in glances, made as if they marveled exceedingly and expressed approval of Calandrino's project? Then Bufal Makko asked, what might be the name of the stone? Calandrino, like the numbskull that he was, had already forgotten the name, so he made answer. Why need we concern ourselves with the name? Since we know the stone's virtue. Methinks we were best to go look for it and waste no more time. Well well, said Bruno, but what are the size and shape of the stone? They are of all sizes and shapes, said Calandrino, but they are all pretty nearly black. Wherefore, methinks, we were best to collect all the black stones that we see until we hit upon it. And so let us be off and lose no more time. Nay, but, said Bruno, wait a bit. And turning to Bufal Makko, methinks, quote he, that Calandrino says well, but I doubt this is not the time for such work, seeing that the sun is high and his rays so flood the muñone as to dry all the stones. In so much that stones will now show as white that in the morning, before the sun had dried them, would show as black, besides which, today, being a working day, there will be for one cause or another folk not a few about the muñone, who, seeing us, might guess what we were come for, and, per adventure, do the like themselves. Whereby it might well be that they found the stone and we might miss the trod by trying after the anvil. Wherefore, so you agree, methinks, we were best to go about it in the morning, when we shall be better able to distinguish the black stones from the white and on a holiday, when there will be none to see us. Bufal Makko's advice, being approved by Bruno, Calandrino chimed in, and so it was arranged that they should all three go in quest of the stone on the following Sunday. So Calandrino, having besought his companions above all things to let never a soul in the world here ought of the matter, for that it had been imparted to him in strict confidence, and having told them what he had heard touching the land of Bengodi, the truth of which he affirmed with oaths, took leave of them, and they concerted their plan, while Calandrino impatiently expected the Sunday morning. Whereon about dawn he arose and called them, and forth they issued by the porta a sangallo, and heed them to the mugnone, and following its course began their quest of the stone. Calandrino, as was natural, leading the way and jumping lightly from rock to rock, and wherever he aspired a black stone stooping down, picking it up, and putting in in the fold of his tunic. While his comrades followed, picking up a stone here and a stone there. Thus it was that Calandrino had not gone far before finding that there was no more room in his tunic. He lifted the skirts of his gown, which was not cut after the fashion of Enno, and gathering them under his leathering girdle and making them fast on every side, thus furnished himself with a fresh and capacious lap, which, however, taking no time to fill, he made another lap out of his cloak, which, in like manner, he soon filled with stones. Wherefore Bruno and Bufal Makko seen that Calandrino was well laden, and that it was night upon breakfast time and the moment for action come? Where is Calandrino, close Bruno to Bufal Makko? Where to Bufal Makko, who had Calandrino full in view, having first turned about and looked here, there, and everywhere, made answer, that what not I? But not so long ago he was just in front of us. Not so long ago, forsooth, returned Bruno, this my firm believe that at this very moment he is at breakfast at home, having left to us his wild goose chase of black stones in the Mugnone. Merry Quoth Bufal Makko! He did but serve us right so to trick us and leave, seeing that we were so silly as to believe him. Why, who could have thought that any but we would have been so foolish as to believe that a stone of such rare virtue was to be found in the Mugnone? Calandrino, hearing their colloquy, forthwith imagined that he had the stone in his hand, and by its virtue, though present, was invisible to them, and overjoyed by such good fortune would not say a word to un-deceive them, but determined to hide him home, and, accordingly, faced about and put himself in motion. Whereupon, Hey, Quoth Bufal Makko to Bruno, what are we about that we go not back to? Go we then, said Bruno, but by God I swear that Calandrino shall never play me another such trick, and as to this, where I nigh him, as I have been all the morning, I would teach him to remember it for a month or so, such a reminder would I give him in the heel with this stone. And even as he spoke, he threw back his arm and launched the stone against Calandrino's heel. Gulled by the blow, Calandrino gave a great hob and a slight gasp, but said nothing, and halted not. Then picking out one of the stones that he had collected, Bruno, Quoth Bufal Makko, see what a goodly stone I have here, would it might but catch Calandrino in the back, and forthwith he discharged it with main force upon the said back, and, in short, suiting action to word, now in this way, now in that, they stoned him all the way up the muñone, as far as the porta a sangallo. There they threw away the stones they had picked up, and tarried up while with the customs officers, who, being primed by them, had let Calandrino pass unchallenged, while their laughter knew no bounds. So Calandrino, halting nowhere, betook him to his house, which was hard by the corner of the massina. And so well did fortune prosper the trick, that all the way by the stream, and across the city there was never a soul that said a word to Calandrino, and indeed he encountered but few, for most folk were at breakfast. But no sooner was Calandrino thus gotten home with his stones, than it so happened that his good lady, Monna Tessa, showed her fair face at the stairs head, and catching sight of him, and being somewhat annoyed by his long delay, chide him, saying, What the devil brings thee here so late? Must breakfast wait thee, until all other folk have had it? Calandrino caught the words, and angered and mortified to find, that he was not invisible, broke out with. Alas, cursed woman, sot was thou, thou hast undone me, but God's faith I will pay thee out. Whereupon he was upstairs in a trice, and having discharged his great load of stones and a parlor, rushed with fell intent upon his wife, and laid hold of her by the hair, and threw her down at his feet, and beat and kicked her in every part of her person with all the force he had in his arms and legs, and so much that he left never a hair of her head, or bone of her body unscathed, and was all in vain, that she laid her palms together, and crossed her fingers, and cried for mercy. Now Bufal Makko and Bruno, after making merry a while with the warders of the gate, had set off again at a leisurely pace, keeping some distance behind Calandrino. Arrived at his door, they heard the noise of the sound thrashing that he was giving his wife, and making as if they were but that, very instant come upon the scene, they called him. Calandrino flushed all off a sweat, and out of breath, showed himself at the window, and made them come up. They, putting on a somewhat angry air, did so, and aspired Calandrino sitting in the parlor, amid the stones which lay all about, untrust, and puffing with the air of a man spent with exertion. While his lady lay in one of the corners, weeping bitterly, her hair all disheveled, her clothes torn to shreds, and her face livid, bruised, and battered. So after surveying the room a while, what means this Calandrino, quote they, are thou minded to build thee a wall, that we see so many stones about? And then as they received no answer, they continued. And how's this? How comes Monathessa in this plight? To which seem thou hast given her a beating. What unheard of doings are these? What with the weight of the stones that he had carried, and the fury with which he had beaten his wife, and the mortification that he felt at the miscarriage of his enterprise, Calandrino was too spent to utter a word by way of reply. Wherefore, in a menacing tone, Bufal Makko began again. However out of sorts thou mayst have been, Calandrino, thou shouldst not have played as so scurvy a trick as thou hast. To take us with thee to the muñone in quest of this stone of rare virtue, and then without so much as saying either good speed or devil's speed to be off, and leave us there like a couple of gogs, we take it not a little unkindly, and rest assured that thou shall never so fool us again. Where, too, with an effort Calandrino replied, Comrades, be not wroth with me, this not as you think. I, luckless right, found the stone. Listen, and you will no longer doubt that I say sooth. When you began saying one to another, Where is Calandrino? I was within ten paces of you, and, marking that you came by without seeing me, I went before, and so, keeping ever a little ahead of you, I came hither. And then he told them the whole story of what they had said and done from beginning to end, and showed them his back and heel, how they had been mauled by the stones, after which, and I tell you he went on, that laden though I was with all these stones that you see here, never a word was said to me by the warders of the gate as I passed in, though you know how evictitious and grievous these warders are want to make themselves in their determination to see everything. And, moreover, I met, by the way, several of my gossips and friends that are ever want to greet me, and ask me to drink, and never a word said any or them to me. No, nor half a word, either, but they passed me by as men that saw me not. But at last, being come home, I was met and seen by this devil of a woman, curses upon her for as much as all things, as you know, lose their virtue in the presence of a woman, whereby I, from being the most lucky, am become the most luckless man in Florence, and therefore I thrashed her as long as I could stir a hand, nor now I, wherefore, I forbear to slice her veins for her, cursed be the hour that first I saw her, cursed be the hour that I brought her into the house. And so, kindling with fresh wrath, he was about to start up and give her another thrashing. When Bufal Makko and Bruno, who had listened to his story with an air of great surprise, and affirmed its truth again and again, while they all but burst with suppressed laughter, seeing him now frantic to renew his assault upon his wife, got up and withstood and held him back, avering that the lady was a no wise to blame for what had happened, but only he who, witting that things lost their virtue in the presence of women, had not bitten her Kipaluv from him that day, which precaution God had not suffered him to take, either because the luck was not to be his, or because he was minded to cheat his comrades, to whom he should have shown the stone as soon as he found it. And so, with many words, they hardly prevailed upon him to forgive his injured wife, and leaving him to rue the ill luck that had filled his house with stones, went their way. End of Day 8, The Third Story Elisa being come to the end of her story, which in the telling had yielded no small delight to all the company. The Queen, turning to Emilia, signified her will, that her story should ensue at once upon that of Elisa. And thus with alacrity Emilia began. them with the story of a rector, who, in defiance of all the world, was bent upon having the favour of a gentlewoman, whether she would or no, which gentlewoman, being discreet above a little, treated him as he deserved. Fiasola, whose hill is here within sight, is, as each of you knows, a city of immense antiquity, and was a full-time great, though now disfallen into complete decay, which notwithstanding, it always was, and still is, the sea of a bishop. Now there was once a gentlewoman, Mona Picard d'Aby name, a widow that had an estate at Fiasola, hard by the cathedral, on which, for that she was not in the easiest circumstances, she lived most part of the year, and with her her two brothers, very worthy and courteous young men, both of them. And a lady being wont frequently to resort to the cathedral, and being still quite young, and fair, and debonair with all, it so befell that the rector grew in a last degree and a mort of her, and waxed at length so bold, that he himself avowed his passion to the lady, praying her to entertain it love, and requited in like measure. The rector was advanced in years, but otherwise the various springhold, being bold and of a higher spirit, of a boundless conceit of himself, and of a mean and manners most effected and in the worst taste, and with all so tiresome and insufferable, that he was on bad terms with everybody, and if with one person more than another, with this lady, who not only cared not a jot for him, but at least her have had a headache than his company, wherefore the lady discreetly made answer, I may well prize your love, sir, and love you I should and will write gladly, but such love as yours and mine may never admit of odd that is not honourable. You are my spiritual father and a priest, and now verging towards old age, circumstances which should ensure your honour and chastity, and I on my part am no longer a girl, such as these love affairs might be seen, but a widow, and well you what how it behoves widows to be chaste, wherefore I pray you to have me excused, for after the sort you crave you shall never have my love, nor would I in such sort be loved by you. With this answer the rector was for the nuns feign to be content, but he was not the man to be dismayed and routed by a first repulse, and with his wanted temerity and effrontery he plied her again and again with letters and ambassadors, and also by word of mouth, when he aspired her entering the church. Wherefore the lady, finding this persecution more grievous and harassing that she could well bear, cast about how she might be quit thereof in such fashion as he deserved, seeing that he left her no choice, howbite she would do not in the matter until she had conferred with her brothers. She therefore told them how the rector pursued her and how she meant to foil him, and with their full concurrence some few days afterwards she went as she was want to church. The rector no sooner saw her than he approached and accosted her as he was want in a tone of easy familiarity. The lady greeted him as he came up with a glance of gladsome recognition, and when he had treated her to not a little of his wanted eloquence she drew him aside and heaving a great sigh said, I've often times heard it said, sir, that there is no castle so strong, but that if the siege be continued day by day it will sooner or later be taken, which I now plainly perceive as my own case, for so fairly have you hand me in with this, that, and the other pretty speech or the like blendishments, that you have constrained me to make not of my former resolve, and seeing that I find such favour with you to surrender myself unto you. Where, too, overjoyed the rector made answer? Madam, I'm greatly honoured, and sooth to say, I marvel not a little how you should hold out so long, seeing that I have never had the like experience with any other woman in so much that I have at times said, where women of silver they would not be worth a denier, for there is none but would give under the hammer. But no more of this, when and where may we come together? Sweet my lord, replied the lady, for the when this just as we may think best, for I have no husband to whom to render a count of my knights, but the where passes my wit to conjecture. Sir, replied the lady, you know that I have two brothers, both young man, who day and night bring their comrades into the house, which is not in too large, for which reason it might not be done there, unless we were minded to make ourselves, as it were, dumb and blind, uttering never word, not so much as a monosyllable, and abiding in the dark. In such sort indeed it might be, because they do not intrude upon my chamber. But theirs is so near to mine that the very least whisper could not but be heard. Nay, but madam, returned the rector, let not this stand in our way for a night or two, until I may be think me where else we might be more at our ease. Be that as you will, sir, what the lady, I do but entreat that the affair be kept close, so that never a word of it get wind. Have no fear on that school, madam, replied the priest, and if so it may be, let us forgot her to-night. With pleasure, returned the lady, and, having appointed him how and when to come, she left him and went home. Now the lady had a maid that was none too young, and had a countenance the ugliest and most misshapen that ever was seen. For, indeed, she was flat-nosed, rye-mouthed, and thick-lipped, with huge, ill-set teeth, eyes that squinted and were ever blurred, and a complexion between green and yellow, that showed as if she had spent the summer not at Fiasola, but at Cinegarglia, besides which she was hip-shot and somewhat halting on the right side. Her name was cuter, but for that she was such a scurvy bitch to look upon, she was called by all folk Tutatze. And being thus misshapen of body, she was also not without her a share of guile. So the lady called her, and said, Tutatze, so thou wilt do me a service to-night, I will give thee a fine new shift. At the mention of the shift, Tutatze made answer, So you give me a shift, madam, I will throw myself into the very fire. Good, said the lady, then I would have thee lie to-night in my bed with a man whom thou wilt caress. But look, thou say never a word that my brothers, who as I know is to sleep in the next room, hear thee not, and afterwards I will give thee the shift. Sleep with a man, quote Tutatze, why, if need be, I will sleep with six. So in the evening Master Rector came as he had been bidden, and the two young men, as the lady had arranged, being in their room, and making themselves very audible, he stole, noiselessly, and in the dark, into the lady's room, and got him onto the bed, which Tutatze, well advised by the lady how to behave, mounted from the other side. Whereupon Master Rector, thinking to have the lady by his side, took Tutatze in his arms, and fell a-kissing her, saying never a word the while, and Tutatze did the like, and so he enjoyed her, plucking the boon which he had so long desired. The Rector and Tutatze thus closeted it, the lady charged her brothers to execute the rest of her plan. They accordingly still quietly out of their room, and hide them to the piazza, where fortune proved propitious, beyond what they had craved of her, for, it being a very hot night, the bishop had been seeking them, proposing to go home with them, and solace himself with their society, and quench his thirst. With which desire he acquainted them, as soon as he aspired them coming into the piazza, and so they escorted him to their house, and there, in the cool of their little courtyard, which was bright with many a lamp, he took, to his no small comfort, a draught of their good wine. Which done? Sir, said the young man, since of your great curtsy, you have dained to visit our poor house, to which we were but now about to invite you. We should be gratified, if you would be pleased to give a look at somewhat a mere trifle though it be, which we have here to show you. The bishop replied that it would do so at pleasure, whereupon one of the young men took a lighted torch and led the way, the bishop and the rest following, to the chamber where Master Rector lay with Chutatza. Now the Rector, being in hot haste, had ridden hard, in so much that he was already gotten above three miles on his way when they arrived, and so, being somewhat tired, he was resting, but hot though the night was, he still held Chutatza in his arms. In which posture he was shown to the bishop, when, proceeded by the young man, bearing the light, and followed by the others, he entered the chamber. And, being roused and observing the light in the folk that stood about him, Master Rector was mighty ashamed and affrighted, and popped his head under the clothes. But the bishop, reprimanding him severely, constrained him to thrust his head out again, and take a view of his bed-fellow. Thus, made aware of the trick which the lady had played director was now, both on that score, and by reason of his signal disgrace, the saddest man that ever was, and as his comforture was complete, when, having done this close, he was committed, by the bishop's command, to close custody, and sent to prison, there to expiate his offence by a rigorous penance. The bishop was then faint to know how it had come about, that he had forgave there with Chutatza. Whereupon the young man related the whole story, which ended, the bishop commanded both the lady and the young man not a little, for that they had taken condine vengeance upon him without imbruing their hands in the blood of a priest. The bishop caused him to bewail his transgression forty days, but what with his love, and the scornful requital which it had received, he bewailed it more than forty and nine days, not to mention that for a great while he could not show himself on the street, but the boys would point the finger at him and say, there goes he that lay with Chutatza, which was such an affliction to him, that it was like to go mad. On this wise the worthy lady rid herself of the rector's vexatious importunity, and Chutatza had a jolly night and earned her shift. End of Day 8 The Fourth Story Day 8 The Fifth Story of the Decameron This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio, translated by J. M. Rigg. Day 8 The Fifth Story Three young men pulled down the breeches of a judge from the marshes, while he is administering justice on the bench. So ended Emilia her story, and when all had commended the widow lady, just now as I turned to speak, called the queen, fixing her gaze upon Filostrato, who answered that he was ready, and forced with, thus began. Sweet my ladies, by what I remember of that young man, to wit, Maso De Sagio, whom Elisa named a while ago, I am prompted to lay aside a story which I had meant to tell you, and to tell you another, touching him and some of his comrades, which, notwithstanding, there are in it certain words, albeit is not unseemly, which your modesty for bears to use, is yet so laughable that I shall relate it. As you may well have heard, there come not seldom to our city magistrates from the marshes, who for the most part are men of a mean spirit, and in circumstances so reduced and beggarly that their whole life seems to be but a petty foggery, and by reason of this their inbred soreness and avarice they bring with them judges and notaries that have rather the air of men taken from the plow, or the last then trained in the schools of law. Now one of these marchers, being come hither as Podesta, brought with him judges, not a few, and among them one that called himself Monsieur Nicolas de Saint-Lépidot, who looked like to a locksmith than ought else. However this fellow was assigned with the rest of the judges to hear criminal cases, and as folks will go often to court, though they have no concern whatever there, it so befell that Maso de Saguio went thither one morning in quest of one of his friends, and there, chanceing to set eyes on this Monsieur Nicolas, where he said, deemed him a fowl of no common feather, and surveyed him from head to foot, observing that the verre which he wore on his head was all begrimed, that he carried an inkhorn from his girdle, and that his gown was longer than his robe, and many another detail quite foreign to the appearance of a man of birth and breeding, of which that which he deemed most notable was a pair of breeches, which as he saw, for the judges' outer garments being none too ample were open in front while he sat, reached half way down his legs, by which his mind was presently diverted from the friend whom he had come there to sink. In fourth he hide him in quest of other two of his comrades, the one Ribby, the other Matuzio by name, fellows both of them, not a wit, less jolly than Maso himself, and having found them he said to them, as you love me, come with me to the court, and I will show you the queerest scarecrow that you ever saw. So the two men hide with him to the court, and there he pointed to the dais on which the master judge was seated, and there he pointed out to them the judge and his breeches. What they saw from a distance served to set them laughing, then drawing nearer to the dais on which the master judge was seated, they observed that it was easy enough to get under the dais, and moreover, that the plank on which the judge's feet rested was broken, so that there was plenty of room for the passage of a hand and an arm. Whereupon, quote Maso to his comrades, twer a very easy manner to pull these breeches right down, wherefore I propose that we do so. Each of the men had marked how it might be done, and so, having concerted both what they should do and what they should say, they came to the court again next morning, and the court being crowded. Matteuzo, observed by never a soul, slipped beneath the dais, and posted himself right under the spot where the judge's feet rested. While the other two men took their stand on either side of the judge, each laying hold of the hem of his robe, then, sir, sir, I pray you for God's sake, begin Maso, that before the pilfering rascal that is there beside you can make off, you constrain him to give me back a pair of jackboots that he has stolen from me, which theft he still denies, though to his not a month since I saw him getting them resold. Meanwhile, Ribby, at the top of his voice, shouted, Believe him not, sir, the scurvy nave, to his butt that he knows that I am come to demand restitution of a valise which he has stolen from me, that he now for the first time trumps up this story about a pair of jackboots that I have had in my house down to the last day and if you doubt what I say I can bring as witness Treka, my neighbor, and Grasa, the tripe woman, and the one that goes about gathering the sweepings of Santa Maria Avrezaria, who saw him when he was on his way back from the farm. But, shout as he might, Maso was still even with him, nor for all that did Ribby bait a jot of his clamor. And while the judge stood, bending now towards the one, now towards the other, the better to hear them, Mateuzo seized his opportunity, and thrusting his hand through the hole in the plank caught hold of the judge's breeches and tugged at them a main. Whereby, down they came straight away, for the judge was a lean man, and shrunk in the buttocks. The judge, being aware of the accident, but knowing not how it came about, would have gathered his outer garments together in front so as to cover the defect. But Maso on the one side, and Ribby on the other, held him fast, shouting a main, and in chorus, you do me a grievous wrong, sir, thus to deny me justice, nay, even a hearing. And, to think of quitting the court, there needs no writ in this city for such a trifling a matter as this. And thus they held him by the clothes, and in parley, until all that were in the court perceived that he has lost his breeches. However, after a while, Mateuzo dropped the breeches, and slipped off and out of the court without being observed. And Ribby, deeming that the joke had gone far enough, exclaimed, By God, I vow, I will appear to the syndics, while Maso, on the other hand, let go of the robe, saying, Nay, but for my part, I will come here again, and again, and again, unless I find you less embarrassed than you seem to be today. And so, the one this way, the other that way, they made off with all speed, whereupon Master Judge, dispreached before all the world, was as one that awakens from sleep. Albeit, he is aware of his forlorn condition, and asks whether the parties in the case, touching the jackboots in the valleys, were gone. However, as they could not be found, he fell asswearing by the bowels of God, that was meat and proper that he should know, in wit, whether it was the custom at Florence to dispreach judges, sitting in the seat of justice. When the affair reached the ears of the Podesta, he made no little stir about it, but, being informed by some of his friends, that it would not have happened, but that the Florentines were minded to show him that, in the place of the judges, he should have brought with him, he had brought but gox, to save expense. He deemed it the best way to say no more about it, and so, for that, the matter went no further.