 Day 8. THE SIXTH STORY OF THE DECAMERAN 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 J. C. Guan. The DECAMERAN by Giovanni Boccaccio. Translated by J. M. Rigg. Day 8. THE SIXTH STORY Bruno and Bufal Mako steal a pig from Calandrino and induce him to assay its recovery by means of pills of ginger and vernaccia. Of the said pills they give him two, one after the other, made of dog-ginger compounded with alloys, and it then appearing as if he had had the pig himself, they constrain him to buy them off if he would not have them tell his wife. Filostrato's story, which elicited not a little after, was now sooner ended than the queen-bed Filomeno followed suit. Wherefore, thus Filomeno began. As gracious ladies, it was the name of Masso del Saggio that prompted Filostatro to tell the story that you have but now heard. Even so, this was me in regard of Calandrino and his comrades, of whom I am minded to tell you another story, which you will, I think, find entertaining. Who Calandrino, Bruno, and Bufal Mako were, I need not explain. You know them well enough from the former story, and therefore I will tarry no longer than to say that Calandrino had a little estate not far from Florence, which his wife had brought him by way of dowry, and which yielded them yearly, among other matters, a pig, and was his custom every year in the months of December to resort to the farm with his wife, there to see the killing and salting of the said pig. Now, one of these years, it so happened that his wife being unwell, Calandrino went sit there alone to kill the pig, and Bruno and Bufal Mako, learning that he was gone to the farm and that his wife was not with him, but took them to the house of a priest that was their special friend and the neighbor of Calandrino, there to a terrier while. Upon their arrival, Calandrino, who had that very morning killed the pig, met them with the priest, and accosted them, saying, a hearty welcome to you, I should like you to see what an excellent manager I am. And so he took them into his house, and showed them the pig. They observed that it was a very fine pig, and learned from Calandrino that he was minded to salt it for household consumption. Then, thou art but a fool, quoth Bruno, sell it, man, and let us have a jolly time with the money, and tell thy wife that was stolen. Not I, replied Calandrino, she would never believe me, and would drive me out of the house, urge me no further, for I will never do it. The others said a great deal more, but to no purpose, and Calandrino baited them to supper, but so coldly that they declined and left him. Presently, should we not steal this pig from him to-night, quoth Bruno to Bofalmaco? Could we so? returned Bofalmaco. How? Why, as to that, rejoined Bruno. I have already marked how it may be done, if he bestow not the pig elsewhere. So be it then, said Bofalmaco. We will steal it, and then, perchance, our good host, Master Priest, will join us in doing honor to such a good cheer. That, right gladly, will I, quoth the Priest. We're upon. Some address, though, quoth Bruno, will be needful. Thou knowest, Bofalmaco, what a negligedly fellow Calandrino is, and how greedily he drinks at other folk's expense. Go, therefore, and take him to the tavern, and there let the Priest make, as if, to do us honor. He would pay the whole score, and supper Calandrino, to pay never a soldo, and he will grow tipsy, and then we shall speed excellent well, because he is alone in the house. As Bruno proposed, so they did, and Calandrino, finding that the Priest would not suffer him to pay, drank amane, and took a great deal more aboard than he had need of, and the night being far spent, when he left the tavern, he dispensed with supper, and went home, and thinking to have shut the door, got him to bed, leaving it open. Bofalmaco and Bruno went to supper with the Priest, and after supper, taking with them certain implements with which to enter Calandrino's house, where Bruno thought it most feasible, they stealthily approached it, but finding the door open, they entered, and took down the pig, and carried it away to the Priest's house, and having there bestowed it safely, went to bed. In the morning, when Calandrino, his head at length, quit of the fumes of the wine, got up, and came downstairs, and found that his pig was nowhere to be seen, and that the door was open, he asked this, that, and the other man, whether they wished who had taken the pig away, and getting no answer, he began to make a great outcry. Alas, alas, luckless man that I am, that my pig should have been stolen from me. Meanwhile, Bruno and Bofalmaco, being also risen, made up to him to hear what he would say touching the pig, whom he no sooner saw, than while night weeping he called them, saying, alas, my friends, my pig is stolen from me. Bruno stepped up to him, and said in a low tone, dispensing strange if thou art in the right for once. Alas, returned Calandrino, what I say is but too true. Why then, out with it, man, caused Bruno, cry aloud, that all folk may know that his so. Calandrino then raised his voice, and said, but a body of God, I say of a truth that my pig has been stolen from me. So, caused Bruno, but publish it, man, publish it, lift thy voice, make thyself well heard, that all may believe thy report. Thou art enough to make me give my soul to the enemy, replied Calandrino. I say, does not believe me, that hang me by the neck if the pig is not stolen from me. Nay, but, caused Bruno, how can it be? I saw it here but yesterday, thus think, to make me believe, that it has taken to itself wings and flown away. All the same, this as I tell thee, returned Calandrino. Is it possible, caused Bruno? I indeed, replied Calandrino, this even so, and I am undone, and know not how to go home. Never will my wife believe me, or, if she do so, I shall know no peace this year. Upon my hope of salvation, this indeed a bad business, if so, it really is, but thou knowest Calandrino, that was but yesterday, I counsel thee to make believe that was so. I should be sorry to think thou didst before thy wife and us at the same time. Oh, vociferated Calandrino, wilt thou drive me to despair and provoke me to blaspheme God and the saints and all the company of heaven? I tell thee, that the pig has been stolen from me in the night. Were upon? If so it be, caused Buffalmaco, we must find a way, if we can, to recover it. Find a way? said Calandrino, how can we compass that? Why? replied Buffalmaco, this certain, that no one has come from India to steal thy pig. It must have been one of thy neighbours, and if thou couldst bring them together, I warrant thee, I know how to make the essay with bread and cheese, and we will find out, in a trice, who has had the pig. I, struck in Bruno, make thy essay with bread and cheese, in the presence of these gentry hereabout, one of whom I am sure has had the pig. Why, the thing would be seen through, and they would not come. What shall we do, then? said Buffalmaco. Where to? Bruno made answer. It must be done with good pills of ginger and good vernacha, and they must be bitten come drink with us. They will suspect nothing, and will come, and pills of ginger can be blessed just as well as bread and cheese. Beyond a doubt, thou art right, coathed Buffalmaco, and thou Calandrino, what sayest thou? Shall we do what Bruno says? Nay, I entreat you, for the love of God, coathed Calandrino. Do even so, for I knew but who had had the pig. I should feel myself half-consoled for my loss. Go to now, coathed Bruno. I am willing to do thy errand to Florence for these commodities, if thou givest me the money. Calandrino had some forty-soldy upon him, which he gave to Bruno, who, thereupon, hide him to Florence to a friend of his that was an apothecary, and bought a pound of good pills of ginger, two of which, being of dog-ginger, he caused to be compounded with fresh hepatic alloys, and then to be coated with sugar like the others, and lest they should be lost, or any of the others mistaken for them. He had a slight mark set upon them, by which he might readily recognize them. He also bought a flask of good vernacha, and thus laden returned to the farm, and said to Calandrino, Tomorrow morning, thou wilt bid, those whom thou suspectest, to come hither to drink with thee. As to be a saint's day, it will all come readily enough, and to-night, I and Bufan Maco will say the incantation over the pills, which in the morning I will bring to thee here, and for our friendship's sake, will administer them myself, and do and say all that needs to be said and done. So Calandrino did, as Bruno advised, and on the morning a goodly company, as well of young men from Florence that happened to be in the village, as of husband men, being assembled in front of the church around the Elm, Bruno and Bufan Maco came, bearing a box containing the ginger and the flask of wine, and ranged the folk in a circle. Whereupon? Gentlemen, said Bruno, this meet I tell you the reason why you are gathered here, that it oft unpleasant to you should befall. You may have no ground for complaint against me. Calandrino here was the night before last rub of a fine pig, and cannot discover who has had it, and for that it must have been stolen by some one of us here. He would have each of you take and eat one of these pills and drink of this vernacha. Wherefore, I force with due you wit, that whose has had the pig will not be able to swallow the pill, but find it more bitter than poison, and will spit it out. And so, rather than he should suffer the shame in presence of so many, for perhaps best that he that has had the pig should confess the fact to the priest, and I will wash my hands of the affair. All professed themselves ready enough to eat the pills, and so, having sat them in a row with Calandrino among them, Bruno, beginning at one end, proceeded to give each a pill, and when he came to Calandrino he chose one of the pills of dark ginger, and put it in his hand. Calandrino thrust it forthwith between his teeth, and began to chew it. But no sooner was his tongue acquainted with the yellowies, then, finding the bitterness intolerable, he spat it out. Now, the eyes of all the company being fixed on one another to see who should spit out his pill, Bruno, not having finished the distribution, faint to be concerned with not else, heard some one in his rear say, Ha! Calandrino! What means this? An at once turning round, and marking that Calandrino had spit out his pill. Wait a while, close he, perchance towards somewhat else that caused thee to spit. Take another. And thereupon, whipping out the other pill of dark ginger, he sat it between Calandrino's teeth, and finished the distribution. Bitter as Calandrino had found the former pill, he found this tenfold more so. But being ashamed to spit it out, he kept it a while in his mouth, and chewed it. And as he did so, tears stood in his eyes that showed as large as Philbert's, and at length, being unable to bear it any longer, he spat it out, as he had its predecessor, which, being observed by Bufalmaco and Bruno, who were then administering the wine, and by all the company, to as averaged by common consent, that Calandrino had committed the theft himself, for which cause certain of them took him severely to task. However, the company being dispersed, and Bruno and Bufalmaco left alone with Calandrino, Bufalmaco began on this wise. I never doubted, but that thou hadst had it thyself, and wasst minded to make us believe that it had been stolen from thee, that we might not have of thee so much as a single drink out of the price which thou gotst for it. Calandrino, with the bitterness of the aloeys still on his tongue, fell as swearing that he had not had it, whereupon. Nay, but comrade, quoth Bufalmaco, upon thy honour, what did it fetch, six florins? Where, too, Calandrino, being now on the verge of desperation, Bruno added, now be reasonable, Calandrino, among the company that ate and drank with us, there was one that told me that thou hadst up there a girl that doubted's keep for thy pleasure, giving her what by hook or by crook thou couldst get together, and that he held it for certain that thou hadst send her this pig, and thou art ground expert in this sort of cousinage. Thou tookst us one, while a down demugone, a gathering black stones, and having thus started us on a wild goose chase, thou madeest off, and then wouldst fern have us believe that thou hadst found the stone, and now, in like manner, thou thinkest by thine oaths to persuade us that this pig, that thou hasst given away or is sold, has been stolen from thee. But we know thy tricks of old, never another couldst thou play us, and to be round with thee, the spell has cost us some trouble, wherefore we mean that thou shalt give us pair of capons, or we will let monatess know all. Seeing that he was not believed and deeming his mortification ample without the addition of his wife's resentment, Calandrino gave them the two pair of capons, with which, when the pig was salted, they returned to Florence, leaving Calandrino with the loss and the laugh against him. And of day eight, the sixth story, day eight, the seventh 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 Miet. The Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio, translated by J. M. Rig. Day eight, the seventh story. Escola loves a widow lady, who, being enamoured of another, causes him to spend a winter's night awaiting her in the snow. He afterwards, by a stratagem, causes her to stand for a whole day in July, naked upon a tower, exposed to the flies, the godflies, and the sun. Over the woes of poor Calandrino the ladies laughed not a little, and had laughed yet more, but at it irked them that those that had robbed him of the pig should also take from him the capons. However, the story being ended, the queen-bait Pampinea gives them hers, and thus forthwith Pampinea began. Dearest ladies, it happens often times that the artful scourner meets his match, wherefore it is only little wits that delight to scorn. In a series of stories we have heard tell of tricks played without ought in the way of reprisals following. By mine I purpose in some degree to excite your compassion for a gentle woman of our city, albeit the retribution that came upon her was but just, whose flout was returned in the like sort, and to such effect that she well nigh died thereof. The witch to hear will not be unprofitable to you, for thereby you will learn to be more careful how you flout others, and therein you will do very wisely. It is not many years since there dwelt at Florence a lady young and fair, and over high spirit, and also of right gentle lineage and tolerably well endowed with temporal goods. Now, Elena such was the ladies' name, being left a widow, and was minded never to marry again, being enamoured of a handsome young garland of her own choosing, with whom she, wrecking north of any other lover, did by the help of a maid in whom she placed much trust, not seldom speed the time gaily and with marvellous delight. Meanwhile it so befell that a young nobleman of our city, Rinieri by name, who had spent much time in study at Paris, not that he might there after sell his knowledge by retail, but that he might learn the reasons and causes of things, which accomplishment shows to most excellent advantage in a gentleman. Returned to Florence and there lived as a citizen in no small honour with his fellows, both by reason of his rank and of his learning. But, as it is often the case, that those who were most vest in deep matters are the soonest mastered by love. So was it with Rinieri. For art of festal gathering, to which one day he went, there appeared before his eyes this Elena, of whom we spoke, clad in black as is the want of our Florentine widows, and showing to his mind so much farer and more debonair than any other woman that he had ever seen, that happy indeed he deemed the man might call himself, to whom God in his goodness should grant the right to hold her naked in his arms. So now and again he eyed her stealthily, and knowing that Boone's godly and precious are not to be gotten without trouble, he made up his mind to study and labour with all assiduity how best to please her, that he might win her love and thereby the enjoyment of her. The young gentlewoman was not used to keep her eyes bent ever towards the infernal regions. But, rating herself at no less, if not more, than her deserts, she was dexterous to move them to and fro, and thus busily scanning her company, soon detected the man who regarded her with pleasure. By which means, having discovered Rinieri's passion, she inly laughed and said, It will turn out that it was not for nothing that I came here today, for if I mistake not, I have caught a gunder by the bill. So she gave him an occasional side-long glance, and sought as best she might to make him believe that she was not indifferent to him, deeming that the more men she might captivate by her charms, the higher those charms would be rated, and most especially by him whom she had made lord of them and her love. The erudite sculler, Berajir to philosophical meditation, for the lady entirely engrossed his mind, and, having discovered her house, he, thinking to please her, found diverse pretexts for frequently passing by it. Whereon the lady, her vanity flattered for the reason aforesaid, bloomed herself not a little, and showed herself pleased to see him. Thus encouraged the sculler found means to make friends with her maid, to whom he discovered his love, praying her to do her endeavour with her mistress that he might have her favour. The maid was profuse of promises, and gave her mistress his message, which she no sooner heard than she was convulsed with laughter, and replied, he brought sense enough hither from Paris. Nost thou where he has since been to lose it? Go to now, let us give him what he seeks. Tell him, when he next speaks to you of the matter, that I love him vastly more than he loves me, but that I must have regard to my reputation so that I may be able to hold my head up among other ladies, which, if he is really the wise man they say, will cause him to affect me much more. Ah, poor woman, poor woman, she little knew my ladies how rash it is to try conclusions with scullers. The maid found the sculler, and did her mistress's errand. The sculler, overjoyed, proceeded to urge his suit with more ardour to indict letters, and send presents. The lady received all that he sent her, but thatched safe to no answers save such as were couched in general terms, and on this wise she kept him dangling a long while. At last, having disclosed the whole affair to her lover, who evinced some resentment and jealousy, she, to convince him that his suspicions were groundless, and for that she was much impotuned by the sculler, sent word to him by her maid, that never since he had assured her of his love had occasioned served her to him pleasure. But that next Christmas tide she hoped to be with him, wherefore, if he were minded to await her in the courtyard of her house on the night of the day next following the feast, she would meet him there as soon as she could. Elated as never another, the sculler hired him at the appointed time to the lady's house, and being ushered into a courtyard by the maid who forthwith turned the key upon him, addressed himself there to await the lady's coming. Now the lady's lover, by her appointment, was with her that evening, and when they had gaily sought she told him what she had in hand that night, adding, And so thou wilt be able to gauge the love which I have borne and bear this sculler, whom thou hast foolishly regarded as a rival. The lover heard the lady's words with no small delight, and waited in eager expectancy to see her make them good. The sculler, hanging about there in the courtyard, began to find it somewhat chillier than he would have liked, for it had snowed hard all day long, so that the snow lay everywhere thick on the ground. However he bore it patiently, expecting to be recompensed by and by. After a while the lady said to her lover, go we to the chamber and take a peep through a lattice at him of whom thou art turned jealous, and mark what he does, and how he will answer the maid whom I have bid in go speak with him. So the pair hide them to a lattice, where through they could see without being seen, and heard the maid call from another lattice to the sculler, saying, Riniari, my lady is distressed as never woman was. For that one of her brothers is come here tonight, and after talking a long while with her must needs sup with her, and is not yet gone, but I think he will soon be off, and that is the reason why she has not been able to come to thee. But she will come soon now. She trusts it does not irk thee to wait so long. Where to the sculler, supposing that was true, made answer, tell my lady to give herself no anxiety on my account until she can conveniently come to me. But to do so as soon as she may, whereupon the maid withdrew from the window, and went to bed, while the lady said to her lover, now what saist thou? Thinkst thou that, if I had that regard for him, which thou fierce'd, I would suffer him to tarry below there to get frozen? Which said the lady and her now partly reassured lover got them to bed, wherefore a great while they disported them right gamesomely, laughing together and making merry over the lookless sculler. The sculler meanwhile paced, up and down the courtyard, to keep himself warm. Nor indeed had he where to sit, or take shelter. In this plight he bestowed many a curse upon the lady's brother for his long tarrying, and never a sound did he hear, but he thought that towards the lady opening the door. But vain indeed were his hopes. The lady, having sullest herself with her lover until hard upon midnight, then said to him, How ratest thou our sculler, my soul? Whither is the greater his wit, or the love I bear him, thinksst thou? Will the cold that of my ordaining he now suffers banish from thy breast the suspicion which my light words the other day implanted there? I indeed, heart of my body, replied the lover. Well, what I now, that even as thou art to me, my wheel, my consolation, my bliss, so am I to thee. So, quoth the lady, then I must have full a thousand kisses from thee to prove that thou sayest sooth. The lover's answer was to strain her to his heart, and give her not merely a thousand but a hundred thousand kisses. In such converse they dallyed a while longer, and then, get we up now, quoth the lady, that we may go see if tis quite spent that fire, with which, as he wrote to me daily, this new lover of mine used to burn. So up they got, and hide them to the ladders, which they had used before, and peering out into the courtyard, saw the scholar dancing a hornpipe to the music that his own teeth made, a chattering for extremity of cold. Nor had they ever seen it footed so nimbly, and at such a pace. Whereupon? How sayest thou, sweet my hope? quoth the lady. Know I not how to make men dance without the aid of either trumpet or corn-muse? Indeed thou dost my heart's delight, replied the lover. Quoth then the lady, I have a mind that we go down to the door. Thou wilt keep quiet, and I will speak to him, and we shall hear what he says, where per adventure we shall find no less diverting than the sight of him. So they stole softly out of the chamber and down to the door, which, leaving fast closed, the lady set her lips to a little hole that was there, and with a low voice called the scholar, who, hearing her call him, praised God, making too sure that he was to be admitted, and being come to the door said, Here I am, madam, open for God's sake, let me in for I die of cold. I replied the lady. I know thou hast to chill, and of course there being a little snow about tis mighty cold, but well I walk the nights are cold afar at Paris. I cannot let thee in as yet, because my accursed brother that came to sup here this evening is still with me, but he will soon take himself off, and then I will let thee in without a moment's delay. I have but now with no small difficulty given him the slip to come and give thee heart that the waiting irk thee not. Nay, but, madam, replied the scholar, for the love of God I entreat you let me in that I may have a roof over my head, because for some time past there has been never so thick a fall of snow, and tis yet snowing, and then I will wait as long as you please. Alas, sweet my love, quoth the lady, that I may not, for this door makes such a din when one opens it that my brother would be sure to hear what I do let thee in, but I will go tell him to get him gone, and so come back and admit thee. Go at once then, returned the scholar, and prithee, say that a good fire be kindled, that when I get in I may warm myself, for I am now so chilled through and through that I have scarce any feeling left. That can scarce be rejoined the lady, if it be true, what thou hast protested in thy letters, that thou art all a fire for love of me. tis blame to me now that thus did but mock me, I now take my leave of thee, wait and be of good cheer. So the lady and her lover, who to his immense delight had heard all that had passed, betook them to bed. However little sleep they had that night, but spent the best part of it in disporting themselves and making merry over the unfortunate scholar, who his teeth now chattering to such a tune that he seemed to have been metamorphosed into a stork, perceived that he had been befooled. And after making diverse fruitless attempts to open the door and seeking means of aggression to no better purpose, pissed to and fro like a lion, cursing the villainous weather, the long night, his simplicity, and the perversity of the lady against whom the vehemence of his wrath suddenly converting the love he had so long borne to her bitter and remorseless enmity, he now plotted within himself diverse and grand schemes of revenge, on which he was far more bent than ever he had been on foregathering with her. Slowly the night wore away, and with the first streaks of dawn the maid by her mistresses' direction came down, opened the door of the courtyard, and, putting on a compassionate air, greeted Riniieri with fowlful hymn that came here yesterieve. He has afflicted us with his presence all night long, and has kept thee a-freezing up here. But Harkie, take it not amiss, that which might not be tonight shall be another time. Well, what I not could have befallen that my lady could so ill-brook. For all his wrath, the scholar witting, like the wise man he was, that menaces serve but to put the menace on his guard, kept pent within his breast that which unbridled resentment would have uttered, and said quietly, and without betraying the least trace of anger, in truth it was the worst night I ever spent, but I understand quite well that the lady was in no wise to blame, for that she herself being moved to pity of me came down here to make her excuses, and to comfort me. And as thou sayest, what has not been tonight will be another time. Wherefore commend me to her. And so adieu. Then, well night paralysed for cold, he got him as best as he might home. Where weary and fit to die for drowsiness he threw himself on his bed, and fell into a deep sleep, from which he awoke to find that he had all but lost the use of his arms and legs. He therefore sent some physicians, and having told them water chill he had gotten caused them to have a care to his health. But, though they treated him with active and most drastic remedies, it cost them some time and no little trouble to restore to the cramped muscles their wanted pliancy. And indeed, but for his youth and the milder weather that was at hand, it would have gone very hard with him. However, recover he did his health and lustyhood, and nursing his enmity feigned to be vastly more enamoured of his widow than ever before. And so it was, that after a while fortune furnished him with an opportunity of satisfying his resentment, for the garland of whom the widow was enamoured utterly regardless of the love she bore him, grew enamoured of another lady, and was minded no more to pleasure the widow and ought either by word or by deed. Wherefore she now pined in tears and bitterness of spirit. However, her maid, who commiserated her not a little, and knew not how to dispel the dumps that the loss of her lover had caused her, espying the sculler pass along the street as he had been warned, conceived the silly idea that the lady's lover might be induced to return to his old love by some practice of a necromantic order, wherein she doubted not that the sculler must be a thorough adept, which idea she imparted to her mistress. The lady, being none too well furnished with sense, never thinking that if the sculler had been an adept in necromancy he would have made use of it in his own behoof, gave heed to what her maid said, and forthwith bade her learn of the sculler whether he would plan his skill at her service, and assure him that, if he did so, she, in gred and thereof, would do his pleasure. The maid did her mistresses aren't well, unfaithfully. The sculler no sooner heard the message than he said to himself, Praise be thy name, O God, that the time is now come, when with thy help I may be avenged upon this wicked woman of the wrong she did me in requital of the great love I bore her. Then, turning to the maid, he said, Tell my lady to set her mind at ease, touching this matter. For that were her lover in India I would forthwith bring him hither to crave her pardon of that wherein he has offended her. As to the course she should take in the matter, I tarry but her pleasure to make it known to her when and where she may think fit. Tell her so, and bid her from me to be of good cheer. The maid carried his answer to her mistress, and arranged that they should meet in the church of St. Lucie of Prato, thither accordingly they came. The lady and the sculler, and conversed apart, and the lady quite oblivious of the ill usage by which she had well-nigh done him to death, opened all her mind to him, and besought him if he had any regard to her welfare, to aid her to the attainment of her desire. Madam, replied the sculler, true it is that among other law that I acquired at Paris was this of necromancy, whereof indeed I know all that may be known. But as tears in the last degree displeasing to God, I had sworn never to practice it, either for my own or for any other's behoof. It is also true that love I bear you is such that I know not how to refuse you, or that you would have me do for you. And so, were this single essay enough to consign me to hell, I would adventure it to pleasure you. But I mind me that Tis amata scares so easy of performance, as per chance you suppose, most especially when a woman would feign recover the love of a man, or a man that of a woman, for then it must be done by the postulant improper person, and at night, and in lonely places and unattended, so that it needs a stout heart. Nor know I whether you are disposed to comply with these conditions. The lady too enamoured to be discreet made answer. So shrewdly does love goad me, that there is not I would not due to bring him back to me who wrongfully has deserted me. But tell me prithee, wherein it is that I have need of this stout heart. Madam, returned the dispiteful scholar. It will be my part to fashion in tin an image of him you would feign lure back to you. And when I have sent you the image, it will be for you, when the moon is well on the wane, to dip yourself, being stark naked, and the image seven times in a flowing stream. And this you must do quite alone about the hour of first sleep. And afterwards, still naked, you must get you upon some tree, or some deserted house. And facing the north, with the image in your hand, say certain words that I shall give you in writing, seven times. Which, when you have done, thou will come to you two damsels, the fairest you ever saw, who will greet you graciously, and ask of you what you would feign have. To whom you will disclose frankly and fully all that you crave, and see to it that you make no mistake in the name. And when you have said all, they will depart. And you may then descend, and return to the spot where you left your clothes, and resume them, and go home. And rest assured that before the ensuing midnight your lover will come to you in tears, and crave your pardon and mercy, and that thenspot he will never again desert you for any other woman. The lady gave entire credence to the scholar's words, and deeming her lover as good as in her arms again, recovered half her wanted spirits. Wherefore, make no doubt, quote she, that I shall do us thou bidst. And indeed I am most favoured by circumstance, for in Upper Valdano I have an estate adjoining the river, and is now July, so that debate will be delightful. I, and now I mind me, that art no great distance from this river there is a little tower, which is deserted, saves that now and again the shepherds will get them up by the chestnut wood ladder to the roof, thence to look out for their strayed sheep. It is a place lonely indeed, and quite out of cane. And when I have plummet, and climb it I will, I doubt not will be the best place in all the world to give effect to your instructions. Well pleased to be certified of the lady's intention, the scholar to whom her estate and the tower were very well known made answer. I was never in those parts, madam, and therefore know neither your estate nor the tower, but, if it is, as you say, it will certainly be the best place in the world for your purpose. So when time shall serve I will send you the image and the horizon, but I pray you, when you shall have your heart's desire, and know that I have done you good service, do not forget me, but keep your promise to me. That will I without fail, quote the lady, and so she bade him farewell, and went home. The scholar gleefully anticipating the success of his enterprise fashioned an image, and inscribed it with certain magical signs, and wrote some gibberish, by way of a rison, which in due time he sent the lady, bidding her the very next night, do as he had prescribed. And thereupon he hide him privily, with one of his servants to the house of a friend, hard by the tower, there to carry his purpose into effect. The lady on her part set out with her maid, and betook her to her estate, and night being come sent the maid to bed. As if she were minded to go to rest herself, and about the hour of first sleep stole out of the house and down to the tower beside the Arno. And when, having carefully looked about her, she was satisfied that never a soul was to be seen or heard, she took off her clothes, and hid them under a bush. Then, with the image in her hand, she dipped herself seven times in the river, which dawned she hide her with the image to the tower. The scholar, having at nightfall couched himself with his servant among the willows and other trees that fringed the bank, marked all that she did, and how, as she passed by him, the whiteness of her flesh dispelled the shades of night, and, scanning attentively, her bosom and every other part of her body and finding them very fair, felt, as he but thought him what would shortly befall them, some pity of her. While, on the other hand, he was suddenly assailed by the solicitations of the flesh which caused that to stand which had been inert, and prompted him to sally forth of his ambush, and take her by force, and have his pleasure on her. And, what with his compassion and passion he was like to be worsted, but then, as he bethought him who he was, and what a grievous wrong had been done him, and for what cause, and by whom his wrath thus rekindled got the better of the other affections, so that he swerved not from his resolve, but suffered her to go her way. The lady ascended the tower, and, standing with her face to the north, began to recite the scholar's horizon, while he, having stolen into the tower but a little behind her, cautiously shifted the ladder that led up to the roof on which the lady stood, and waited to observe what she would say and do seven times, the lady said the horizon, and then awaited the appearance of the two damsels, and so long had she to wait, not to mention that the night was a good deal cooler than she would have liked, that she saw daybreak, whereupon disconcerted that it had not fallen out as the scholar had promised, she said to herself, I misdoubt me he was minded to give me such a night as I gave him, but if such was his intent, he is but maladroit in his revenge, for this night is not as long by a third as his was, besides which the cold is of another quality, and that day might not overtake her there, she began to think of descending, but finding that the ladder was removed, she felt as if the world had come to note beneath her feet, her senses reeled, and she fell in a swoon upon the floor of the roof, when she came to herself she burst into tears in piteous lamentations, and witting now very well that towards the doing of the scholar, she began to repent her that she had first offended him, and then trusting him unduly, having such good cause to reckon upon his enmity, in which frame she abode long time, then searching, if happily she might find some means of descent, and finding none, she fell a weeping again, and bitterly to herself she said, alas for the wretched woman! What will thy brothers, thy kinsmen, thy neighbours? Nay, what will all Florence say of thee, when tis known that thou hast been found here naked? Thy honour hitherto unsuspect will be known to have been but a show, and shouldst thou seek thy defence in lying excuses, if any such may be fashioned, the accursed scholar who knows all thy doings will not suffer it. Poor wretch, that at one and the same time has lost thy too dearly cherished gallant, and thine own honour, and the very width she was taken with such a transport of grief, that she was like to cast herself from the tower to the ground. Then, befinking her, that if she might espy some lad making towards the tower with his sheep, she might send him for the maid, for the sun was now risen. She approached one of the parapets of the tower, and looked out, and so it befell that the scholar, awakening from a slumber, in which he had lain a while at the foot of a bush, espy'd her, and she him, whereupon. Good day, madam, quoth he. Are the damsels yet come? The lady saw and heard him not without bursting afresh into a flood of tears, and besought him to come into the tower that she might speak with him. A request which the scholar very courteously granted. The lady then threw herself prone on the floor of the roof, and only her head being visible through the aperture, thus through her sobs she spoke. Fairly, Rignari, if I gave thee a part night thou art well avenged on me. For though it be July, it seemed I was sore a cold last night, standing here with never a thread upon me, and besides I have so bitterly we wept both the trick I played thee, and my own fully entrustingly, that I marvel, that I still have eyes in my head. Whereupon I implore thee, not for love of me, whom thou hast no cause to love, but for the respect thou hast for thyself as a gentleman, that thou let that which thou hast already done suffice thee to avenge the wrong I did thee, and bring me my clothes, that I may be able to get me down from here, and spare to take me from that which, however thou mightst hereafter wish, thou couldst not restore to me. My honour, to wit, my honour, whereas if I deprived thee of that one night with me, it is in my power to give thee many another night in recompense thereof, and thou hast but to choose thine own times. Let this then suffice, and like a worthy gentleman to be satisfied to have taken thy revenge, and to have let me know it, put not forth thy might against a woman, to his no glory to the eagle to have vanquished adove, wherefore for gods and thine own as sick, have mercy on me. The scholar, albeit his haughty spirit still brooded on her evil entreatment of him, yet saw her not weep and supplicate without a certain compunction mingling with his exultation, but vengeance he had desired above all things, to have reaped it was indeed sweet, and albeit his humanity prompted him to have compassion on the hapless woman, yet it availed not to subdue the fierceness of his resentment, wherefore thus he made answer. Mother Milena, had my prayers, albeit art I had none to mingle with them tears, and honoured words as thou dost with thine, inclined thee that night, where I stood perishing with cold amid the snow that filled thy courtyard, to accord me the very least shelter, to abut a light mutter for me to harken now to thine. But, if thou art now so much more careful of thy honour than thou wasst want to be, and it irks thee to tarry their naked, address thy prayers to him, in whose arms it irked thee not naked, to pass that night thou mightst thee of. Albeit thou wist that I with hasty foot was beating time upon the snow in thy courtyard, to the accompaniment of chattering teeth, it is he that thou shouldst call to succour thee to fetch thy clothes to adjust the ladder for thy descent, it is he in whom now shouldst labour to inspire this tenderness now thou showest for thy honour, that honour which for his sake thou hast not sculpted to jeopardise both now and on a thousand other occasions. Why, then, cause thou not him to come to thy succour, to whom pertains it rather than to him? Thou art his, and of whom will he have a care, whom will he succour, if not thee? Thou asked him that night, when thou wasst wantoning with him, whether seemed to him the greater, my folly, or the love thou didst bear him. Call him now, foolish woman, and see if the love thou bearest him, and thy wit and his, may avail to deliver thee from my folly. It is now no longer in thy power to show me courtesy of that which I no more desire, nor yet to refuse it did I desire it. Reserve thy nights for thy lover, if so be thou go hence alive, be they all thine and his. One of them was more than I cared for, it is enough for me to have been flouted once. I, and by thy gunning of speech, thou strivest might and man to conciliate my good will, calling me worthy gentleman, by which insinuation thou wouldst feign induce me magnanimously to desist from further chastisement of thy business. But thy cajolories shall not now cloud the eyes of my mind, as did once thy false promises. I know myself, and better now for thy one night's instruction, than for all the time I spent at Paris. But, granted that I were disposed to be magnanimous, thou art not of those to whom tears meet to show magnanimity. A wild beast, such as thou, having merited vengeance, can claim no relief from suffering, save death. Though in the case of a human being, toward suffice to temper vengeance with mercy as thou sest. Wherefore I, albeit no eagle, witting thee to be no dove but a venimous serpent, mankind's most ancient enemy, amminded, baiting no jot of malice or of might to harry thee to the bitter end. Nevertheless, this, which I do, is not properly to be called vengeance, but rather just retribution. Seeing that vengeance should be in excess of the offence, and this my chastisement of thee will fall short of it. Far were I minded to be avenged on thee, considering what account thou madest of my heart and soul, toward not suffice to me to take thy life. No, nor the lives of a hundred others such as thee. For I should but slay a vile and base and wicked woman, and what the devil art thou more than any other pitiful baggage, that I should spare thy little star of beauty which a few years will ruin, covering my face with wrinkles. And yet it was not for want of will that thou dost fail to do a death a worthy gentleman, as thou but now did call me, of whom in a single day of his life the world may well have more profit than of a hundred thousand like thee, while the world shall last. Wherefore by this rude discipline I will teach thee what it is to flout men of spirit, and more especially what it is to flout scholars, that if thou escape with thy life thou mayst have good cause ever hereafter to shun such fully. But if thou art so famed to make the descent, why not cast thyself down, whereby God helping, thou wouldst at once break thy neck, be quit of the torment thou endurest, and make me the happiest man alive, I have no more to say to thee. It was my art and craft thus caused thee climb, be it thine to find the way down, thou hadst cunning enough when thou wasst minded to flout me. While the scholar thus spoke, the hapless lady wept incessantly, and before he had done to aggravate her misery, the sun was high in the heaven. However, when he was silent, thus she made answer, Ah, ruthless man, if that accursed night has so rankled with thee, and thou deemest my fault so grave that neither my youth and beauty nor my bitter tears, nor yet my humble supplications may move thee to pity, let this at least move thee, and abate somewhat of thy remorseless severity. That was my act alone, in that of let I trusted thee, and discovered to thee all my secret, that did open the way to compass thy end, and make me cognisant of my guilt. Seeing that, had I not confided in thee, on no wise mightest thou have been avenged on me, which thou wouldst seem so ardently to have desired. Turn thee then, turn thee I pray thee, from thy wrath and pardon me, so thou will pardon me, and get me down hence, right gladly will I give up for ever my fifthless gallant, and thou shalt be my soul, lover and lord, albeit thou says hard things of my beauty, slight and short-lived as thou would have it to be, which, however it may compare with others, is I walk to be prized, if for no other reason, yet for this, that is the admiration and solace and delight of young men, and thou art not yet old. And albeit I have been harshly treated by thee, yet believe I cannot, that thou wouldst have me do myself so shamefully to death as to cast me down, like some abandoned wretch before thine eyes, in which, unless thou warst then, as thou hast since shown thyself a liar, I found such favour. Ah, have pity on me for gods and mercies, sick, the sun waxes exceedingly hot, and having suffered not a little by the cold of last night, I now begin to be sorely afflicted by the heat. Madame, rejoined the scholar, who held her in parley with no small delight, it was not for any love that thou didst bear me, that thou trusts me, but that thou mightst recover that which thou hath lost, for which cause thou maritest, but the greatest punishment, and foolish it indeed art thou, if thou suppose, that such was the sole means available for my revenge. I had a thousand others, and while I feigned to love thee, I had lain a thousand jins for thy feet, into one or other of which in no long time, though this had not occurred, thou must needs have fallen, and that too to thy more grievous suffering and shame, nor was it to spare thee, but that I might be the sooner rejoiced by this thy discomforture than I took my present course. And though all other means had failed me, I had still the pen, with which I would have written of these such matters, and in such a sort, that when thou wished them, as thou should have done, thou wouldst have regretted a thousand times that thou had ever been born. The might of the pen is greater far than this, suppose, who have not proved it by experience. By God I swear, so may he who has prospered me thus far in this, my revenge, prosper me to the end, that I would have written of thee things that would have so shamed thee and thine own, not to speak of others, cite, that thou hast pulled out thine eyes that thou might no more see thyself, wherefore chide not the sea for that it has sent forth a tiny rivulet. For thy love, or whether thou be mine or no, not care I. Be thou still his, whose thou hast been if thou canst. Hate him, as I once did. I now love him by reason of his present and treatment of thee. Ye go getting you enamoured, ye women. And not will satisfy you but young gallants, because ye mark that their flesh is rudder, and their beards are blacker than other folks, and that they carry themselves well and foot it feetly in the dance and joust, but those that are now more mature were even as they, and possess a knowledge which they have yet to acquire. And therewith all ye deem that they ride better and cover more miles in a day than men of ripe-age. Now that they dost the palace with more vigor, I certainly allow. But their seniors, being more experienced, know better the places where the fleas lurk, and spare and dainty diet is preferable to abundance without savor. Moreover hard-trotting will gull, and jade even the youngest, whereas an easy piss, though it bring once somewhat later to the inn, at any rate brings one thither fresh. Ye discern not witless creatures that ye are, how much of evil this little show of bravery serves to hide. Your young gallant is neither content with one woman, but lusts after as many as he sets eyes on. Nor is there any but he deems himself worthy of her, wherefought is not possible that their love should be lasting, as thou hast but now proved in me only two truly witness. Moreover, to be worshipped, to be caressed by their ladies they deem but their due. Nor is there ought whereon they plume and boast them so proudly as their conquests, which impertinence has caused not a few women to surrender to the friars who keep their own counsel. Per adventure thou wilst say that never a soul save thy maid and I whisked ought of thy loves. But if so thou hast been misinformed, and if thou so believest thou dost misbelieve, scarce ought elses talked of either in his quarter or in thine. But most often, it is those most concerned whose ears such matters reach last. Moreover, they rob you, these young gallants, whereas the others make you presence. So then, having made a bad choice, be thou still his to whom thou hast given thyself, and leave me whom thou didst flout to another. For I have found a lady of much greater charm than thine. And that has understood me better than thou didst. And that thou mayst get to the other world better certified of the desire of my eyes than thou wouldst seem to be here by my words, delay no more, but cast thyself down, whereby thy soul take and forthwith, as I doubt not she will be, into the embrace of the devil. Merci, whether thy headlong fool afflicts mine eyes or no. But for that I doubt thou miest not thus to gladden me. I bid thee, if thou findst the sun begin to scorch thee, remember the cold thou didst cause me to endure, wherewith by admixture thou miest readily temper the sun's heat. The hapless lady, seeing that the scholar's words were ever, to the same ruthless effect, burst afresh into tears and said, Lo now, since not that pertains to me may move thee. Be thou at least moved by the love thou best, this lady of whom thou speaks'd. Whom thou sayst is wiser than I, and loves thee, and for love of her pardon me, and fetch me my clothes, so that I may resume them, and get me down hence? Where at the scholar fell a laughing, and seeing that it was not a little pastious made answer. Lo now, I know not how to deny thee, aduring me as thou dost by sot a lady. Tell me, then, where thy clothes are, and I will go fetch them, and bring thee down. The lady, believing him, was somewhat confident, and told him where she had laid her clothes. The scholar then quitted the tower, bidding his servant on no account to stir from his post, but to keep close by, and, as best he might, bar the tower against all comers until his return. Which, he said, he betook him to the house of his friend, where he breakfasted much at his ease, and thereafter went to sleep. Left alone upon the tower, the lady somewhat cheered by her fond hope, but still exceeding sorrowful, drew nigh to a part of the wall, where there was a little shade, and there sat down to wait. And now lost in most melancholy brooding, now dissolved in tears, now plunged in despair of ever seeing the scholar return with her clothes, but never more than a brief while in any one mood, spent with grief and the night's visual. She by and by fell asleep. The sun was now in the zenith, and smote with extreme fervour, and unmitigated upon her tender and delicate frame, and upon her bare head. In so much that his rays did not only scort, but bit by bit excoriate every part of her flesh that was exposed to them, and so shrewdly burned her, that, albeit she was in a deep sleep, the pain awoke her. And, as by reason thereof, she writhed a little, she felt the scorched skin part in sonder and shed itself, as will happen when one tugs at a parchment that has been singed by the fire, while her head it, so sore that it seemed like to split, and no wonder. Nor might she find place either to lie or stand on the floor of the roof, but ever went to and fro, weeping. Besides which there stirred, not the least breath of wind, and flies and gadflies did swarm in prodigious quantity, which, settling upon her excoriate flesh, stung her so shrewdly that was as if she received so many stabs with the javelin, and she was ever restlessly feeling her sores with her hands in cursing herself, her life, her lover, and the scholar. Thus, by the exorbitant heat of the sun, by the flies and gadflies, harassed, goaded, and lacerated, tormented also by hunger, and yet more by thirst, and there too by a thousand distressful thoughts, she planted herself erect on her feet, and looked about her if hapless she might see or hear any one, with intent come what might, to call to him and crave his succor. But even this hostile fortune had disallowed her. The husband men were all gone from the fields by reason of the heat, and indeed there had come none to work that day in the neighbourhood of the tower, for that all were employed in the threshing of their corn beside the cottages, wherefore she heard but the succalers, while Arno tantalising her with the sight of his waters, increased rather than diminished her thirst. I, and in like manner, wherever she aspired a corpse, or a patch of shade, or a house, it was a torment to her, for the longing she had for it, what more is to be said of this hapless woman? Only this, that what with the heat of the sun above and the floor beneath her, and the scarification of her flesh in every part by the flies and gadflies, that flesh which in the night had dispelled the gloom by its whiteness, was now become red as madder, and so bespent with clots of blood that who so hard seen her would have deemed her the most hideous object in the world. Thus, resourceless and hopeless, she passed the long hours, expecting death rather than all else, until half none was come and gone. When his siesta ended, the scholar bethought him of his lady, and, being minded to see how she fed, hide him back to her tower, and sent his servant away to break as fast. As soon as the lady aspired him, she came, spent and crushed by her sore affliction to the aperture, and thus addressed him. Riniari, the cup of thy vengeance is full to overflowing, for if I gave thee a night of freezing in my courtyard, thou hast given me upon this tower a day of scorching, nay of burning, and therewith all of perishing of hunger and thirst. Wherefore by God I entreat thee to come up hither, and as my heart fails me to take my life. Take it, thou, for it is death I desire of all things, such and so grievous is my suffering. But if this grace thou will not grant, at least bring me a cup of water wherewith to lave my mouth, for which my tears do not suffice, so parched and torrid is it within. Well whisked the scholar by her voice how spent she was, he also saw a part of her body burned through and through by the sun. Whereby, and by reason of the lowliness of her entreaties, he felt some little pity for her, but all the same he made answer, nay wicked woman, it is not by my hands thou shalt die. Thou can't die by thine own whenever thou art so minded, and to temper thy heat thou shalt have just as much water from me as I had fire from thee to mitigate my cold. I only regret that for the cure of my chill the physicians were feigned to use foul smelling muck, whereas thy burns can be treated with fragrant rose water. And that, whereas I was like to lose my muscles and the use of my limbs, thou, for all thy excoriation by the heat, will yet be fair again like a snake that has loft of the old skin. Alas woes me, replied the lady, for charms acquired at such a cost, God grant them to those that hate me, but thou most fell of all wild beast. How hast thou borne thus to torture me? What more had I to expect of thee, or any other had I done all thy kith and kin to death with direct torment? Verily I know not what more cruel suffering thou couldst have inflicted on a traitor that had put a whole city to the slaughter than this which thou hast allotted to me, to be thus roasted and devoured of the flies, and therewithal to refuse me even a cup of water. Though the very murders condemned to death by the law, as they go to execution, not seldom are allowed wine to drink, so but they ask it. Lo now I see that thou art inexorable in thy ruthlessness, and unknow wise to be moved by my suffering, wherefore with resignation I will compose me to await death that God may have mercy on my soul, and may this that thou dost escape not in the searching glance of his just eyes. Which said, she dragged herself sore suffering towards the middle of the floor, despairing of ever escaping from her fiery torment, besides which not once only but a thousand times she thought to choke for thirst. And ever she wept bitterly and bewailed her evil fate, but at length the day wore to Vespers, and the sculler being sated with his revenge caused his servant to take her clothes and wrap them in his cloak, and hide him with the servant to the heartless lady's house, where finding her maid sitting disconsolate and woe-begone and resourceless at the door. Good woman, Quothee, what has befallen thy mistress? Where to? Sir, I know not, replied the maid. I looked to find her this morning a bed, for me thought she went to bed last night, but neither there nor anywhere else could I find her. Nor know I what is become of her. Wherefore exceeding great is my distress, but have you, sir, not to say of the matter? Only this, returned the sculler, that I would, I had had thee with her there, where I have had her, that I might have required thee of thy offence, even as I have required her of hers, but be assured that thou shalt not escape my hands, until thou hast from me such wage of thy labours, that thou shalt never flout man more. But thou shalt mind thee of me." Then, turning to his servant, he said, give her these clothes, and tell her that she may go bring her mistress away if she will. The servant did his bidding, and the maid, what with the message, and her recognition of the clothes, was mightily afraid, lest they had slain the lady, and scarce suppressing a shriek took the clothes and bursting into tears set off, as soon as the sculler was gone, at a run for the tower. Now, one of the lady's husband men had had the misfortune to lose two of his hogs that day, and seeking them came to the tower not long after the sculler had gone tense, and peering about in all quarters if happily he might have sight of his hogs heard the woeful lamentation that the hapless lady made, and got him up into the tower, and called out as loud as he might, who wails up there? The lady recognized her husband's men's voice, and called him by name, saying, Prithi, go fetch my maid and course her, come up to hither to me. The husband man, knowing her by her voice, replied, Alas, madame, who set you there? Your maid has been seeking you all day long, but who would have supposed that you were there? Whereupon he took the props of the ladder, and set them in position, and proceeded to secure the rounds to them with withies. Thus engaged he was found by the maid, who, as she entered the tower, beat her face and breast, and unable longer to keep silence, cried out, Alas, sweet my lady, where are you? Where do the lady made answer as loud as she might? Oh, my sister, here above I, my, weep not but fetch my clothes forthwith. Well, and I restored her heart to hear her mistress's voice, the maid, assisted by the husband man, ascended the ladder, which he had now all but set in order, and gaining the roof, and seeing her lady lie there naked, spent and foredone, and like her to a half-burned stump than to a human being, she planted her nails in her face, and fell a-weeping over her, as if she were to co-ops. However, the lady bade her for God's sake be silent, and help her to dress, and having learned from her that none knew where she had been save those that had brought her her clothes, and the husband man that was there present, was somewhat consoled, and besought her for God's sake to say not of the matter to any. Thus long time they conversed, and the husband man took the lady on his shoulders for walks she could not, and bore her safely out of the tower. The unfortunate maid, following after, with somewhat less caution, slipped, and falling down from the ladder to the ground broke her thigh, and roared for pain like any lion. So the husband man set the lady down upon a grassy mead, while he went to see what had befallen the maid, whom, finding her thigh broken, he brought, and laid beside the lady, who, seeing her woes completed by this last misfortune, and that she of whom most of all she had expected succour was lame of a thigh, was distressed beyond measure, and wept again so piteously that not only was the husband man powerless to comfort her, but was himself feigned to weep. However, as the son was now low, that they might not be there surprised by night, he, with the disconsolate lady's appeal, hide him home, and called to his aid two of his brothers and his wife, who returned with him, bearing a plank, whereon they laid the maid, and so they carried her to the lady's house. There, by dint of cold water and words of cheer, they restored some hodge the lady, whom the husband man then took upon his shoulders and bore to her chamber. The husband man's wife fed her with soaps of bread, and then undressed her and put her to bed. They also provided the means to carry her and the maid to Florence, and so it was done. There the lady, who was very fertile in artifices, invented an entirely fictitious story of what had happened, as well in regard of her maid as of herself, whereby she persuaded both her brothers and her sisters and everyone else that was all due to the enchantment of evil spirits. The physicians lost no time, and, albeit the lady's suffering and mortification were extreme, for she left more than one skin sticking to the sheets, they cured her of a high fever and certain attendant maladies, as also the maid of her fractured thigh. The end of all, which was that the lady forgot her lover, and having learned discretion was thenceforth careful never to love nor to flout, and the scholar, learning that the maid had broken her thigh, deemed his vengeance complete, and was satisfied to say never a word more of the affair. Such then were the consequences of her flout to his foolish young woman, who deemed that she might trifle with a scholar, with the like impunity, as with others, not duly understanding that they, I say not all, but the most part, know where the devil keeps his tail. Wherefore, my ladies, have a care how you flout men, and more especially, scholars. End of day eight, the seventh story. Recording by Miet of Miet's Bedtime Story podcast. Day eight, the eighth 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 Gesina. The Decameron by Giovanni Bucaccio. Translated by J. M. Rig. Day eight, the eighth story. Two men keep with one another. The one lies with the other's wife. The other, being where thereof, manages with the aid of his wife to have the one locked in a chest, upon which he then lies with the wife of him that is locked therein. Grievous and distressedful was it to the ladies to hear how it fared with Elena, but as they accounted their attribution in a measure righteous, they were satisfied to expand upon her but a moderate degree of compassion, albeit they censored the scholar as severe, intemperately relentless and indeed ruthless in his vengeance. However, Pampinea having brought the story to a close, the queen bade Fiametta follow suit, and prompt to obey, Fiametta thus spoke. Debener, my ladies, as me thinks your feelings must have been somewhat harrowed by the severity of the resentful scholar, I deem it meet to soothe your vexed spirits with something of a more cheerful order. Therefore I am minded to tell you a little story of a young man who borne a front in a milder temper and avenged himself with more moderation. Whereby you may understand that one should be satisfied if the ass and the wall are quits, nor by indulging a vindictive spirit to excess turn the requital of a wrong into an occasion of wrongdoing. You are to know then that at Siena, as I have heard tell, there dwelt two young men of good substance, and for plebeians of good family, the one Spiniloccio Tannena, the other Zepadimino by name, who, their houses being contiguous in the Camulia, kept ever together, and by what appeared loved each other as brothers, or even more so, and had each a very fine woman to wife. Now, it so befell that Spiniloccio, being much in Zepa's house, as well when Zepa was not, as when he was there, grew so familiar with Zepa's wife, that he sometimes lay with her. And on this wise they continued to foregather a great while before anyone was aware of it. However, one of these days, Zepa being at home, though his lady wisted not, Spiniloccio came in quest of him. And, the lady's ending word that he was not at home, he forthwith went upstairs, and found the lady in the saloon, and seeing none else there, kissed her, as she did him. Zepa saw all that passed, but said nothing, and kept close, being minded to see how the game would end, and soon saw his wife and Spiniloccio, still in one another's arms, hide them to her chamber, and lock themselves in, whereout he was mightily incensed. But, witting that to make a noise, or do ought else overt, would not lessen, but rather increase his dishonour, he cast about how he might be avenged on such wise that, without the affair getting wind, he might content his soul, and having, after long pondering, hid, as he thought, upon the expedient, he budged not from his retreat, until Spiniloccio had parted from the lady. Whereupon he hide him into the chamber, and there finding the lady, with her headgear, which Spiniloccio, in toying with her, had disarranged, scarce yet readjusted, Madam, what dost thou, quoth he? Where too, why dost not see, returned the lady? Troth, do I, rejoined he, and somewhat else have I seen that I woulda had not. And so he questioned her of what had passed, and she, being mightily afraid, did after long pali confess that which she might not plausibly deny, to which her intimacy with Spiniloccio, and fellow beseeching him with tears to pardon her. Lo now, wife, quoth Zepa, thou hast done wrong, and so thou wouldst have me pardon thee, have a care to do exactly as I shall bid thee, to which, on this wise, thou must tell Spiniloccio to find some occasion to part from me tomorrow morning about tears, and come hither to thee, and while he is here I will come back, and when thou hearst me coming, thou wilt get him into this chest, and lock him in there, which when thou hast done, I will tell thee what else thou hast to do, which thou mayst do without the least misgiving, for I promise thee, I will do him no harm. The lady, to content him, promised to do as he bade, and she kept her word. The morning came, and Zepa and Spiniloccio being together about tears, Spiniloccio, having promised the lady to come to see her at that hour, said to Zepa, I must go breakfast with a friend whom I had life not keep in waiting, therefore adieu. Nay, but, quoth Zepa, it is not yet breakfast time. No matter, returns Spiniloccio, I have business on which I must speak with him, so I must be in good time. Whereupon Spiniloccio took his leave of Zepa, and having reached Zepa's house by a slightly circuitous route, and finding his wife there, was taken by her into the chamber, where they had not been long together when Zepa returned. Hearing him come, the lady, feigning no small alarm, bundled Spiniloccio into the chest, as her husband had bitten her, and having locked him in, left him there. As Zepa came upstairs, wife, quoth he, is it breakfast time? I, husband, tis so, replied the lady. Whereupon Spiniloccio is gone to breakfast with a friend to-day, quoth Zepa, leaving his wife at home, get thee to the window, and call her, and bid her come and breakfast with us. The lady, whose fear for herself made her mighty obedient, did as her husband bade her, and after much pressing Spiniloccio's wife came to breakfast with them, though she was given to understand that her husband would not be of the company. So, she being come, Zepa received her most affectionately, and, taking her familiarly by the hand, bade his wife in an undertone, get her to the kitchen. He then led Spiniloccio's wife into the chamber, and locked the door. Hearing the key turn in the lock, Alas, quoth the lady, what means this, Zepa? Is it for this you have brought me here? Is this the love you bear Spiniloccio? Is this your loyalty to him as your friend and comrade? By the time she had done speaking, Zepa, still keeping fast hold of her, was beside the chest, in which her husband was locked. Wherefore, madame, quoth he, spare me thy reproaches, until thou hast heard what I have to say to thee. I have loved, I yet love Spiniloccio as a brother, and yesterday, though he knew it not, I discovered that the trust I reposed in him has for its garden that he lies with my wife, as with thee. Now, for that I love him, I purpose not to be avenged upon him, save in the sort in which he offended. He has had my wife, and I intend to have thee. So thou wilt not grant me what I crave of thee, be sure I shall not fail to take it, and having no mind to let this affront pass unevenged, will make such play with him that neither thou nor he shall ever be happy again. The Lady Harkening, and by dint of his repeated asseverations, coming at length to believe him, Zeppermine, quoth she, as this thy vengeance is to light upon me, well content am I, so only thou let not this, which we are to do, embroil me with thy wife, with whom, notwithstanding the evil turn she has done me, I am minded to remain at peace. Have no fear on that score, replied Zeppar, Nay, I will give thee into the bargain a jewel so rare and fair, that thou hast not the like. Which said, he took her in his arms, and fell to kissing her, and having laid her on the chest, in which her husband was safe under lock and key, did there disport himself with her to his hearts content, as she with him. Spinalotcio in the chest heard all that Zeppar had said, and how he was answered by the Lady, and the trevescent dance that afterwards went on over his head, were at his mortification was such that for a great while his scarce hoped to live through it, and but for the fear he had of Zeppar, he would have given his wife a sound rating, close prisoner though he was. But as he besought him, that was he that had given the first affront, and that Zeppar had good course for acting as he did, and that he had dealt with him considerably, and as a good fellow should, he resolved that if it were agreeable to Zeppar, they should be faster friends than ever before. However, Zeppar, having had his pleasure with the Lady, got down from the chest, and being reminded by the Lady of his promise of the jewel, opened the door of the chamber, and brought his wife in. Quoth she with the laugh, Madam, you have given me tit for tat, and never a word more. Whereupon, open the chest, Quoth Zeppar, and she obeying, he showed the Lady her Spinalotcio lying therein. It would be hard to say whether of the twain was the more shame stricken, Spinalotcio to be confronted with Zeppar, knowing that Zeppar wist what he had done, or the Lady to meet her husband's eyes, knowing that he had heard what went on above his head. Lo, here is the jewel I give thee, Quoth Zeppar to her, pointing to Spinalotcio, who as he came forth of the chest blurted out, Zeppar, we are quits, and so to her best, as thou saidst a while ago to my wife, that we still be friends as we will want, and as we had not separate save our wives, that henceforth we have them also in common. Content, Quoth Zeppar, and so in perfect peace and accord they all fall breakfasted together, and henceforth each of the Ladies had two husbands, and each of the Husbands two wives, nor was there ever the least dispute or contention between them on that score. End of Day 8, The Eighth Story