 Day seven the third 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 seven, the third story. Frarinaldo lies with his gossip, her husband finds him in the room with her, and they make him believe that he was curing his godson of worms by a charm. Filostrato knew not how so to veil what he said touching the mares of Partia, but that the keen-witted ladies laughed their at, making as if it was at somewhat else. However, the story being ended, the king called for one from Elisa, who, all obedience, thus began. Debonere, my ladies, we heard from Emilia how the boogie is exercised, and it brought to my mind a story of another incantation. It is not indeed so good a story as hers, but as no other germane to our theme occurs to me at present, I will relate it. You are to know, then, that there dwelled a foretime at Siena a young man, right-gallant, and of honorable family, his name Rinaldo, who, being in the last degree enamored of one of his neighbors, a most beautiful gentlewoman and the wife of a rich man, was not without hopes that, if he could but find means to speak with her privately, he might have of her all that he desired. But seeing no way, and the lady being pregnant, he cast about how he might become her child's godfather. Wherefore, having ingratiated himself with her husband, he broached the matter to him in as graceful a manner as he might, and was arranged. So Rinaldo, being now godfather to Madonna Agnesa's child, and having a more colorable pretext for speaking to her, took courage and told her in words that message of his heart, which she had long before read in his eyes. But, though it was not displeasing to the lady to hear, it availed him but little. Now, not long afterwards, it so befell that, whatever may have been his reason, Rinaldo took him to Friaridge, and, whether it was that he found good pasture therein, or what not, he persevered in that way of life. And though for a while after he was turned friar, he laid aside the love he bore his gossip, and certain other vanities, yet in course of time, without putting off the habit, he resumed them, and began to take a pride in his appearance, and to go dressed in fine clothes, and to be quite the trim gallant, and to compose songs and sonnets and ballads, and to sing them, and to make a brave show in all else that pertain to his new character. But why, enlarge upon our fra Rinaldo of whom we speak, what friars are there that do not the like, a oprobrium of a corrupt world? Sleek-faced and sanguine, daintly clad, dainty in all their accessories, they ruffle it shamelessly before the eyes of all, showing not as doves, but as insolent cocks with raised crests and swelling bosom, and, what is worse, to say not, of the vases full of electoraries and unguents, the boxes packed with diverse comfits, the pictures and files of artificial waters, and oils, the flagans brimming with mom's sleigh, and Greek and other wines of finest quality, with which their cells are so packed that they show not as the cells of friars, but rather as apothecaries or perfumers' shops. They blush not to be known to be gouty, flattering themselves that other folk what not, that long fasts and many of them, and coarse fare and little of it, and sober living, make men lean and thin and, for the most part, healthy, or, if any malady come thereof, at any rate, tis not the gout, the wanted remedy for which is chastity, and all beside that belongs to the regimen of a humble friar. They flatter themselves to that others what not, that over and above the meager diet, long vigils and horizons and strict discipline, ought to mortify men and make them pale, and that neither St. Dominic nor St. Francis went clad, and stuff died in grain or any other good legarp, but in coarse woollen habits innocent of the dyer's art, made to keep out the cold and not for show. To which matters, to where well God had a care, no less than to the souls of the simple folk by whom our friars are nourished. Frey Rinaldo, then, being come back to his first affections, took to visiting his gossip very frequently, and gaining confidence began with more insistence than before, to solicit her to that which he craved of her. So, being much urged the good lady to whom Frey Rinaldo, perhaps, seemed now more handsome than of yore, had recourse one day, when she felt herself unusually hard-pressed by him, to the common expedient of all that would feign concede what is asked of them, and said, Oh, but Frey Rinaldo, do friars then do this sort of thing? Madam replied, Frey Rinaldo, when I divest myself of this habit, which I shall do easily enough, you will see that I am a man, furnished as other men, and no friar. Where, too, with a truly comical air the lady made answer, Halas woes me. You are my child's godfather, how might it be? Nay, but where a very great mischief, and many a time I have heard that, tis a most heinous sin, and without a doubt, where it not so, I would do as you wish. If, said Frey Rinaldo, you forgo it for such a scruple as this, you are a fool for your pains. I say not that, tis no sin, but there is no sin so great, but God pardons it, if one repent. Now tell me, whether is more truly father to your son, I that beheld him at the font, or your husband, that begot him? My husband, replied the lady. Sooth say you, return the friar, and does not your husband lie with you? Why, yes, said the lady. Then rejoined the friar, I that am less truly your son's father than your husband, ought also to lie with you, as does your husband. The lady was no logician, and needed little to sway her. She therefore believed, or feigned to believe, that what the friar said was true. So, whom might avail to answer your words of wisdom? Quote she, and presently forgot the godfather in the lover, and complied with his desires. Nor had they begun their course to end it forthwith, but under cover of the friar's sponsorship, which set them more at ease, as it rendered them less open to suspicion, they foregathered again and again. But on one of these occasions it so befell that friar Ronaldo being come to the lady's house, where he aspired none else safe a very pretty and dainty little maid that waited, on the lady, sent his companion away with her into the pigeon house, there to teach her the pattern-oster. While he and the lady, holding her little boy by the hand, went into the bedroom, locked themselves in, got them on to a devan that was there, and began to desport them. And while thus they spent the time, a chance that the father returned, and before any was aware of him, was at the bedroom door, and knocked, and called the lady by her name, whereupon, this as much as my life is worth, quote Madonna Agnesa, lo, here is my husband, and the occasion of our intimacy cannot but be now apparent to him. Soothe, say you, return friar Ronaldo, who was undressed, that is to say, had thrown off his habit and hood, and was in his tunic. If I had but my habit and hood on me, in any sort, it would be another matter. But if you let him in, and he finds me thus, it will not be possible to put any face on it. But with an inspiration as happy as sudden, now get them on you, quote the lady, and when you have them on, take your godson in your arms, and give good heed to what I shall say to him, that your words may accord with mine, and leave the rest to me. The good man was still knocking when his wife made answer. Coming, coming, and so up she got, and put on a cheerful countenance, and heed her to the door, and opened it and said, Husband mine, well indeed was it for us that in came friar Ronaldo our sponsor, it was God that sent him to us, for in Soothe, but for that we had today lost our boy. Which the poor simpleton almost swooned to hear, and how so, quote he. O husband mine, replied the lady, he was taken but now, all of a sudden, with a faint and fit, so that I thought he was dead, and what to do or say I knew not, had not friar Ronaldo our sponsor come just in the nick of time, and set him on his shoulder, and said, gossip, tis that he has worms in his body, and getting, as they do, about the heart, they might only too readily be the death of him, but fear not, I will say a charm that will kill them all, and before I take my leave, you will see your boy as whole as you ever saw him. And because to say certain of the prayers thou shaltst have been with us, and the maid knew not where to find thee, he caused his companion to say them at the top of the house, and he and I came in here. And for that does not meet for any but the boy's mother to assist at such a service, that we might not be troubled with anyone else, we locked the door, and he yet has him in his arms, and I doubt not that he only waits till his companion have said his prayers, and then the charm will be complete, for the boy is already quite himself again. The good simple soul taking all this pursuit and overwrought by the love he bore his son, was entirely without suspicion of the trick his wife was playing him, and heaving a great sigh said, I will go look for him. Nay, reply the wife, go not, thou wilt spoil the efficacy of the charm, wait here, I will go see if thou mayst safely go, and will call thee. Whereupon, frai Rinaldo, who had heard all that past, and was in his canonicals, and quite at his ease, and had the boy in his arms, having made sure that all was as it should be, cried out, Gossip, do I not hear the father's voice out there? A indeed, sir, replied the simpleton. Come in, then, said fra Rinaldo. So in came the simpleton, whereupon, quoth fra Rinaldo, I restore to you your boy made whole by the grace of God, whom but now I scarce thought you would see alive at Vespers. You will do well to have his image fashioned in wax, not less than life-size, and set it for a thanksgiving to God, before the statue of Master St. Ambrose, by whose merits you have this favor of God. The boy, catching sight of his father, went to him with joyous greetings, as little children are want, and the father taking him in his arms, and weeping as if he were restored to him from the grave, fell by turns, a-kissing him, and thanking his godfather, that he had cured him. Tra Rinaldo's companion, who had taught the maid not one paternoster only, but peradventure four or more, and by giving her a little purse of white thread that a nun had given him, had made her his devotee, no sooner heard Fra Rinaldo call the simpleton into his wife's room, than he stealthily got him to a place whence he might see and hear what was going on. Observing that the affair was now excellently arranged, he came down and entered the chamber, saying, Tra Rinaldo, those four prayers that you bade me say I have set them all, then well done, my brother, quoth Fra Rinaldo, while breathed must thou be. For my part I had but said, too, when my gossip came in, but what with thy travail and mine, God of his grace, has vouchsafe does the healing o'er the boy. The simpleton then had good wine and comfits brought in, and did the honors to the godfather and his companion in such sort as their occasion did most demand. He then ushered them forth off the house commending them to God, and without delay had the waxen image made, and directed it to be set up with the others in front of the statue of St. Ambrose, not, be it understood, St. Ambrose of Milan. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Tofano, one night, locks his wife out of the house, she finding that by no entreaties may she prevail upon him to let her in, feigns to throw herself into a well, throwing therein a great stone. Tofano hides him forth out of the house and runs to the spot. She goes into the house and locks him out, and hurls abuse at him from within. The king knows so nervist that at least the story was ended. Then, turning to Lauretta, he signified his will that she should tell somewhat. Wherefore, without delay, she began. Oh, love! How great and signal is thy potency! How notable thy stratagems thy devices! Was there ever, shall there ever be, philosopher or adept, competent to inspire council and teach in such sort as thou, by thine unpremeditated art, does two to those that follow thy lead. Verily laggard teachers are they all in comparison of thee, as by the matters here to foreset forth may very well be understood. To which store, I will add, loving ladies, a stratagem used by a woman of quite ordinary understanding, and of such a sort that I know not by whom she could have been taught it, save by love. No, then, that there dwelt a foretime at Arezzo, a rich man, Tofano by name, who took to wife Monagita, a lady exceeding fair, of whom, for what cause he knew not, he presently grew jealous. Whereof the lady, being where, waxed resentful, and having on diverse occasions demanded of him the reason of his jealousy, and gotten from him not precise, but only generalities and trivialities, resolved at last to give him cause enough to die of that evil which without cause he so much dreaded. And being where that a gallant whom she deemed well worthy of her was enamoured of her, she, using due discretion, came to an understanding with him, which being brought to the point that it only remained to give effect to their words in act, the lady cast about to devise how this might be. And witting that, among other bad habits that her husband had, he was too fond of his cups, she would not only commend indulgence, but cunningly and not seldom incite him there too, in so much that, well now as often as she was so minded, she led him to drink to excess, and when she saw that he was well drunken, she would put him to bed, and so not once only, but diverse times without any manner of risk, she foregathered with her lover. Nay, presuming upon her husband's intoxication, she grew so bold, that not content with bringing her lover into her house, she would at times go spend a great part of the night with him at his house, which was not far off. Now, such being the enamoured lady's constant practice, it so befell that the dishonoured husband took note, that while she egged him on to drink, she herself never drank a drop, whereby he came to suspect the truth, to wit, that the lady was making him drunk, that afterwards she might take her pleasure while he slept. And being minded to put his surmise to the proof, one evening having drunk a nought all day, he mimicked never-so-drunken assault, both in speech and in carriage. The lady, deeming him to be really as he appeared, and that was needless to ply him with liquor, presently put him to bed. Which done, she, as she at times was won't, hide her forth to her lover's house, where she tarried until midnight. Tofano no sooner perceived that his wife was gone, then up he got, hide him to the door, locked it, and then posted himself at the window to observe her return, and let her know that he was aware of her misconduct. So there he stood until the lady returned, and finding herself locked out was annoyed beyond measure, and sought to force the door open. Tofano let her try her strength upon it a while, and then, madame, was he, she's all to no purpose, thou canst not get in. Go get thee back thither where thou has tarried all this while, and rest assured that thou shalt never recross this threshold, until I have done thee such honour as his meat for thee, in the presence of thy kinsfolk and neighbours. Thereupon the lady fell in treating him to be pleased to open to her for the love of God, for that she was not come whence he supposed, but had only been passing the time with one of her gossips, because the nights were long, and she could not spend the whole time either in sleep or in solitary watching. But her supplications availed her nothing, for the fool was determined that all a rezzo should know their shame, whereof as yet none whisked ought. So as to his idol to entreat, the lady assumed a menacing tone, saying, So thou open not to me, I will make thee the saddest man alive. Where too Tofano made answer, And what then canst thou do? The lady, her wits sharpened by love, rejoined, Rather than endure the indignity to which thou wouldst unjustly subject me, I will cast myself into the well hard by here, and when I am found dead there, all the world will believe that it was thou that didst it in thy cups, And so thou wilt either have to flee, and lose all that thou hadst, and be outlawed, Or forfeit thy head as guilty of my death, as indeed thou wilt be. But for all she said Tofano wavered not a jot in his foolish purpose. So at last, low now, quoth the lady, I can no more abide thy surly humour, God forgive thee, I leave thee my dis-staff here, which be careful to bestow in a safe place. So saying, away she hide her to the well, and the night being so dark that wayfarers could scarce see one another as they passed, she took up a huge stone that was by the well, and ejaculating, God forgive me, dropped it therein. Tofano, hearing the mighty splash that the stone made as it struck the water, never doubted that she had cast herself in. So, bucket and rope in hand, he flung himself out of the house, and came running to the well to her rescue. The lady had meanwhile hidden herself hard by the door, and seeing him make for the well, was in the house in a trice, and having locked the door, hide her to the window, and greeted him with, "'Tis wild, thou art drinking, not now when the night is far spent, that thou should temper thy wine with water.'" Thus derided, Tofano came back to the door, and finding his ingress barred, began aduring her to let him in. Whereupon, changing the low tone she had hitherto used for one so shrill that was well now shriek, she broke out with, By the holy rude, tedious, drunken, sot that thou art, Thou gettest no admittance here to night, Thy ways are more than I can endure, Tis time I let all the world know what manner of man thou art, And at what hour of the night thou comest home. Tofano, on his part, now grew angry, and began loudly to upbraid her, In so much that the neighbours, aroused by the noise, God up, men and women alike, and looked out of the windows, and asked what was the matter. Whereupon the lady fell a weeping, and saying, "'Tis this wicked man, who comes home drunk at even, or falls asleep in some tavern, and then returns at this hour, long, and to no purpose have I borne with him, but it is now past endurance, and I have done him this indignity of locking him out of the house, in the hope that perchance it may cause him to mend his ways.'" Tofano, on his part, told, dulled that he was, just what had happened, and was mighty menacing. Whereupon, "'Now, Mark,' quoth the lady to the neighbours, "'the sort of man he is. What would you say if I were as he is in the street, and he were in the house as I am? God's faith I doubt you would believe what he said. Hereby you may gauge his sense. He tells you that I have done just what I doubt not he has done himself. He thought to terrify me by throwing I know not what into the well wherein would to God he had thrown himself indeed and drowned himself, whereby the wine of which he has taken more than enough had been watered to some purpose." The neighbours, men and women alike, now with one accord gave tongue, censuring Tofano, throwing all the blame upon him, and answering what he alleged against the lady with loud recrimination. And in short the brute, passing from neighbour to neighbour, reached at last the ears of the lady's kinsfolk, who hide them to the spot and being apprised of the fair, from this, that, and the other of the neighbours, laid hands on Tofano and beat him till he was black and blue from head to foot. Which done, they entered his house, stripped it of all that belonged to the lady, and took her home with them, bidding Tofano look for worse to come. Thus Hard bested and ruined the plight in which his jealousy had landed him, Tofano, who loved his wife with all his heart, set some friends to work to patch matters up, whereby he did, in fact, induce his lady to forgive him and live with him again, albeit he was feigned to promise her never again to be jealous, and to give her leave to amuse herself to her heart's content, provided she used such discretion that he should not be aware of it. On such wise, like the churl and booby that he was, being dispoiled, he made terms. Now long live love, and perish war and all that wage it. A jealous husband disguises himself as a priest, and hears his own wife's confession. She tells him that she loves a priest who comes to her every night. The husband posts himself at the door to watch for the priest, and meanwhile the lady brings her lover in by the roof, and tarries with him. When Laureta had done speaking, and all had commanded the lady, was that she had done well, and treated her catered husband as he had deserved. The king, not to lose time, turned to Fiametta, and graciously bade her take up her parable, which she did on this wise. Most noble ladies, the foregoing story prompts me likewise to discourse of one of these jealous husbands, deeming that they are justly requited by their wives, more especially when they grow jealous without due cause. And had our legislators taken account of everything, I am of opinion that they would have visited ladies in such a case, with no other penalty than such as they provide for those that offend in self-defense. Seeing that a jealous husband does cunningly practice against the life of his lady, and most assiduously machinate her death. All the week the wife stays at home, occupied with her domestic duties, after which, on the day that is sacred to joy, she, like everyone else, craves some solace, some peace, some recreation, not unreasonably, for she craves but what the husbandmen take in the fields, the craftsmen in the city, the magistrates in the courts, and they what God himself took when he rested from all his labours on the seventh day, and which laws human and divine, mindful alike of the honour of God and the common well-being, have ordained, appropriating certain days to work and others to repose. To which ordinance these jealous husbands will in no wise conform, on the contrary, by then most assiduously secluding their wives, they make those days which to all other women are glatsom, to them most grievous and dolorous. And what an affliction it is to the poor creatures they alone know who have proved it. For which reason, to sum up, I say that a wife is rather to be commended than censured, if she take a revenge upon a husband that is jealous without cause. Know then that at Rimini they're dwelt a merchant, a man of great substance in lands and goods and money, who, having most beautiful woman to wife, waxed inordinately jealous of her, and that for no better reason than that, loving her greatly and esteeming her exceeding fair, and knowing that she did her utmost endeavour to pleasure him. He must need suppose that every man loved her, and esteemed her fair, and that she, moreover, was as zealous to stand well with every other man as with himself, whereby you may see that he was a poor creature, and of little sense. Being thus so deeply infected with jealousy, he kept so strict and close watch over her, that some may be have lain under sentence of death, and been less rigorously confined by their waters. It was not merely that the lady might not go to a wedding or a festival gathering, or even to church, or indeed set foot out of doors of any sort, but she dared not so much as show herself at a window, or cast a glance outside the house, no matter for what purpose. Wherefore she led the most woeful life of it, and found it all the harder to bear because she knew herself to be innocent. Accordingly, seeing herself evilly entreated by her husband without good cause, she cast about how for her own consolation she might devise means to justify his usage of her. And for that, as she might not show herself at the window, there could be no interchange of amorous glances between her and any man that passed along the street. But she wished that in the next house there was a goodly and debonair gallant. She besought that, if there were but a hole in the wall that divided the two houses, she might watch there at, until she should have sight of the gallant on such wise that she might speak to him, and give him her love if he cared to have it. And, if so it might be contrived, foregather with him now and again, and after this fashion relieve the burden of her woeful life, until such time as the evil spirit should depart from her husband. So peering about, now here, now there, when her husband was away, she found in a very remote part of the house a place where, by chance, the wall had a little chink in it. Peering through which she made out, though not without great difficulty, that on the other side was a room, and said to herself, if this were Philippo's room, Philippo was the name of the gallant, her neighbour, I should be already half-way to my goal. So cautiously, through her maid, who was grieved to see her thus languish, she made quest, and discovered that it was indeed the gallant's room, where he slept quite alone. Wherefore she now betook her frequently to the aperture, and whenever she was aware that the gallant was in the room, she would let followed pebble or the like trifle, whereby at length she brought the gallant to the other side of the aperture to see what the matter was. Whereupon she softly called him, and he, knowing her voice, answered, and so, having now the opportunity she had sought, she in few words opened to him all her mind. The gallant, being overjoyed, wrought at the aperture on such wise that albeit none might be aware thereof, he enlarged it, and there many a time they held converse together, and touched hands, though further they might not go by reason of the assiduous watch that the jealous husband kept. Now towards Christmas the lady told her husband that, if he approved, she would feign go on Christmas morning to church, and confess and communicate, like other Christians. And what sins quoth he hast thou committed that wouldst be shriven? How, returned the lady, dost thou take me for a saint? For all thou keepest me so close, thou must know very well that I am like all other mortals. However, I am not minded to confess to thee, for that thou art no priest. Her husband, whose suspicions were excited by what she had said, cast about how he might discover these sins of hers, and having besought him of what seemed an apt expedient, made answer that she had his consent, but he would not have her go to any church but their own chapel, where she might high her betimes in the morning, and confess either to their own chaplain, or some other priest, that the chaplain might assign her, but to none other, and presently return to the house. The lady thought she half understood him, but she answered only that she would do as he required. Christmas morning came, and with the dawn the lady rose, dressed herself, and hired her to the church appointed by her husband, who also rose and hired him to the same church, where he arrived before her, and having already concerted matters with a priest that was in charge, he forthwith put on one of the priest's robes, with a great hood overshadowing the face, such as we see priests wear, and which he pulled somewhat forward, and so disguised he seated himself in the choir. On entering the church the lady asked for the priest, who came, and learning that she was minded to confess, said that he could not hear her himself, but would send her one of his brethren, so away he hired him and sent her, in an evil hour for him, her husband. For though he wore an air of great solemnity, and it was not yet broad day, and he had pulled the hood well over his eyes, yet all did not avail, but that the lady forthwith recognized him, and said to herself, God be praised, why the jealous rogue has turned priest, but leave it to me to give him that whereof he is in quest. So she feigned not to know him, and seated herself at his feet. I should tell you that he had put some pebbles in his mouth, that his speech being impeded might not betray him to his wife, and in all other respects he deemed himself so thoroughly disguised that there was not whereby she might recognize him. Now to come to the confession the lady, after informing him that she was married, told him, among other matters, that she was enamoured of a priest, who came every night to lie with her. Which to hear was to her husband, as if he was stricken through the heart with a knife, and had it not been that he was bent on knowing more, he would have forthwith given over the confession, and taken himself off. However he kept his place, and how, said he to the lady, does not your husband lie with you? The lady replied in the affirmative, how then, quoth the husband, can the priest also lie with you? Sir, replied she, what art the priest employs I know not, but door there is none, however well locked, in the house, that comes not open at his touch, and he tells me that, being come to the door of my room, before he opens it, he says certain words, whereby my husband forthwith falls asleep, whereupon he opens the door, and enters the room, and lies with me, and so it is always without fail. Then it is very wrong, madam, and you must give it up altogether, said the husband. That, sir, returned the lady, I doubt I can never do, for I love him too much. In that case, quoth the husband, I cannot give you a solution. The pity of it, ejaculated the lady, I came not hither to tell you falsehoods, if I could give it up I would. Madam, replied the husband, indeed I am sorry for you, for I see that you are in a fair way to lose your soul. However this I will do for you, I will make special supplication to God on your behalf, and perchance you may be profited thereby, and from time to time I will send you one of my young clerks, and you will tell him whether my prayers have been of any help to you, or no, and if they have been so, I shall know what to do next. Naesah, quoth the lady, do not so, send no man to me at home, for should my husband come to know it, he is so jealous that nothing in the world would ever disabuse him of the idea that he came but for an evil purpose, and so I should have no peace with him all the year long. Madam, returned the husband, have no fear, rest assured that I will so order matters, that you shall never hear a word about it from him. If you can make sure of that, quoth the lady, I have no more to say. And so her confession ended, and her penance enjoined, she rose and went to mass, while the luckless husband, fuming and fretting, hasted to divest himself of his priests' trappings, and then went home, bent upon devising some means to bring the priest and his wife together, and to take his revenge upon them both. When the lady came home from church, she read in her husband's face that she had spoiled his Christmas for him, albeit he dissembled to the utter most lest she should discover what he had done, and supposed himself to have learned. His mind was made up to keep watch for the priest that very night by his own front door. So to the lady he said, I have to go out tonight to sup and sleep. So thou wilt take care that the front door and the mid-stair door and the bedroom door are well locked, and for the rest thou mayest go to bed, at thine own time. Well and good, replied the lady, and as soon as she was able, off she hide her to the aperture, and gave the wanted signal, which Philippo no sooner heard than he was at the spot. The lady then told him what she had done in the morning, and what her husband had said to her after breakfast, adding, Sure I am that he will not stir out of the house, but will keep watch beside the door, wherefore contrive to come in tonight by the roof that we may be together. Madam, replied the gallant, nothing loath, trust me for that. Night came. The husband armed and noiselessly hid himself in a room on the grand floor. The lady locked all the doors, being especially careful to secure the mid-stair door to bar her husband's assent, and in due time the gallant, having found his way cautiously enough over the roof, they got them to bed, and there had solace of one another and a good time, and at daybreak the gallant hide him back to his house. Meanwhile the husband, rueful and suppolous, half dead with cold, kept his armed watch beside the door, momentarily expecting the priest for the best part of the night. But towards daybreak, his powers failing him, he lay down and slept in the grand floor room. It was hard upon tears when he awoke, and the front door was then open, so, making as if he had just come in, he went upstairs and breakfasted. Not long afterwards he sent to his wife a young fellow, disguised as the priest's underling, who asked her if he of whom she wished had been with her again. The lady who quite understood what that meant, made answer that he had not come that night, and that if he continued to neglect her so, it was possible he might be forgotten, so she had no mind to forget him. Now, to make a long story short, the husband passed many a night in the same way, hoping to catch the priest as he came in. The lady and her gallant meanwhile having a good time. But at last the husband, being able to stand it no longer, sternly demanded of his wife, what she had said to the priest the morning when she was confessed. The lady answered that she was not minded to tell him, for that it was not seemingly or proper so to do. Whereupon, sinful woman, quoth the husband, in thy despite, I know what thou sets to him, and know I must, and will, who this priest is, of whom thou art enamoured, and who by dint of his incantations, lies with thee at nights, or I will sluice thy veins for thee. "'Tis not true,' replied the lady, that I am enamoured of a priest. "'How?' quoth the husband, saidst thou not as much to the priest that confessed thee? Thou canst not have had it from him, rejoined the lady. Was thou then present thyself? For sure I never told him so. Then tell me, quoth the husband, who this priest is, and lose no time about it. Whereupon the lady began to smile, and I find it not a little diverting quoth she, that a wise man would suffer himself to be led by a simple woman, as a ram is led by the horns to the shambles. Albeit know wise man art thou, not since that fatal hour when thou gaveest harbourage in thy breast, thou wist not why, to the evil spirit of jealousy. And the more foolish and incensored thou art, the less glory have I. Deemest thou, my husband, that I am as blind of the bodily eye as thou art of the mind's eye? Nay, but for sure I am not so. I knew at a glance the priest that confessed me, and that it was even thyself. But I was minded to give thee that of which thou wast in quest, and I gave it thee. How be it if thou hadst been the wise man thou takest thyself to be, thou wouldst not have chosen such a way as that, to worm out thy good lady's secrets, nor wouldst thou have fallen a prey to a baseless suspicion, but wouldst have understood that what she confessed was true, and she all the while guiltless. I told you that I loved a priest, and was not thou whom I love, though ill enough dost thou deserve it, turned priest? I told thee that there was no door in my house but would open when he was minded to lie with me. And when thou wouldst feign have access to me, what door was ever closed against thee? I told thee that a priest lay nightly with me, and what night was there that thou didst not lie with me? Thou sentest thy young clerk to me, and thou knowest that, as often as thou hadst not been with me, I sent word that the priest had not been with me. Who but thou, that hast suffered jealously to blind thee, would have been so witless as not to read such a riddle? But thou must needst mount guard at night beside the door, and think to make me believe that thou hadst gone out to sup and sleep. Consider thy ways, and caught not the mockery of those that know them as I do, but turn a man again as thou wasst want to be, and let there be no more of this strict restraint in which thou keepest me, for I swear to thee by God that if I were minded to set horns on thy brow, I should not fail so to take my past time, that thou wouldst never find it out, though thou hadst a hundred eyes, as thou hast but two. Thus admonished, the jealous Catech, who had flattered himself, that he had very cunningly discovered his wife's secret, was a shame that made no answer safe to commend his wife's wit and honour. And thus, having cause for jealousy, he discarded it, as he had erstwhile been jealous without cause. And so the adroit lady had, as it were, a charter of indulgence, and needed no more to contrive for her lover to come to her over the roof like a cat, but admitted him by the door, and, using due discretion, had many a good time with him, and sped her life gaily. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org. When she is surprised by one Missa Lambertuccio, by whom she is beloved. Her husband, coming home about the same time, she sends Missa Lambertuccio forth of the house, drawn sword in hand. And the husband afterwards escorts Leonetto home. Not a few there are that, in their simplicity, ever that love deranges the mind, in so much that whoso loves becomes, as it were, witless, the folly of which opinion, albeit I doubt it not, and deem it abundantly proven by what has been already said. I purpose once again to demonstrate, in our city, rich in all manner of good things, there dwelt a young gentle woman, fair exceedingly, and wedded to a most worthy and excellent gentleman. And, as it not seldom happens that one cannot keep ever to the same diet, but would fain at times vary it, so this lady, finding her husband not altogether to her mind, became enamoured of a gallant Leonetto by name, who, though of no high rank, was not a little debonair in courteous, and he, in like manner, fell in love with her. And, as you know that Tis seldom that what is mutually desired fails to come about, twas not long before they had fruition of their love. Now, the lady being, as I said, fair and winsome, it so befell that a gentleman, Missa Lambertuccio by name, grew mightily enamoured of her, but so tiresome and odious did she find him, that, for the world, she could not bring herself to love him. So, growing tired of fruitlessly soliciting her favour by unpassage, Missa Lambertuccio, who was a powerful senior, sent her at last another sort of message in which he threatened to defame her if she complied not with his wishes. Wherefore, the lady, knowing her man, was terrified, and disposed herself to pleasure him. Now, it's so chanced that Madonna Isabella, for such was the lady's name, being gone, as is our Florentine custom in the summer, to spend some time in a very goodly estate that she had in the Contardo, one morning finding herself alone, for her husband had ridden off to tarry some days elsewhere. She sent for Leonetto to come and keep her company. And Leonetto came forthwith in high glee. But, while they were together, Missa Lambertuccio, who, having got wind that the husband was away, had mounted his horse, and ridden thither quite alone, knocked at the door, whereupon the lady's maid hide her forthwith to her mistress, who was alone with Leonetto, and called her, saying, Madam, Missa Lambertuccio is here below, quite alone, whereat the lady was vexed beyond measure, and being also not a little dismayed, she said to Leonetto, Prithee, let it not irk thee to withdraw behind the curtain, and there keep close until Missa Lambertuccio be gone. Leonetto, who stood in no less fear of Missa Lambertuccio, than did the lady, got into his hiding place, and the lady bade the maid to go open to Missa Lambertuccio. She did so, and having dismounted and fussed his porphyry to a pin, he ascended the stairs, at the head of which the lady received him with a smile, and as glad some a greeting as she could find words for, and asked him on what errand he was come, the gentleman embraced and kissed her, saying, My soul, I am informed that your husband is not here, and therefore I am come to stay a while with you, which said they went into the room, and locked them in, and Missa Lambertuccio fell atoying with her. Now, while thus he sped the time with her, it befell that the lady's husband, albeit she no wise expected him, came home. And, as he drew nigh the palace, was observed by the maid, who forthwith ran to the lady's chamber, and said, Madam, the master will be here, and none! I doubt he is already in the courtyard, whereupon, for that she had two men in the house, and the night's porphyry, that was in the courtyard, made it impossible to hide him, the lady gave herself up for dead. Nevertheless she made up her mind, on the spur of the moment, and springing out of bed. Sir, quotes she to Missa Lambertuccio, If you have any regard for me, and would save my life, you will do as I bid you. That is to say, you will draw your blade, and put on a fell, and wrathful countenance, and hide you downstairs, saying, by God, he shall not escape me elsewhere. And if my husband would stop you, or ask you ought, say not but what I have told you, and get you on horseback, and tarry with him on no account. To hear is to obey, quotes Missa Lambertuccio, who, with the flush of his recent exertion, and the rage that he felt at the husband's return still on his face, and drawn sword in hand, did as she bade him. The lady's husband, being now dismounted in the courtyard, and not a little surprised to see the porphyry there, was about to go up the stairs, when he saw Missa Lambertuccio coming down them, and marvelling both at his words and at his mean. What means this, sir? quotes he. But Missa Lambertuccio clapped foot in stirrup, and mounted, saying not but sounds, but I will meet him elsewhere. And so he rode off. The gentleman then ascended the stairs, at the head of which he found his lady distraught with terror, to whom he said, What manner of thing is this? After whom goes Missa Lambertuccio so wrathful and menacing? Where to the lady, drawing nigh of the room, that Leonetto might hear her made answer. Never, sir, how do I such a fright as this? There came running in here a young man, who to me is quite a stranger. And at his heels Missa Lambertuccio with a drawn sword in hand. And as it happened, the young man found the door of this room open, and trembling in every limb cried out, Madam, your sucker, for good sake, that I die not in your arms. So up I got, and would have asked him who he was, and how bested, when up came Missa Lambertuccio, exclaiming, Where art thou, traitor? I planted myself in the doorway, and kept him from entering, and seeing that I was not minded to give him admittance, he was courteous enough, after not a little parlay to take himself off as you saw. Where upon? Wife, quoth the husband, Thou didst very right. Great indeed had been the scandal, had someone been slain here, and towards a gross affront on Missa Lambertuccio's part to pursue a fugitive within the house. He then asked where the young man was, where to the lady answered, Nay, where he may be hiding, sir, I would not. So where art thou, quoth the night, fear not to show thyself? Then forth of his hiding-place, all of a tremble, for in truth he had been thoroughly terrified, crept Leonetto, who had heard all that had passed, to whom What hast thou to do with Missa Lambertuccio, quoth the night? Nothing in the world, replied the young man, wherefore I doubt he must be either out of his mind, or have mistaken me for another. For no sooner had he sight of me in the street hard by the palace, than he laid his hand on the sword, and exclaimed, Traitor, thou art a dead man! Whereupon I sought not to know why, but fled with all speed, and got me here, and so thanks to God and this gentle woman I escaped his hands. Now away with thy fears, quoth the night, I will see the home safe and sound, and then it will be for thee to determine how thou shalt deal with him. And so, when they had sucked, he set him on horseback, and escorted him to Florence, and left him naught until he was safe in his own house. And the very same evening, following the lady's instructions, Leonetto spoke privily with Missa Lambertuccio, and so composed the affair with him, that, though it occasioned not a little talk. The night never wist how he had been tricked by his wife. End of Day Seven, The Sixth Story Recording by Miet, of Miet's Bedtime Story podcast. Recording by J. C. Iguan, the Decameron, by Giovanni Boccaccio, translated by J. M. Rigg. Day Seven, The Seventh Story Lodovico discovers to Madonna Beatrice the love that he bears her. She sends Igano, her husband, into a garden disguised as herself, and lies with Lodovico, who thereafter, being Ryzen, hides him to the garden and cuddles Igano. This device of Madonna Isabella, thus recounted by Pampinea, was held nothing short of marvelous by all the company, but being bitten by the king, to tell the next story, the speck filomena. Lodovico, a man of poverty, turned merchant, had prospered so well in his affairs that he was become very wealthy, and having by his lady, and only son, Lodovico by name, whose nobility this relished trade, he would not put him in any shop, but that he might be with other gentlemen. He cost him to enter the service of the king of France, whereby he acquired very fine manners and other accomplishments. Being in this service, Lodovico was one day with some other young gallants that talked of the fair ladies of France, and England, and other parts of the world, when they were joined by certain knights that were returned from the Holy Sepulcher, and hearing their discourse, one of the knights fell assaying that of his shirty in the whole world, so far as he had explored it, there was not any lady, of all that he had ever seen, that might compare for beauty, with Madonna Beatrice, the wife of Igano de Galuzzi, of Bologna, wherein all his companions, who in common with him had seen the lady at Bologna, concurred. Which report, Lodovico, who was as yet fancy-free, no sooner heard, that he burned with such a yearning to see the lady, that he was able to think of not else, in so much that he made up his mind to be taken to Bologna to see her, and if she placed him to remain there, to which end he gave his father to understand that he would faint visit the Holy Sepulcher, where too his father after no little dimmer consented. So to Bologna, Anicino, for so he now called himself, came, and as fortune would have it, the very next day he saw the lady at a festal gathering, and deemed her vastly more beautiful than he had expected. Wherefore, he waxed most ardently enamoured of her, and resolved never to quit Bologna, until he had gained her love. So, casting about how he should proceed, he could otherwise no other way but to enter her husband's service, which was the more easy, that he kept not a few retainers. On this wise Lodovico surmised that, per adventure, he might compass his end. He therefore sold his horses, and neatly bestowed his servants, bidding them make, as if they knew him not, and being pretty familiar with his host, he told him that he was minded to take service with some wordy lord, in such he might find. The outwards make, quotes the host, the very sort of retainer to suit a gentleman of this city, Igano by name, who keeps not a few of them, and will have all of them presentable like D. I will mention the matter to him, and so he accordingly did, and before he took leave of Igano, had placed a noncure with him, to Igano's complete satisfaction. Being thus resident with Igano, and having abundant opportunities of seeing the fair lady, Anichino set himself to serve Igano with no little zeal, wherein he succeeded so well, that Igano was more than satisfied, in so much that, by and by, there was not he could do without his advice, and he entrusted him the guidance, not only of himself, but of all his affairs. Now it so befell, that one day, when Igano was gone a-hawking, having left Anichino at home, Madonna Beatrice, who as yet was not of his love, albeit she had from time to time taken note of him and his manners, and had not a little approved and commended them, set herself down with him to a game of chess, which to place her, Anichino most exterrously contrived to lose, to the lady's prodigious delight. After a while, the lady's women, one and all, gave over-watching their play, and left them to it, whereupon Anichino heaved a mighty sigh. The lady, looking hard at him, said, What else the Anichino? Is it then such a mortification to thee to be conquered by me? Nay, madam, replied Anichino, my sigh was prompted by a much griever manner. Then if thou hast any regard for me, quote the lady, tell me what it is. Hearing himself thus adjured by any regard he had for her, whom he loved more than all else, Anichino heaved a yet mightier sigh, which caused the lady to renew her request, that he would be pleased to tell her the occasion of his size. Whereupon, madam, said Anichino, I greatly fear me that were I to tell you, twit but vex you, and, moreover, I doubt you might repeat it to someone else. Rest assured, returned the lady, that I shall neither be annoyed, nor, without thy leave, ever repeat to any other soul ought that I may say. Then, said Anichino, having this pledge from you, I will tell it to you. And while the tears all but stood in his eyes, he told her, who he was, the report he heard of her, and where and how he had become enamored of her, and with what intent he had taken service with her husband. After which he humbly besought her that, if it might be, she would have pity on him, and gratify his secret and ardent desire, and that, if she were not minded to do so, she would suffer him to retain his place there, and love her. Ah, Bologna, how sweetly mixed are the elements in thy women! How commendable in such a case are they all! No delight have thy insights and tears, but are ever inclinable to prayers, and ready to yield to the solicitations of love. Had I but words apt to praise them as they deserve, my eloquence were inexhaustible. The gentle woman's gaze was fixed on Anichino as he spoke. She made no doubt at all, he said, was true. And yielding to his appeal, she entertained his love within her heart in such a measure that she too began to sigh, and after a sigh or two made answer. Sweet my Anichino, be of good cheer, neither presence nor promises, nor any courting by gentleman or lord, or whoso else, for I have been, and am still courted by not a few, was ever able to sway my soul to love any of them. But thou, but a few words that thou hast said, hast so rots with me, that, brief though the time has been, I am already, in far greater measure, dine than mine. My love I deemed thee, to have won, right worthily, and so I give it thee, and vow to give thee joy instead of, before the coming night be passed. To which end, thou wilt come to my room about midnight. I will leave the door open, thou knowest the side of the bed on which I sleep. Thou wilt come there, should I be asleep, thou hast but to touch me, and I shall awake, and give thee solace for thy long pen desire. In earnest, whereof I will even give thee a kiss. So saying, she threw her arms about his neck, and lovingly kissed him, as Anichino heard. Their colloquial thus ended. Anichino betook him elsewhere, about some matters, which he had to attend to, looking forward to midnight, with boundless exultation. Igano came in from his hawking, and after supper, being weary, he went straight to bed, with her the lady soon followed him, leaving, as she had promised, the door of the chamber open. Sither accordingly, at the appointed hour, came Anichino, and having softly entered the chamber, and closed the door behind him, stole up to where the lady lay, and laying his hand upon her breast, found that she was awake. Now, as soon as she wished that Anichino was come, she took his hand in both her own, and keeping fast hold of him, she turned about in the bed, until she awoke Igano. We're a pun. Husband, quote she. I will not say out of this to thee, yester eve, because I judged thou wast weary. But tell me, a pun thy hope of salvation, Igano, whom deem as thou thy best and most loyal retainer, and the most attached to thee, of all that thou hast in the house. What a question is this, wife, returned Igano, does not know him, retainer I have done, nor ever had so trusted or loved as Anichino. But wherefore put such a question? Now, when Anichino wished that Igano was awake, and heard them talk of himself, he more than once tried to withdraw his hand, being mightily afraid lest the lady meant to play him false. But she held it so tightly that he might not get free, while that she made answer to Igano. I will tell thee what he is. I thought that he was, all thou sayest, and that none was so loyal to thee as he. But he has undeceived me, for that yesterday, when thou was out ahawking, he being here, chose his time, and had the shamelessness to crave of me compliance with his wanton desires, and I that I might not need other evidence than that of thine own senses to prove his guilt to thee. I made answer that I was well content, and that tonight, after midnight, I would get me into the garden, and wait him there at the foot of the pine. Now go thither, I shall certainly not, but if thou wouldst prove the loyalty of thy retainer, thou canst readily do so, if thou but slip on one of my loose robes, and cover thy face with a veil, and go down and attend his coming. For come, I doubt not he will. Where too, Igano, meet indeed it is, quoth he, that I should go see, and straightway up he got, and, as bet he might in the dark, he put on one of the lady's loose robes and veiled his face, and then hide him to the garden, and save down at the foot of the pine to wait on Igano. The lady no sooner wist that he was out of the room than she rose and locked the door. On Igano, who had never been so terrified in all his life, and had struggled with all his might to disengage his hand from the lady's clasp, and had inwardly cursed her and his love, and himself for trusting her, a thousand times, was ever joyous beyond measure at this last turn that he had given the affair. And so, the lady having got her to bed again, and he, at her bidding, having stripped and laid hand down beside her, they had solace and joyance of one another for a good while. Then the lady, leaving its unmeat for an Igano to tarry longer with her, caused him to get up and resume his clothes, saying to him, sweet my mouse, thou wilt take a stout cudgel, and get thee to the garden, and making as if I were there, and thy suit to me had been but to try me. Thou wilt give Igano a sound rating with thy tongue, and a sound belaboring with thy cudgel. The sequel were of, will be wondrously gladsome and delightful. Whereupon, Anichano hide him off to the garden, armed with a staff of wild willow, and as he drew neither pine, Igano saw him, and rose, and came forward to meet him, as if he would receive him with the heartiest of cheer. But a wicked woman, close Anichano, so thou art come, thou didst verily believe then that I was, that I am, minded thus to wrong my lord. Thou wilt follow thee a thousand times. And wherewith he raised his cudgel, and began to lay about him. Igano, however, had heard and seen enough, and, without a word, took to flight, while Anichano pursued him, crying out, away with thee, God send thee a bad year, lewd woman, that thou art, and no doubt that Igano shall hear of this to-morrow. Igano, having received sun-dry round knocks, got him back to his chamber, and with what speed he might, and being asked by the lady, would the Anichano had come into the garden? Would to God he had not, quote he, for that, taking me for thee, he has beaten me blank and blue with his cudgel, and rated me like the vilest woman that ever was. Passing strange indeed, it had seemed to me, that he should have said those words to thee, with intent to dishonour me. And now, to explain, that was but that, seeing thee so blies and frolicsome, he was minded to prove thee. Where, too, God be praised, returned the lady, that he proved me by words, as thee by acts, and I doubt not, he may say, that I bear his words with more patience than thou his acts. But since he is so loyal to thee, we must make much of him and do him honour. I indeed, quote Igano, thou sayest sooth. Thus was Igano fortified in the belief, that never had any gentleman wife, so true, or a returner so loyal, as he. And many a hearty laugh had he with Anichino and his lady over this affair, which to them was the occasion that, with far less let than might else have been, they were able to have solace and joyance of one another, so long as it pleased Anichino to Terry at Bologna. End of Day 7. The Seventh Story A husband grows jealous of his wife and discovers that she has warning of her lover's approach by a piece of pack-thread, which she ties to her great toe a-night. While he is pursuing her lover, she puts another woman in bed in her place. The husband, finding her there, beats her and cuts off her hair. He then goes and calls his wife's brothers, who, holding his accusation to be false, give him a rating. Rare indeed was deemed by common consent, the subtly shown by Madonna Beatrice, in the beguilement of her husband, and all affirmed that the terror of Anichino must have been prodigious, when, the lady still keeping fast hold of him, he had heard her say, that he had made suit of love to her. However, film and a being silent, the king turned to Neyfile, saying, this now for you to tell. Whereofon Neyfile, with a slight smile, died away upon her lips, thus began. Fair ladies, to entertain you with a goodly story, such as those which my predecessors have delighted you with all, is indeed a heavy burden. But, God helping me, I trust fairly well to acquit myself thereof. You are to know, then, that their dwelt a foretime in our city, a most wealthy merchant, Ariguccio Berlinghieri, by name, who foolishly, as we what, by daily experience, is the way of merchants, thinking to compass gentility by matrimony, took to wife a young gentlewoman, by no means suited to him, whose name was Mona Sismonda. Now Mona Sismonda, seeing that her husband was much abroad, and gave her little of his company, became enamoured of a young galante, Roberto, by name, who had long courted her. And she, being grown pretty familiar with him, and using perchance too little discretion, for she affected him extremely, it so befell that Ariguccio, whether it was that he detected somewhat, or how so ever, waxed of all men the most jealous, and gave up going abroad, and changed his way of life altogether, and made it his sole care to watch over his wife, in so much that he never allowed himself a wink of sleep, until he had seen her to bed. Which occasioned the lady the most grievous dumps, because it was on no wise possible for her to be with her Roberto. So, casting about in many ways how she might contrive to meet him, and being there too not a little plied by Roberto himself, she bethought her at last of the following expedient, to wit, her room fronting the street, and Ariguccio, as she had often observed, being very hard put to it to get him to sleep, but there after sleeping very soundly, she resolved to arrange with Roberto that he should come to the front door about midnight, whereupon she would get her down and open the door, and stay some time with him, while her husband was in his deep sleep. And that she might have tidings of his arrival, yet so as that none else might what ought thereof. She adopted the device of lowering a pack-thread from the bedroom window, on such wise that, while with one end it should all but touch the ground, it should traverse the floor of the room until it reached the bed, and then be brought under the clothes, so that when she was a bed she might attach it to her great toe. Having so done she sent word to Roberto that when he came he must be sure to jerk the pack-thread, and if her husband were asleep she would loose it and go open to him. But if he were awake she would hold it taut and draw it to herself, to let him know that he must not expect her. Roberto fell in with the idea, came there many times, and now foregathered with her, and again did not. But at last, they still using this cunning practice, it so befell that one night, while the lady slept, Arigucho, letting his foot stray more than he was won't about the bed, came upon the pack-thread, and laying his hand upon it found that it was attached to his lady's great toe, and said to himself, this must be some trick. And afterwards discovering that the thread passed out of the window was confirmed in his surmise, wherefore he softly severed it from the lady's toe, and affixed it to his own, and waited all attention to learn the result of his experiment. Nor had he longed to wait before Roberto came, and Arigucho felt him jerked the thread according to his won't, and as Arigucho had not known how to attach the thread securely, and Roberto jerked it with some force, it gave way, whereby he understood that he was to wait, and did so. Arigucho straightway arose, caught up his arms, and hasted to the door to see who might be there, intent to do him a mischief. Now, Arigucho, for all he was a merchant, was a man of spirit, and of thews and sinews, and being come to the door, he opened it by no means gingerly as the lady was won't, whereby Roberto, who was in waiting, surmised the truth to wit that it was Arigucho by whom the door was opened, wherefore he forthwith took to flight followed by Arigucho. But at length, when he had run a long way, as Arigucho gave not up the pursuit, he being also armed, drew his sword, and faced about, and so they fell to, Arigucho attacking, and Roberto defending himself. Now, when Arigucho undid the bedroom door, the lady awoke, and finding the pack thread cut loose from her toe, saw at a glance that her trick was discovered. And hearing Arigucho running after Roberto, she forthwith got up, foreboding what the result was like to be, and called her maid, who was entirely in her confidence, whom she so plied with her obsecrations that at last she got her into bed in her room, beseeching her not to say who she was, but to bear patiently all the blows that Arigucho might give her, and she would so reward her that she should have no reason to complain. Then, extinguishing the light that was in the room, forth she hide her, and having found a convenient hiding-place in the house, awaited the turn of events. Now, Arigucho and Roberto being hotly engaged in the street, the neighbours roused by the din of the combat, got up and launched their curses upon them, wherefore Arigucho, fearing lest he should be recognised, drew off before he had so much as discovered who the younger land was, or done him any scathe, and in a fell and wrathful mood, betook him home. Stumbling into the bedroom he cried out angrily, Where art thou, loomed woman? Thou hast put out the light that I may not be able to find thee, but thou hast miscalculated. And going to the bedside he laid hold of the maid, taking her to be his wife, and fell a pummeling and kicking her with all the strength he had in his hands and feet, in so much that he pounded her face well night a pulp, rating her the while like the vilest woman that ever was, and last of all he cut off her hair. The maid wept bitterly, as indeed she well might, and though from time to time she ejaculated an last mercy for God's sake, or spare me, spare me, yet her voice was so broken by her sobs, and Arigucho's hearing so dulled by his wrath, that he was not able to discern that was not his wife's voice but that of another woman. So having soundly thrashed her and cut off her hair, as we said, wicked woman, quote he, I touch thee no more, but I go to find thy brothers, and she'll do them to wit of thy good works, and then they may come here and deal with thee as they may deem their honor demands, and take the hence, for be sure thou shalt no more abide in this house. With this he was gone, locking the door of the room behind him, and quitted the house alone. Now no sooner did Monas's Monda, who had heard all that passed, perceive that her husband was gone, than she opened the door of the bedroom, rekindled the light, and finding her maid or bruises and tears did what she could to comfort her, and carried her back to her own room, where, causing her to be privily weighted on and tended, she helped her so liberally from Arigucho's own store that she confessed herself content. The maid, thus bestowed in her room, the lady presently hide her back to her own, which she set all in neat and trim order, remaking the bed, so that it might appear as if it had not been slept in, relighting the lamp, and dressing and tiring herself, until she looked as if she had not been a bed that night. Then, taking with her a lighted lamp and some work, she sat her down at the head of the stairs, and began sewing, while she waited to see how the affair would end. Arigucho, meanwhile, had hide him with all speed straight from the house to that of his wife's brothers, whereby dint of much knocking he made himself heard, and was admitted. The lady's three brothers and her mother, being informed that Twas Arigucho got up, and having set lights a-burning, came to him, and asked him on what errand he was come there at that hour and alone. Whereupon Arigucho, beginning with the discovery of the pack-thread attached to his lady's great toe, gave them the whole narrative of his discoveries and doings, down to the very end. And to clinch the whole matter, he put in their hands the locks which he had cut, as he believed, from his wife's head, adding that Twas now for them to come for her, and deal with her on such wise as they might deem their honour required, seeing that he would never more have her in his house. Firmly believing what he told them, the lady's brothers were very roth with her, and having provided themselves with lighted torches, set out with Arigucho, and hide them to his house with intent to scorn her, while their mother followed, weeping and beseeching now one, now another, not to credit these matters so hastily, until they had seen or heard somewhat more thereof. For that the husband might have some other reason to be roth with her, and having ill-treated her might have trumped up this charge by way of exculpation, adding that, if true, Twas passing strange for well she knew her daughter, whom she had brought up from her tenderest years, and much more to the like effect. However, being come to Arigucho's house, they entered and were mounting the stairs, when Monas Ismonda, hearing them, called out, Who is there? where too one of the brothers responded, Lude woman, thou shalt soon have cause enough to know who it is. Now Lord, love us, quoth Monas Ismonda, what would he be at? Then, rising, she greeted them with, Welcome, my brothers, but what seek ye abroad at this hour, all three of you? They had seen her sitting and sewing with never a sign of a blow on her face, whereas Arigucho had a word that he had pummeled her all over, wherefore their first impression was one of wonder. And refraining the vehemence of their wrath, they asked her what might be the truth of the matter which Arigucho laid to her charge, and threatened her with direful consequences if she should conceal ought. Where to the lady? What you would have me tell you, quoth she, or what Arigucho may have laid to my charge, that no not I. Arigucho could but gaze upon her as one that had taken leave of his wits, calling to mind how he had pummeled her about the face times without number, and scratched it for her, and mishandled her in all manner of ways. And there he now saw her, with no trace of ought of it all upon her. However, to make a long story short, the lady's brothers told her what Arigucho had told them, touching the pack thread, and the beating, and all the rest of it. Whereupon the lady turned to him with, Alas, my husband, what is this that I hear? Why givest thou me to thy own great shame the reputation of a lewd woman when such I am not, and thyself the reputation of a wicked and cruel man which thou art not? Was thou ever tonight, I say not in my company, but so much as in the house until now? Or when did thou beat me? For my part I mind me not of it. Arigucho began, How says thou, lewd woman, did we not go to bed together? Did I not come back after chasing thy lover? Did I not give thee bruises not a few, and cut thy hair for thee? But the lady interrupted him, saying, Nay, thou didst not lie here tonight, but leave with this of which my true words are my soul witness, and pass me to this of the beating thou sayest thou gavest me, and how thou didst cut my hair. Never a beating had I from thee, and I bid all that are here, and thee among them, look at me, and say if I have any trace of a beating on my person. Nor should I advise thee to dare lay hand upon me, for by the holy rude I would spoil thy beauty for thee. Nor didst thou cut my hair, for ought that I saw or felt, however thou didst it perchance on such wise that I was not where thereof, so let me see whether it is cut or no. Then, unveiling herself, she showed that her hair was uncut and entire. Wherefore her brothers and mother now turned to Arigucha with, what means this Arigucha? This accords not with what thou gavest us to understand thou had done, nor know we how thou wilt prove the residue. Arigucha was lost as it were in a dream, and yet he would feign have spoken, but seeing that what he had thought to prove was otherwise, he essayed no reply. So the lady turning to her brothers, I see, quotes she, what he would have. He will not be satisfied in as I do, what I never would otherwise have done, to which give you to know what a pitiful cate if he is, as now I shall not fail to do. I make no manner of doubt that as he has said, even so it befell, and so he did. How you shall hear! This worthy man, to whom worse luck you gave me to wife, a merchant as he calls himself, and as such would feign have credit, and who ought to be more temperate than a religious and more continent than a girl, let's scarce an evening pass, but he goes abusing in the taverns, and consorting with this or the other woman of the town, and tis for me to await his return, until midnight or sometimes until matins, even as you now find me. I doubt not that being thoroughly well drunk he got into bed with one of these wantons, and a waking found the pack-thread on her foot, and afterwards did actually perform all these brave exploits of which he speaks. And in the end came back to her and beat her and cut her hair off, and being not yet quite recovered from his debauch believed, and I doubt not still believes, that was I that he thus treated, and if you will but scan his face closely, you will see that he is still half drunk. But whatever he may have said about me, I would have you accounted as nothing more than the disordered speech of a tipsy man, and forgive him as I do. Whereupon the lady's mother raised no small outcry, saying, By the holy rude my daughter this may not be, a daughter such as thou to be mated with one so unworthy of thee, the pestilent insensate cur should be slain on the spot. A pretty state of things indeed. Why, he might have picked thee up from the gutter. Now foul fall him. But thou shalt no more be vexed with the tedious drivel of a petty dealer in Assie's dung. Some blaggard be like, that came hither from the country because he was dismissed the service of some petty squire, clad in Roman yole with belfry breeches and a pen in his arse. And for that he has a few pence must needs have a gentleman's daughter and a fine lady to wife and set up a coat of arms, and say, I am of the such and such, and my ancestors did thus and thus. Ah, had my sons but followed my advice, thy honour was safe in the house of the Koutsky D. where they might have bestowed thee, though thou hadst but a morsel of bread to thy dowry. But they must needs give thee to this rare treasure, who, though better daughter and more chaste, there is none than thou in Florence, has not blushed this very midnight and in our presence to call thee a strumpet, as if we knew thee not. God's faith! So I were hearkened to he should shrewdly smart for it. Then turning to her sons, she said, my sons, I told you plainly enough that this ought not to be. Now have you heard how your worthy brother-in-law treats your sister, petty Tuppany trader that he is? Were it for me to act as it is for you, after what he has said of her and done to her, naught would satisfy or appease me till I had rid the earth of him. And were I a man who unbutt a woman, none other but myself should meddle with the affair. God's curse upon him! The woeful, shameless sort! Whereupon the young men, incensed by what they had seen and heard, turned to Arigutsha, and after giving him the soundest rating that ever was bestowed upon Catef, concluded as follows. This once we pardon thee, whitting thee to be a drunken knave, but as thou holdest thy life dear, have a care that henceforth we hear no such tales of thee, for rest assured that if ought of the kind do reach our ears, we will requite thee for both turns. Which said they departed. Arigutsha was standing there like one dazed, not whitting whether his late doings were actual fact or but a dream, made no more words about the matter, but left his wife in peace. Thus did she by her address not only escape imminent peril, but open away whereby in time to come she was able to gratify her passion to the full, without any further fear of her husband. End of day seven, the eighth story, recording by Ruth Golding.