 Day 6. The First Story of the Decameron This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org recording by J. C. Guan, the Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio, translated by J. M. Rigg. Day 6. The First Story A knight offers to carry Madonna Oretta, a horseback, with a story, but tells it so ill that she prays him to dismount her. A star's are set for an ornament in the serene expanse of heaven, and likewise in springtime flowers and leafy shrubs in the green meadows, so damsels in the hour of rare and excellent discourse is wit with its bright salleys. Which, being brief, are much more proper for ladies than for men, seeing that proxility, of speech, where brevity is possible, is much less allowable to them. But for whatever cause, be it the sorry quality of our understanding, or some special enmity, that heaven bears to our generation, few ladies, or none, are left to day that when occasion prompts, are able to meet it with ab's speech, a, or if ought of the kind they hear, can understand it a right. To our common shame be it spoken. But as, touching this matter, enough has already been said by Panpinea, I purpose not to enlarge to your own, but that you may know that excellence resides in speech apt for the occasion, I am minded to tell you after how courteous a fashion a lady in pursed silence upon a gentleman. There's no long time since there are dwelt in our city a lady, noble, debonair, and of excellent discourse, whom not a few of you may have seen or heard of, whose name, for such high qualities merit not oblivion, was Madonna Oretta, her husband, being Mr. Gehry Spina. Now this lady, happening to be, as we are, in the country, moving from place to place for pleasure with a company of ladies, and gentleman, whom she had entertained the day before at breakfast at her house, and the place of their next sojourn, whether they were to go afoot, being some considerable distance off, one of the gentlemen of the company said to her, Madonna Oretta, so please you, I will carry you great part of the way a horseback with one of the finest stories in the world. Indeed, sir, replied the lady, I pray you do so, and I shall deem it the greatest of favours. Whereupon the gentleman who perhaps was no better master of his weapon than of his story began a tale which in itself was indeed excellent, but which, by repeating the same word, three, four, or six times, and now and again harking back, saying, I say not well, and airing not seldom in the names, setting one in place of another, he utterly spoiled, besides which his mode of delivery accorded very ill with the character of the persons and incidents, in so much that Madonna Oretta, as she listened, did oft sweat, and was like too faint, as if she were ill, and at the point of death, and being at length able to bear no more of it, witting that the gentleman had got into a mess, and was not like to get out of it, she said pleasantly to him, sir, this horse of yours trots too hard, I pray you be pleased to set me down. The gentleman, being pretentious more quick of a pre-engined, than he was skillful in narration, missed not the meaning of her sally, and took it in all good and gay humour. So, leaving unfinished the tale which he had begun, and so mishandled, he addressed himself to tell her other stories, and of day six, the first story, day six, the second story of the Decameron. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Miet. The Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio, translated by J. M. Rigg. Day six, the second story. Sisti, a baker, by an apt speech gives Messer Jerry Spina to know that he has bi-inadvertence, asked that of him which he should not. All the ladies and the men alike, having greatly commanded Madonna Oretta's apt saying, the queen-bade pampinea followed suit, and thus she began. Fair ladies, I can ought myself determine whether nature or fortune be the more at fault, the one in furnishing a noble soul with a vile body, or the other in allotting a base occupation to a body endowed with a noble soul, whereof we may have seen an example among others in our fellow citizen Sisti, whom, furnished though he was with the most lofty soul, fortune made a baker. And verily I should curse nature and fortune alike. Did I not know that nature is most discreet and that fortune, albeit the foolish imagine her blind, has a thousand eyes? For it is, I suppose, that being wise above a little, they do as mortals oft times do. Who, being uncertain as to their future, provide against contingencies by burying their most precious treasures in the basest places in their houses, as being the least likely to be suspected? Whence in the hour of their greatest need they bring them forth? The base place, having kept them more safe than the dainty chamber would have done. And so these two arbitresses of the world would seldom hide their most precious commodities in the obscurity of their crafts that are reputed most bays. For thence being, brought to light, they may shine with a brighter splendour. Whereof, how, in a trifling mutter, Sisti, the baker, gave proof, restoring the eyes of the mind to Mr. Jaryspina, whom the story of his wife, Madonna Oretta, has brought to my recollection. I am minded to show you in a narrative which shall be of the briefest. I say then, that Pope Boniface, with whom Mr. Jaryspina stood very high in favour and honour, having sent drivers of his courteous to Florence as ambassadors to treat of certain matters of great moment, and there being lodged in Mr. Jarys' house, where he treats with them of the said affairs of the Pope, twars for some reason or other, the want of Mr. Jaryspina, and the ambassadors of the Pope to pass almost every morning by Santa Maria Ugi, where Sisti, the baker, hired his bakehouse, and plied his craft in person. Now, albeit fortune, had allotted him a very humble occupation. She had nevertheless prospered him therein to such a degree that he was grown most wealthy, and without ever aspiring to change it for another. Lived in most magnificent style, having among his other good things a cellar of the best wines, white and red, that were to be found in Florence or the country parts. And marking Mr. Jaryspina and the ambassadors of the Pope pass every morning by his door, he bethought him that, as it was very hot, it would be a very courteous thing to give them to drink of his good wine. But comparing his rank with that of Mr. Jaryspina, he deemed it unseemly to presume to invite him, and cussed about how he might lead Mr. Jaryspina to invite himself. So, wearing always the whitest of doublets, and a spotless apron, he denoted rather the miller than the baker. He led bring every morning about the hour that he expected Mr. Jaryspina and the ambassadors to pass by his door a spick and span bucket of fresh and cool spring water, and a small bowl in his flag of his good white wine, and two beakers that shone like silver so bright were they. And there, down he sat him, as they came by, and after hawking once or twice, fell a drinking his wine with such gusto that would have raised a thirst in a corpse. Which Mr. Jarry, having observed on two successive mornings, said on the third, What is it, Sisti? Isn't it good? Whereupon Sisti jumped up and answered, Aye, sir, good it is, but in what degree I might no means make you understand unless you tasted it. Mr. Jarry, in whom either the heat of the weather, or unwanted fatigue, or perchance, the gusto with which he had seen Sisti drink, had bred a thirst, turned to the ambassadors and said with a smile, Gentlemen, it were well to test the quality of this worthy man's wine. It may be such that we shall not repent to us. And so, in a body, they came up to see where Sisti stood. Who, having caused a goodly bench to the beakers, said, Stand back, comrades, and leave this office to me, for I know as well how to serve wine as to bake bread, and expect not to taste a drop yourselves. Which said, he washed four fine new beakers with his own hands. And, having sent for a small flag of his good wine, he heedfully filled the beakers, and presented them to Mr. Jarry and his companions, who deemed the wine the best that they had drunk for a good while. So, Mr. Jarry, having praised the wine not a little, came there to drink every morning with the ambassadors as long as they tarried with him. Now, when the ambassadors had received their conge, and were about to depart, Mr. Jarry gave a grand banquet, to which he bade some of the most honourable of the citizens, and also Sisti, who could by no means be induced to come. However, Mr. Jarry bade one of his servants go fetch a flask of Sisti's wine, and serve half a beaker thereof to each guest at the first course. The servant, somewhat offended, perhaps, that he had not been suffered to taste any of the wine, took with him a large flask, which Sisti no sooner saw than, son, quote he, Mr. Jarry does not send thee to me. And often as the servant affirmed that he did, he could get no other answer, wherewith he was fearing at last to return to Mr. Jarry. Go get thee back, said Mr. Jarry, and tell him that I do send thee to him, and if he answers thee so again, ask him to whom I send thee. So the servant came back and said, Sisti, Mr. Jarry does for sure send me to thee. Son, answered Sisti, Mr. Jarry does for sure not send thee to me. To whom then, said the servant, does he send me? To Arno, returned Sisti, which being reported by the servant to Mr. Jarry, the eyes of his mind were straightway opened and let me see, quote he to the servant, what flask it is thou takest there. And when he had seen it, Sisti says sooth, he added, and having sharply chidden him, he caused him take with him a suitable flask, which when Sisti saw, now know I, quote he, that is indeed Mr. Jarry that sends thee to me, and blightly filled it, and having replenished the rundlet that same day with wine of the same quality, he had it carried with due care to Mr. Jarry's house, and followed after himself. While finding Mr. Jarry he said, I would not have you think, sir, that I was appalled by the great flask your servant brought me this morning. Was but that I thought you had forgotten that which by my little beakers I gave you to understand, when you were with me of late, to wit that this is no table wine. And so wished this morning to refresh your memory. Now, however, being minded to keep the wine no longer, I have sent you all I have of it to be henceforth entirely at your disposal. Mr. Jarry set great store by Sisti's gift, and thanked him accordingly, and ever made much of him, and entreated him, asked his friend. End of Day Six, The Second Story. Recording by Miet of Miet's Bedtime Story podcast. Day Six, 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. Recording by Philippa Jevens. The Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio, translated by J. M. Rigg. Day Six, The Third Story. Mon na nonne de pulci, by a ready retort, silences the scarce, seemly jesting of the Bishop of Florence. Pampinea's story ended, and praise not a little bestowed on Sisti, alike for his apt speech, and for his handsome present. The Queen was pleased to call for Suisse, for a story from Laureta, who blithely is thus begun. Devonair, my ladies, the excellency of wit, and our lack thereof, have been noted with no small truth, first by Pampinea, and after her by Filomena, to which topic to a bootless to return. Wherefore, to that which has been said touching the nature of wit, I purpose but to add one word, to remind you that its bite should be as a sheep's bite, and not as a dog's, for if it bite like a dog, it is no longer wit, but discurtersy, with which maxim the words of Madonna or Retta, and the apt reply of Cisti, are called it excellently. True indeed it is that if it is by way of retort, and one that has received a dog's bite gives the bite a like bite in return, it does not seem to be reprehensible as otherwise it would have been. Wherefore, one must consider how, and when, and on whom, and likewise where, one exercises one's wit. By ill observing which matters, one of our prelates did once upon a time receive no less shrewd a bite than he gave, as I will show you in a short story. While Messer Antonio d'Orso, a prelate both worthy and wise, was Bishop of Florence, there came did that a Catalan gentleman, Messer Dego della Rata by name, being King Roberto's Marshal. Now Dego being very goodly of person and inordinately fond of women, it so befell that of the ladies of Florence, she that he regarded with a special favour, was the very beautiful niece of a brother of the said Bishop. And having learned that her husband, though of a good family, was but a catiff and avaricious in the last degree, he struck a bargain with him that he should lie one night with the lady for five hundred florins of gold, whereupon he had the same number of popolins of silver which were then current, gilded, and having lain with the lady, albeit against her will, gave them to her husband. Which, coming to be generally known, the catiff husband was left with the loss and the laugh against him, and the Bishop, like a wise man, feigned to know nought of the affair. And so the Bishop and the Marshal being much together, it befell that on St John's Day, as they rode side by side down the street whence they start to run the palio, and took note of the ladies, the Bishop aspired a young gentlewoman, whom this present pestilence has reft from us, Mona Nonna de Pulci by name, a cousin of Meseralesso Rinucci, whom you must all know. Whom, for that she was lusty and fair and of excellent discourse and a good courage, and but just settled with her husband in Porta Sampiero, the Bishop presented to the Marshal, and then, being close beside her, he laid his hand on the Marshal's shoulder, and said to her, Nonna, what thinkest thou of this gentleman, that thou mightst make a conquest of him? Which words the lady resented as a gybe at her honour, and like to tarnish it in the eyes of those who were not a few in whose hearing they were spoken? Wherefore, without bestowing a thought upon the vindication of her honour, but being minded to return blow for blow, she retorted hastily. P'chant, sir, he might not make a conquest of me, but if he did so, I should want good money. The answer stung both the Marshal and the Bishop to the quick, the one as contriver of the scurvy trick played upon the Bishop's brother in regard of his niece, the other as thereby outraged in the person of his brother's niece, in so much that they dared not look one another in the face, but took themselves off in shame and silence, and said never a word more to her that day. In such a case, then, the lady having received a bite, it was allowable in her, witterly, to return it. End of Day Six, the Third Story. Day Six, the Fourth Story of the Decameron This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Ruth Golding. The Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio, translated by J. M. Rigg. Day Six, the Fourth Story. Chiquibio, cooked to Corrado Gianfigliazzi, owes his safety to a ready answer, whereby he converts Corrado's wrath into laughter, and evades the evil fate with which Corrado had threatened him. Lauretta being now silent, all ordered nonna to the skies, after which Neyfila received the Queen's command to follow suit, and thus began. Albeit, loving ladies, ready wit not seldom ministers words apt and excellent and congruous with the circumstances of the speakers, tis also true that fortune at times comes to the aid of the timid, and unexpectedly sets words upon the tongue, which in a quiet hour the speaker could never have found for himself. The witch tis my purpose to show you by my story. Corrado Gianfigliazzi, as the eyes and ears of each of you may bear witness, has ever been a noble citizen of our city, open-handed and magnificent, and one that lived as a gentleman should with hounds and hawks, in which, to say nothing at present of more important matters, he found unfailing delight. Now, having one day hard by Peratola dispatched a crane with one of his falcons, finding it young and plump, he sent it to his excellent cook, a Venetian Kikibyo by name, bidding him roast it for supper and make a dainty dish of it. Kikibyo, who looked, as he was, a very green head, had dressed the crane and set it to the fire and was cooking it carefully, when, the bird being all but roasted and the fumes of the cooking very strong, it so chanced that a girl, Brunetta by name, that lived in the same street and of whom Kikibyo was greatly enamoured, came into the kitchen and, perceiving the smell and seeing the bird, began coaxing Kikibyo to give her a thigh. By way of answer, Kikibyo fell a singing, You get it not from me, Madame Brunetta, You get it not from me. Whereat Madame Brunetta was offended and said to him, By God, if thou givest it me not, Thou shalt never have ought from me to pleasure thee. In short there was not a little altercation, and in the end Kikibyo, feign not to vex his mistress, cut off one of the crane's thighs and gave it to her. So the bird was set before Kurado and some strangers that he had at table with him, and Kurado, observing that it had but one thigh, was surprised and sent for Kikibyo and demanded of him what was become of the missing thigh. Where to the mendacious Venetian answered readily, The crane, sir, has but one thigh and one leg. What the devil rejoined Kurado in a rage, So the crane has but one thigh and one leg, Thinks thou I never saw crane before this. But Kikibyo continued, It is even so as I say, sir, And so please you I will show you that so it is in the living bird. Kurado had too much respect for his guests to pursue the topic. He only said, Since thou promises to show me in the living bird What I have never seen or heard tell of, I bid thee do so tomorrow, And I shall be satisfied. But if thou fail, I swear to thee by the body of Christ That I will serve thee so that thou shalt ruefully remember my name for the rest of thy days. No more was said of the matter that evening. But on the morrow at daybreak, Kurado, who had by no means slept off his wrath, Got up still swelling therewith, and ordered his horses, Mounted Kikibyo on a hackney, and saying to him, We shall soon see which of us lied yesterday night, Thou or I, set off with him for a place where there was much water, Beside which there were always cranes to be seen about dawn. Kikibyo, observing that Kurado's ire was unabated, And knowing not how to bolster up his lie, Road by Kurado's side in a state of the utmost trepidation, And would gladly, had he been able, have taken to flight. But, as he might not, he glanced now ahead, now back, now aside, And saw everywhere naught but cranes standing on two feet. However, as they approached the river, the very first thing they saw upon the bank Was around dozen of cranes, standing each and all on one foot, As is there won't when asleep. When Kikibyo presently pointed out to Kurado, saying, Now may you see well enough, sir, that it is true as I said yesterday night, That the crane has but one thigh and one leg, Mark but how they stand over there. Whereupon Kurado, wait, quote he, And I will show thee that they have each thigh's and leg's twain. So having drawn a little nire to them, He ejaculated, oh, which caused the cranes to bring each the other foot to the ground, And after hopping a step or two to take to flight. Kurado then turned to Kikibyo, saying, How now, rogue, aren't satisfied that the bird has thighs and legs twain? Where to Kikibyo, all but beside himself with fear, Made answer, Aye, sir, but you cried not, Oh, hold to our crane of yesterieve. Had you done so, It would have popped its other thigh and foot forth, As these have done. Which answer Kurado so much relished, That all his wroth changed to jollity and laughter? Kikibyo, quote he, Thou art right, Indeed I ought to have so done. Thus did Kikibyo by his ready and jokund retort, Arrest in pending evil, and make his peace with his master. End of Day 6, The Fourth Story, Recording by Ruth Golding. Day 6, the fifth story of the Decameron. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Eugene Smith. The Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio, translated by J. M. Rigg. Day 6, The Fifth Story. Meseforese de Rabbata and Master Giotto, the painter, journeying together from Mughello, derived one another's scurvy appearance. Nay, Fila being silent, and the ladies having made very merry over Shishibyo's retort, Pamfilo at the Queen's Command thus spoke. Dearest ladies, if fortune, as Pampanea has shown us, does sometimes hide treasures most rich of native worth in the obscurity of base occupations, so in light matter, it is not seldom found that nature has enshrined prodigies of wit in the most ignoble of human forms. Whereof, a notable example is afforded by two of our citizens, of whom I purposed for a brief while to discourse. The one, Meseforese de Rabbata by name, was short and deformed a person, and with all flat-cheeked and flat-nosed, in so much that never a baroncio had a visage so misshapen, but his would have showed as hideous beside it. Yet so conversant was this man with the laws, that by not a few of those well able to form an opinion, he was reputed a veritable storehouse of civil jurisprudence. The other, whose name was Giotto, was of so excellent a wit that, let nature, mother of all, operant ever by continual revolution of the heavens, fashion what she would, he with his style and pen and pencil, would depict its like on such wise that it showed not as its like, but rather as the thing itself, in so much that the visual sense of men did often err in regard thereof, mistaking for real that which was but painted. Wherefore, having brought back to light that art which had for many ages lain buried beneath the blunders of those who painted rather to delight the eyes of the ignorant, than to satisfy the intelligence of the wise, he may deservedly be called one of the lights that composed the glory of Florence, and the more so, the more lowly was the spirit in which he won that glory, who, albeit he was, while he yet lived, the master of others, yet did ever refuse to be called their master. And this title that he rejected adorned him with a luster the more splendid in proportion to the avidity with which it was usurped by those who were less knowing than he, or were his pupils. But for all the exceeding greatness of his art, yet in no particular had he the advantage of Messefrese, either in form or in feature. But to come to the story, it was in Mugello that Messefrese, as likewise Giotto, had his country seat, whence returning from a sojourn that he had made there during the summer vacation of the courts, and being, as it chanced, mounted on a poor jade of a drafters, he fell in with the said Giotto, who was also on his way back to Florence, after a like sojourn on his own estate, and was neither better mounted nor, in any otherwise, better equipped than Messefrese. And so, being both old men, they jogged on together at a slow pace, and being surprised by a sudden shower, such as we frequently see fall in summer, they presently sought shelter in the house of a husbandman that was known to each of them, and was their friend. But after a while, as the rain gave no sign of ceasing, and they had a mind to be at Florence that same day, they borrowed of the husbandman two old cloaks of Romagnoli cloth, and two hats, much the worse for age, there being no better to be had, and resumed their journey. Whereon they had not proceeded far when, taking note that they were soaked through and through, and liberally splashed with the mud cast up by their nags hooves, circumstances which are not of a kind to add to one's dignity. They, after long silence, the sky beginning to brighten a little, began to converse. And Messefrese, as he rode and harkened to Giotto, who was an excellent talker, surveyed him sideways, and from head to foot, and all over, and seeing him at all points in so sorry and scurvy a trim, and wrecking not of his own appearance, broke into a laugh, and said, Giotto, wood-air, a stranger that met us, and had not seen thee before, believe, thinks thou, that thou wert, as thou art, the greatest painter in the world. Where too, Giotto answered promptly, me think, sir, he might, if scanning you, he gave you credit for knowing the ABC, which hearing Messefrese recognized his error, and perceived that he had gotten as good as he brought. End of Day 6, the Fifth Story The ladies were still loving, or were Giotto's ready retort, when the queen charged Fiametta to follow suit, wherefore, thus Fiametta began. Pamphilus' mention of the baronci, who to you, damsels, upper chance not so well known as to him, has brought to my mind a story in which tis shown how great is their nobility, and for that it devolves no deviation from a rule of discourse I am minded to tell it you. Tis no long time since they dwelt an hour set he a young man, Michele Skalza, by name, the pleasantest and merriest fellow in the world, and the best furnished with quaint stories, for which reason the Florentine youth set great store in having him with them when they foregathered in company. Now it so befell that one day, he being with the party of them at Montugui, they fell a disputing together on this wise, to wit, who were the best gentleman and of the longest descent in Florence. One said the Uberti, another the Lamberti, or some other family, according to the predilection of the speaker. Where red Skalza began to smile and said, Now out upon you, out upon you, blockheads that ye are, he know not what ye say. The best gentleman and of longest descent in all the world and the Marema, let alone Florence, are the baronci by the common consent of all philosophers and all that know them as I do. And lest ye should otherwise conceive me, I say that tis of your neighbours the baronci of Santa Maria Maggiore that I speak, whereupon the young men, who had looked for somewhat else from him, said derisively, Thou dost be jest with us, as if we did not know the baronci as well as thou. Quas Skalza, by the Gospels I jest not, but speak sooth, and if there is any of you will wager a supper to be given to the winner and six good fellows whom ye shall choose, I will gladly do the like, and what is more, I will abide by the decision of such one of you as you may choose. Then said one of them, whose name was Neri Manini, I am ready to adventure this supper, and so they agreed together that Piero di Fiorontino, in whose house they were, should be judge and hide them to him, followed by all the rest, eager to see Skalza lose, and triumph in his discomforture, and told Piero all that had been said. Piero, who was a young man of sound sense, heard what Neri had to say, and then turned into Skalza, and how, Quas he, most thou make good with thou averest. I will demonstrate it, return Skalza, by reasoning so cogent that not only you, but he that denies it, shall acknowledge that I say sooth. You know, and so they were saying but now, that the longer men's descent, the better is their gentility, and I say that the baronci are of longer descent, and thus better gentlemen than any other men. If then I prove to you that they are of longer descent than any other men, without a doubt the victory in this dispute will rest with me. Now you must know that when God made the baronci, he was but a novice in his art, of which, when he made the rest of mankind, he was already master. And to assure yourself that herein I say sooth, you have but to consider the baronci, how they differ from the rest of mankind, who all have faces well composed and duly proportioned. Whereas of the baronci, you will see one with a face very long and narrow, another with a face inordinately broad, one with a very long nose, another with a short one, one with a protruding and upturned chin, and great jaws like an asses. And again there will be one that has one eye larger than its fellow, or set on a lower plane, so that their faces resemble those that children make when they begin to learn to draw. Whereby, as I said, it is plainly manifest that when God made them, he was but novice in his art, and so they are of longer descent than the rest of mankind, and by consequence better gentlemen, by which entertaining argument Piero, the judge, and Neri, who had wagered the supper, and all the rest, calling to mind the baronci's ugliness, were so tickled that they fell a laughing, and avert that Sculter was in the right, and that he had won the wager, and that without a doubt the baronci was the best gentleman, and of the longest descent, not merely in Florence, but in the world and the Marema to boot. Wherefore it was not without reason that Pamphilor, being minded to declare Mesaphores' ill-favouredness, said that he would have been hideous beside the baroncio. The Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio, translated by J. M. Rigg, Day 6, the seventh story. Medana, Philippa, being found by her husband with her lover, is cited before the court, and by a ready and joconde answer equits herself, and brings about an alteration of the statute. Noble Ladies, an excellent thing is apt speech on all occasions, but to be proficient therein I deemed then most excellent when the occasion does most imperatively demand it, as was the case with the gentlewoman, of whom I propose to speak to you, who not only ministered gaiety and merriment to her heroes, but extricated herself, as you saw here, from the toils of an ignominious death. There was a foretime in the city of Prato a statute, no less centrable than harsh, which, making no distinction between the wife whom her husband took in adultery with her lover, and the woman found, pleasuring a stranger for money, condemned both alike to be burned. While this statute was in force it befell that a gentlewoman, fair and beyond measure and amour, Madonna Filippo by name, was by her husband, Renato de Pugliesi, found in her own chamber one night in the arms of Lazzarino de Guazzigliotri, a handsome young noble of the same city, whom she loved even as herself. Where at, Renato, very wroth, scarce refrained from falling upon them and killing them on the spot, and indeed, but that he doubted how he should afterwards fare himself, he had given way to the veniments of his anger, and so done. Nor, though he so far mastered himself, could he forbear recourse to the statute, thereby to compass that he might not otherwise lawfully compass, to wit the death of his lady. Wherefore, having all the evidence needful to prove her guilt, he took no further counsel, but as soon as t'was day, he charged the lady and had her summoned. Like most ladies that are veritably enamored, the lady was of high courage, and though not a few of her friends in kinfolk sought to dissuade her, she resolved to appear to the summons. Having, like fair, die bravely, confessing the truth, then basely free, and for defiance of the law, live in exile, and show herself unworthy of such a lover, as had had in her arms that night. And so, attended by many ladies and gentlemen, who all exhorted her to deny the charge, she came before the Podesta, and, with a composed air and unfaltering voice, asked whereof he would interrogate her. The Podesta surveying her and taking note of her extraordinary beauty and exquisite manners, and the high courage that her words evinced was touched with compassion for her, fearing that she might make some admission, by reason whereof, to save his honour. He must needs do her to death. But still, as he could not refrain from examining her, of which was laid to her charge, he said, Madam, here, as you see, is your husband, Ronaldo, who prefers a charge against you, alleging that he has taken you in adultery, and so he demands that, pursuant to his statute, which is in force here, I punish you with death. But this I may not do, except you confess. Wherefore, be very careful what you answer, and tell me if what your husband alleges against you be true. The lady, no wise dismayed, and, in a tone not a little joconde, thus made answer. True it is, sir, that Ronaldo is my husband, and that last night he found me in the arms of Lazarino, in whose arms, for the wholehearted love that I bear him, I have often times laid. Nor shall I ever deny, but as well I want you know. The law is all to be common, and enacted, with the common consent of all they effect, which conditions are wanting to this law, in so much as it binds only us poor women, in whom, to be liberal, is much less reprehensible than it were in men. And therefore the consent of no woman was, I say not had, but so much as asked before it was made, for which reasons it justly deserves to be called a bad law. However, if in scathe of my body and or own soul you are minded to put it to force, teach your own affair, but I pray you, go not on to try this matter in any wise, until you have granted me this trifling grace, to wit, to ask my husband if I ever gainsaid him, and did not rather accord him, when, and so often he crave it, complete enjoyment of myself. Where to, Winoto, having awaited the Podesta's question, forthwith answered that assuredly the lady had granted him all that he had asked of her for his gratification. Then, promptly continued the lady, if he has ever had of me as much as suffice for his solace, what was I, or am I, to do with the surplus? Am I to cast it to the dogs? Is it not better to bestow it on a gentleman that loves me more dearly than himself, than to suffer it to come to naught, or worse? Which, jokand question, being heard by well-nigh all the folk of Prato, who had flocked thither all agog to see a dame so fair, and of such quality on her trial for such an offence, they laughed, loud, and long, and then, all with one accord, and as with one voice exclaimed, that the lady was in the right, and said well. Nor left they the court until in concert with the Podesta, they had so altered the harsh statute, as thenceforth only such women, as should wrong their husbands for money, should be within its purview. Wherefore, Winoto left the court, disconfident of his foolish enterprise, and the lady, blithe and free as if rendered back to life from the burning, went home triumphant. End of Day 6 The Seventh Story Day 6 The Eighth Story of the Decameron This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Anna Simon. The Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio, translated by J. M. Rigg. Day 6 The Eighth Story Fresco admonishes his niece not to look at herself in the glass, if it is, as she says, grievous to her to see nasty folk. It was not at first without some fluttering of shame, and winced by the modest blush mantling on their cheeks, that the ladies heard Filostrato's story. But afterwards, exchanging glances, they could scarce for a beer to laugh, and hearkened tittering. However, when he had done, the queen turning to Amelia bait her full of suit. Whereupon Amelia, fetching a deep breath, as if she were roused from sleep, thus began. Loving ladies, brooding thoughts just kept my spirit for so long time remote from here, that perchance I may make a shift to satisfy her queen with a much shorter story, than would have been forthcoming but for my absence of mind, wherein I propose to tell you how a young woman's folly was corrected by her uncle with a pleasant jest, had she but had the sense to apprehend it. My story, then, is of one, fresco del chelatico by name, that had a niece, Cesca, I should playfully called, who, being fair of face and person, albeit she had none of those indelical charms that we of times see, had so superlative concede of herself, that she had contracted a habit of disparaging both men and women, and all that she saw, entirely regardless of her own defects, though for odiousness, tiresomeness, and patulence, she had not her match among women, in so much that there was naught that could be done to her mind. Besides which, such was her pride, that had she been of the blood-royal of France, it would have been inordinate. And when she walked abroad, so facetious was her humour, that she was ever averting her head, as if there was never a soul she saw or met, but reeked with a foul smell. Now, one day, not to speak of other, odious, and tiresome ways that she had, it so befell that being come home, where fresco was, she sat herself down beside him, with the most languishing air, and it nought but fume and chaff, whereupon, ciesca, quathi, what means this, that, though it is a feast day, yet thou art come back so soon? She, all but dissolved with her vapourish humours, made answer, why, the truth is, that I can come back early, because never, I believe, whether such odious and tiresome men and women in this city, as there are today, I cannot pass a soul on the street, that I loathe not like ill luck, and I believe there's not a woman in the world, that is so distressed by the sight of odious people as I am, hence so I am come home, thus soon, to avoid the sight of them. Whereupon fresco, to whom his niece's bad manners were distasteful in the extreme, daughter, quathi, if thou loathe odious focus much as thou sayest, thou work best, so thou wouldst live happy, never to look at thyself in the glass. But she, empty as a reed, albeit in her own conceit a match for Solomon in wisdom, was as far as any sheep from apprehending the true sense of her uncle's jest, but answered that on the contrary she was minded to look at herself in the glass like other women, and so she remained, and yet remains, hidebound in her folly. End of Day 6, The Eighth Story Guido Cavalcanti, by a quip, neatly rebukes a certain Florentine gentleman who had taken him at a disadvantage. The Queen, perceiving that Emilia had finished her story, and that none but she, and he who had the privilege of speaking last, now remained to tell, began on this wise. Perhaps we have as yet heard not, so pregnant. End of Day 7, The Eighth Story All in the same trim, and on the most notable days, would ride together through the city, and now and again they would tilt together, more especially on the greater feasts, or when the city was rejoiced by tidings of victory, or some other glad event. Among which companies was one of which Messer Beto Brunelleschi was the leading spirit, into which Messer Beto and his comrades had striven hard to bring Guido, son of Cavalcanti de Cavalcanti, and not without reason, and as much as, beside being one of the best logicians in the world, and an excellent natural philosopher, qualities of which the company made no great account. He was, without a peer for gallantry and courtesy, an excellence of discourse and aptitude for all manners which he might set his mind to, and that belonged to a gentleman, and therewithal he was very rich, and when he deemed any worthy of honor, knew how to bestow it to the uttermost. But, as Messer Beto had never been able to gain him over, he and his comrades supposed that was because Guido, being addicted to speculation, was thereby estranged from men, and for that he was somewhat inclined to the opinion of the Epicureans. The vulgar averred that these speculations of his had no other scope than to prove that God did not exist. Now, one day it so befell that, Guido being come, as was not seldom his want, from Or San Michele by the Corso degli Adimari, as far as San Giovanni, around which were then the great tombs of marble that are today in Santa Reparata, besides other tombs not a few, and Guido being between the columns of porphyry that are there, and the tombs and the door of San Giovanni, which was locked, Messer Beto and his company came riding on to the piazza of Santa Reparata, and seeing him among the tombs said, Go we and flout him, so they set spurs to their horses, and making a mock on set, whereupon him almost before he saw them. Whereupon, Guido they began, Thou wilt be none of our company, but lo now, when thou hast proved that God does not exist, what wilt thou have achieved? Guido, seeing that he was surrounded, presently answered, Gentlemen, you may say to me what you please in your own house. Thereupon he laid his hand on one of the great tombs, and being very nimble, vaulted over it, and so evaded them, and went his way, while they remained gazing in one another's faces, and some said that he had taken leave of his wits, and that his answer was but not, seeing that the ground on which they stood was common to them, with the rest of the citizens, and among them, Guido himself. But Me Sarbetto turning to them, Nay, but, Coth he, Tiz ye that have taken leave of your wits, if ye have not understood him, for meatly, and in few words, he has given us never so shrewd a reprimand, seeing that if you consider it well, these tombs are the houses of the dead, that are laid and tarried therein, which he calls our house, to show us that we, and all other simple, unlettered men, are in comparison of him, and the rest of the learned, in soarier case than dead men, and so being here we are in our own house. Then none was there but understood Guido's meaning, and was abashed in so much that they flouted him no more, and thenceforth reputed Me Sarbetto, a gentleman of a subtle and discerning wit. End of Day 6 The Ninth Story Day 6 The Tenth Story of The Decameron This is a Librebox recording. All Librebox recordings are in the public domain. For further information, or to volunteer, please go to Librebox.org. Reading by Andy Minter. The Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio Translated by J. M. Rig Day 6 The Tenth Story Friar Cipullo promises to show certain country folk a feather of the angel Gabriel, in lieu of which he finds coals, which he averse to be those with which St. Lawrence was roasted. All the company save Dioneo being delivered of their several stories. He wished that it was his turn to speak. Therefore, without awaiting any very express command, he enjoined silence, and those that were commanding Guido's basic whip, and thus began. Sweet my ladies, albeit it is my privilege to speak of what likes me most. I purpose, not to-day, to deviate from that theme whereon you have all discoursed most appositely. But, following in your footsteps, I am minded to show you with what a droidness and readiness of resource one of the friars of St. Anthony avoided a pickle that two young men had in readiness for him. Nor, if in order to do the story full justice, I be somewhat prolix of speech, should it be burdensome to you, if you will but glance at the sun, which is yet in mid-heaven. Shevstaldo, as per chance you may have heard, is a town of Valdeza within our countryside, which, small though it is, had in it a foretime people of rank and wealth. Thither, for that there he found good pasture, it was long the want of one of the friars of St. Anthony to resort once every year to collect the alms that fools gave him. Friar Cipula, so hight the friar, met with the hearty welcome, no less per chance by reason of his name than for other cause, the onions produced in that district being famous throughout Tuscany. He was little of person, red-haired, jolly visaged, and the very best of good fellows, and there with all, though learning he had none, he was so excellent and ready a speaker, that whoso knew him not would not only have esteemed him a great retorician, but would have pronounced him Tully himself, or Perchan's Quintillion, and in all the countryside there was scarce a soul to whom he was not either gossip, or friend, or lover. Being thus want from time to time to visit Geltaldo, the friar came there once upon a time in the month of August, and on a Sunday morning all the good folk of the neighbouring farms being come to mass in the parish church, he took occasion to come forward and say, Ladies and gentlemen, you what is your custom to send, year by year, to the poor of Baron Master St. Anthony, somewhat of your wheat and oats, more or less according to the ability and devoutness of each, that blessed St. Anthony may save your oxen and asses and pigs and sheep from harm, and you are also accustomed, and especially those whose names are on the books of our confraternity, to pay your trifling annual dues, to collect which offerings I am hither sent by my superior, to it, Master Abbott, wherefore with the blessing of God, after known when you hear the bells ring, you will come out of the church to the place where, in the usual way, I shall deliver you my sermon, and you will kiss the cross. And therewith all, knowing as I do that you are one and all most devoted to Baron Master St. Anthony, I will, by way of his special grace, show you a most holy and goodly relic, which I brought myself from the Holy Land overseas, which is none other than one of the feathers of the angel Gabriel, which he left behind him in the room of the Virgin Mary, when he came to make her the annunciation in Nazareth. And having said thus much, he ceased, and went on with the Mass. Now, among the many that were in the church, while Fr. Cipola made this speech, were two very wily young wags, the one Giovanni del Bragioniera, by name, and the other Bia Gio Pizzini, who, although they were on the best of terms with Fr. Cipola, and much in his company, had a sly laugh together over the relic, and resolved to make game of him and his feather. So, having learnt that Fr. Cipola was to breakfast that morning in the town with one of his friends, as soon as they knew that he was at table, down they hide them into the street, and to the inn where the friar lodged, having complotted that Bia Gio should keep the friar's servant in play, while Giovanni made search among the friar's goods and chattels for this feather, whatever it might be, to carry it off, that they might see how the friar would afterwards explain the matter to the people. Now, Fr. Cipola had for servant one Guccio, whom some called by way of addition Balena, others in Brata, others again Porco, and who was such a rascallion that sure it is that Lipotopo himself never painted his like. Concerning whom, Fr. Cipola would often make merry with his familiars, saying, My servant has nine qualities, any one of which in Solomon, Aristotle, or Seneca would have been enough to spoil all their virtue, wisdom, and holiness. Consider, then, what sort of man he must be that has these nine qualities, and yet never a mark of either virtue or wisdom or holiness? And being asked upon Diver's occasions what these nine qualities might be, he strung them together in rhyme and answered, I will tell you, lazy, uncleanly, and a liar he is, negligent, disobedient, and foul mouth thy wits, and reckless, and witless, and maniless. And there with all he has some other petty vices, which for best to pass over. And the most amusing thing about him is that wherever he goes he is for taking a wife and renting a house, and on the strength of a big black greasy beard he deems himself so very handsome a fellow, and seductive, that he takes all the women that see him to be in love with him, and if he were left alone he would slip his girdle and run after them all. True it is that he is of great use to me, for that be any minded to speak with me never so secretly, he must still have his share of the audience, and if Pachan's ought is demanded of me, such is his fear lest I should be at a loss what answer to make, but he presently replies, I or no, as he deems me. Now, when he left this nave at the inn, Fr. Cipolla had strictly enjoined him on no account to suffer any one to touch ought of his, and least of all his wallets, because it contained the holy things. But Guccio in Brata, who was fondre of the kitchen and any nightingale of the green bows, and most particular if he aspired there a maid, and in the host kitchen had caught sight of a coarse fat woman, short and misshapen, with a pair of breasts that showed as two buckets of muck, and a face that might have belonged to one of the baronchi, all reeking with sweat and grease and smoke, left Fr. Cipolla's room and all his things to take care of themselves, and like a vulture swooping down upon the carrion was in the kitchen in a trice, where, though it was August, he sat him down by the fire, and fell a gossiping with Nuta, such was the maid's name, and told her that he was a gentleman by procuration, and had more florins than could be reckoned, besides those that he had to give away, which were rather more than less, and that he could do and say such things as never were or might be seen or heard for ever, Lord and the day, and all heedless of his cowl, which had as much grease upon it as would have furnished forth the cauldron of Altapascur, and of his rent and patched doublet, inlaid with filth about the neck and under the armpits, and so stained that it showed hues more various than did ever silt from tartary or the indies, and of his shoes that were alter-pieces, and of his hose that were all in tatters. He told her, in a tone that would have become sur de chatillon, that he was minded to re-habit her, and put her in trim, and raise her from her abject condition, and place her where, though she would not have much to call her own, at any rate she would have hope of better things, and with much more to the like effect. Which professions, though made with every appearance of good will, proved, like most of his schemes, insubstantial as air, and came to nothing. Finding Gucciopoco thus occupied with Nutta, the two young men gleefully accounted their work half done, and non-gain saying them, entered Franchipola's room, which was open, and littered once upon the wallet, in which was the feather. The wallet opened, they found, wrapped up in many folds of taffeta, a little casket, on opening which they discovered one of the tail feathers of a parrot, which they deemed must be that which the friar had promised to show the good folk of Certhaldo. And in sooth he might well have so imposed upon them, for in those days the luxuries of Egypt had scarce been introduced into Tuscany, though they have since been brought over in prodigious abundance, to the grave hurt of all Italy. And though some conversants with them was, yet in those parts folk knew next to nothing of them, but adhering to the honest, simple ways of their forefathers, had not seen, nay for the most part, had not so much as heard tail of a parrot. So the young men, having found the feather, took it out with great glee, and looking around for something to replace it, they aspired in a corner of the room some pieces of coal, wherewith they filled the casket, which they then closed, and having set the room in order, exactly as they had found it, they quitted it unperceived, and hide them merrily off with the feather, and posted themselves where they might hear what Fra Chippala would say when he found the coals in its stead. Mass said, the simple folk that were in the church went home, with the tidings that the feather of the angel Gabriel was to be seen after known, and this good man telling his neighbour, and that good wife her gossip, by the time every one had breakfasted, the town could scarce hold the multitude of men and women, though flocked thither all agog to see this feather. Fra Chippala, having made a hearty breakfast, and had a little nap, got up shortly after known, and marking the great concourse of country folk that would come to see the feather, sent word to Guccio Imbrata to go up there with the bells, and bring him the wallet. Guccio, though as to his difficulty that he tore himself away from the kitchen and neuter, hide him up with the things required, and though when he got up he was winded, when he was corpulent with drinking nought but water, he did Fra Chippala's bidding by going to the church door and ringing the bells humane. When all the people were gathered about the door, Fra Chippala, all unwitting that ought of his was missing, began his sermon, and after much said in glorification of himself, caused the confiator to be recited with great solemnity, and two torches to be lit by way of preliminary to the showing of the feather of the angel Gabriel. He then bared his head, carefully unfolded the taffeta, and took out the casket, which, after a few prefatory words in praise and laudation of the angel Gabriel and his relic, he opened. When he saw that it contained nought but coals, he did not suspect to Guccio Balena of playing the trick, for he knew that he was not clever enough. Nor did he curse him that his carelessness had allowed another to play it, but he only implicated himself, that he had committed his things to the keeping of one whom he knew to be negligent and disobedient, reckless and witless. Nevertheless, he changed not colour, but with face and hands upturned to heaven. He said, in a voice that all might hear, Oh God, blessed be thy might for ever and ever! Then, closing the casket and turning to the people, Ladies and gentlemen, he said, You ought to know that when I was yet a very young man, I was sent by my superior into those parts where the sun rises, and I was expressly bidden to search until I should find the privileges of Porcelana, which, though they cost nothing to seal, are of much more use to others than to us. On which errand I set forth, taking my departure from Venice and traversing the Borgo di Grecci, and then saw on horseback the realm of the Algarve, and so by Baldaccia I came to Parione, when, somewhat a thirst, I after a while got on to Sardinia. But wherefore go I about to enumerate all the lands in which I pursued my quest? Having passed the Straits of San Giorgio, I arrived at Truffia and Bufia, countries thickly populated and with great nations, whence I pursued my journey to Menzonia, where I met with many of our own brethren, and of other religious, not a few, intent, one and all, on his chewing hardship for the love of God, making little account of others' toil, so that they might ensue their own advantage, and paying in nought but unminted coin throughout the length and breadth of the country. And so I came to the land of the Abruzzi, where the men and women go in patterns on the mountains, and clothe the hogs with their own entrails. And a little further on I found folk that carried bread in staves and wine in sacks, and leaving them I arrived at the mountains of the Bacci, where all the waters run downwards. In short, I penetrated so far that I came at last to India Pastinaccia, where I swear to you by the habit that I wear, that I saw pruning hooks fly, a thing that none would believe that had not seen it. Whereof be my witness that I lie not, Massodys Agio, that great merchant, whom I found there cracking nuts, and selling the shells by retail. However, not being able to find that whereof I was in quest, because from thence one must travel by water, I turned back, and so came at length to the Holy Land, where in summer cold bread costs four deniers, and hot bread is to be had for nothing. And there I found the venerable father, non-Mimblasmets Sipoi Piace, the most worshipful patriarch of Jerusalem, who out of respect for the habit that I have ever worn, to it that of Baron Master St. Anthony, was pleased to let me see all the holy relics that he had by him, which was so many, that were I to enumerate them all, I should not come to the end of them in some miles. However, not to disappoint you, I will tell you a few of them. In the first place, then, he showed me the finger of the Holy Spirit, as whole and entire as it ever was, and the tuft of the seraph that appeared to St. Francis, and one of the nails of the cherubim, and one of the ribs of the verbum cario, hidey to the casement, and some of the vestments of the Holy Catholic faith, and some of the rays of the star that appeared to the magi in the east, and a file of the sweat of St. Michael, a battling with the devil, and the jaws of death of St. Lazarus, and other relics. And for that I gave him a liberal supply of the aclivities of Monte Morello, in the vulgar, and some chapters of the Cabrezio, of which he had long been in quest, he was pleased to let me participate in his holy relics, and gave me one of the teeth of the Holy Cross, and in a small file, a bit of the sound of the bells of Solomon's Temple, and this feather of the angel Gabriel, whereof I have told you, and one of the patterns of San Gerardo de Villamagna, which not long ago I gave at Florence to Gerardo de Monti, who holds him in prodigious veneration, he also gave me some of the coals with which the most blessed martyr St. Lawrence was roasted, all which things I devoutly brought thence, and have them all safe. True it is, that my superior hath not hitherto permitted me to show them, until he should be certified that they are genuine. However, now that this is avouched, by certain miracles wrought by them, of which we have tidings by letter from the patriarch, he has given me leave to show them. But, fearing to trust them to another, I always carry them with me, and to tell you the truth, I carry the feather of the angel Gabriel, lest it should get spoiled in a casket, and the coals with which St. Lawrence was roasted in another casket, which caskets are so like the one to the other, that not seldom I mistake one for the other, which has befallen me on this occasion, for whereas I thought to have brought with me the casket where it is the feather, I have brought instead that which contains the coals. Nor deem I this a mischance, nay, me thinks, it is by the interposition of God, and that he himself put the casket of coals in my hand. For I mind me that the feast of St. Lawrence falls but two days hence, wherefore God, being minded that by showing you the coals with which he was roasted, I should rekindle in your souls the devotion that you ought to feel towards him, guided my hand not to the feather which I meant to take, but to the blessed coals that were extinguished by the humours that exuded from that most holy body, and so blessed children, bear your heads, and devoutly draw nigh to see them. But first of all I would have you know that whoso has the sign of the cross made upon him with these coals, may live secure for the whole of the ensuing year, that fire shall not touch him, that he feel it not. Having so said the friar, chanting a hymn in praise of St. Lawrence, opened the casket and showed the coals. Whereon the foolish crowd gazed a while in awe and reverent wonder, and then came pressing forward in a mighty throng about Fra Chipola with offerings beyond their want, each and all praying him to touch them with the coals. Wherefore Fra Chipola took the coals in his hand, and set about making on their white blouses and on their doublets and on the veils of the women, crosses as big as might be, avering the while that whatever the coals might thus lose, would be made good to them again in the casket, as he had often proved. On this wise, to his exceeding great profit, he marked all the focus Chetaldo with the cross, and thanks to his ready wit and resource, at his laugh for those who, by robbing him of the feather, thought to make a laughing stock of him. They indeed, being among his hearers, and marking his novel expedient and how vulnerable he was, and what a long story he made of it, laughed till they thought their jaws would break. And when the congregation was dispersed, they went up to him, and never so merrily told him what they had done, and returned him his feather, which next year proved to be no less lucrative to him than that day the coals had been. End of Day 6 The 10th Story immense was the delight and the aversion, which this story afforded to all the company alike, and great in general was the laughter over Fraki Polla, and more especially at his pilgrimage, and the relics as well as those that he had but seen as those that he had brought back with him. Which being ended, the queen, taking note that therewith the clothes of their sovereignty was come, stood up, took off the crown, and set it on Dionio's head, saying with a laugh, this time, Dionio, that though proves the weight of the burden of having ladies to govern and guide, be through, king, then, and let thy rule be such, that when this ended we may have calls to come in it. Dionio took the crown, and laughingly answered, Kings worthier far than I, you may well have seen many a time ere now. I speak of the kings in chess, but let me have a few that obedience, which is due to a true king, and of a surety I will give you to taste of that solace, without which perfection of joy there may not be in any festivity. But enough on this, I will govern as best I may. Then as was the want, he sent for the seneschal, and gave him particular instruction, how to order matters, during the term of his sovereignty. Which done, he said, Noble ladies, such and so diverse has been our discourse of the ways of men and their various fortunes, that but for the visit that we had a while ago from Madame Lechiska, who by what she said, has furnished me with matter of discourse for tomorrow. I doubt I had been not a little put to it, to find a scene. You heard how she said, that there was not a woman in her neighborhood, whose husband had her virginity, adding that while she knew how many and what manner of tricks say, after marriage played their husbands. The first count we may well leave to the girls whom it concerns. The second we think should prove a diverting topic. Wherefore I ordain that, taking our cue from Madame Lechiska, with discourse tomorrow of the tricks, that either for love or for their deliverance from peril, ladies have here to foreplayed their husbands, and whether they were by the said husbands detected or now. To discourse of such a topic, some of the ladies deemed unmeet for them. And bestowed the king to find another theme. But the king made answer. Ladies, what manner of theme I have prescribed I know as well as you, nor was I to be diverted from prescribing it, by that which you know thing to declare unto me. For I watch the times are such that so only men and women have a care to do, nor that this unseemly, this allowable to them, to discourse of what say please. For ensues, as you must know, so out of joint are the times that the judges have deserted the judgment seat, the laws are silent, and ample lessons to preserve his life as best he may is accorded to each and all. Wherefore, if you are somewhat less strict of speech than is your want, not that ought unseemly in act may follow, but that you may afford solace to yourselves and others, as see not how you can be open to reasonable censure on the part of any. Farthermore, not that has been said from the first day to the present moment has, me thinks, in any degree so lied the immaculate honor of our your company, nor God helping us shall ought ever so lie it. Besides, who is there that knows not the quality of your honor, which were proved, I make no doubt, against not only the seductive influence of diverting discourse, but even the terror of death. And to tell you the truth, who so whisked, that you refused to discourse of these like matters for a while, would be apt to suspect, that it was but for that you had yourselves erred in like sort. And truly a goodly honor would you confer upon me, obedient as I have ever been to you, if after making me your king and your lawgiver, you were to refuse the discourse of the theme, which I prescribe. I'll wait then with the scruple fitter for low minds than yours, and let each study how she may give us a goodly story, and fortune prosper her therein. So specks the king, and the ladies, harkening, said that even as he would, so it should be. Whereupon he gave all leave, to do as they might be severally minded, until the supper hour. The sun was still quite high in the heaven, for they had not enlarged in their discourse. Therefore, Dioneo with the other gallants, being set to play at dice, Elisa called the other ladies apart and said, There is a nook hard by this place, where I think none of you has ever been. It is called the ladies' wail. With her ever since we have been here, I have desired to take you, but time meet I have not found until today, when the sun is still so high. If then you are minded to visit it, I have no manner of doubt that, when you are there, you will be very glad you came. The ladies answered that they were ready, and so, saying no to the young men, they summoned one of their maids and set forth. Nor had they gone much more than a mile, when they arrived at the wail of ladies. They entered it by a very straight gorge, through which there issued a rivulet, clear as crystal, and a sight, than which not more fair and pleasant, especially at that time, when the heat was great, could be imagined, met their eyes. Within the volley, as one of them afterwards told me, was a plain about half a mile in circumference, and so exactly circular, that it might have been fashioned according to the compass. Though it seemed a work of nature's art, not man's. It was girdled about by six hills of no great height, each crowned with a palace that shewed as a goodly little castle. The slopes of the hills were graduated from summit to base, after the manner of the successive tiers, ever abridging their circle, that we see in our theatres. And as many as fronted the southern rays were all planted so close, with vines, olives, almond trees, cherry trees, fig trees, and other fruit-bearing trees, not a few, that there was not a hand's breath of work and space. Those that fronted the north were in like manner covered with scopses of oak saplings, ashes, and other trees, as green and straight as might be. Besides which the plain, which was shot in on all sides, save that on which the ladies had entered, was full of ferns, ciproces, and bay trees, with here and there a pine, in order and symmetry so meet and excellent, as had they been planted by an artist. The best that might be found in that kind, where through, even when the sun was in the zenith, scarce array of light might reach the ground, which was all one lawn of the finest turf, pranked with the heathlands and diverse other flowers. Add to which, nor was there ought there more delightsome, a rivulet, that issuing from one of the gorges between the two hills, descended over ledges of living rock, making as it fell, a murmur most gratifying to the ear, and seen from a distance, shooed as a spray of finest powdered quicksilver, and no sooner reached the little plain, than it was gathered into a tiny channel, by which it sped with great velocity to the middle of the plain, where it formed a diminutive lake, like the fishponds that townsfolk sometimes make in their gardens, when they have occasion for them. The lake was not so deep, but that a man might stand therein, with his breast above the water, and so clear, so pelucid was the water at the bottom, which was of the finest gravel, shooed so distinct, that one, had he wished, who had not better to do, might have counted the stones. Nor was it only the bottom, that was to be seen, but such a multitude of fishes, glancing to and fro, as what at once delight and a marvel to behold. Bank it had none, but its margin was the lawn, to which it imparted a goodlier freshness. So much of the water, as it might not contain, was received by another tiny channel, through which, issuing from the whale, it glided swiftly to the plain below. To which plezons the damsel's being comes their way, it with rowing lands, and finding it commendable, and marking the lake in front of them, did, as it was very hot, and they deemed themselves secure from observation, resolved to take a bath. So having bitten their maid, wait, and keep watch over the access to the whale, and give them warning, if happily any should approach it, they all seven undressed, and got into the water, which to the whiteness of their flesh, was even such a whale, as fine glass is to the vermal of the rose. They being thus in the water, the clearness of which was thereby in no wise affected, did presently begin to go thither and thither after the fish, which had much ado, were to bestow themselves, so as to escape out of their hands. In which diversion, they spent some time, and caught a few, and then they heat them out of the water, and rest them again, and the thinking them, that it was time to return to the palace, they began slowly sound-ring thither. Delating much as they went upon the beauty of the place, albeit they could not extol it more than they had already done. It was still quite early, when they reached the palace, so that they found the gallants yet at play, where they had left them, to whom close Pompinea was a smile. We have stolen a march upon you today. So replied Dionil, just with you do first, and say after. Am I Lord, returned Pompinea, and told him at large, whence they came, and what the place was like, and how far it was off, and what they had done. What she said of the beauty of the spot, begot in the king a desire to see it. Therefore he strideway ordered supper, whereof when all had gaily partaken, the three gallants parted from the ladies, and heat them with their servants to the whale, where none of them had ever been before, and having marked all its beauties, extolled it as scarce to be matched in all the world. Then at the hour was very late, they did but bathe, and as soon as they had resumed their clothes, returned to the ladies, whom they found dancing a carol to an air that they met a song. Which done they conversed of the ladies whale, waxing eloquent in praise their off. In so much that the king called the son a show, and bid him have some beds made ready, and carried these are on the morrow, that any that were so minded might there take their siesta. He then had lights and wine and confets brought, and whence they had taken a slight refaction, he bade all at rest them to the dance. So at his behest, Pamphilol led a dance, and then the king, turning with gracious mean to Elisa, Fair Damsel, close he, it was do, today this me is the owner of the crown, and it is my will, the dine to-night be the owner of the song. Wherefore sing us, whatsoever thou hast most leave. That gladly will I, replied Elisa, smiling, and thus with dolce at voice began. If of thy talents love be quit I may, I deem it scarce can be, but other fangs I may elude for a. Service I took with thee, a tender maid, in thy war thinking perfect peace to find, and all my arms upon the ground I laid, yielding myself to thee with trustful mind. Thou, harpy tyrant, whom no faith may bind, if soons did swoop on me, and with thy cruel claws maids me thy prey. Then thy poor captive, bound with many a chain, thou tookst and gave us to him, whom fate did call hither my death to be, for that in pain and bitter tears I waste away this thrall. Nor have I ever sigh or tear let fall, so harsher Lord is he that him inclines a jot my grief to allay. My prayers upon the idle air are spent, he hears not, will not hear, wherefore in vain the more each hour my soul doth hurt herment. Nor may I die, I'll bite to die where gain. Ah, Lord, hef pity of my bitter pain. Help have I none but thee, than take and bind, and at my feet him lay. But if thou will not, do my soul but lose from hope, that her still binds with triple chain. Sure, O my Lord, this prayer thou wilt not refuse, the witch so thou to grant me do, but, Dane, I look my want of beauty to regain, and banish misery with those roses white and red, betecked and gay. So with the most pitches sigh ended Elisa her song, where ought all-bondered exceedingly, nor might any conjecture wherefore she so sang. But the king, who was in a jolly humor, sent Fortindaro, and bait him out with his cornemius, and caused them, thread many a measure thereto, until, no small part of the night being thus spent, he gave leave to all, to betake them to rest. End of Conclusion of Day 6 Day 7 The introduction of the De Cameron This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The De Cameron by Giovanni Boccaccio Translated by M. Rigg Day 7 The Introduction End of Theor, the sixth day of the De Cameron, begineth the seventh, in which, under the rule of Dionio, discourse is heard of the trick which, either for love, or for their deliverance from peril, ladies have here to foreplayed their husbands, and whether they were by the said husbands detected, or no. Fled was now each star from the eastern sky, save only that which we call Lucifer, which still glowed in the whitening dawn, when up rose the Seneschal, and with a goodly baggage train, heed him to the lady's veil, there to make all things ready according to the ordinance and the commandment of the king. Nor was it long after his departure that the king rose, being awaked by the stirrund bustle that the servants made in lading the horses, and being risen he likewise rowed all the ladies and the other gallants. And so, when as yet it was cursedly or daybreak, they all took the road, nor seemed it to them that the nightingales and other birds had ever chanted so pleasly as this morning. By which horror they were attended to the lady's veil, where they were greeted by other warblers, not a few, that seemed rejoiced at their arrival. Rowing about the veil, and surveying its beauties afresh, they rated them higher than on the previous day, as indeed the hour was more apt to shoe them throes. Then this good wine and comfort they broke their fast, and that they might not lag behind the songsters, they fell as singing, where to the veil responded, ever echoing their strains, nor did the birds, as minded not to be beaten, fail to swell the chorus with notes of unwanted sweetness. However breakfast time came, and then the tables being laid under a living canopy of trees, and besides other goodly trees that ranged the little lake, they sat them down in order as to the king seemed meet. So they took their meal, glancing from time to time at the lake, where the fish darted to and throw in multitudinous shoals, which afforded not only to light through their eyes, but matter for converse. Breakfast ended, and the tables removed, they fell as singing again, more pleasly than before, after which there being set in diverse places about the little whale, beds which the discreet seneschal had duly furnished and equipped, within and without with store of French coverlets, and other bed gear, all that were so minded, had leave of the king to go to sleep, and those that cared not to sleep might be take them, as each might choose, to any of their wanted diversions. But all at length being risen, and the time for addressing them to the storytelling being come, the king had carpets spread on the sword no great way from the place, where they had breakfasted, and all having sat them down beside the lake, he bade Amelia begin, which, blithe and smiling, Amelia did on this wise. End of introduction of the seventh day. Day seven, the first story of the Decameron. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Anna Simon. The Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio, translated by J. M. Rigg. Day seven, the first story. Gianni Alteringhi hears and knocking at his door at night. He awakens his wife, who persuades him that it's the bogey, which they fall to exercising with a prayer, whereupon the knocking ceases. My Lord, glad indeed I have been that, saving your good pleasure, some other than I, had had precedents of discourse upon so goodly a theme as this of which we are to speak. I doubt I am but chosen to teach others confidence, but such being your will I will gladly obey it, and my endeavour shall be, dearest ladies, to tell you somewhat that may be surfaceable to you in the future, for if you are, as I am, timorous, and that most especially of the bogey, which got what I know not what manner of thing it may be, nor yet have found any that knew, albeit we are all alike afraid of it, you may learn from this my story how to put it to flight, should it enthrude upon you, with a holy, salutary, and most efficacious origin. That dwell of your at Florence, in the quarter of San Pancrazio, a mass of spinne, Gianni Alteringhi by name, one that had prospered in his business, but had littered understanding of all else, in so much that being somewhat of a simpleton he had many a time been chosen, leader of the band of Lord Singers of Santa Maria Novella, and at charge of their school, and of a few like offices had he often served, upon which he greatly plumed himself. Howbite, it was all for no other reason than that, being a man of substance, he gave liberal dole to the friars, who, for what they got thereof, this one hose, another a cloak, and a third a hood, would teach him good orisons, or give him the Peter Noster in the vernacular, or the chant of St. Alexus, or the lament of St. Bernard, or the lord of Lady Matilda, or the like sorry stuff, which he greatly prized, and guarded with jealous care, deeming them all most conducive to the salvation of his soul. Now our simple master spinner had a most beautiful wife, and amorous with all, her name Monatesa, d'or she was of Manuccio della Cuccolla, and not a little knowing, and keen with it, and being an amour of Federico Adinieri per Colotti, a handsome and lustigal land, as he also of her, she, knowing her husband's simplicity, took counsel with her maid, and arranged that Federico should come to chat with her at a right goodly pleasure-house that the said Gianni had at Camarata, where she was wont to pass the summer, Gianni coming now and again to sup and sleep, and going back in the morning to his shop, or maybe to his lord-singers. Federico, who desired nothing better, went up there punctually on the appointed day about vespers, and as the evening passed without Gianni making his appearance, did most comfortably, and to his no small satisfaction, sup and sleep with the lady, who, lying in his arms, taught him that night some six of her husband's lords. But as neither she nor Federico was minded that this beginning should also be the end of their intercourse, and that it might not be needful for the maid to go each time to make the assignation with him, they came to the following understanding, to it that as often as he came and went between the house and an estate that he had a little higher up, he should keep an eye on a vineyard that was beside the house, where he would see an ass's head stuck on one of the poles of the vineyard, and as often as he observed the muscle turned towards Florence, he might visit her without any sort of misgiving, and if he found not the door open, he was to tap it thrice, and she would open it, and when he saw the muzzle of the ass's head turn towards Fiesole, he was to keep away, for then Gianni would be there. Following which plan they forgave not seldom, but on one of these evenings, when Federico was to sub with Monetessa on two fat capons that she had boiled, it so chance that Gianni arrived there unexpectedly and very late, much to the lady's chagrin, so she had a little salt meat boiled apart on which she subbed with her husband, and the maid by her orders carried the two boiled capons laid in a spotless napkin with plenty of fresh eggs and a bottle of good wine into the garden, to which there was access otherwise than from the house and where she was wanted times to sub with Federico, and there the maid sat them down at the foot of a peach tree that grew beside a lawn, but in her vexation she forgot to tell the maid to wait till Federico should come and let him know that Gianni was there, and he must take a supper in the garden, and she and Gianni and the maid with cares gone to bed when Federico came and tapped once at the door, which being hard by the bedroom Gianni heard the tap as did also the lady, albeit that Gianni might have no reason to suspect her, she feigned to be asleep. Federico waved a little and then gave a second tap, whereupon wondering what it might mean, Gianni nudged his wife, saying, Tessa, does thou hear what I hear? Me thinks someone has tapped at our door. The lady, who had heard the noise much better than he, feigned to wake up and, how, what says thou, quats she? I say, replied Gianni, that me seems someone has tapped at our door. Tapped I did, quat the lady. Alas, my Gianni, what's thou not what that is? This the bogey, which for some nights past has so terrified me as never was, in so much that I never hear it, but I pop my head under the clothes and venture not to put it out again until this broad day. Come, come, wife, quat Gianni, if such it is, be not alarmed, for before we got into bed I repeated the teluzis, the intamerata, and diverse other good orisons, besides which I made the sign of the cross in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit at each corner of the bed, wherefore we need have no fear that it may avail to hurt us, whatever be his power. The lady, lest Federico, perchance suspecting our rival, should take offence, resolve to get up and let him understand that Gianni was there, so she said to her husband, Well, well, so says thou, but I, for my part, shall never be myself safe and secure, unless we exercise it, seeing that thou art here. Oh, said Gianni, and how does one exercise it? That, quat the lady, I know right well, for the other day, when I went to Fiesola for the pardoning, one of those anchoresses, the saintliest creatures, my Gianni, God be my witness, knowing how much afraid I am of the bogey, taught me a holy and solitary orison, which is such it tried many a time before she was turned anchorous, and always with success. God what, I should never have had courage to try it alone, but as thou art here, I propose that we go exercise it together. Gianni made answer that he was quite of the same mind, so up they got and stole to the door, on the outside of which Federigo, now suspicious, was still waiting, and as soon as they were there, now, quat the lady to Gianni, thou wilt spit when I tell thee. Good, said Gianni, whereupon the lady began our orison, saying, Bogey, Bogey, that goes by night, till erect thou camest, till erect take thy flight, hide thee to the garden, and the great peach before, grease upon grease, and dropping's five score of my hand shall thou find, set the flask thy lips to, then away like the wind, and no scathom to me or my Gianni do. And once she had done, now Gianni quat she, spit, and Gianni spat. There was no more room for jealousy in Federigo's mind as he heard all this from without, nay, for all his disappointment, he was like to burst with suppressed laughter, and when Gianni spat, he muttered under his breath. Now out with thy teeth. The lady, having after this fashion thrice exercised the Bogey, went back to bed with her husband. Federigo, disappointed of the supper that he was to have had with her, and a prehending of the words of the orison aright, hid him to the garden, and having found the two capents and the wine and the eggs at the foot of the peach-tree, took them home with him, and subbed very comfortably, and many a hearty laugh had he and the lady over the exorcism during their subsequent intercourse. Now, true it is, that some say that the lady had in fact turned the ass's head towards Fiasola, but that a husband man, passing through the vineyard, had given it a blow with his stick, whereby it had swung round, and remained fronting Florence, and so it was that Federigo thought at thee was invited, and came to the house, and that the lady's orison was on this wise. Bogey, a god's name away the high, for whoever turned the ass's head towards not eye, another it was, foul for his eye, and here am I with Gianni mine, wherefore Federigo was faint to take himself off, having neither slept nor subbed. But a neighbour of mine, a lady well advanced in years, tells me that by what she heard when she was a girl, both stories are true, but that a letter concerned not Gianni Lotharinghi, but one Gianni Dinello, that lived at Porta San Piero, and was no less a numbskull than Gianni Lotharinghi. Wherefore, dear my ladies, you are at liberty to choose which exorcism you prefer, or take both, if you like. They are both of extraordinary and approved virtue in such cases, as you've heard. Get them by heart, therefore, and they may yet stand you in good stead. End of Day 7, the First Story Day 7, the Second Story of the Decameron This is the 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. Rig. Day 7, the Second Story Day 7, the Second Story of the Decameron Her husband returning home, Peronella, bestows her lover in a ton, which, being sold by her husband, she averrs to have been already sold by herself to one that is inside examining it to be sound. Whereupon the lover jumps out and causes the husband to scour the ton for him, and afterwards to carry it to his house. Great indeed was the laughter with which Emilia's story was received, which being ended, and her ores uncommanded by all as good and salutary, the king-bade filestrato full of suit, and thus filestrato began. Or be told you by another, shall not only give you joy, but should incite you to publish it on all hands, that men may beware that, knowing as they are, their ladies also, on their part, know somewhat. Which cannot be serviceable to you? For that one does not rashly essay to take another with guile, whom one wants not to lack that quality. Can we doubt, then, that, should but the converse that we hold today touching this matter, should be brooched about among men? Twitserve but a most notable check upon the tricks they play you. By doing them the wit of the tricks, which you, in like manner, have been so minded, may play them. Wherefore, it is my intention to tell you in what manner a young girl, albeit she was but of low rank, did, on the spur of the moment, beguile her husband to her own deliverance. It was not long time since at Naples a poor man, a mason by craft, took to wife a fair and amorous maiden, Peronella was her name, who eeked out by spinning what her husband made by his craft, and so the pair managed as best they might on very slender means. And, as chance would have it, one of the gallants of the city, taking note of this Peronella one day, and being mightily pleased with her, fell in love with her, and by this means and that, so prevailed, that he won her to accord him her intimacy. There are times of foregathering they concerted as follows. To wit, that her husband, being want to rise be times of a morning to go to work or seek for work, the gallant was to be where he might see him go forth, and the street where she dwelt, which was called Avario, being scarcely inhabited, was to come into the house as sinners or husband was well out of it, and so times not a few they did. But one of these occasions it befell that the good man, being gone forth, and Giannello, see Ignario, such was the gallant's name, being come into the house, and being with Peronella, after a while, back came the good man, though to his not his want to return until the day was done, and finding the door locked, he knocked, and after knocking he fell a saying to himself, oh God be praised, thy name for ever, for that, albeit thou hast ordained that I be poor, at least thou hast accorded me the consolation of a good and honest girl for wife. Mark what haste she made to shut the door when I was gone, that none else might enter to give her trouble. Now Peronella knew by his knock that twas her husband, wherefore, alas, Giannello mine, quoth she, I am a dead woman, for lo, here is my husband, foul fall him, come back, what it may import, I know not, for he is never want to come back at this hour, for a chance he called sight of thee as thou came us in. However, for the love of God, be it as it may, get thee into this ton, that thou seest here, and I will open to him, and we shall see what is the occasion of his sudden return this morning. So Giannello forthwith got into the ton, and Peronella went to the door, and led in her husband, and gave him black look, saying, this is indeed a surprise, that thou art back so soon this morning. By what I see thou hast a mind to make this a holiday, that thou returnest tools in hand, if so, what are we to live on? Whence shall we get bread to eat? Thinkest thou I will let thee pond my gown, and other bits of clothes? Day and night I do not else but spin, in so much that the flesh is falling away from my nails. That at least I may have oil enough to keep our land to light. Husband, husband, there is never a woman in the neighborhood but marvels and mocks at me, that I am at such labor and pains, and thou comest home with me with thy hands hangling idle, when thou shouldest be at work? Which said, she fell a weeping and repeating, Alas, alas woes me, and what evil hour was I born, and what luckless moment came I hither, I, that might have had so goodly a young man, I would not, to take up with one that bestows never a thought on her whom he made his wife. Other women have a good time with their lovers, and never a one have we here but has two or three. They take their pleasure, and make their husbands believe that the moon is the sun, and I, alas, that I am an honest woman, and have no such casual amours. I suffer, and am hard bested. I know not why I provide not myself with one of these lovers as others do. Give good heat, husband, to what I say, where I dispose the dishonor thee, I were at no loss to find the man, for here are gallants enough that love me and court me, and have sent me many an offer of money. No stint, or dresses or jewels, should I prefer them, but my pride would never suffer it, because I was not born a woman of that sort, and now thou comest home to me when thou oddest be at work. Where to, the husband said, Wife, Wife, for God's sake distress not thyself, thou shouldst give me credit for knowing what manner of woman thou art, as indeed I are partly seen this morning. True it is that I went out to work, but it is plain that thou knowest not, as indeed I knew not, that today is the feast of St. Gallione, and a holiday, and that is why I have come home at this hour. But nevertheless I have found means to provide us with bread for more than a month, for I have sold to this gentleman, whom you seeest with me, the ton, thou wottest of, seeing that has encumbered the house for so long, and he has given me five gigalots for it. Quote then, Peronella, and this but adds to my trouble, that our man and goest abroad, and shouldest know affairs, has sold for five gigalots a ton, which I, that am but a woman, and was scarce ever out of doors have, for that it took up so much room in the house, sold it for seven gigalots to a good man, that but now, as thou came us back, got therein to see if it were sound. So hearing the husband was overjoyed, and said to the man that was come to take it away, good man, I wish thee Godspeed, for, as thou hearest my wife has sold the ton for seven gigalots, whereas thou gave us me only five. Whereupon, so be it, said the good man, and took himself off. Then Peronella said to her husband, Now, as thou art here, come up and arrange the matter with the good man. Now Giannello, who, meanwhile, had been all on the alert to discover if there were alt, he ought to fear, or be on his guard against. No sooner heard Peronella's last words that he sprung out of the ton, and feigning to know not if her husband's return began thus. Where art thou, good dame? Where to the husband, coming up, answered, Here I am, what wouldest thou of me? And who art thou? I would speak with the lady, with whom I struck the bargain for this ton. Then said the good man, Have no fear, you can deal with me, for I am her husband. Quote then, Giannello, The ton seems to me sound enough, but I think that you must have let the leaves remain in it, for it is all encrusted, with I know not what that is so dry, that I cannot raise in it the nail. Wherefore I am not minded to take it, unless I first see it scoured. Whereupon Peronella, to be sure, thou shall not hinder the bargain, My husband will scour it clean. Well and good, said the husband. So he laid down his tools, stripped himself to his vest, sent for a light and a rasp, and was in the ton, scraping away in a trice. Whereupon Peronella, as if she were curious to see what he did, thrust her head into the vent of the ton, which was of no great size, and there with all one of her arms up to the shoulder, and, fellow-saying, Scrape here, and here, and there too, and look, there is a bit left here. So, she being in this posture, directing and admonishing her husband, Giannello, who had not, that morning, fully satisfied his desire, when the husband arrived, now seeing that, as he would, he might not, brought his mind to his circumstances and resolved to take his pleasure as he might. Wherefore, he made up to the lady, who completely blocked the vent of the ton, and, even on such wise as, on the open champagne, the wild and lusty horses do amorously assail the mares of Parthia, he sated his youthful appetite, and so it was that almost at the same moment that he did so, and was off, the ton was scoured, the husband came forth, and Peronella withdrew her head from the vent. And, turning to Giannello said, take this light, good man, and see if it is scoured to thy mind. Whereupon Giannello, looking into the ton, said that it was in good turn, and that he was well content, and paid the husband the seven gigalots, and caused him to carry the ton to his house.