 Day 2. The Ninth Story 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. Recording by J. C. Guan. The De-Cameron by Giovanni Boccaccio. Translated by J. M. Rake. Day 2. The Ninth Story Bernabeau of Genoa. Deceived by Ambro Diolo, loses his money and commands his innocent wife to be put to death. She escapes, habits herself as a man, and serves the Sultan. She discovers the Deceiver and brings Bernabeau to Alexandria, where the Deceiver is punished. She then resumes the garb of a woman, and with her husband returns wealthy to Genoa. When Elisa had performed her part, and brought her touching story to a close, Queen Filomena, a damsel no less stately than fair of person, and the first surpassingly sweet and smiling mean, having composed herself to speak as began. Our engagements with Deaneo shall be facefully observed, therefore, as he and I alone remain to complete today's narration, I will tell my story first, and he shall have the grace he craved, and be the last to speak. After which prelude, she thus began her story. It is a proverb current among the vulgar, that the Deceived has the better of the Deceiver. A proverb which, were it not exemplified by events, might hardly in any manner be justified. Wherefore, while adhering to our theme, I am minded, at the same time, dearest ladies, to show you that there is truth in this proverb, the proof whereof should be nonetheless welcome to you, then it may put you on your guard against the Deceivers. Know then, that certain very great merchants of Italy, being met, as merchants use, for diverse reasons proper to each, are the hostelry in Paris, and having one evening jubbly subbed together, fairly talking of diverse matters, and so passing from one topic to another. They came at last to discuss the ladies whom they had left at home, and one jocosly said, I cannot answer for my wife, but for myself I own, that whenever a girl that is to my mind comes in my way, I give to go by to the love that I bear my wife, and take my pleasure, of the newcomer, to the best of my power. And so do I, said another, because I know that, whether I suspect her or not, my wife tries her fortune, and so to do as you are done by, the ass and the wall are quits. A third added his testimony to the same effect, and in short all seemed to concur in the opinion that the ladies they had left behind them were not likely to neglect their opportunities. One-one, a Genuese, Bernabeu Lamellen, by name, dissociated himself from the rest, affirming that by his special grace of God, he was blessed with a wife who was, perhaps, the most perfect paragon to be found in Italy, of all the virtues proper to a lady, A, and in great measure, to a knight or squire, inasmuch as she was fair, still quite young, handy, hardy, and clever beyond all but the women in embroidery work, and all other forms of ladies' handicraft. Moreover, so well mannered, discreet and sensible was she, that she was as fit to wait at a Lord's table as any squire or manservant or such like, the best and most adroit that could be found. To which in Comium he added, that she knew how to manage a horse, fly a hawk, read, write, and cast up accounts better than as if she were a merchant, and after much more in the same strain of commendation, he came at length to the topic of their conversation, accelerating with an oath that was not possible to find a woman more honest, more chaste than she. Nay, he verily believed that, if he remained from home for ten years, or indeed for the rest of his days, she would never think of any of these casual amours with any other man. Among the merchants, who thus cussed, was a young man, Amrug Yolo Dapyachenza, by name, who, when Bernabo thus concluded his eulogy of his wife, broke out into a mighty laugh, and asked him with a jeer whether he, of all men, had this privilege by a special patent of the emperor. Bernabo replied, somewhat angrily, that to his boon conferred upon him by God, who was rather more powerful than the emperor. To which, Amrug Yolo rejoined, I make no doubt, Bernabo, that thou believest what thou sayest is true, but me thinks that has been but a careless observer of the nature of things. Otherwise, I do not take thee to be of so gross understanding, but that thou must have discerned therein reasons for speaking more judiciously of this matter, and that thou mayst not think that we, who have spoken with much freedom about our wives, deem to be of another nature, and more than thine, but mayst know that we have but uttered what common sense dictates. I am minded to go a little further into this matter with thee. I have always understood that, of all mortal beings created by God, man is the most noble, and next after him, woman, man then being, as his universally believed, and is indeed apparent by his works, more perfect than woman, but without doubt be endowed with more firmness and constancy, women being one and all more mobile, for reasons not of few unfounded in nature, which I might deduce, but mean for the present to pass over. And yet, for all his great firmness, man cannot withstand, I do not say a woman's supplications, but the mere lusts of the eye which she unwittingly excites, and that in such sorts that he will do all that is in his power to induce her to pleasure him, not once perhaps, in the course of a month, but a thousand times a day. How then, should thou expect a woman mobile by nature, to resist the supplications, the flatteries, the gifts, and all the other modes of attack that an accomplished user will employ? Thou thinkest, that she may hold out. Nay, verily, I firm it as thou mayst, I doubt, thou dost not really so think, thou dost not deny, that thy wife is a woman, a creature of flesh and blood, like the rest, and if so, she must have the same cravings, the same natural propensities as they, and no more force to withstand them. Wherefore, it is at least possible, that, however honest she be, she will too, as others too, and not that is possible, admits such peremptory denial, or affirmation of its contrary as this, of thine. Where too, Bernabeau returned, I am a merchant, and no philosopher, and I will give thee a merchant's answer, I acknowledge, that what thou sayst is true, a vain and foolish woman, who have no modesty, but such as are discreet, are so sensitive in regard of their honour, that they become better able to preserve it than men, who have no such solicitude, and my wife is one of this sort. Doubtless, observed Umbrogliolo, few would be found to indulge in these casual amours, if every time they did so, a horn grew out on the brow to attest the fact, but not so much as a trace, or vestige, of a horn, so only they be but prudent, and the shame and dishonour consist only in the discovery. Wherefore, if they can do it secretly, they do it, or are forced to refrain. Hold it for certain that she alone is chaste, who either hath never suits made to her, or suing herself, was repulsed, and albeit I know, that were reasons true and founded in nature, this must need be, yet I should not speak so positively, dear Rafa's, I do, had I, not many a time, with many a woman, verified it by experience, and I assured thee, that had I but accessed through this most saintly wife of Dain, I should confidently expect very soon to have the same success with her as with others. Then, Bernabelle Umbrogli, to her long and tedious to continue this discussion, I should have my say, and thou dine, and in the end, to come to nothing, but as thou sayest, that they are all so compliant, and that thou art so accomplished a seducer, I give thee this pledge of the honour of my wife, I consent to forfeit my head, if thou should succeed in bringing her to pleasurety in such a sort, and should thou fail, thou shalt forfeit to me no more than one thousand florins of gold. Elated by this unexpected offer, Umbrogliolo replied, I know not what I should do with thy blood, Bernabelle, if I want the wager, but, if thou wouldst have proof of what I have told thee, lay five thousand florins of gold, which must be worth less to thee than thy head against a thousand of mine, and whereas thou makest no stipulation as to time, I will find myself to go to Genoa, and within three months from my departure, hence to have had my pleasure of thy wife, and in witness thereof to bring back with me of the things which she prizes most dearly, evidence of her compliance, so weighty and conclusive, that thou thyself shall admit the fact, nor do I require ought of thee, but that thou pledge thy fate, neither to come to Genoa, nor to write word to her of this matter during the set three months. Bernabelle professed himself well content, and though the rest of the company, seeing that the compact might well have very evil consequences, did all that they could to frustrate it. Yet the two men were now so heated that, against the will of the others, they set it down fairly in writing, and signed it each with his own hand. This done, Ambroghiolo, living Bernabelle at Paris, posted with all speed for Genoa. Arrived there, he set to work with great caution, and having found out the quarter in which the lady resided, he learned, in the course of a few days, enough about her habits of life and her character, to know what Bernabelle had told him was rather less than the truth. So, recognizing that his enterprise was hopeless, he cast about for some device whereby he might cover his defeat, and having got speech of a poor woman, who was much in the lady's house, as also in her favor, he bribed her, other means failing, to convey him in a chest, which he had had made for the purpose. Not only into the house, but into the bedroom of the lady, whom the good women, following Ambroghiolo's instructions, induced to take charge of it for some days, during which she said she would be away. So, the lady suffered the chest to remain in the room, and when the night was so far spent, that Ambroghiolo thought she must be asleep, he opened it with some tools with which he had provided himself, and stole softly out. There was a light in the room, so that he was able to form an idea of its situation, to take note of the pictures and everything else, of consequence that it contained, and to commit the whole to memory. This done, he approached the bed, and observing that the lady, and a little girl that was with her, were fast asleep, he gently uncovered her, and saw that he knew she was not a wit less lovely than when dressed. He looked about for some mark that might serve him as evidence that he had seen her in this state, but found nothing except a mole, which she had under the left breast, and which was fringed with a few hairs that shone like gold. So beautiful was she, that he was tempted, at the hazard of his life, to take his place by her side in the bed. But, remembering what he had heard of her inflexible obturacy in such affairs, he did not venture, but quietly replaced the bed clothes, and having passed the best part of the night very much at his ease in her room, then he took from one of the lady's boxes, a purse, a gown, a ring, and a girdle, and with these tokens returned to the chest, and locked himself in as before. In dinner he passed two nights, nor did the lady in the least suspect his presence. On the third day the good woman came by, pre-concert, to fetch her chest, and took it back to the place when she had brought it. So Ambro Gioro got out, paid her the stipulated sum, and hide him back with all speed to Paris, where he arrived within the appointed time. Then, in presence of the merchants who were witnesses of his altercation with Bernabeau, and the waiter to which it had given occasion, he told Bernabeau that he had won the bet, having done what he had boasted that he would do. And in proof thereof, he first of all described the appearance of the room in the pictures, and then displayed the articles belonging to the lady which he had brought away with him, a varying that she had given them to him. Bernabeau acknowledged the accuracy of his description of the room, and that the articles that really belonged to his wife, but objected that Ambro Gioro might have learned characteristic features of the room from one of the servants, and have come by the things in a similar way, and therefore, unless he had something more to say, he could not justly claim to have won the bet. Verily, rejoined Ambro Gioro, this should suffice, but as thou requirest that I see somewhat further, I will satisfy thee. I say then that Madame Zinevra, thy wife, has under her left breast a mole of some size, around which are perhaps six hairs of a golden hue. As Bernabeau heard this, it was as if a knife pierced his heart, so poignant was his suffering, and though no word escaped him, the complete alteration of his mean bore on mystic evil witness to the truth of Ambro Gioro's words. After a while he said, gentlemen, this even as Ambro Gioro says, he has won the bet, he has but to come when he will, and he shall be paid. And so, the very next day, Ambro Gioro was paid in full, and Bernabeau, intent on wrecking vengeance on his wife, left Paris, and set his face towards Genoa. He had no mind, however, to go home, and accordingly, halted at an estate which he had some twenty miles from the city, with her he sent forward a servant, in whom he reposed much truth, with two horses and a letter advising the lady of his return, and bidding her come out to meet him. At the same time, he gave the servant secret instructions to choose some convenient place, and ruthlessly put the lady to death, and so returned to him. On his arrival at Genoa, the servant delivered his message, and the letter to the lady, who received him with great cheer, and next morning, got on horseback, and set forth with him for her husband's estate. So they rode on, talking of diverse matters, until they came to a deep gorge, very lonely, and shut in by high rocks and trees. The servant, deeming this just the place in which he might without risk of discovery, fulfill his lord's behest, whipped out a knife, and seizing the lady by the arm said, Madam, commend your soul to God, for here must end at once your journey and your life. Terror-striking by what she saw and heard, the lady cried out, Mercy for God's sake, before thou slay me, tell me at least wherein I have wronged thee, that thou art thus minded to put me to death. Madam, said the servant, may you have in no wise wronged, but your husband, how you may have wronged him I know not, charge me sure you know Mercy, but to slay thou on this journey, and threaten to have me hanged by the neck, should I not do so. You know well how bound I am to him, and that I may not disobey any of his commands. God knows I pity you, but yet I can't know otherwise. We're at, the lady burst into tears, saying, Mercy for God's sake, make it not thyself the murderer of one that has done thee no wrong, and at the behest of another. The all-seeing God knows that I never did ought to merit such requital at my husband's hands, but enough of this for the present, there is a way in which thou can serve at once God, and I master and myself. If thou wilt do as I bid thee, take then these clothes of mine, and give me an exchange just thy dooblet, and a hood, and carry the clothes with thee to my lord and dine, and tell him that thou hast slain me. And I swear to thee, but the life which I shall receive at thy hands, that I will get me gone, and thereby, once news of me shall never reach either him or thee, or these parts. The servant, being loath to put her to death, soon yielded to pity, and so he took her clothes, allowing her to retain a little money that she had, and gave her one of his worst dooblets and a hood. Then, praying her to depart the country, he left her a foot in the gorge, and returned to his master, whom he gave to understand that he had not only carried out his orders, but had left the lady's body a prey to wolves. But Nebo, after a while returned to Genoa, where the supposed murder being brooded abroad, he was severely censured. Alone in this consulate, the lady, as night fell, disguised herself as best she could, and hide her to a neighbouring village, where, having procured what was needful from an old woman, she shortened her dooblet and fitted it to her figure, converted her chemise into a pair of breeches, cut her hair close, and, in short, completely disguised herself as a sailor. She then made her way to the coast, whereby, chance, she encountered a Catalan gentleman, by name Sengar Enkaraj, who had landed from one of his ships, which lay in the offing, to recreate himself at Alba, where there was a fountain. So she made overture to him of her services, was engaged, and taken aboard the ship, assuming the name Secorano da Finale. The gentleman put her in better trim as to clothes, and found her, so apt and handy at service, that he was exceedingly well-placed with her. Not long afterwards, the Catalan sailed one of his caracks to Alexandria. He took with him some peregrine falcons, which he presented to the solden, who feasted him once or twice, and, noting with Approbation the behaviour of Secorano, who always attended his master, he craved him of the Catalan, which request the Catalan reluctantly granted. Secorano proved so apt for his new service, that he was soon as high in grace and favour with the solden, as he had been with the Catalan. Wherefore, when the time of year came, at which there was want to be held at Acre, then under the solden's sway, a great fare, much frequented by merchants, Christian and Saracen alike, and to which, for the security of the merchants and their goods, the solden always sent one of his great officers of state, with the other officers, and a guard to attend upon him, he determined to San Secorano, who by this time knew the language very well. So Secorano was sent to Acre as Governor, and Captain of the Guard, for the protection of the merchants and merchandise. Arrived there, he bestowed himself with great zeal in all matters pertaining to his office, and as he went his rounds of inspection, he aspired among the merchants, not a few from Italy, Sicilian, Pysons, Genoese, Venetians, and so forth, with whom he consorted the more readily, because they reminded him of his native land, and so it befell that alighting once at his shop belonging to some Venetian merchants, he sold there, among other trinkets, a purse and a girdle, which he forfeit recognised as having once been his own. Concealing his surprise, he blandly asked whose they were, and if they were for sale. He was answered by Ambroghiolo da Piacenza, who had come thither with much merchandise aboard a Venetian ship, and hearing that the Captain of the Guard was asking about the ownership of the purse and girdle, came forward, and said with a smile, The things are mine, sir, and I am not disposed to sell them, but if they take your fancy, I will gladly give them to you. Observing the smile, Sicurano misdoubted that something had escaped him, by which Ambroghiolo had recognised him, but he answered with a composed air. Thou dost smile perchance to see me, a soldier, come asking about this woman's gear. Not so, sir, return Ambroghiolo, I smile to think of the manner in which I came by it, and pray, Sicurano, if thou hast no reason to conceal it, tell me, in God's name, how thou didst come by the things. Why, sir? said Ambroghiolo, they were given me by a generous lady, with whom I once spent a night, Madame Tinevra by name, wife of Barnabolo Mellon, who prayed me to keep them as a token of her love. I smiled, just now, to think of the folly of Barnabolo, who was so mad as to stake five thousand florins of gold against my thousand, that I could not bring his wife to surrender to me, which I did. I won the bet, and he, who should rather have been punished for his insensitive folly, than she for doing what all women do, and her put to death, as I afterwards gathered on his way back from Paris to Genoa. Ambroghiolo had not done speaking before Sicurano, had discerned in him the evident cause of her husband's animosity against her, and all her woe, and all her woe, and had made up her mind that he should not escape with impunity. She therefore feigned to be much interested by this story, consulted frequently and very familiarly with Ambroghiolo, and insidiously captured his confidence in so much that at her suggestion, when the fair was done, he, taking with him all his wear, accompanied her to Alexandria, where she provided him with his shop, and put no little of her own money in his hands, so that he, funding it very profitable, was glad enough to stay. Anxious to make her innocence manifest to Bernabeu, Sicurano did not rest until with the help of some great Genoese merchants that were in Alexandria. She had devised an expedient to draw him stutter. Her plan succeeded. Bernabeu arrived, and as he was now very poor, she privately arranged that he should be entertained by one of her friends, until occasions he'd serve to carry out her design. She had already introduced Ambroghiolo to tell his story to the soldon, and the soldon to interest himself in the matter. So Bernabeu being come, and for the delaying expedient, she seized her opportunity, and persuaded the soldon to cite Ambroghiolo and Bernabeu before him, that in Bernabeu's presence, Ambroghiolo might be examined of his boast, touching Bernabeu's wife. And the truth hereof, if not to be had from him by gentle means, be elicited by torture. So the soldon, having Ambroghiolo and Bernabeu before him, amid a great concourse of the people questioned, Ambroghiolo of the five thousand Florence of gold, that he had won from Bernabeu, and sternly made him tell the truth. Still more harsh was the aspect of Segurano, in whom Ambroghiolo had placed his chief reliance, but who now threatened him with the direst torments if the truth were not forthcoming. Thus hard-bested, on this side and on that, and in a manner coerced, Ambroghiolo, thinking he had but to refund in presence of Bernabeu, and many others accurately recounted the affair as it had happened. When he had done, Segurano, as minister of the soldon for the time being, turned to Bernabeu and said, and thy wife, thus falsely accused, what treatment did she meet with at thy hands? Mortified, said Bernabeu, but a loss of my money, and the dishonor which I deemed to have been done me by my wife. I was so overcome by wrath that I had her put to death by one of my servants, who brought me word that her corpse had been instantly devoured by a pack of wolves. Albeit the soldon had heard and understood all that had passed, yet he did not as yet apprehend the object for which Segurano had pursued the investigation. Wherefore, Segurano thus addressed him, My Lord, what cause this good lady has to boast of her lover and her husband, you have now abundant means of judging, seeing that the lover at one at the same time despoils her of her honour, blasting her fair fame with slanderous accusations, and ruins her husband, who more prompt to trust the falsehood of another than the verity of which his own long experience should have assured him, devotes her to death and the devouring wolves. And moreover, such is the regard, such the love which both bear her, that, though both tarry a long time with her, neither recognises her. However, that you may know for well what chastiments they have severely deserved, I will now cause her to appear in your presence and theirs provided you of your special grace be placed to punish the deceiver and pardon the deceived. The soldon, being minded in this manner to defer entirely to Segurano, answered that he was well content and bear produced the lady. Bernabeau, who had firmly believed that she was dead, was lost in wonder, likewise Ambroghiolo, who now devined his evil plight and dreading something worse than the disbursement of money, knew not whether to expect the lady's advent with fear or with hope. His suspense was not of long duration, for, as soon as the soldon signified his assent, Segurano, weeping, threw herself on her knees at his feet, and discarding the tones as she would fear have dispested herself of the outward semblance of a man, said, My lord, that forlorn hapless Senevra am I, falsely and foully slandered by the straighter Ambroghiolo, and by my cruel and unjust husband, deceived over to her servant to slaughter and cast out as prey to the wolves, for which cause I have now for six years been a wanderer on the face of the earth in the guise of a man. Then, rending her robes in front and bearing her breast, she made it manifest to the soldon and all others who were present that she was indeed a woman. Then turning to Ambroghiolo, she hotly challenged him to say when she had ever lain with him as he had boasted. Ambroghiolo said never a word, for he now recognized her, and it was as a shame had refred from him the power of speech. The soldon, who had never doubted that Segurano was a man, was so wanderstruck by what he saw and heard that at times he thought it must all be a dream. But, as wander gave place to conviction of the truth, he extolled in the endless terms the constancy and virtue and seamliness with which Cinevra, erstwhile Segurano, had ordered her life. He then directed that she should be most nobly arrayed in the garb of her sex and surrounded by a bevy of ladies. Mindful of her intercession, he granted to Bernabó the life which he had forfeited, and she, when Bernabó threw himself at her feet and wept and craved her pardon, raised him, unworthy though he was, to his feet, and generously forgave him, and tenderly embraced him as her husband. Ambroghiolo, the soldon commanded to be bound to a stake, that his bare flesh, anointed with honey, might be exposed with the sun on one of the heights of the city, there to remain until it should fall to pieces of its own accord, and so it was done. He then decreed that the ladies should have the traitors' estate, which was worse not less, but rather more than ten thousand doubloons, where, too, he added, in jewels and vessels of gold and silver and in money, the equivalent of upwards of other ten thousand doubloons, having first entertained her and her husband with most magnificent and ceremonious cheer, accordant with the ladies' worth. Which done, he placed his ship at her disposal, and gave them leave to return to Genoa, at their pleasure. So to Genoa they returned very rich and happy, and were received with all honour, especially Madame Tinevara, whom all the citizens had believed to be dead, and whom since forth, so long as she lived, they held of great consequence and excellency. As for Ambro Ghiolo, the very same day that he was bound to the stake, the honey with which his body was anointed, attracted such swarms of flies, wasps, and cat flies, wherewith that country abounds, that not only was his life sucked from him, but his very bones were completely denuded of flesh, in which state, hanging by the sinews, they remained a long time undisturbed. They were assigned in a testimony of his baseness to all that passed by, and so the deceived had to better up the deceiver. And of Day 2, the ninth story. Reading by Andy Minter The Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio Translated by J. M. Rigg Day 2, the 10th story. Pagagnino da Monaco carries off the wife of Messa Reciardo de Cinsica, who, having learned where she is, goes to Pagagnino in a friendly manner, asks him to restore her. He consents, providing she be willing. She refuses to go back with her husband, Messa Reciardo dies, and she marries Pagagnino. Their queen's story, by its beauty, elicited heart-ecommendation from all the honorable company, and most especially from Dioneo, with whom it now rested to conclude the day's narration. Again and again he renewed his allergy of the queen's story, and then began on this vise. Fair ladies, there is that in the queen's story, which has caused me to change my purpose, and substitute another story for that which I had meant to tell. I refer to the insensate folly of Barabo, well though it was with him in the end, and of all others who delude themselves as he seemed to do, with vain imagination that, while they go about the world taking their pleasure now of this, now of the other woman, their wives, left at home, suffer not their hands to stray from their girdles, as if we, who are born of them and bred among them, could be ignorant of the bent of their desires. By my story I propose at one and the same time to show you how great is the folly of all such, and how much greater is the folly of those who, deeming themselves mightier than nature, think by sophisticated arguments to bring that to pass which is beyond their power, and strive, might and main, to conform others to their own pattern, however little the nature of the latter may brook such treatment. Know then that there was in Pisa a judge, better endowed with mental than with physical vigor, by name Mesa Richiado Cienzica, who, being minded to take a wife, and thinking perhaps to satisfy her by the same resources which served him for his studies, was to be suited with none that had not both youth and beauty, qualities which he would rather have eschewed if he had known how to give himself as good counsel as he gave to others. However, being very rich, he had his desire. Messellotto Gulland he gave him in marriage one of his daughters, Bartolomea by name, a maid as fair and fit for amorous dallions as any in Pisa, though few maids be there that do not show a spotted lizards. The judge brought her home, with all pomp and ceremony, and had a brave and lordly wedding. But in the essay which he made the very first night to serve her, so as to consummate the marriage, he made a false move, and drew the game much to his own disadvantage. For next morning his lean, withered, and scarce animate frame was only to be re-quickened by draughts of vernature, artificial restoratives, and the light remedies. So, taking a more sober estimate of his powers than he had been want, the worthy judge began to give his wife lessons from a calendar which might have served as a horn-book, and perhaps had been put together at Ravenna. Inasmuch as, according to his showing, there was not a day in the year but was sacred, not to one saint only, but to many, in honour of whom, for divers' reasons, it behoved men and women to abstain from carnal intercourse. Where to? He added fast days, ember days, vigils of apostles and other saints, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, the whole of Lent, certain lunar mansions, and many other exceptions, arguing, perchance, that the practice of men with women in the bed should have its times of vacation no less than the administration of the law. In this method which caused the lady grievous dumps, he long persisted, hardly touching her once a month, and observing her closely, lest another should give her to know working days, as he had taught her holidays. Now, it so befell, that one hot season, Mesa Ricciano thought he would like to visit a very beautiful estate which he had near Montenero, there to take the air and recreate himself for some days, and there, accordingly, he went with his fair lady. While there, to amuse her, he arranged for a day's fishing, and so, he in one boat with the fisherman, and she in another with other ladies, they put out to watch the sport which they found so delightsome, that almost before they knew where they were, they were some miles out to see. And while they were thus engrossed with the sport, a galliot of Pagagnino de Mare, a very famous corset of those days, hove in sight and bore down upon the boats, and for all the speed they made, came up with that in which were the ladies. And on sight of the fair lady, Pagagnino, regardless of all else, bore her off to his galliot, before the very eyes of Mesa Ricciano, who was by this time ashore, and forthwith was gone. The chagra of the judge, who was jealous of the very air, may readily be imagined, but trust to no purpose, that both at Bezer and elsewhere, he moaned and groaned over the wickedness of the corsairs, for he knew neither by whom his wife had been adducted, nor whether she had been taken. Pagagnino, meanwhile, deemed himself lucky to have gotten so beautiful a prize, and, being unmarried, he was minded never to part with her, and addressed himself by soft words to soothe the sorrow which kept her in a flood of tears. Finding words of little avail, he, at night, passed, the more readily that the calendar had slipped from his girdle, and all feasts and holidays from his mind, to acts of love. And on this wise administered consolation so effective, that before they were counter-monocle, she had completely forgotten the judge and his cannons, and had begun to live with Pagagnino as merrily as might be. So he brought her to a molocle, where, besides the daily and the nightly solace which he gave her, he honorably entreated her as his wife. Not long afterwards, Mesa Ricciardo, coming to know where his wife was, and being most ardently desirous to have her back, and thinking none but he would understand exactly what to do in the circumstances, determined to go and fetch her himself, being prepared to spend any sum of money that might be demanded by way of ransom. So he took ship, and, being come to molocle, he both saw her and was seen by her, which news she communicated to Pagagnino in the evening, and told him how she was minded to behave. Next morning Mesa Ricciardo, encountering Pagagnino, made up to him, and soon assumed a very familiar and friendly air, while Pagagnino pretended not to know him, being on his guard to see what he would be at. So Mesa Ricciardo, as soon as he deemed the time ripe, as best and most delicately he was able, disclosed to Pagagnino the business on which he had come, praying him to take whatever in the way of ransom he chose, and restore him the lady. Pagagnino replied cheerily, Right, glad I am to see you here, sir, and briefly thus I answer you. True it is that I have here a young woman, whether she be your wife or another man's I know not, for you are none of my acquaintance, nor is she, except for the short time that she has been with me. If, as you say, you are her husband, why, as you seem to me to be a pleasant gentleman, I will even take you to her, and I doubt not she will know you well. If she says that it is even, as you say, and is minded to go with you, you shall give me just what you like by way of ransom, so pleasant have I found you. Otherwise, it will be churlish in you to think of taking her from me, who am a young man, and has fit to keep a woman as another, and, moreover, never knew any woman so agreeable. My wife, said Ricciardo, she is, beyond all manner of doubt, as you shall see, for as soon as thou bringest me to her she will throw her arms about my neck, wherefore, as thou art minded even so be it, I ask no more. Go we then, said Pagagnino, and forthwith they went into the house, and Pagagnino sent for the lady, while they waited in one of the halls. By and by she entered from one of the adjoining rooms, all trim and tricked out, and advanced to the place where Pagagnino and Messo Ricciardo were standing. But never a word did she vouchsafe to her husband any more than if he had been some stranger whom Pagagnino had brought into the house, whereat the judge was mightily amazed, having expected to be greeted by her with the heartiest of cheer, and began to ruminate thus. Perhaps I am so changed by the melancholy and prolonged heartache to which I have been appraised since I lost her that she does not recognise me. Wherefore, he said, Madam, cause enough have I to rue it that I took thee a fishing, for never yet was known such grief as has been mine since I lost thee, and now it seems as if thou dost not recognise me, so scant of courtesy as thy greeting. Seeest thou not that I am thy Messo Ricciardo? Come hither prepared to pay whatever this gentleman in whose house we are may demand that I may have thee back and take thee away with me, and he is so good as to surrender thee on my own terms. The lady turned to him with a slight smile and said, Is it to me you speak, sir? Be think you that you may have mistaken me for another, for I, for my part, do not remember ever to have seen you. Nay, said Messo Ricciardo, but be think thee what thou sayest, scant me closely, and if thou wilt but search thy memory, thou wilt find that I am thy Ricciardo de Chinzica. You'll pardon, sir, answered the lady, it is not perhaps as seemly for me, as you imagine, to gaze long upon you, but I have gazed long enough to know that I never saw you before. Messo Ricciardo, suppose that she so spoke for fear of Pagagnino, in whose presence she dost not acknowledge that she knew him. So, after a while, he craved as a favour of Pagagnino that he might speak with her in a room alone. Which request, Pagagnino granted, so only that he did not kiss her against her will. He then bade the lady go with Messo Ricciardo into a room apart, and hear what he had to say, and give him such answer as she deemed meet. So the lady and Messo Ricciardo went together into a room alone, and sat down. And Messo Ricciardo began on this wise. Ah, dear heart of me, sweet soul of me, hope of me, dost not recognise thy Ricciardo that loves thee better than himself. How comes it thus to pass, am I so changed? Ah, goodly I of me do but look on me a little. Where at the lady burst into a laugh, and interrupting him said, rest assured that my memory is not so short, but that I know you for what you are, my husband, Messo Ricciardo de Cenzica, but far enough you showed yourself to be while I was with you from knowing me for what I was, young, lusty, lively. Which had you been the wise man you would feign be reputed, you would not have ignored, nor by consequence, that which, besides food and clothing, it behoves men to give young ladies, albeit for shame they demanded not, which in what sort you gave you know. You should not have taken a wife if she was to be less to you than the study of the law, albeit it was never as a judge that I regarded you, but rather as a bellman of Incania and Saint's days, so well you knew them all, and farce, and vigils. And I tell you that had you imposed the observance of as many Saint's days on the labourers that till your lands, as on yourself, who had but my little plot, to till, you would never have harvested a single grain of corn. God in his mercy, having regard unto my youth, has caused me to fall in with this gentleman, with whom I am much closeted in this room, where naught is known of feasts, such feasts I mean as you, more devoted to the service of God than to the service of ladies, will want to observe in such profusion. Nor was this threshold ever crossed by Saturday or Friday or vigil, or ember days, or lent, that is so long. Rather here we are at work, day at night, threshing the wall. And well I know how feately it went when the matting-bell last sounded. Wherefore, with him, I mean to stay, and to work, while I am young, and postpone the observance of feasts and times of indulgence, and fasts, until I am old. So get your hens, and good luck go with you, but depart with what speed you may, and observe as many feasts as you like, so I be not with you. The pain with which Meso Ricciardo followed this outburst was more than he could bear. And when she had done, he exclaimed, Ah, sweet soul of me, what words are these that thou utterest? Hast thou no care for thy parents on her, and thine own? Will thou remain here to be this man's harlot, and to live in mortal sin rather than live with me at Pisa as my wife? Why, when he is tired of thee, he will cast thee out to thy most grievous dishonour. I will ever cherish thee, and ever willy-nilly thou wilt be the mistress of my house. Wouldst thou to gratify this unbridled and unseemly passion, part at once with thy honour, and with me who love thee more dearly than my very life? Ah, cherished hope of me, say not so again! Make up thy mind to come with me. As I now know thy bent, I will henceforth constrain myself to pleasure thee. Wherefore, sweet, my treasure, think better of it, and come with me, who have never known a happy hour since thou worked left from me? The lady answered, I expect not, nor is it possible that another should be more tender of my honour than I am myself, were my parents so, when they gave me to you? I trough not, nor mean I to be more tender of their honour now than they were then of mine. And if now I live in mortal sin, I will ever abide there until it be pestle sin. Concern yourself no further on my account. Moreover, let me tell you that whereas at Pisa it was as if I were your harlot, seeing that the planet's in conjunction, according to Lunar Mansion and Geometric Square, intervened between you and me. Here, with Pagagnino, I deem myself a wife. For he holds me in his arms all night long, and hugs and bites me, and how he serves me. God be my witness! Ah, but you say you will constrain yourself to serve me. To what end? To do it on the third essay, and raise it by a stroke of battle. I doubt not, you have become a perfect knight since I last saw you, be gone, and constrain yourself to live. For here, me think, your tenure is but precarious, so hectic and wasted is your appearance. Nay more, I tell you this, that should Pagagnino desert me, which he does not seem disposed to do, so long as I am willing to stay with him, never will I return to your house, where for one while I stay to my most grievous loss and prejudice, but will seat my commodity elsewhere than with one from whose whole body I could not ring a single cup full of sap. So again, I tell you that here is neither feast nor vigil, wherefore here I mean to abide. And you, get you gone in God's name with what speed you may, lest I raise the cry that you threaten to violate me. Meso Ricciardo felt himself hard-bested, but he could not but recognise that, worn out as he was, he had been foolish to take a young wife. So, sad and woe be gone, he quitted the room, and after expending on Pagagnino a wealth of words which signified nothing, he at last gave up his bootless enterprise, and leaving the lady to her own devices returned to Pisa, where, for very grief, he lapsed into such utter imbecility, that when he was met by any with greeting or question in the street, he made no other answer than, the evil whole brooks no holiday, and soon afterwards died. Which, when Pagagnino learned, being well assured of the love the lady bore him, he made her his lawful wife. And so, keeping neither feast nor vigil nor lent, they worked as hard as their legs permitted, and had a good time. Wherefore, dear my ladies, I am of opinion that Mese Barnavo, in his altercation with Ambro Diulo, rode the goat downhill. End of day two, the tenth story. Conclusion of the second day of the Comoran. This is the Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. Didi Cameron by Giovanni Boccaccio, translated by H. M. Rigg. Second day. The conclusion. This story provoked so much laughter that the jaws of everyone in the company ached. And all the ladies by common consent acknowledged that Dionio was right, and pronounced Barnavo a blockhead. But when the story was ended and the laughter had subsided, the queen, observing that the hour was now late, and that with the completion of the day's storytelling, the end of her sovereignty was come, followed the example of her predecessor, and took off her dress, and set it on a fearless brow, saying with glancing mean. Now, dear Gossep, Zion be the sovereignty of this little people. And so she resumed her seat. Nay, feel a collared samba to receive such honor, showing of aspect, even as the fresh-blown rose of April, or May, in the radiance of the dawn, her eyes rather downcast, and glowing with love's fire, like the morning star. But when the respectful murmur, by which the rest of the company gave lies, token of the favor in which they hailed their queen, was hushed, and her courage revived, she raised herself somewhat more in her seat, than she was want, and thus spoke. As so it is that I am your queen, a purpose not to depart from the usage observed by my predecessors, whose rule had commanded not only your obedience, but your approbation. I will therefore in few words explain to you the course which, if it commend itself to your wisdom, we will follow. Tomorrow you know is Friday, and the next day Saturday, days which most folk find somewhat verisome, by reason of the viands which are Zen customary, to say nothing of the reverence in which Friday is meant to be held, seeing that it was on that day that he who died for us bore his passion. Therefore it would be in my judgment both right and verisimly, in honor of God, with and bade storytelling give place to prayer. On Saturday ladies are want to wash their head and rid their persons of whatever of dust or other soiler they may have gathered by the labors of the past week, not a few likewise, are want to practice abstinence for devotion to the virgin mother of the son of God, and to honor the approaching Sunday by an entire surcease from work. Therefore, as we cannot then completely carry out our plan of life, we shall, I think, do well to intermit our storytelling on that day also. We shall then have been here for days. At least we should be surprised by newcomers. I deem it expedient that we shift our quarters, and I have already taken thought for our next place of sojourn. We are being arrived on Sunday. We will assemble after our sleep. And whereas today our discourse has had an ample field to range in, I propose, both because you will thereby have more time for thought, and it will be best to set some limits to the license of our storytelling. That of the many diversities of fortune's handiwork, we make one our theme, whereof I have also made choice. To wit, the lack of such as how painfully acquired, some much coveted thing, or having lost, have recovered it. Whereon let each meditate some matter, which the tale may be profitable, or at least delectable to the company, saving always Dionneo's privilege. All applauded the Queen's speech and plan, to which, therefore, it was decided to give effect. Thereupon the Queen called her son-a-chelle, told him where to place the tables that evening, and then explained to him all that he had to do during the time of her sovereignty. This done, she rose with her train, and gave leave to all to take their pleasure as to each might seem best. So the ladies and the men heed them away to a little garden, where they diverted themselves awhile. Then supper time being come, they sapped with all gay and festile cheer. When they were risen from the table, Emilia at the Queen's command led the dance. While Pampinea, the other ladies responding, sang the ensuing song. Shall any lady sing, if I not sing, I, to whom love did full contentment bring, come hither love, thou cause of all my joy, of all my hope, and all its sequel blessed, and with me tune the lay. No more to sighs and bitter past annoy, that now but serve to lend thy bliss more zest. But to that fires clear ray, where with enwrapped I blightly live and gear, thee, as my God for ever worshipping, it was thou, O love, didst set before mine eyes, when, versed by fire, my soul'd did penetrate. A youth to be my fair, so fair, so fit for deeds of high and prize, that near another shall be found more great. Nay, nor I wean his beer, such flame he kindled that my hearts all cheer, I now pour out enchant with thee, my King, and that wherein I most delight is this, that, as I love him, so he loveth me, so thank thee, love, I must, for whatsoever this world can yield of bliss is mine, and in the next, at peace to be, I hope through that full trust I place in him, and thou, O God, thou dost it see, will grant of joy thy punishing. Some other songs and dances followed to the accompaniment of diverse sorts of music, after which the queen deeming it time to go to rest, all following in the wake of the fortress, solved their several chambers. The next two days they devoted to the duties to which the queen had averted, looking forward to the Sunday with eager expectancy. End of second day. Third day, introduction of the Decameron. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information please visit LibriVox.org. The Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio. Third day, introduction. End of here, the second day of the Decameron. Begin is the third, in which under the rule of Neuphile discourse is head of the version of such, as how painfully acquired some much coveted thing or having lost have recovered it. The dawn of Sunday was already changing from Vermillion to Orange, as the sun hasted to the horizon, when the queen rose and roused all the company. The Senate show had early sent forward to their next place of sojourn, ample store of things, meet with folk, to make all things ready. And now seeing the queen on the road and the campment as it were begun, he hastily collected the equipment of the baggage train and set off their whiz, extended by the rest of the servants in rear of the ladies and gentlemen. So to the chant of perhaps a score of nightingales and other birds, the queen, her ladies and the three young men, trooping beside or after her, paced leisurely westward by a path little frequented and overgrown with herbage and flowers, which, as they caught the sunlight, begun one and all to unfold their petals. So third she on with their train, while the curg and the jest and the love passed from mouse to pounce, nor had they completed more than two thousand paces, when, well before half-years, they arrived at the palace, most fair and sumptuous, which stood out somewhat from the plane, being situated upon a love eminence. On entering, the first traversed its great halls and furnished throughout with all brave and meet appointments. And finding all most commendable, they reputed its lord a magnifical. Then descending, they surveyed its spacious and cheerful court, its walls of excellent vines and copious springs of most cool water, and found it still more commendable. After rich, being faint of rest, they set them down in a gallery, which commanded the court, and thus embossed with leafage and such flowers as the season afforded. And thus there is a discreet center-shell brought comforts and vines, most choice and excellent, wherewith they were repressed, whereupon they heat them to a walled garden adjoining the palace, which, the gate being opened, they entered, and wonder struck by the beauty of the hall, passed on to examine more attentively the several parts. It was bordered and traversed in many parts by alleys, each very wide and straight as an arrow, and roofed in with trellis of vines, which gave good promise of bearing clusters that year. And being all in flower, dispersed such fragrance throughout the garden, as blended with that exhaled by many another plant, that grew therein, made the garden seem redolent for all the spices that ever grew in the east. The sides of the alleys were all as it were, walled in with roses, white and red and jasmine. In so much that there was no part of the garden, but one might walk there not merrily in the morning, but at high noon in grateful shade and fragrance, completely screened from the sun. As for the plants that were in the garden, it were long to enumerate them, to specify their sorts, to describe the order of their arrangement. Enough in brief that there was abundance of every rarer species that our climate aloes. In the middle of the garden, a thing no less but much more to be commanded that ought else, was alone of the finest turf, and so green that it seemed almost black, pranked with flowers of perhaps a thousand sorts and girt about with the richest living verdure of orange trees and sedars, which shoot not only flowers, but fruits, both new and old, and were no less grateful to the smell by their fragrance, than to the eye by their shade. In the middle of the lawn was a basin of whitest marble, braven with marvellous art. In the centre of their off, whether the spring were natural or artificial and no not, rose a column supporting a figure, which sent forth a jet of water of such volume and of such an altitude, that it fell, not without a delicious splash into the basin in quantity amply sufficient to turn a millwheel. The overflow was carried away from the lawn by a hidden conduit, and then re-emerging was distributed through tiny channels, where a fair and cunningly contrived in such sort as to flow round the entire lawn, and by similar derivative channels to penetrate almost every part of the fair garden, until reuniting at a certain point it issued sense, and clear as crystal, slid down towards the plain, turning by the way two millwheels with extreme velocity to the no small profit of the Lord. The aspect of this garden, its fair order, the plants and the fountain of the rivulets that followed from it, so charmed the ladies and the three young men, that with one accord they affirmed that they knew not how they could receive any accession of beauty, or what other form could be given to paradise, if it were to be planted on earth. So excellently well pleased, they wrote about it, plucking sprays from the trees, and weaving them into the fairest of garlands, while songsters off perhaps a score of different sorts wobbled as if in mutual emulation, when suddenly a sight as fair and delightsome as novel, which engrossed the other beauties of the place, they had hitherto overlooked met their eyes. For the garden, they no so, was peopled with a host of living creatures, fair and of perhaps a hundred sorts, and they pointed out to one another how here emerged a coney, or there scampered a hare, or couched a goat, or grazed a fawn, or many another harmless, all but domesticated, which erode carelessly, seeking his pleasure at his own sweet will, all which served immensely to reinforce their already abundant delight. At length, however, they had enough of wondering about the garden and observing this thing and that, wherefore they repaired to the beautiful fountain, around which were arranged the tables, and there, after they had sung half a dozen songs and thought some measures, they set them down at the queen's command to breakfast, which was served with all celerity and unfair and orderly manner, deviance being both good and delicate, whereby their spirits rose and up they got, and betook themselves again to music and song and dance, and so sped the hours. Until, as the heat increased, the queen deemed at time that whoso was so minded should go to sleep. Some there were that did so, others were too charmed by the beauty of the place to think of leaving it, but there it there, and while the rest slept, amused themselves with reading romances of playing at chess or dice. However, after none, there was a general levy and, with faces laid and refreshed with cold water, they gathered by the queen's command upon the lawn, and having set them down in their wanted order by the fountain, waited for the story telling to begin upon the theme assigned by the queen. With this duty, the queen first charred Filustrato, who began on this wise. End of introduction of the third day. Day three, the first 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. Rigg. Day three, the first story. Masetto De Lamporeccio feigns to be dumb and obtains a gardener's place at a convent of women who, with one accord, make haste to lie with him. Ferris Ladies. Not a few there are, both men and women, who are so foolish as blindly believe that so soon as a young woman has been veiled in white black, she ceases to be a woman and is no more subject to the cravings proper to her sex than if, in assuming the garb in profession of a nun, she had put on the nature of a stone. And if, perchance, they hear of ought that has countered to this their faith, they are no less vehement in their censure than if some most heinous and unnatural crime had been committed, neither be thinking of themselves, whom unrestricted liberty avails not to satisfy, nor making allowance for the prepotent forces of idleness and solitude. And likewise, not a few there are, that blindly believe that, what, with the whole and the spade and coarse fare and hardship, the carnal propensities are utterly eradicated from the tillers of the soil, and therewith all nimbleness of wit and understanding. But how gross is the air of such as suppose, I, on whom the queen has laid her commands and minded, without deviating from the theme prescribed by her to make manifest to you a little story. In this very countryside of ours there was, and yet is, a convent of women of great repute for sanctity. Name it, I will not, lest I should in some measure diminish its repute, the nuns being at the time of which I speak but nine in number, including the abbess and all young women. Their very beautiful garden was in the charge of a foolish fellow, who, with intent with his wage, squared accounts with their steward and hired him back to Lamporegio whence he came. Among others who welcomed him home was a young husbandman, Massetto by name, a stout and hardy fellow, and handsome for a contadino who asked him where he had been so long. Nuto, as our good friend was called, told him. Massetto then asked how he had been employed at the convent, and Nuto answered, I kept their large garden in good trim, and besides I sometimes went to the wood to fetch the faggots. I drew water and did some other trifling services, but they are the one and all possessed of the devil, for it is impossible to do anything to their mind, indeed, when I would be at work in the kitchen garden. Put this here one would say, put that here another would say, and a third would snatch the hoe from my hand and say, that is not as it should be, and they would worry me until I would give up working and go out of the garden. So that, with this thing and that, I was minded to stay there no more, and so I am come hither. The steward asked me before I left to send him anyone, whom on my return I might find fit for the work, and I promised, but God bless his loins, I shall be at no pains to find out and send him anyone. As Nuto thus ran on, Massetto was seized by such a desire to be with these nuns that he quite pined, as he gathered what Nuto said that his desire might be gratified. And as that could not be, if he said nothing to Nuto, he remarked, ah, to as well done of thee to come hither, a man to live with women, he might as well live with so many devils. Six times out of seven they know not themselves what they want. There the conversation ended, but Massetto began to cast about how he should proceed to get permission to live with them. He knew that he was quite competent for the services of which Nuto spoke, and had therefore no fear of failing on that score, but he doubted he should not be received because he was too young and well-favored. So, after much pondering, he fell into the following train of thought. The place is a long way off, and no one there knows me. If I make believe that I am dumb, doubtless I shall be admitted. Whereupon he made his mind up, laid a hatchet across his shoulder, and saying not a word to any of his destination, set forth, intending to present himself at the convent and the character of a destitute man. Arrived there, he had no sooner entered than he chanced to encounter the steward in the courtyard, and making signs to him as dumb folk do. He let him know that of his charity he craved something to eat, and that, if need were, he would split firewood. The steward promptly gave him to eat, and then set beforehand some logs which Nuto had not been able to split, all of which Massetto, who was very strong, split in a very short time. The steward, having occasion to go to the wood, took him with him, and there set him at work on the lopping. Which done, he placed the ass in front of him, and by signs made him understand that he was taking the logings back to the convent. He did this so well that the steward kept him for some days to do one or two odd jobs, whereby it so befell that one day the abbess saw him and asked the steward who he was. Madam, replied the steward, it is a poor deaf mute that came here a day or two ago, craving alms, and so I have treated him kindly, and have let him make himself useful in many ways. If he knew how to do the work of the kitchen garden and would stay with us, I doubt not we should be well served, for we have need of him, and he is strong, and would be able for whatever he might turn his hand to. Besides which, you have no cause to be apprehensive, lest he be should be cracking his jokes with your young women. As I trust in God, said the abbess, thou sayeth sooth. Find out, if he can do the garden work, and if he can, do all thou canest do to keep him with us. Give him a pair of shoes, an old hood, and speak him well. Make much of him, and let him be well fed, all of which the steward promised to do. Maseito, meanwhile, was close at hand, making as if he were sweeping the courtyard and heard all that pass between the abbess and the steward, whereat he gleefully communed with himself on this wise. Put me once within there, and you will see that I will do the work of the kitchen garden as it was never done before. So the steward set him to work in the kitchen garden, and finding that he knew his business excellently well, made signs to him to know whether he would stay, and he made answer by signs that he was ready to do whatever the steward wished. The steward then signified that he was engaged, told him to take charge of the kitchen garden, and showed him what he had to do there. Then, having other matters to attend to, he went away and left him there. Now, as Maseito worked there day by day, the nuns began to tease him, and make him their butt, as it commonly happens that folk serve the dumb, and use bad language to him, the worst they could think of, supposing that he could not understand them, all of which passed scarce-heated by the abbess, who perhaps deemed him as destitute of virility as of speech. Now, it so befell that after a hard day's work he was taking a little rest, when two young nuns, who were walking in the garden, approached the spot where he lay, and stopped to look at him while he pretended to be asleep. And so the bolder of the two said to the other, If I thought thou wouldst keep it the secret, I would tell thee what I have sometimes meditated, and which thou perhaps mightest also find agreeable. The other replied, Speak thou mine freely, and be sure that I will never tell a soul. Whereupon the bold one began again, I know not if thou hast ever considered how close we are kept here, and that within these precincts dare never enter any man unless it be the old steward or this mute. And I have often heard from ladies that have come hither, that all the other sweets that the world has to offer signify not a jot in comparison of the pleasure that a woman has in connection with a man. Whereof I have more than once been minded to make an experiment with this mute, to see whether man being available. Nor indeed can anyone find any man in the whole world so meat therefore, seeing that he could not blab if he would. Thou seeest that he is but a dull, clownish lad, whose size has increased out of all proportion to his sense. Wherefore I would feign here what thou wouldst have to say to it. Alas! said the other. What is thou sayest? Knowest thou not that we have vowed our virginity to God? Oh! rejoined the first. Think but how many vows are made to him all day long and never a one performed. And so for our vow let him find another or others to perform it. But, said her companion, suppose that we conceived. How then? Nay, but protested the first. Thou goest about to imagine evil before it falls thee. Time enough to think of that when it comes to pass. There will be a thousand ways to prevent it ever being known. So only we do not publish it ourselves. Thus reassured, the other was now the more eager of the two to test the quality of the male, human animal. Well then, she said, how shall we go about it? And was answered, thou seeest his past none. I make no doubt but all the sisters are asleep, except ourselves. Search we through the kitchen garden to see if there be any there, and if there be none, we have but to take him by the hand and lead him hither to the hut where he takes shelter from the rain. And then one shall mount guard while the other has him with her inside. He is such a simpleton that he will do just whatever we bid him. No word of this conversation escaped Macedo, who, being disposed to obey, hoped for nothing so much as that one of them should take him by the hand. They, meanwhile, looked carefully all about them and satisfied themselves that they were secure from observation. Then she that had broached the subject came close up to Macedo and shook him, whereupon he started to his feet. So she took him by the hand, with a blandishing air, to which he replied with some clownish grins. And then she led him into the hut, where he needed no pressing to do what she desired of him. Which done, she changed places with the other, as loyal comradeship required, and Macedo, still keeping up, the pretense of simplicity, did their pleasure. Wherefore, before they left, each must needs make another essay of the mute's powers of writing. And afterwards, taking the matter over many times, they agreed that it was in truth, not less, but even more delightful than they had been given to understand. And so, as they found convenient opportunity, they continued to go and disport themselves with the mute. Now it's so chanced that one of their gossips, looking out of the window of her cell, saw what they did and imparted it to two others. The three held counsel together, whether they should not denounce the offenders to the Abbas, but soon changed their mind, and came to an understanding with them, whereby they became partners in Macedo. And in the course of time, by diverse chances, the remaining three nuns also entered the partnership. Last of all, the Abbas, still witting not of these doings, happened one very hot day as she walked by herself through the garden to find Macedo, who now rode so much by night that he could stand very little fatigue by day. Stretched out at full length asleep under the shade of an almond tree, his person quite exposed in the front by reason that the wind had disarranged his clothes. Which, the lady observing, in knowing that she was alone, fell a prey to the same appetite to which her nuns had yielded. She aroused Macedo and took him with her to her chamber, where for some days, though the nuns loudly complained that the gardener no longer came to work in the kitchen garden, she kept him, tasting, and retasting the sweetness of that indulgence which she was want to be the first to censure in others. And when at last she had sent him back from her chamber to his room, she must need to send for him again and again, and make such exorbitant demands upon him that Macedo, not being able to satisfy so many women, be thought him that his part of mute, should he persist in it, might entail disastrous consequences. So one night, when he was with the Abbas, he cut the tongue-string and thus broke silence. Madam, I have understood that a cock may very well serve ten hens, but that ten men are sorely tasked to satisfy a single woman. And here I am expected to serve nine, a burden quite beyond my power to bear, nay, by what have I already undergone I am now so much reduced that my strength is quite spent. Wherefore, either bid me Godspeed or find some means to make matters tolerable. Wunderstruck to hear the supposed mute thus speak, the lady exclaimed, What means this? I took thee to be dumb. And ensuth, madam, so was I, said Macedo, not indeed for my birth, but through an illness which took from me the power of speech, which only this very night I have recovered, and so I praise God with all my heart. The lady believed him and asked him what he meant by saying that he had nine to serve. Macedo told her how things stood, whereby she perceived that, of all her nuns, there was not any, but was much wiser than she. And lest, if Macedo were sent away, he should give the convent a bad name, she discreetly determined to arrange matters with the nuns in such sort that he might remain there. So, the steward, having died within the last few days, she assembled all the nuns, and there, and her own past heirs being fully avowed, in consent and with Macedo's concurrence, resolved that the neighbors should be given to understand that by their prayers in the merits of their patron saint, Macedo, long mute, had recovered the powers of speech, after which they made him steward, in so ordered manners among themselves that he was able to endure the burden of their service. In the course of which, though he procreated, not a few little monastics, yet was all managed so discreetly that no breath of scandal stirred until after the Abbas's death, by which time Macedo was advanced in years, and minded to return home with the wealthy he had gotten, which he was suffered to do as soon as he made his desire known. And so Macedo, who had left Lamporegio with a hatchet on his shoulder, returned thither in his old age and a father, having by the wisdom with which he employed his youth, spared himself the pains and expense of rearing children, and the veering that such was the measure that Christ meted out to the man that set horns on his cap. End of Day 3, the First Story Day 3 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 Tonight's recording by Miet The Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio Translated by J. M. Rigg Day 3 The Second Story A groom lies with the wife of King Agilof, who learns the fact, keeps his own counsel, finds out the groom and shears him. The shone shears all his fellows and so comes safe out of the scrape. Philostratos' story, which the ladies had received now with blushes, now with laughter, being ended, the queen bade Pampineo to follow suit, which behest Pampineo smilingly obeyed and thus began. Some there are, whose indiscretion is such, that they must needs events that they are fully cognizant of that, which it were best they should not know. And, censuring the covert misdeeds of others, augment beyond measure the disgrace which they would feign diminish. The truth, whereof, fair ladies, I mean to show you, in the contrary case, wherein appears the astuteness of one that held, perhaps, an even lower place, than would have been massettos in the esteem of a dotty king. Agilof, king of the Lombards, who like his predecessors made the city of Pavia in Lombardi the seat of his government. Took to wife Theodolinda, the widow of Orthory, likewise king of the Lombards, a lady very fair, wise and virtuous. But who was unfortunate in her lover? For while the Lombards prospered in peace under the wise and firm rule of King Agilof, it so befell that one of the queens grooms, a man born to very low estate, but in native worth, far above his mean office. And moreover, not a wit less tall and goodly of person than the king, became inordinately enamoured of her. And as for all his base condition, he had sensing off to recognise that his love was in the last degree presumptuous, he disclosed it to none. Nay, he did not even venture to tell her the tale by the mute eloquence of his eyes. And all be it, he lived without hope that he should ever be able to win her favour. Yet, he inwardly clawed that he had fixed his affections in so high a place, and being all aflame with passion, he showed himself zealous beyond any of his comrades to do whatever he thought was likely to please the queen. Whereby it came about that, when the queen hard to take horse, she would mount the palfrey that he groomed rather than any other. And when she did so, he deemed himself most highly favoured, and never quitted her stirrup, esteeming himself happy if he might but touch her clothes. But, as it is frequently observed that love waxes as hope wanes, so was it with this poor groom in so much that the burden of this great hidden passion alleviated by no hope was most grievous to bear. And from time to time not being able to shake it off, he proposed to die. And, meditating on the road, he was minded that it should be of a kind to make it manifest that he died for the love which he had borne and bore to the queen and also to afford him an opportunity of trying his fortune whether his desire might in whole or in part be gratified. He had no thought of speaking to the queen nor yet of declaring his love to her by letter, for he knew that would be in vain either to speak or to write. But he resolved to try to devise some means whereby he might lie with the queen, which end might in no other way be compassed than by contriving to get access to her in her bedroom, which could only be by passing himself off as the king. Who, as he knew, did not always lie with her. Wherefore, that he might observe the carriage and dress of the king, he passed to her room. He contrived to conceal himself for several nights in a great hall of the king's palace which separated the king's room from that of the queen. And on one of these nights he saw the king issue from his room wrapped in a great torch in one hand and a wand in the other and crossed the hall and saying nothing. Tap the door of the queen's room with the wand once or twice, whereupon the door was at once opened and the torch taken from his hand. Having observed the king thus go and return and being bent on doing likewise, he found means to come by a mantel like that which he had seen the king wear and also a torch and a wand. He then took a warm bath and, having thoroughly cleansed himself, that the smell of the foul straw might not offend the lady or discover to her the deceit. He in this guise appealed himself as he was wont in the great hall. He waited only until all were asleep and then deeming the time come to accomplish his purpose or by his presumption clear a way to the death which he coveted he struck a light with the flint and steel which he had brought with him and having kindled his torch wrapped himself close in his mantel he went to the door of the queen's room and tapped on it twice with his wand the door was opened by a very drowsy chambermaid who took the torch and put it out of sight whereupon without a word he passed within the curtain laid aside the mantel and got into bed where the queen lay asleep then taking her in his arms and straining her to him with ardour making as if he were moody because he knew that when the king was in such a frame he would never hear out in such wise without word said either on his part or hers he had more than once carnal cognizance of the queen lo then deed was he to leave her bought fearing less by too long tarrying his achieved delight might be converted into woe he rose resumed the mantel and the light and leaving the room without a word returned with all speed to his bed he was hardly there when the king got up and entered the queen's room where at she wandered not a little but reassured by the gladsome greeting which he gave her as he got into bed she said my lord what a surprise is this tonight was but now you left me after an unwanted measure of enjoyment and do you now return so soon consider what you do from these words the king had once inferred that the queen had been deceived by someone that had counterfeited his person and carriage but at the same time be thinking himself that as neither the queen nor any other had detected the cheat it was best to leave her in ignorance he wisely kept silence which many a fool would not have done but would have said it was not I that was here who was it that was here how came it to pass who came hither whereby in the sequel he might have caused the lady needless chagrin and given her occasion to desire another such experience as she had had and so have brought disgrace upon himself by uttering that from which unuttered no shame could have resulted wherefore betraying little either by his mean or by his words of the disquietude which he felt the king replied madam see my such to you that you cannot suppose that I should have been with you once and returned to you immediately afterwards nay not so my lord returned the lady but nonetheless I pray you to look for your health then said the king and I am minded to take your advice wherefore without giving you further trouble I will leave you so angered and incensed beyond measure by the trick which he saw had been played upon him he resumed his mantle and quitted the room with the intention of privately detecting the offender deeming that he must belong to the palace and that whoever he may be he could not have quitted it so taking with him a small lantern which showed only a glimmer of light he went into the dormitory which was over the palace stables and which was of great length in so much that well nay all the men servants slept their own diverse bades and arguing that by whom so ever that of which the queen spoke was done his heart and pulse could not after such a strain as yet have seized to throb he began cautiously with one of the head grooms and so went from bed to bed feeling at the heart of each man to see if it was thumping all were asleep save only he that had been with the queen who seeing the king come and guessing what he sought to discover began to be mightily afraid in so much that to the agitation which his late exertion had communicated to his heart terror now added one yet more violent nor did he doubt that should the king perceive it he would kill him diverse alternatives of action thronged his mind but at last observing that the king was unarmed he resolved to make as if he were asleep and wait to see what the king would do so having tried many and found none that he deemed the culprit the king came at last to the culprit himself and marking the thumping heart said to himself this is he but being minded to afford no clue to his ulterior purpose he did no more than with the pair of scissors which he had brought with him sheer away on one side of the man's head a portion of his looks which as was then the fashion he wore very long that by this token he might recognize him on the morrow and having done so he departed and returned to his room the groom who was fully sensible of what the king had done and being a shrewd fellow understood very well to what end he was so marked got up without a moment's delay and having found a pair of scissors for as a chance there were several pairs there belonging to the stables for use in grooming the horses he went quietly through the dormitory and in like manner sheared the looks of each of the sleepers just above the ear which done without disturbing any he went back to bed on the morrow as soon as the king was risen and before the gates of the palace were opened he summoned all his men servants to his presence and as they stood bare-headed before him scanned them closely to see whether the one whom he had sheared was there and observing with surprise that the morrow part of them were all sheared in the same manner said to himself of a surety this fellow whom I go about to detect evinces for all his base condition a high degree of sense then recognising that he could not compass his end without causing a bruit and not being minded to brave so great a dishonour in order to be avenged upon so petty an offender he was content by a single word of admonition to shoe him that his offence had not escaped notice who are far turning to them all he said he that did it let him do it no more and get you hence in God's peace another would have put them to the strapado the question the torture and thereby have brought to light that which one should rather be sedulous to cloak and having brought it to light would however complete the retribution which he exacted having not lessened but vastly augmented his disgrace and sullied the fair fame of his lady those who heard the king's parting admonition wondered and made much question with one another what the king might have meant to convey by it but was understood by none but him to whom it referred who was discreet enough never to reveal the secret as long as the king lived or again to stake his life on such a venture end of day 3 the second story recording by Miet of Miet's Bedtime Story podcast