INTRODUCTION. TO THE LADIES.

INTRODUCTION. 

TO THE LADIES. 

When I reflect how disposed you are by nature to compassion, I cannot help being apprehensive lest what I now offer to your acceptance should seem to have but a harsh and offensive beginning; for it presents at the very outset the mournful remembrance of that most fatal plague, so terrible yet in the memories of us all. 

But let not this dismay you from reading further, as though every page were to cost you sighs and tears. Rather let this beginning, disagreeable as it is, seem to you but as a rugged and steep mountain placed before a delightful valley, which appears more beautiful and pleasant, as the way to it was more difficult: for as joy usually ends in sorrow, so again the end of sorrow is joy. To this short fatigue (I call it short, because contained in few words) immediately succeeds the mirth and pleasure I had before promised you; and which, but for that promise, you would scarcely expect to find. And in truth could I have brought you by any other way than this, I would gladly have done it; but as the occasion of the occurrences, of which I am going to treat, could not well be made out without such a relation, I am forced to use this Introduction. 

In the year then of our Lord 1348, there happened at Florence, the finest city in all Italy, a most terrible plague; which, whether owing to the influence of the planets, or that it was sent from God as a just punishment for our sins, had broken out some years before in the Levant, and after passing from place to place, and making incredible havoc all the way, had now reached the west. There, spite of all the means that art and human foresight could suggest, such as keeping the city clear from filth, the exclusion of all suspected persons, and the publication of copious instructions for the preservation of health; and notwithstanding manifold humble supplications offered to God in processions and otherwise; it began to show itself in the spring of the aforesaid year, in a sad and wonderful manner. Unlike what had been seen in the east, where bleeding from the nose is the fatal prognostic, here there appeared certain tumours in the groin or under the arm-pits, some as big as a small apple, others as an egg; and afterwards purple spots in most parts of the body; in some cases large and but few in number, in others smaller and more numerous - both sorts the usual messengers of death. To the cure of this malady, neither medical knowledge nor the power of drugs was of any effect; whether because the disease was in its own nature mortal, or that the physicians (the number of whom, taking quacks and women pretenders into the account, was grown very great) could form no just idea of the cause, nor consequently devise a true method of cure; whichever was the reason, few escaped; but nearly all died the third day from the first appearance of the symptoms, some sooner, some later, without any fever or accessory symptoms. What gave the more virulence to this plague, was that, by being communicated from the sick to the hale, it spread daily, like fire when it comes in contact with large masses of combustibles. Nor was it caught only by conversing with, or coming near the sick, but even by touching their clothes, or anything that they had before touched. It is wonderful, what I am going to mention; and had I not seen it with my own eyes, and were there not many witnesses to attest it besides myself, I should never venture to relate it, however worthy it were of belief. Such, I say, was the quality of the pestilential matter, as to pass not only from man to man, but, what is more strange, it has been often known, that anything belonging to the infected, if touched by any other creature, would certainly infect, and even kill that creature in a short space of time. One instance of this kind I took particular notice of: the rags of a poor man just dead had been thrown into the street; two hogs came up, and after rooting amongst the rags, and shaking them about in their mouths, in less than an hour they both turned round and died on the spot. 

These facts, and others of the like sort, occasioned various fears and devices amongst those who survived, all tending to the same uncharitable and cruel end; which was, to avoid the sick, and every thing that had been near them, expecting by that means to save themselves. And some holding it best to live temperately, and to avoid excesses of all kinds, made parties, and shut themselves up from the rest of the world; eating and drinking moderately of the best, and diverting themselves with music, and such other entertainments as they might have within doors; never listening to anything from 

without, to make them uneasy. Others maintained free living to be a better preservative, and would baulk no passion or appetite they wished to gratify, drinking and revelling incessantly from tavern to tavern, or in private houses (which were frequently found deserted by the owners, and therefore common to every one), yet strenuously avoiding, with all this brutal indulgence, to come near the infected. And such, at that time, was the public distress, that the laws, human and divine, were no more regarded; for the officers, to put them in force, being either dead, sick, or in want of persons to assist them, every one did just as he pleased. A third sort of people chose a method between these two: not confining themselves to rules of diet like the former, and yet avoiding the intemperance of the latter; but eating and drinking what their appetites required, they walked everywhere with odours and nosegays to smell to; as holding it best to corroborate the brain: for the whole atmosphere seemed to them tainted with the stench of dead bodies, arising partly from the distemper itself, and partly from the fermenting of the medicines within them. Others with less humanity, but perchance, as they supposed, with more security from danger, decided that the only remedy for the pestilence was to avoid it: persuaded, therefore, of this, and taking care for themselves only, men and women in great numbers left the city, their houses, relations, and effects, and fled into the country: as if the wrath of God had been restrained to visit those only within the walls of the city; or else concluding, that none ought to stay in a place thus doomed to destruction. 

Thus divided as they were in their views, neither did all die, nor all escape; but falling sick indifferently, as well those of one as of another opinion; they who first set the example by forsaking others, now languished themselves without pity. I pass over the little regard that citizens and relations showed to each other; for their terror was such, that a brother even fled from his brother, a wife from her husband, and, what is more uncommon, a parent from his own child. Hence numbers that fell sick could have no help but what the charity of friends, who were very few, or the avarice of servants supplied; and even these were scarce and at extravagant wages, and so little used to the business that they were fit only to reach what was called for, and observe when their employer died; and this desire of getting money often cost them their lives. From this desertion of friends, and scarcity of servants, an unheard-of custom prevailed; no lady, however young or handsome, would scruple to be attended by a man-servant, whether young or old it mattered not, and to expose herself naked to him, the necessity of the distemper requiring it, as though it was to a woman; which might make those who recovered, less modest for the time to come. 

And many lost their lives, who might have escaped, had they been looked after at all. So that, between the scarcity of servants, and the violence of the distemper, such numbers were continually dying, as made it terrible to hear as well as to behold. Whence, from mere necessity, many customs were introduced different from what had been before known in the city. 

It had been usual, as it now is, for the women who were friends and neighbours to the deceased, to meet together at his house, and to lament with his relations; at the same time the men would get together at the door, with a number of clergy, according to the person's circumstances; and the corpse was carried by people of his own rank, with the solemnity of tapers and singing, to that church where the deceased had desired to be buried. This custom was now laid aside, and, so far from having a crowd of women to lament over them, great numbers passed out of the world without a witness. Few were they who had the tears of their friends at their departure; those friends were laughing and making themselves merry the while; for even the women had learned to postpone every other concern to that of their own lives. Nor was a corpse attended by more than ten or a dozen, nor those citizens of credit, but fellows hired for the purpose; who would put themselves under the bier, and carry it with all possible haste to the nearest church; and the corpse was interred, without any great ceremony, where they could find room. With regard to the lower sort, and many of a middling rank, the scene was still more affecting; for they staying at home either through poverty or hopes of succour in distress, fell sick daily by thousands, and, having nobody to attend them, generally died: some breathed their last in the streets, and others shut up in their own houses, where the stench that came from them made the first discovery of their deaths to the neighbourhood. And, indeed, every place was filled with the dead. Hence it became a general practice, as well out of regard to the living as pity for the dead, for the neighbours, assisted by what porters they could meet with, to clear all the houses, and lay the bodies at the doors; and every morning great numbers might be seen brought out in this manner, to be carried away on biers, or tables, two or three at a time; and sometimes it has happened that a wife and her husband, two or three brothers, and a father and son, have been laid on together. It has been observed also, whilst two or three priests have walked before a corpse with their crucifix, that two or three sets of porters have fallen in with them; and where they knew but of one dead body, they have buried six, eight, or more: nor was there any to follow, and shed a few tears over them; for things were come to that pass, that men´s lives were no more regarded than the lives of so many beasts. Thus it plainly appeared, that what the wisest in the ordinary course of things, and by a common train of calamities, could never be taught, namely, to bear them patiently, this, by the excess of calamity, was now grown a familiar lesson to the most simple and unthinking. The consecrated ground no longer containing the numbers which were continually brought thither, especially as they were desirous of laying every one in the parts allotted to their families, they were forced to dig trenches, and to put them in by hundreds, piling them up in rows, as goods are stored in a ship, and throwing in a little earth till they were filled to the top. 

Not to dwell upon every particular of our misery, I shall observe, that it fared no better with the adjacent country; for, to omit the different boroughs about us, which presented the same view in miniature with the city, you might see the poor distressed labourers, with their families, without either the aid of physicians, or help of servants, languishing on the highways, in the fields, and in their own houses, and dying rather like cattle than human creatures. The consequence was that, growing dissolute in their manners like the citizens, and careless of everything, as supposing every day to be their last, their thoughts were not so much employed how to improve, as how to use their substance for their present support. The oxen, asses, sheep, goats, swine, and the dogs themselves, ever faithful to their masters, being driven from their own homes, were left to roam at will about the fields, and among the standing corn, which no one cared to gather, or even to reap; and many times, after they had filled themselves in the day, the animals would return of their own accord like rational creatures at night. 

What can I say more, if I return to the city? unless that such was the cruelty of Heaven, and perhaps of men, thai between March and July following, according to authentic reckonings, upwards of a hundred thousand souls perished in the city only; whereas, before that calamity, it was not supposed to have contained so many inhabitants. What magnificent dwellings, what noble palaces were then depopulated to the last inhabitant! what families became extinct! what riches and vast possessions were left, and no known heir to inherit them! what numbers of both sexes, in the prime and vigour of youth, whom in the morning neither Galen, Hippocrates, nor AEsculapius himself, would have denied to be in perfect health, breakfasted in the morning with their living friends, and supped at night with their departed friends in the other world! 

But I am weary of recounting our late miseries; therefore, passing by everything that I can well omit, I proceed to say, that the city being left almost without inhabitants, it happened one Tuesday morning, as I was informed by persons of good credit, that seven ladies, all in deep mourning, as most proper for that time, had been attending Divine service in the church of Santa Maria Novella, where they formed the whole congregation. The youngest of these ladies was in age not less than eighteen, the eldest did not exceed twenty-eight; they were all relations or near friends; all discreet, nobly descended, and perfectly accomplished, both in person and behaviour. I do not mention their names, lest any of them should be put to the blush by something herein after related of them; for the limits of allowed disport are much narrower in our day than they were in those times, when, for the reasons already mentioned, they were very ample indeed, not only for persons of their age, but for those of much maturer years. Neither would I give a handle to ill-natured persons, who carp at everything that is praise-worthy, to detract in any way from the modesty of these worshipful ladies by injurious reflections. But that I may relate all that occurred without confusion, I shall affix names to every one, bearing some resemblance to the quality of the person. The eldest, then, I call Pampinea, the next to her Fiammetta, the third Filomena, the fourth Emilia, the fifth Lauretta, the sixth Neifile, and the youngest Eliza. These seven being got together, by chance rather than any appointment, into the corner of the church, and there seated in a ring, after a while left off sighing and saying their paternosters, and began to converse concerning the nature of the times. 

This continued for some time, and presently Pampinea thus began: 

"My dear girls, you have often heard, as well as I, that we do no wrong to any one, when we only make an honest use of our own reason: now reason tells us, that we are to preserve our lives by all possible means: and, in some cases, at the expense of the lives of others. If then the laws, which regard the good of the community, allow this, may not we much rather (and all that mean honestly as we do), without giving offence to any, use the means now in our power for our own preservation? Every moment, when I think of what has passed today, and every day, I perceive, as you may also, that we are all in pain for ourselves. Nor do I wonder at this; but much rather, as we are women, do I wonder that none of us should look out for a remedy, when we have so much reason to be afraid. 

We stay here for no other purpose, that I can see, but to observe what numbers come to be buried, or to listen if the monks, who are now reduced to a very few, sing their services at the proper times; or else to show by our habits the greatness of our distress. And if we go hence, it is either to see multitudes of the dead and sick carried along the streets; or persons who have been outlawed for their villanies, now facing it out publicly, in safe defiance of the laws; or the scum of the city, enriched with the public calamity, and insulting us with ribald ballads. Nor is anything now talked of, but that such a one is dead, or dying; and, were any left to mourn, we should hear nothing but lamentations. Or if we go home - I know not whether it fares with you as with myself - when I find out of a numerous family not one left, besides a maid-servant, I am frightened out of my senses; and go where I will, the ghosts of the departed seem always before me; not like the persons whilst they were living, but assuming a ghastly and dreadful aspect. Therefore the case is the same, whether we stay here, depart hence, or go home; especially as there are few left but ourselves who are able to go, and have a place to go to. Those few too, I am told, fall into all sorts of debauchery; and even cloistered ladies, supposing themselves entitled to equal liberties with others, are as bad as the worst. Now if this be so (as you see plainly it is), what do we here? What are we dreaming of? Why are we less regardful of our lives than other people of theirs? Are we of less value to ourselves, or are our souls and bodies more firmly united, and so in less danger of dissolution? It is monstrous to think in such a manner; so many of both sexes dying of this distemper in the very prime of their youth afford us an undeniable argument to the contrary. Wherefore, lest through our own wilfulness or neglect, this calamity, which might have been prevented, should befall us, I should think it best (and I hope you will join with me) for us to quit the town, and avoiding, as we would death itself, the bad example of others, to choose some place of retirement, of which every one of us has more than one, where we may make ourselves innocently merry, without offering the least violence to the dictates of reason and our own consciences. There will our ears be entertained with the warbling of the birds, and our eyes with the verdure of the hills and valleys; with the waving of cornfields like the sea itself; with trees of a thousand different kinds, and a more open and serene sky; which, however overcast, yet affords a far more agreeable prospect than these desolate walls. The air also is pleasanter, and there is greater plenty of everything, attended with few inconveniences: for, though people die there as well as here, yet we shall have fewer such objects before us, as the inhabitants are less in number; and on the other part, if I judge right, we desert nobody, but are rather ourselves forsaken. For all our friends, either by death, or endeavouring to avoid it, have left us, as if we in no way belonged to them. As no blame then can ensue from following this advice, and perhaps sickness and death from not doing so, I would have us take our maids, and everything we may be supposed to want, and enjoy all the diversions which the season will permit, to-day in one place, to-morrow in another; and so continue to do, unless death should interpose, until we see what end Providence designs for these things. And of this too let me remind you, that our characters will stand as fair by our going away reputably, as those of others will do who stay at home with discredit." 

The ladies having heard what Pampinea had to offer, not only approved of it, but had actually began to concert measures for their instant departure, when Filomena, who was a most discreet person, remarked: "Though Pampinea has spoken well, yet there is no occasion to run headlong into the affair, as you are about to do. We are but women, nor is any of us so ignorant as not to know how little able we shall be to conduct such an affair, without some man to help us. We are naturally fickle, obstinate, suspicious, and fearful; and I doubt much, unless we take somebody into our scheme to manage it for us, lest it soon be at an end; and perhaps, little to our reputation. Let us provide against this, therefore, before we begin." 

Eliza then replied: "It is true, man is our sex´s chief or head, and without his management, it seldom happens that any undertaking of ours succeeds well. But how are these men to be come at? We all know that the greater part of our male acquaintance are dead, and the rest all dispersed abroad, avoiding what we seek to avoid, and without our knowing where to find them. To take strangers with us, would not be altogether so proper: for, whilst we have regard to our health, we should so contrive matters, that, wherever we go to repose and divert ourselves, no scandal may ensue from it." 

Whilst this matter was in debate, behold, three gentlemen came into the church, the youngest not less than twenty-five years of age, and in whom neither the adversity of the times, the loss of relations and friends, nor even fear for themselves, could stifle, or indeed cool, the passion of love. One was called Pamfilo, the second Filostrato, and the third Dioneo, all of them well bred, and pleasant companions; and who, to divert themselves in this time of affliction, were then in pursuit of their mistresses, who as it chanced were three of these seven ladies, the other four being all related to one or other of them. These gentlemen were no sooner within view, than the ladies had immediately their eyes upon them, and Pampinea said, with a smile, ´see, fortune is with us, and has thrown in out way three prudent and worthy gentlemen, who will conduct and wait upon us, if we think fit to accept of their service." Neifile, with a blush, because she was one that had an admirer, answered: "Take care what you say, I know them all indeed to be persons of character, and fit to be trusted, even in affairs of more consequence, and in better company; but, as some of them are enamoured of certain ladies here, I am only concerned lest we be drawn into some scrape or scandal, without either our fault or theirs." Filomena replied: "Never tell me what other people may think, so long as I know myself to be virtuous; God and the truth will be my defence; and if they be willing to go, we will say with Pampinea, that fortune is with us." 

The rest hearing her speak in this manner, gave consent that the gentlemen should be invited to partake in this expedition. And, without more words, Pampinea, who was related to one of the three, rose up, and made towards them, as they stood watching at a distance. Then, after a cheerful salutation, she acquainted them with the design in hand, and entreated that they would, out of pure friendship, oblige them with their company. The gentlemen at first took it all for a jest, but, being assured to the contrary, immediately answered that they were ready; and, to lose no time, gave the necessary orders for what they wished to have done. Everything being thus prepared, and a messenger dispatched before, whither they intended to go, the next morning, which was Wednesday, by break of day, the ladies, with some of their women, and the gentlemen, with every one his servant, set out from the city, and, after they had travelled two short miles, came to the place appointed. 

It was a little eminence, remote from any great road, covered with trees and shrubs of an agreeable verdure; and on the top was a stately palace, with a grand and beautiful court in the middle: within were galleries, and fine apartments elegantly fitted up, and adorned with most curious paintings; around it were fine meadows, and most delightful gardens, with fountains of the purest and best water. The vaults also were stored with the richest wines, suited rather to the taste of copious toppers, than of modest and virtuous ladies. This palace they found cleared out, and everything set in order for their reception, with the rooms all graced with the flowers of the season, to their great satisfaction. The party being seated, Dioneo, who was the pleasantest of them all, and full of words, began: "Your wisdom it is, ladies, rather than any foresight of ours, which has brought us hither. I know not how you have disposed of your cares; as for mine, I left them all behind me when I came from home. Either prepare, then, to be as merry as myself (I mean with decency), or give me leave to go back again, and resume my cares where I left them." Pampinea made answer, as if she had disposed of hers in like manner: "You say right, sir, we will be merry; we fled from our troubles for no other reason. But, as extremes are never likely to last, I, who first proposed the means by which such an agreeable company is now met together, being desirous to make our mirth of some continuance, do find there is a necessity for our appointing a principal, whom we shall honour and obey in all things as our head; and whose province it shall be to regulate our diversions. And that every one may make trial of the burthen which attends care, as well as the pleasure which there is in superiority, nor therefore envy what he has not yet tried, I hold it best that every one should experience both the trouble and the honour for one day. The first, I propose, shall be elected by us all, and on the approach of evening, shall name a person to succeed for the following day: and each one, during the time of his or her government, shall give orders concerning the place where, and the manner how, we are to live." 

These words were received with the highest satisfaction, and the speaker was, with one consent, appointed president for the first day: whilst Filomena, running to a laurel-tree (for she had often heard how much that tree has always been esteemed, and what honour was conferred on those who were deservedly crowned with it), made a garland, and put it upon Pampinea´s head. That garland, whilst the company continued together, was ever after to be the ensign of sovereignty. 

Pampinea, being thus elected queen, enjoined silence, and having summoned to her presence the gentlemen´s servants, and their own women, who were four in number: 

"To give you the first example," said she, "how, by proceeding from good to better, we may live orderly and pleasantly, and continue together, without the least reproach, as long as we please, in the first place I declare Parmeno, Dioneo´s servant, master of my household, and to him I commit the care of my family, and everything relating to my hall. Sirisco, Pamfilo´s servant, I appoint my treasurer, and to be under the direction of Parmeno; and Tindaro I command to wait on Filostrato and the other two gentlemen, whilst their servants are thus employed. Mysia, my woman, and Licisca, Filomena´s, I order into the kitchen, there to get ready what shall be provided by Parmeno. To Lauretta´s Chimera, and Fiammetta´s Stratilia, I give the care of the ladies" chambers, and to keep the room clean where we sit. And I will and command you all, on pain of my displeasure, that wherever you go, or whatever you hear and see, you bring no news here but what is good." 

These orders were approved by all; and the queen, rising from her seat, with a good deal of gaiety, added: "Here are gardens and meadows, where you may divert yourselves till nine o'clock, when I shall expect you back, that we may dine in the cool of the day." 

The company were now at liberty, and the gentlemen and ladies took a pleasant walk in the garden, talking over a thousand merry things by the way, and diverting themselves by singing love songs, and weaving garlands of flowers. Returning at the time appointed, they found Parmeno busy in the execution of his office: for in a saloon below was the table set forth, covered with the neatest linen, with glasses reflecting a lustre like silver: and water having been presented to them to wash their hands, by the queen's order, Parmeno desired them to sit down. The dishes were now served up in the most elegant manner, and the best wines brought in, the servants waiting all the time with the most profound silence; and being well pleased with their entertainment, they dined with all the facetiousness and mirth imaginable. When dinner was over, as they could all dance, and some both play and sing well, the queen ordered in the musical instruments. Dioneo took a lute, and Fiammetta a viol, in obedience to the royal command; a dance was struck up, and the queen, with the rest of the company, took an agreeable turn or two, whilst the servants were sent to dinner; and when the dance was ended, they began to sing, and continued till the queen thought it time to break up. Her permission being given, the gentlemen retired to their chambers, remote from the ladies´ lodging rooms, and the ladies did the same, and undressed themselves for bed. 

It was little more than three, when the queen rose, and ordered all to be called, alleging that much sleep in the daytime was unwholesome. Then they went into a meadow of deep grass, where the sun had little power; and having the benefit of a pleasant breeze, they sat down in a circle, as the queen had commanded, and she addressed them in this manner: 

- "As the sun is high, and the heat excessive, and nothing is to be heard but the chirping of the cicalas among the olives, it would be madness for us to think of moving yet: this is an airy place, and here are chess-boards and back-gammon tables to divert yourselves with; but if you will be ruled by me, you will not play at all, since it often makes the one party uneasy, without any great pleasure to the other, or to the lookers-on; but let us begin and tell stories, and in this manner one person will entertain the whole company; and by the time it has gone round, the worst part of the day will be over, and then we can divert ourselves as we like best. If this be agreeable to you, then (for I wait to know your pleasure) let us begin; if not, you are at your own disposal till the evening." This motion being approved by all, the queen continued, "Let every one for this first day take what subject he fancies most:"and turning to Pamfilo, who sat on her right hand, she bade him begin. He readily obeyed, and spoke to this effect, so as to be distinctly heard by the whole company. 

CONTENTS. INDEX.

CONTENTS.

Page. (Omitted)

Introduction.

FIRST DAY. 

Novel I. - Chappelet imposes upon a holy friar by a sham confession, and dies; and, although a very wicked fellow, comes afterwards to be reputed a saint, and called St. Chappelet.

Novel II. - Abraham the Jew, at the instigation of Jeannot de Chivigni, goes to the court of Rome, and seeing the wickedness of the clergy there, returns to Paris, and becomes a Christian.

Novel III. - Melchizedeck, a Jew, by a story of three rings, escapes a most dangerous snare, which Saladin had prepared for him.

Novel IV. - A Monk having committed an offence, for which he ought to have been punished, saves himself by wittily proving his Abbot guilty of the very same fault. 

Novel V. - The Marchioness of Monferrat, by a repast consisting of hens, and a witty reply, cures the King of France of his dishonourable love. 

Novel VI. - A plain honest man, by a casual jest, very shrewdly reproves the hypocrisy of the clergy. 

Novel VII. - Bergamino, by telling a tale of a certain witty person named Primasso, very handsomely reproves the avarice which had lately appeared in Messer Cane della Scala.  

Novel VIII. - Gulielmo Borsiere, by a few smart words, checks the miserable covetousness of M. Ermino de Grimaldi.

Novel IX. - The King of Cyprus was so much affected by the words of a gentlewoman of Gascogne, that from being a worthless prince he became very virtuous.

Novel X. - Master Albert, of Bologna, puts a lady to the blush, who thought to have done as much by him, because she perceived him to be amorously inclined towards her.

SECOND DAY. 

Novel I. - Martellino, feigning to be a cripple, pretends to be cured by being laid upon the body of Saint Arrigo; but his roguery being discovered, he gets soundly beaten, and is afterwards apprehended, and in danger of being hanged, but escapes at last. 

Novel II. - Rinaldo d'Asti having been robbed, comes to Castle Guiglielmo, where he is entertained by a widow lady, makes good his loss, and returns safe home. 

Novel III. - Three young gentlemen squander their fortunes, and a nephew of theirs returning home in as desperate a condition, falls in company with an Abbot, whom he afterwards finds to be the King of England's daughter. She marries him, and makes good his uncle's losses, reinstating them in their former prosperity. 

Novel IV. - Landolfo Ruffolo, falling into poverty, became a pirate, was taken by the Genoese, and suffered shipwreck, but saved himself upon a cask of jewels, was taken out of the sea by a woman at Corfu, and afterwards returned home very rich.

Novel V. - Andreuccio, of Perugia, coming to Naples to buy horses, meets with three perilous adventures in one night; from all which he escapes, and returns with a ruby of value.

Novel VI. - Madam Beritola was found on an island with two goats, having lost her two sons. She went thence to Lunigiana, where one of her sons became servant to the lord thereof, and being found with his daughter, was sent to prison. Afterwards, when Sicily rebelled against King Charles, that same son was discovered again by his mother, and was married to his master's daughter; and his brother being found likewise, they both rose again to great estate and credit. 

Novel VII. - The Sultan of Babylon sends one of his daughters to be married to the King of Algarve, but, by divers accidents in the space of four years, she falls into the hands of nine different men in different places. At length being restored to her father, she goes to the King of Algarve as a maid, and becomes his wife, as at first intended. 

Novel VIII. - The Count d'Angiers, being falsely accused, is banished from France, and leaves his two children in different parts of England. Returning afterwards privately out of Ireland, he finds them settled in great repute. Thence he goes as a common servant into the King of France's army, and his innocence being made public at last, he is restored to his former dignity. 

Novel IX. - Bernard of Genoa is imposed upon by one Ambrose, loses his money, and orders his wife, who is quite innocent, to be put to death. She makes her escape, and goes in man's dress into the service of the Sultan; there she meets with the deceiver; and, sending for her husband to Alexandria, has Ambrose punished: she then resumes her former habit, and returns with her husband, in wealth, to Genoa. 

Novel X. - Paganino de Monaco carries away the wife of Signor Ricciardo di Chinzica, who, understanding where she was, goes thither, and growing acquainted with Paganino, he demands her back, which the other consents to, provided she is willing: she refuses to return; and upon Ricciardo's death becomes the wife of Paganino. 

THIRD DAY. 

Novel I. - Masetto da Lamporecchio, pretending to be dumb, is taken in to be gardener to a convent of nuns: what happens in consequence. 

Novel II. - An equerry belonging to King Agilulf lay with his queen; of which the king making a secret discovery, set a mark upon him, by shearing the hair off his head; upon which, he who was so shorn, cut that of his fellow-servants in like manner, and so escaped further punishment. 

Novel III. - A lady, under pretence of confessing, and a pure conscience, being in love with a young gentleman, makes a sanctified friar bring them together, without his knowing anything of her intention. 

Novel IV. - A young scholar, named Felix, teaches one Puccio how he may be saved, by performing a penance which he shows him: this he puts into execution, and in the meantime Felix amuses himself with his wife.

Novel V. - Ricciardo, surnamed the Beau, makes a present of a fine horse to Francesco Vergellesi, upon condition that he should have the liberty of speaking to his wife; and she making him no reply, he answers for her, which accordingly has its effect.

Novel VI. - Ricciardo Minutolo is in love with the wife of Philippello Fighinolfi; and knowing her to be jealous of her husband, makes her believe that the latter was to meet his wife that night at a bagnio. Accordingly she goes thither, and, imagining she was with her husband all the time, finds herself at last with Ricciardo. 

Novel VII. - Tedaldo, having a misunderstanding with his mistress, leaves Florence; he returns thither afterwards in the habit of a pilgrim, and makes himself known to her; when he convinces her of her mistake, and saves her husband from being put to death for his murder, for which he had been condemned. He then reconciles him to his brethren, and lives upon good terms with her for the future. 

Novel VIII. - Ferondo, by taking a certain drug, is buried for dead, and the abbot, who has an intrigue with his wife, takes him out of the grave and puts him into a dungeon, where he is made to believe that he is in purgatory. Being raised up again, he rears a child as his own, which the abbot had got by his wife.

Novel IX. - Gillette de Narbonne cures the King of France of a complaint, and demands the Count de Roussillon in marriage, as her reward; he marries her against his will, and goes in a pet to Florence, where he falls in love with a young lady, and lies with his own wife, thinking himself with his mistress. She has two sons by him, and, by that means, matters are accommodated at last between them.

Novel X. - Alibech, a young convert to Christianity, goes into the desert of the Thebaid, where Rustico, a pious hermit, teaches her how to put the devil in hell.

FOURTH DAY. 

Novel I. - Tancred, Prince of Salerno, puts his daughter's lover to death, and sends his heart to her in a golden cup; she pours poison upon it, which she drinks, and dies. 

Novel II. - Friar Albert makes a woman believe that an angel is in love with her, and in that shape deceives her. Afterwards, for fear of her relations, he throws himself out of the window, and takes shelter in a poor man's house, who exposes him the next day in the public market-place, in the form of a wild man, when he is discovered by two friars, and put into prison.

Novel III. - Three young men fall in love with three sisters, and fly with them into Crete. The eldest destroys her lover out of jealousy; and the second by consenting to the Duke of Crete's desires, is the means of saving her sister's life: afterwards her lover kills her, and goes away with the eldest sister. The third couple is charged with her death, which they confess, then bribe their keepers, make their escape, and die at Rhodes at last in great misery. 

Novel IV. - Gerbino, contrary to a treaty made by King William, his grandfather, fought with a ship belonging to the King of Tunis, with a design to take away his daughter; who being slain by the ship's crew, he slew them likewise, and was afterwards beheaded for it.

Novel V. - Isabella's brothers put her lover to death; he appears to her in a dream, and shows her where he is buried. She privately brings away his head, and, putting it into a pot of basil, and other sweet herbs, laments over it every day. At length they take it away from her, and she soon after dies of grief.

Novel VI. - A young lady, named Andrevuola, is in love with Gabriotto; they relate to each other their dreams, and he falls down dead in her arms. As she and her maid are carrying him out, they are apprehended by the officers of justice; she relates how the affair happened, and afterwards, the magistrate would force her, but she resists; at length her father hears of it, and as her innocence is clear, has her set at liberty. From that period she grows weary of the world, and becomes a nun.

Novel VII. - Pasquino is in love with Simona; and, being in a garden with her, he happens to rub his teeth with a leaf of sage, and immediately di«s. She is brought before the judge, when, being desirous of showing him the cause of Pasquino's death, she rubs her teeth with the same herb, and meets with a similar fate. 

Novel VIII. - Girolamo is in love with Salvestra, and is obliged by his mother to go to Paris; on his return he finds her married; and getting privately into her house, he breathes his last by her side. On his being carried thence to a church to be buried, she dies likewise upon his corpse. 

Novel IX. - Gulielmo Rossiglione gave his wife to eat the heart of Gulielmo Guardastagno, her gallant, whom he had slain; as soon as she knew this, she threw herself out of a window, and, dying, was buried along with him. 

Novel X. - A doctor's wife puts her gallant into a chest, imagining him to be dead, which chest is stolen by two usurers, and carried home. He comes to himself, and is taken for a thief; whilst the lady's maid informs the magistrates that she had put him into a chest, which the usurers had carried away, upon which he escapes, and they are fined a sum of money. 

FIFTH DAY. 

Novel I. - Cymon becomes wise by being in love, and by force of arms wins Iphigenia, his mistress, upon the seas, and is imprisoned at Rhodes. Being delivered thence by Lysimachus, with him he recovers Iphigenia, and flies with her to Crete, where he is married to her, and is afterwards recalled home. 

Novel II. - Constantia is in love with Martuccio Gomito; and hearing that he was dead, out of despair goes alone into a boat, which is driven by the wind to Susa: finding him alive at Tunis, she makes herself known; whilst he, being a great favourite of the king's there, marries her, and returns home with her to Lipari, very rich. 

Novel III. - Pietro Boccamazza, running away with his mistress, is set upon by thieves, whilst the lady makes her escape into a forest, whence she is conducted to a castle. He is taken, but escapes by some accident, and arrives at the same castle, where they are married, and return thence to Rome. 

Novel IV. - Ricciardo Manardi is found by Lizio along with his daughter, whom he marries, and they become reconciled. 

Novel V. - Guidotto da Cremona dying, left a daughter to the care of Giacomino da Pavia. Giannole di Severino and Minghino di Mingole are both in love with her, and fight on her account, when she is found to be Giannole's sister, and is married to Minghino. 

Novel VI. - Gianni di Procida is discovered with a young lady, formerly his mistress, but then given to King Frederick, for which he is condemned to be burnt with her at a stake, when being known by Ruggieri dell´ Oria, he escapes and marries her. 

Novel VII. - Teodoro is in love with Violante, his master's daughter; she proves with child, for which he is condemned to be hanged: when being led out to execution, he is recognised by his father, set at liberty, and afterwards marries her. 

Novel VIII. - Anastasio, being in love with a young lady, spent a good part of his fortune without being able to gain her affections. At the request of his relations he retires to Chiassi, where he sees a lady pursued and slain by a gentleman, and then given to the dogs to be devoured. He invites his friends, alone with his mistress, to come and dine with him, when they see the same thing, and she, fearing the like punishment, takes him for her husband. 

Novel IX. - Federigo being in love, without meeting with any return, spends all his substance, having nothing left but one poor hawk, which he gives to his lady for her dinner when she comes to his house; she, knowing this, changes her resolution, and marries him, by which means he becomes very rich. 

Novel X. - Pietro di Vinciolo goes to sup at a friend's house; his wife, in the mean time, has her gallant; Pietro returns, when she hides him under a chicken coop. Pietro relates, that a young fellow was found in Ercolano's house, where he supped, who had been concealed by his wife. Pietro's wife blames very much the wife of Ercolano: meanwhile an ass happening to tread on the young man's fìngers, who lay hidden, he cries out. Pietro runs to see what is the matter, and finds out the trick. At length they make it up. 

SIXTH DAY. 

Novel I. - A certain knight offers a lady to carry her behind him, and to tell her a pleasant story by the way; but, doing it with an ill grace, she chose rather to walk on foot. 

Novel II. - Cisti, the baker, by a smart reply, makes Signor Geri Spina sensible of an unreasonable request. 

Novel III. - Madam Nonna de' Pulci silences the Bishop of Florence, by a smart reply to an unseemly piece of raillery. 

Novel IV. - Chichibio, cook to Currado Gianfiliazzi, by a sudden reply which he makes to his master, turns his wrath into laughter, and so escapes the punishment with which he had threatened him. 

Novel V. - Forese da Rabatta and Giotto the painter, coming from Mugello, laugh at the meanness of each other's appearance. 

Novel VI. - Michael Scalza proves to certain young gentlemen, that the family of the Baronci is the most honourable of any in the world, and wins a supper by it. 

Novel VII. - Madam Filippa, being surprised with her gallant by her husband, is accused and tried for it, but saves herself by her quick reply, and has the laws moderated for the future.

Novel VIII. - Fresco advises his niece, that if she could not endure to look at any disagreeable people, she should never behold herself. 

Novel IX. - Guido Cavalcanti neatly reprimands the folly of some Florentine gentlemen, who came unawares upon him. 

Novel X. - Friar Onion promises some country people to show them a feather from the wing of the Angel Gabriel, instead of which he finds only some coals, which he tells them are the same that roasted St. Laurence. 

SEVENTH DAY. 

Novel I. - Gianni Lotteringhi hears a knocking at his door, and wakes his wife, who makes him believe it is a spirit, and they both go to conjure it away with a certain prayer, after which the noise ceases. 

Novel II. - Peronella puts her gallant into a tub on her husband's coming home, which tub the husband had sold; she consequently tells him that she had also sold it to a person who was then in it, to see if it was sound. Upon this the man jumps out, makes the husband clean it for him, and carries it home. 

Novel III. - Friar Rinaldo has an affair with a lady in the neighbourhood, and he makes the husband believe that he is busy about a charm to cure their child of the worms. 

Novel IV. - Tofano shuts his wife one night out of doors, and she, not being able to persuade him to let her in, pretends to throw herself into a well, and drops a big stone in; he runs thither in a fright; she slips into the house, and, locking him out, abuses him well. 

Novel V. - A jealous man confesses his wife under a priest's habit, who tells him that she is visited every night by a friar; and, whilst he is watching the door, she lets her lover in at the house-top. 

Novel VI. - Isabella, being in company with her gallant, called Leonetto, and being visted at the same time by one Lambertuccio, her husband returns, when she sends Lambertuccio away with a drawn sword in his hand, whilst the husband escorts Leonetto safely to his own house. 

Novel VII. - Lodovico being in love with Beatrice, she sends her husband into the garden, disguised like herself, so that her lover may be with her in the mean time; and he afterwards goes into the garden and beats the husband. 

Novel VIII. - A woman who had a very jealous husband, tied a thread to her great toe, by which she informed her lover whether he should come or not. The husband found it out, and whilst he was pursuing the lover, she put her maid in her place. He takes her to be his wife, beats her, cuts off her hair, and then fetches his wife's relations, who find nothing of what he had told them, and load him with reproaches.

Novel IX. - Lydia, the wife of Nicostratus, being in love with Pyrrhus, did three things which he had enjoined her, to convince him of her affection. She afterwards used some familiarities with him before her husband's face, making him believe that what he had seen was not real. 

Novel X. - Two inhabitants of Siena love the same woman, one of whom was godfather to her son. This man dies, and returns, according to his promise, to his friend, and gives him an account of what is done in the other world. 

EIGHTH DAY. 

Novel I. - Gulfardo borrows a sum of money of Guasparruolo, in order to give it his wife for granting him a favour; he afterwards tells Guasparruolo, in her presence, that he had paid it to her, which she acknowledges to be true. 

Novel II. - The parson of Varlungo receives favours from a woman of his parish, and leaves his cloak in pawn. He afterwards borrows a mortar of her, which he returns, and demands his cloak, which he says he left only as a token. She mutinies, but is forced by her husband to send it. 

Novel III. - Calandrino, Bruno, and Buffalmacco go to Mugnone, to look for the Heliotrope; and Calandrino returns laden with stones, supposing that he has found it. Upon this his wife scolds him, and he beats her for it; and then tells his companions what they knew better than himself. 

Novel IV. - The provost of the church of Fiesole is in love with a lady who has no liking to him, and he, thinking that he is in bed with her is all the time with her maid, and her brothers bring the bishop thither to witness it. 

Novel V. - Three young sparks play a trick with a judge, whilst he is sitting upon the bench hearing causes. 

Novel VI. - Bruno and Buffalmacco steal a pig from Calandrino, and make a charm to find out the thief, with pills made of ginger and some sack; giving him, at the same time, pills made of aloes: thereby they make it appear that he had furtively sold the pig, and they make him pay handsomely, for fear they should tell his wife. 

Novel VII. - A certain scholar is in love with a widow lady named Helena, who, being enamoured of another person, makes the former wait a whole night for her during the midst of winter, in the snow. In return, he afterwards contrives that she shall stand naked on the top of a tower, in the middle of July, exposed to the sun and all manner of insects.

Novel VIII. - Two neighbours are very intimate together, when one making very free with the other's wife, the other finds it out, and returns the compliment, whilst the friend is locked up in a chest all the time.

Novel IX. - Master Simon, the doctor, is imposed upon by Bruno and Buffalmacco, and made to believe that he is to be one of the company of rovers, and afterwards they leave him in a ditch.

Novel X. - A certain Sicilian damsel cheats a merchant of all the money he had taken for his goods at Palermo. Afterwards he pretends to return with a greater stock of goods than before; when he contrives to borrow a large sum of money of her, leaving sham pledges for her security.

NINTH DAY. 

Novel I. - Madam Francesca having two lovers, and liking neither of them, rids herself of both, by making one go and lie down in a person's grave, and sending the other to fetch him out. 

Novel II. - An abbess going in haste, and in the dark, to surprise one of her nuns, instead of her veil puts on the priest's breeches. The lady accused makes a just remark upon this, and so escapes. 

Novel III. - Master Simon, the doctor, with Bruno, and the rest, make Calandrino believe that he is with child. The patient gives them fowls and money, to compound a medicine for him, and he recovers without being delivered. 

Novel IV. - Fortarrigo played away all that he had at Buonconvento, as also the money of Angiolieri, who was his master; then running away in his shirt, and pretending that the other had robbed him, he caused him to be seized by the country people, when he put on his clothes, and rode away upon his horse, leaving him there in his shirt. 

Novel V. - Calandrino is in love with a certain damsel; Bruno prepares a charm for her, by virtue of which she follows him, and they are found together by his wife. 

Novel VI. - Two young gentlemen lie at an inn, one of whom goes to bed to the landlord's daughter; whilst the wife, by mistake, lies with the other. Afterwards, he that had lain with the daughter, gets to bed to the father, and tells him all that had passed, thinking it had been his friend: a great uproar is made about it; upon which the wife goes to bed to the daughter, and very cunningly sets all to rights again. 

Novel VII. - Talano di Molese dreams that a wolf tore his wife's face and throat; and he bids her take care of herself; she disregards his advice, and it happens as he had dreamed. 

Novel VIII. - Biondello imposes upon one Ciacco with regard to a dinner; who revenges himself afterwards, and causes the other to be soundly beaten. 

Novel IX. - Two young men go to King Solomon for his advice; the one to know how he is to behave in order to be beloved; the other how to manage an untoward wife. To the first, he replies, Love; to the second, Go to Goosebridge. 

Novel X. - Donno Granni undertakes to transform his gossip Pietro's wife into a mare, at his request; but when it comes to putting on the tail, Pietro cries out, and spoils the whole business. 

TENTH DAY. 

Novel I. - A certain knight in the service of the king of Spain thinks himself not sufficiently rewarded. The king gives a remarkable proof that this was not his fault so much as the knight's ill-fortune, and afterwards nobly requites him. 

Novel II. - Ghino di Tacco takes the Abbot of Cligni prisoner, cures him of a pain in his stomach, and then sets him at liberty. The abbot returns to the court of Rome, and through his mediation Ghino is reconciled with Pope Boniface, and made prior of a hospital. 

Novel III. - Mithridanes envies the generosity of Nathan, and goes to kill him, when, conversing with him, but not knowing him, and being informed in what manner he may do the deed, he goes to meet him in a wood, as Nathan had directed. There he recognises him, is ashamed, and becomes his friend. 

Novel IV. - Signor Gentil de´ Carisendi takes a lady out of her grave, whom he had loved, and who was buried for dead. She recovers, and is brought to bed of a son, which he presents along with the lady to her husband. 

Novel V. - Dianora requires Ansaldo to present her with a garden in January as beautiful as in May. He engages a necromancer to do it. Her husband, upon this, gives her leave to keep her word with Ansaldo, who hearing of her husband's generosity, acquits her of her promise, and the necromancer likewise takes nothing for his trouble. 

Novel VI. - King Charles the First, surnamed the Victorious, being in love with a young lady, and ashamed afterwards of his folly, marries both her and her sister much to their advantage. 

Novel VII. - King Pietro, knowing that a lady was love-sick for him, makes her a visit and marries her to a worthy gentleman; then, kissing her forehead, calls himself ever afterwards her knight. 

Novel VIII.- Sophronia believing herself to be the wife of Gisippus, is really married to Titus Quintus Fulvius, who carries her to Rome, where Gisippus arrives some time after in great distress, and, thinking himself despised by Titus, confesses himself guilty of a murder, in order to put an end to his life. Titus recollects him, and, to save him, accuses himself, which, when the murderer sees, he delivers himself up as the guilty person. Finally, they are all set at liberty by Octavius, and Titus marries Gisippus to his sister, and gives him half his estate. 

Novel IX. - Saladin, disguising himself like a merchant, is generously entertained by Signor Torello, who, going upon an expedition to the Holy Land, allowed his wife a certain time to marry again. In the mean time he is taken prisoner, and being employed to look after the hawks, is recognised by the Soldan, who shows him great respect. Afterwards Torello falls sick, and is conveyed by magic art, in one night, to Pavia, at the very time that his wife was to have been married; when he makes himself known to her, and returns with her home.

Novel X. - The Marquis of Saluzzo, having been prevailed upon by his subjects to marry, in order to please himself in the affair, made choice of a countryman's daughter, by whom he had two children, which he pretended to put to death. Afterwards, seeming as though he was weary of her, and had taken another, he had his own daughter brought home, as if he had espoused her, whilst his wife was sent away in a most distressed condition. At length, being convinced of her patience, he brought her home agam, presented her children to her, who were now of considerable years, and ever afterwards loved and honoured her as his lady.

PREFACE

GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO 

Author of the 
“DECAMERONE, OR HUNDRED TALES”
(Commedia Umana) 

STORIES 
OF
BOCCACCIO 
(The Decameron) 

WITH ALL THE POEMS (MANY OF WHICH ARE OMITTED IN OTHER EDITIONS); AND WITH NOTES TO EACH STORY, GIVING VALUABLE HISTORICAL DATA AND SHOWING THE INFLUENCE OF THE DECAMERON ON THE LITERATURE OF EUROPE IN ANCIENT AND MODERN TIMES - FORMING, IN MANY INSTANCES, A KEY TO THE PERSONAGES OF THE STORY.
 
INCLUDING ALSO YE MERRY TALE 
Now first done into English. 
By
JOHN PAYNE 

PRINTED FOR 
THE BIBLIOPHILIST LIBRARY.

Editor: Ramón Guimerá Lorente.
I will write EN, editor notation, when I add anything to Payne´s text.
Pdf source: https://archive.org/download/storiesboccacci00boccgoog
Ye merry tale does not appear in this pdf.

PREFACE. 

For the first time the great work which produced so marked an effect on the 
romantic literature of modern Europe, is laid before the reader in a garb which at 
least does not misrepresent its original features. 
"There are few works,"says Dunlop, in his history of Fiction, 
"which have had an equal influence on literature with the Decameron of Boccaccio.
Even in England its effects were powerful. From it Chaucer adopted the notion of the frame 
in which he has enclosed his tales, and the general manner of his stories, while in some instances, 
as we have seen, he has merely versified the novels of the Italian. 
In 1566, William Paynter printed many of Boccaccio's stories in English, in his work called the Palace of Pleasure. 
This first translation contained sixty novels, and it was soon followed by another volume, 
comprehending thirty-four additional tales. These are the pages of which Shakespeare made so much use. 
From Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy we learn that one of the great amusements of our ancestors was reading 
Boccaccio aloud, an entertainment of which the effects were speedily visible in the literature of the country. 
The first English translation, however, of the whole Decameron, did not appear till 1620. In France, Boccaccio 
found early and illustrious imitators. In his own country he brought his native language to 
perfection, and gave stability to a mode of composition which before his time had only existed in a rude state in Italy; 
he collected the current tales of the age, which he decorated with new circumstances, and delivered in a style which 
has no parallel for elegance, naiveté, and grace. Hence his popularity was unbounded, and his imitators more numerous than those of any author recorded 
in the annals of literature."
A translation of the Decameron which appeared in 1741, has been reproduced in all subsequent editions, with only a partial attempt at revision in 1804. 
The task which was then but imperfectly, has now been most carefully, performed. 
Every page, almost every line, has undergone considerable modifications: large omissions have been supplied; and brief critical and historical notices 
have been appended to most of the novels. In many instances these will be found interesting to the English student, as indicating the parentage 
of some of the choicest portions of our early literature.