5-10, Pietro di Vinciolo, wife, Ercolano

NOVEL X. 

Pietro di Vinciolo goes to sup at a friend's house; his wife, in the meantime, 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 fingers 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. 

The queen had now made an end, and every one was pleased with Federigo's good fortune, when Dioneo thus began: - I know not whether I should term it a vice, accidental, and owing to the depravity of our manners; or whether it be not rather a national infirmity, to laugh sooner at bad things than those which are good, especially when they no way concern ourselves. Therefore, as the pains which I have before taken, and am also now to undergo, aim at no other end but to drive away melancholy, and to afford matter for mirth and laughter, although, charming ladies, some part of the following novel be not altogether so modest, yet, as it may make you merry, I shall venture to relate it. You may do in this case, as when you walk in a garden, that is, pick the roses, and leave the briars behind you. Just so you may leave the vile fellow to his own evil reflections, and laugh at the amorous wiles of his wife, having that regard for other people's misfortunes which they deserve. 

There dwelt not long since in Perugia, a very rich man, named Pietro di Vinciolo, who took to him a wife, more, perhaps, to deceive people, and diminish the bad opinion of him universally entertained in Perugia, than for anything else. Fortune was so far conformable to his inclinations, that the wife he found was a young, buxom, red-haired woman, who required two husbands rather than one. Consequently, they had continual jars and animosities together, whilst she would often argue with herself in this way: 

"This wretch abandons me to follow his infamous propensities. I made choice of him for a husband, and brought him a good fortune, knowing he was a man, and supposing he was fond of what men ought to be fond of. If I had thought he was not a man I would never have had him. He knew I was a woman; why did he take me for his wife if he disliked women? This is not to be borne. Had I been disposed to renounce the world, I would have shut myself up in a nunnery at once. I shall have old age overtake me before I know one good day, and then it will be too late to expect it." Full of such reflections as these, and resolved to indemnify herself for her husband's neglect, she went at last and made her case known to a sanctified old crone, who was perpetually saying over her Pater Nosters, and would talk of nothing else but the lives of the holy fathers, and the wounds of St. Francis. 

"My daughter," said the old woman, when the lady had made known her grievances, and her intention of providing a remedy for them, "the Lord knows you will do quite right; and if it was for nothing else, you and every young woman ought to do the same in order not to lose the good time of youth; for there is no sorer grief to any one of right understanding, than to have wasted precious time. When we are grown old what the devil are we good for, but to sit in the chimney corner, and keep the fire warm? If there's ne'er another can bear true testimony to this, at least I can; for never can I think, without bitter anguish of spirit, on the time I let slip without profit. I did not lose it all, mind; I would not have you suppose I was such a ninny; but I did not get all the good out of it I might. When I call this to mind, and that I am now come to be what you see me, with never a chance of any one giving me a spark of fire to light my tinder, God knows what a heart's grief it is to me. It is not so with men; they are born good for a great many things besides this we are talking of, and the greater part of them are more esteemed in their old age than when they are young. But women are good for nothing but to bear children, or to be made use of to get them, and it is for that they are courted. If you want anything to make this clear to you, you have only to consider that women are always ready, but the men are not; besides, one woman can give enough to do to many men, but several men could not cloy one woman. Since then we are born for this, I say again that you will do quite right to give your husband tit-for-tat, so that when you grow old your soul may have no cause to upbraid your body. In this world everybody gets what he helps himself to, and no more, and this is especially the case with women, who have much more reason than men to make good use of their time while they may; for when we grow old neither our husbands, nor any one else, will look upon us, but they send us into the kitchen to talk to the cat, and count the pots and pans. Nay, what is worse they make rhymes upon us, and jibe us, saying, "Tit bits for the young, refuse for the old." The long and the short of the matter, my dear, is this: you could not have made choice of a fitter person than myself to open your mind to, or one that knows better how to help you. There is not the proudest man that wears a head, but I dare tell my mind to, nor the stubbornest, and most uncivil, but I can make fain to follow my leading. Let me only know who it is that best pleases you, and leave the rest to me. But there is one thing, my dear, I would beg you to bear in mind, that is, that I am a poor body, and I would have you partake the benefit of all my pardons and Pater Nosters." 

It was then agreed that if the old woman should meet a certain gentleman in the street, whom the lady described to her, she should know what to do; and, upon this, the lady gave her a piece of salt meat, and sent her away. In a short time the old woman secretly brought her the person she desired, and others afterwards from time to time, according to the lady's fancy, which was a very lively one, and which she gratified as diligently as the fear in which she stood of her husband would allow her. One evening it happened that Pietro being engaged to sup with a friend of his, called Ercolano, the lady made the old woman bring her one of the handsomest and most engaging striplings in all Perugia; but she and her gallant were no sooner seated at table, than Pietro was heard knocking at the door. She was frightened out of her wits, and wishing to hide the youth somewhere or other, and not knowing where to put him better, she covered him with a hen-coop, which stood in a porch adjoining the supper-room, and throwing an empty sack over it, ran to open the door, saying, "Why husband, you have soon made an end of your supper." - "I have not tasted one morsel." - "How comes that?" -"I will tell you," said Pietro, "how it was." 

"Ercolano, his wife, and myself, were all sat down, when he heard somebody sneeze; this we did not regard for once or twice, but when it happened three, four, or five times, it naturally surprised us: and Ercolano (who was vexed that his wife had made him wait some time at the door before she let him in) said, in a passion, "What is the meaning of this? Who is it that sneezes in this manner?" And getting up from the table, he went towards the stairs, under which was a cupboard, made to set things out of the way, and supposing the sound come thence, he opened the door, when there immediately issued out the greatest stench of sulphur that could be, though we had perceived something of it before. 

Ercolano and his wife had some words about it; when she told him that she had been whitening her veils with brimstone, and had set the pan, over which she had laid them to receive the steam, in that place, and she supposed it continued yet to smoke. After he had opened the door, and the smoke was a little dispersed, he espied the sneezer, who was still hard at it under the pungent influence of the sulphur; but though he continued sneezing, yet he was so near suffocation, that in a very little time more, he would neither have done that, nor anything else. Ercolano, seeing the person at last, cried out, “so, madam! I now see why you made us wait so long at the door, but let me die if I do not pay you as you deserve." The wife, finding that she was discovered, rose from the table without making any excuse, and went I know not whither. Ercolano, not perceiving that his wife was fled, called upon the man that sneezed, and ordered him to come out; but, notwithstanding all he could say, the other never offered to stir, nor indeed was he able. Ercolano at last drew him out by the foot, and was running for a knife to kill him, but I, fearing to be drawn into some difficulty myself about it, would not suffer him to put the fellow to death; but defended him, and called out to the neighbours, who came and carried him away. This spoiled our supper, and I have not had one bit, as I told you." 

The lady hearing this account, saw that other women were of the same disposition with herself, although some proved more unlucky than others. She would gladly have vindicated Ercolano's wife, but that she thought by blaming the faults of other people, to make the way more open for her own; so she began: - "Here is a fine affair, truly! this is your virtuous and good woman, who seemed so spiritually-minded always, that I could have confessed myself to her upon occasion. What is worse, she is old: a fine example she sets to young people! Cursed be the hour of her birth, and herself also; vile woman as she is! to be a disgrace to her whole sex; to be so mindless of her own honour, and her plighted faith to her husband, as not to be ashamed to injure so deserving a person, and one who had been always so tender of her! As I hope for mercy, I would have none on such prostitutes, they should every soul of them be burnt alive." Now calling to mind her own spark who was concealed, she began to fondle her husband, and would have had him go to bed, but he, who had more stomach to eat than sleep, asked whether she had anything for supper. "Yes, truly," quoth she, "we are used to have suppers when you are from home. I should fare better were I Ercolano's wife, my dear; now do go to bed." 

That evening it happened that some of Vinciolo's labourers had come with some things out of the country, and had put their asses, without giving them any water, into a stable near the porch. One of the asses slipped his halter, being very thirsty, and went smelling everywhere for drink, till he came to the coop under which the young man was hidden. 

Now he was forced to lie flat on his belly, and one of his fìngers, by strange ill fortune, was uncovered, so that the ass trod upon it, which made him cry out most terribly. Pietro wondered to hear such clamour in the house, and fìnding it continued, the ass still squeezing the finger close, he called aloud, "Who is there?" Then running to the coop, and turning it up, he saw the young man, who, besides the great pain he had suffered, was frightened to death lest Pietro should do him some mischief. Pietro asked him what business he had there; to which he made no reply, but begged he would do him no harm. "Get up," said Pietro, "I shall not hurt you, only tell me how you came hither, and upon what account! " The young man confessed everything; whilst Pietro, full as glad that he had found him, as his wife was sorry, brought him into the room where she sat, in all the terror imaginable, expecting him. Seating himself now before her, he said, "Here, you that were so outrageous at Ercolano's wife, saying that she should be burnt, and that she was a scandal to you all; what do you say now of yourself? Or how could you have the assurance to utter such things with regard to her, when you knew yourself to be equally guilty? You are all alike, and think to cover your own transgressions by other people's mistakes: I wish a fire would come from heaven, and consume you altogether, for a perverse generation as you are." The lady, now seeing that he went no further than a few words, put a good face on the matter, and replied, "Yes, I make no doubt but you would have us all destroyed; for you are as fond of us as a dog of a stick. You do well to compare me to Ercolano's wife, who is an ugly, hypocritical old woman, and he one of the best of husbands, that gives her what she likes; whereas, you know it is the reverse with regard to us two; I would sooner go in rags, were you what you ought to be, than to have everything in plenty, and you continue the same person you have always been." Pietro found she had matter enough to serve her the whole night, and having no mind to hear more, said "Enough for the present, madam; I will take care that you shall have more comfort for the time to come; only do me the great favour to see and get us something for supper, for I suppose this young spark is fasting as well as myself." - "´Tis very true," she replied, "for we were going to sit down when you unluckily came to the door." - "Then go and get something," he said, "and after supper I will settle this matter in such a way as will leave you no cause for complaint." She, finding her husband was satisfied, went instantly about it, and they all three supped cheerfully together. What followed I cannot pretend to tell you, but it was said next day in Perugia that the husband was revenged in his own way, and the wife not displeased. 

[The greater part of this tale is taken from the ninth book of the Golden Ass, of Apuleius. It also bears a strong resemblance to the thirty-first and thirty-third novels of Girolamo Morlini.] 

If Dioneo's novel was not much laughed at by the ladies it was not for want of mirth, but from modesty. The queen, seeing that there was an end of the novels of her day, arose, and taking the crown from her own head, placed it upon Eliza's, saying, "Madam, now it is your business to command:" Eliza, taking upon herself the honour, gave the same orders to the master of the household, as had been done in the former reigns, with regard to what was necessary during her administration; she then said, "We have often heard that many people by their ready wit and smart repartees, have not only blunted the keen satire of other persons, but have also warded off some imminent danger. Then, as the subject is agreeable enough, and may be useful, I will that tomorrow's discourse be to that effect: namely, of such persons as have retorted some stroke of wit which was pointed at them; or else, by some quick reply, or prudent foresight, have avoided either danger, or derision." This was agreeable to the whole assembly, and the queen now gave them leave to depart till the hour of supper; at that time they were called together and sat cheerfully down as usual. When supper was over, Emilia was ordered to begin a dance, and Dioneo to sing. But he, attempting to sing what the queen disapproved, she said, with some warmth, "Dioneo, I will have none of this ribaldry; either sing us a song fit to be heard, or you shall see that I know how to resent it." At these words he put on a more serious countenance, and began the following 

SONG. 

Cupid, the charms that crown my fair, 

Have made me slave to you and her. 

The lightning of her eyes, 

That darting through my bosom flies, 

Doth still your sov'reign power declare. 

At your control 

Each grace binds fast my vanquish'd soul. 

Devoted to your throne 

From henceforth I myself confess. 

Nor can I guess 

If my desires to her be known; 

Who claims each wish, each thought so far. 

That all my peace depends on her. 

Then haste, kind godhead, and inspire 

A portion of your sacred fire; 

To make her feel 

That self-consuming zeal,

The cause of my decay, 

That wastes my very heart away. 

When Dioneo had made an end, the queen called for several other songs, but his, nevertheless, was highly commended; afterwards, great part of the evening being spent, and the heat of the day sufficiently damped by the breezes of the night, she ordered them all to go and repose themselves till the following day. 

2-5 Andreuccio, of Perugia

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. 

The jewels found by Landolfo put me in mind, said Fiammetta, whose turn it was now to speak, of a story as full of perils as the last, but with this difference, that in the one case they happened in the course of some years, whereas in the other they fell out in the space of one night, as you shall hear. 

There lived, as I have heard, at Perugia, a young man named Andreuccio di Pietro, a dealer in horses, who, hearing that they were cheap at Naples, put five hundred florins of gold into his purse; and leaving home for the first time in his life, in company with some other dealers, arrived in that city on a Sunday evening. Having consulted with his landlord, he went into the market next morning, where he saw many horses to his mind, and cheapened some as he went up and down, without coming to any bargain; but to show people that he came with an intent to buy, he unadvisedly pulled out his purse on all occasions. The consequence was, that a very pretty Sicilian damsel (who was at every one's service for a small matter) got sight of the purse, without being observed by its owner: and said she to herself, as she passed on, "Who is there that would be my betters, if that purse were mine?" Along with her was an old woman of Sicily likewise, who, as soon as she saw Andreu,"rcio, ran and embraced him; which the young woman observing, without saying a word, stepped aside to wait for her. Andreuccio recognised the old woman, spoke to her with great cordiality, and having made her promise to come to his inn, he parted from her and went on about his business, but bought nothing all that morning. The young woman, who had taken notice first of the purse, and then of her friend's knowledge of the owner, began to inquire of her, as cautiously as might be, by way of contriving how to come at the money, in whole or in part, who that man was, whence he came, what was his business, and how she happened to know him. These questions the old woman answered in every particular, as fully as he himself could have done, having lived a long time with his father in Sicily, and afterwards at Perugia, and having heard from him the cause of his coming to Naples, and when he was to return. Thinking herself now sufficiently instructed concerning the man's kindred and their names, the young woman laid her plans in the most artful manner possible; and going home, she sent the old woman out upon business for the whole day, that she might have an opportunity of seeing Andreuccio again. In the meantime, towards evening, she despatched a young woman, well trained for such services, to his inn, where the messenger found him sitting alone at the door, and inquiring of him whether one Andreuccio, of Perugia, lived there, he made answer, that he was the man. She then took him a little aside, and said, "sir, a gentlewoman of this city would gladly speak with you, if you please." On hearing this, he began to consider the matter; and, as she seemed to be a creditable girl, he concluded that the lady must be in love with him, being in his own eyes as handsome a man as any in Naples. He answered, therefore, that he was ready, and asked where and when the lady would speak with him. " She expects you," said the girl, "at her own house, as soon as may be agreeable to you." Without saying a word then to the people of the inn, he bade her show him the way; and she brought him to her house, in a certain street famous for such sort of inhabitants; but he, knowing nothing of the matter, nor at all suspecting but that he was visiting a place of repute, and a lady that had taken a fancy to him, went into the house, and going up-stairs (whilst the girl called out to her mistress that Andreuccio was there), found her at the top, waiting for him. She was young, had a fine face and figure, and was very well dressed. Running down two or three steps with open arms to meet him, and clasping his neck, she stood some time without speaking a word, as if overpowered by her emotions; at last, showering tears and kisses on his face, she faltered out, "O, my Andreuccio! you are heartily welcome." Quite astonished at being caressed in such a manner, he replied, "Madam, I am proud of the honour to wait upon you." She then took him by the hand, and led him, without saying a word more, through a large dining-room into her own chamber, which was perfumed with roses, orange-flowers, and other rich odours, and where there was also a fine bed, and other rich furniture, far beyond what he had ever seen before, which convinced him that she was some great lady. When they had sat down together upon a couch at the bed's feet, she addressed him thus: 

"I am very sure, Andreuccio, you must be under great astonishment both at my tears and embraces, as being unacquainted with me, and perhaps never having heard of me before; but you will now hear what will surprise you more, namely, that I am your sister; and I assure you, that since God has indulged me with the sight of one of my brothers - how I wish I could see them all! - I could die contented this very moment. If you are unacquainted with the particulars of my story, I will relate them. Pietro, my father and yours, as I suppose you must know, lived a long time at Palermo, where he was much respected for his integrity and good-nature, and is so still, by all that knew him. But of all his friends, none loved him so well as my mother, a widow lady, who, notwithstanding the regard due to her father and brothers, as well as to her own honour, cohabited with him, till at length I was born, and am now what you see. Having occasion afterwards to retire from Palermo, and to return to Perugia, he left me there an infant, with my mother, and from that time, as far as I can learn, took no more notice either of me or her; which, were he not ray father, I could blame him for; considering what ingratitude he showed to my mother, to say nothing of the love he owed to me, his child, born to him by no vile prostitute, but by one who, out of her abundant love, had put herself and all her wealth into his hands, without having any farther knowledge of him. Well, well ! - ill actions, done so long since, are easier blamed than amended: yet so it was; he left me, as I said, at Palermo, an infant, where, when I grew up, my mother, who was rich, married me to one of the family of the Gergenti, who, out of regard to me and her, came and lived at Palermo, where, being an ardent Guelph, and having begun to treat with our King Charles, he was discovered by Frederick, King of Arragon, before his scheme could take effect, and was forced to fly from Sicily, at a time when I expected to have been the greatest lady ever known in the island. Taking with us what few effects we could (I call them few, in comparison with the abundance we were possessed of), and leaving our estates and palaces behind us, we came at length to this place, where we found King Charles so grateful, that he has made up to us, in part, the losses we had sustained on his account, giving us lands and houses, and paying my husband, and your kinsman, a pension besides, as you will hereafter see. Thus I live here, where, thanks be to Heaven, and not to you, my dearest brother, I now see you." Having so said, she wept, and tenderly embraced him again. 

Andreuccio, hearing this fable so orderly, so artfully composed, and related without the least faltering or hesitation; remembering, also, that his father had lived at Palermo, and knowing, by his own experience, how prone young fellows are to love; beholding, too, her tears and affectionate caresses, he took all she had said for gospel; and when she had done speaking, he replied: "Madam, it should not seem strange to you that I am surprised; for, in truth, whether it was that my father, for reasons best known to himself, never mentioned you or your mother at any time; or, if he did, that I have forgotten it, I had no more knowledge of you than if you had never been born. Truly it is the more pleasing to me to find a sister here, as I the less expected it, and am also alone: nor is there any man, however high he may be, who would not value you; much more myself, who am but a mean trader. But one thing I beg you would clear up to me, that is - How came you to know that I was here?" "A poor woman," she replied, "whom I often employ, told me so; for she lived, as she informed me, with our father a considerable time, both at Palermo and Perugia; and were it not that it appeared more reputable that you should come to my house, than that I should visit you at another's, I would have come directly to you." She then inquired of him particularly, and by name, how all their relations did; to all which he answered her fully, his belief in her story becoming the stronger in proportion as there was the more reason for suspicion. Their conference having lasted a long time, and the weather being sultry, she ordered some Greek wine and sweetmeats for him; and when he made an offer afterwards to depart, because it was supper-time, she would by no means suffer it; but seeming to be under great concern, she embraced him, and said, "Alas! now I plainly see how little account you make of me; that, being with a sister whom you never saw before, and in her house, which you should always make your home, you should yet think of going to sup at an inn. Indeed you shall sup with me; and though my husband be abroad, which I am much concerned at, I will contrive, as well as a lady may, to pay you some little respect." Not knowing what else to say to this, Andreuccio replied, "I love you as much as it is possible for me to love a sister; but it will be wrong not to go, because they will be expecting me to supper all the evening." "Lord, bless me! " She exclaimed, "have I no one here that I can send to tell them not to expect you? But you would oblige me more, and do as you ought, if you would send to invite your friends hither to supper, and afterwards, if you chose to go, you might all of you go together." Andreuccio would not trouble her that evening, he said, with his companions, but for himself, she might dispose of him as she pleased. She now made a pretence of sending to his inn, to tell them not to expect him to supper, and, after much other discourse, they sat down to a choice and copious repast, which she contrived to protract till it was quite dark. When they rose from table, Andreuccio again wanted to go away; but she would by no means suffer it, for Naples, she declared, was not a place to walk in after dark, especially for a stranger; and she had sent word to the inn that he would sleep as well as sup abroad. Believing this to be true, and glad also of being with his sister, he was easily prevailed upon to stay. After supper, she purposely prolonged the conversation to a late hour in the night, when she left him in her own chamber to take his repose, with a boy to wait upon him, she herself retiring with her women into another room. 

It was very hot weather, on which account Andreuccio, seeing himself alone, stripped to his doublet, and pulling off his breeches, laid them under his bolster. Having occasion to retire, he asked the boy to show him a conveniency; the boy pointed to a comer of the room where there was a door, and desired him to enter it. In he went, without the least suspicion, and setting his foot upon a board, which was not nailed at the other end to the rafter on which it was laid, it flew up, and down they went, board and man together. Heaven was merciful to him, however, for he was not hurt by the fall, though the height was great, but he was horribly daubed with the filth, of which the place was full. That you may better understand this, and what followed, I shall describe the place to you. In a narrow alley, such as you may often see between two houses, on two beams reaching from one house to the other, some boards and a place to sit upon were laid, and it was one of these boards that fell down with him. Finding himself now at the bottom, he called in great distress to the boy; but the latter, the moment he heard him fall, ran off to tell his mistress, who hastened to the chamber to see if Andreuccio's clothes were there. Finding both them and the money, which he, out of a foolish mistrust, always carried about him, and having now got hold of that for the sake of which she had laid this snare, pretending to be of Palermo, and the sister of this Perugian, she took no farther heed of her dear brother, but made the door fast, out of which he passed, when he fell. Andreuccio, finding the boy made no answer, bawled out louder and louder, but to no purpose; and now, beginning to suspect the trick when it was too late, he climbed over a low wall which parted the alley from the street, and went to the door, which he knew full well; there did he knock and shout in vain, for a long time; lamenting much, and seeing plainly his calamity: "Alas! "quoth he, "in how little a time have I lost five hundred florins, and a sister besides!"

After many more wailings, he began again to batter the door, and to bawl so loudly that he roused many of the neighbours out of their beds. Among the rest, one of the courtesan's women, pretending to be half asleep, opened the casement, and called out, "Who's that making such a noise there?" - "Oh! "cried Andreuccio, "don"t you know me? I am Andreuccio, brother to my lady Fiordaliso." "Prithee, honest fellow,” replied the woman, "if thou hast had too much liquor, get thee to bed, and come tomorrow. I know nothing of Andreuccio, nor what thy idle tale means; please to go about thy business, I say again, and let us rest." - "What! 'said he, "don"t you know what I say? you know well enough, if you will; but if our Sicilian relationship be so soon forgotten, give me my clothes which I left with you, and ni go with all my heart." "The man is dreaming," she replied, with a contemptuous laugh, and instantly shut the casement. 

Andreuccio, now too well assured of his misfortune, became outrageous in his sorrow; and, resolving to obtain by force, what he had failed to get by fair words, he took a great stone, and banged at the door harder than ever. Many of the neighbours whom he had waked up, supposing that he was some spiteful fellow, who did this to annoy the woman, and provoked at the intolerable noise he made, called out, one and all (just as dogs in the street all join in barking at a strange cur), "It is a shameful thing to come to a decent woman's house at this time of night, with these idle stories: get away, in God's name, and let us sleep; if thou hast any business with her, òome tomorrow, and do not disturb us now." Encouraged, perhaps, by these last words, a bully in the house, whom Andreuccio had neither seen nor heard of, came to the window, and with a most rough and terrible voice, cried out, "Who is that below?" Andreuccio, looking up at this, beheld an ill-looking rascal, with a great black beardy yawning and rubbing his eyes, as if he was just awaked out of his sleep. He made answer, therefore, not without a good deal of fear, "I am brother to the lady within:" but the other (never waiting to let him make an end of his speech) replied, "I don't know what should stop me from coming down and cudgelling thee as long as thou canst stand, for a troublesome drunken beast as thou art, disturbing everybody's rest in this manner;"and with that he closed the window. 

Hereupon some of the neighbours, who knew more of the fellow's character, called out softly to Andreuccio, "For Heaven's sake, honest man, go away, unless thou hast a mind to lose thy life; it will be much the best for thee." 

Terrified by the bully's voice and aspect, and persuaded by these people, who seemed to speak out of mere good will, the woe-begone Andreuccio now gave up all hopes of recovering his money, and wended his way towards that part of the city whence he had been decoyed by the girl the day before. But unable to endure the scent he carried about him, and purposing to have a good wash in the sea, he turned to the left, through a street called Catalana. He had now reached the higher part of the city, when he saw two people coming towards him with a lantern, and fearing that they were the watch, or some ill-disposed persons, he stepped into an old house that was near, to hide himself. It happened that these people were going into the very same place; and one of them having laid down some iron tools there, which he carried over his shoulder, they began to examine nhem together. While they were talking about them, said one to the other, "There is the most confounded stink here that ever I smelt in my life, what can it be?" Then, turning the lantern this way and that, they spied unfortunate Andreuccio, and, in a good deal of amazement, demanded who he was? He made no answer; and, drawing nearer with the light, they asked what he did there in such a pickle? He then related to them his whole adventure; and they, easily guessing where the thing had happened, said to one another, "This must certainly have been in the house of Scarabon Firebrand." Then, turning towards him: "Honest man," said one of them, "you ought to be very thankful that you fell down, and could not return into the house, for otherwise you would certainly have been murdered as soon as ever you went to sleep, and so have lost your life as well as your money. But what signifies lamenting? You may as soon pluck a star out of the firmament, as recover one farthing; nay, you may chance to be killed, should the man hear that you make any words about it." Having admonished him in this manner, they said, 'see, we have pity on you, and if you will engage with us in a certain affair which we are now about, we are very sure that your share will amount to more than you have lost." Andreuccio, like a desperate man as he was, told them he was willing. 

That day had been buried Signor Philippo Minutolo, Archbishop of Naples, in rich pontifical robes, and with a ruby on his finger worth upwards of five hundred florins of gold. His body they proposed to strip and rifle, and they made known their intention to Andreuccio, who, more covetous than wise, went with them towards the cathedral. As they were going along, he smelt so badly, that one said to the other, "Can we contrive no way to wash this man a little, so as to make him stink less infernally?" "Why not! 'said the other, "we are not far from a well, where there are usually a pully and a great bucket; let us go there, and we may make him clean in an instant." Coming to the well, they found the rope, but the bucket was taken away; they therefore agreed to tie him to the rope, and let him down; and when he had well washed himself, he was to shake the rope, and they would draw him up. Now it happened that, after they had let him down, some of the watch, being thirsty with the heat of the weather and a sharp run they had had after some rogue or another, came to that well to drink, and as soon as the two men saw them, they took to their heels: the watch, however, saw nothing of them. Andreuccio had by this time washed himself thoroughly at the bottom of the well; and the watch having laid down their casques and halberds upon the ground, began to draw up the rope, thinking, from its weight, that the bucket was fastened to it, and full of water. As soon as Andreuccio found himself at the top, he let go the rope, and clung fast to the edge of the well; the watch immediately dropped the rope on seeing him, and ran away, frighted out of their wits, which greatly amazed him; and had he not held fast, he would have fallen to the bottom, and perhaps lost his life. Getting out, however, and beholding their weapons, which he knew belonged not to his companions, he wondered the more; and not knowing what to make of it, he went away without touching anything. As he was walking along, not knowing whither, he met with his companions, who had returned to help him out of the well. Greatly surprised to see him, they asked who had helped him out. He replied, that he could not tell, and related to them the whole affair, and what he had found by the well-side: whereupon, laughing heartily, they acquainted him with the reason of their running away, and who they were that had drawn him up. 

Without wasting more time in words, it being now midnight, the three confederates hastened to the great church, entered without difficulty, and went straight to the archbishop's tomb, which was of marble, and of great size. With their levers they raised up the cover, which was very heavy, so high that a man might go under and prop it; which being done, said one, "Who shall go in?" - "Not I," cried the other. - "Nor I," said the first, "but Andreuccio shall." - "I will not go in," quoth Andreuccio; when they both turned towards him, and said, "What! you won't go in? We will beat your brains out this moment, if you don't." Terrified at their threats, he consented, and being now within, he began to consider with himself in this manner: "These fellows have certainly forced me in here to cheat me, and so when I have given them everything, and am endeavouring to get out again, they will run away, and I shall be left empty handed." Accordingly, he resolved to make sure of his part, beforehand; and, remembering the precious ring he had heard them speak of, as soon as ever he got into the vault, he took it off the archbishop's finger, and secured it. Then he gave his companions the pastoral staif, mitre, and gloves, and after stripping the prelate's body to his shirt, he told them there was nothing else. They insisted that there was a ring, and bade him seek everywhere for it. He assured them that he could find nothing of the sort, and, pretending to look carefully about, he kept them some time waiting for him; at length they, who were fully as cunning as himself, calling to him to search diligently, suddenly drew away the prop which supported the cover, and left him shut up in the vault. You may easily suppose what condition he was in now. Many times did he endeavour with his head and shoulders to raise up the heavy slab, but in vain; till, overcome with grief, he fell down upon the dead body; and whoever had seen them then, could scarcely have said, whether there was more life in the one than the other. When at last he came to himself, bitter were his lamentations, seeing that he was now brought to this dreadful dilemma, that he must either die there with hunger, and the stench of the dead carcase, if no one came to help him out, or be hanged for a thief, should any one happen to find him in that place. 

While he was in this perplexity, he heard the noise of many persons in the church, who, he supposed, were come to do what he and his companions had been about, and this greatly added to his fear; but after they had raised up the lid and propped it, a dispute arose which should go in; and none caring to do it, after a long contest, said a priest: "What are you afraid of.” Do you think he will eat you? Dead men cannot bite; I will go in myself." And immediately resting his belly on the edge of the vault, he attempted to slide down feet foremost; which, Andreuccio perceiving, he stood up and caught fast hold of one of the priest's legs, as if he meant to pull him in. The priest upon this making a most terrible outcry, scrambled out immediately; and the whole party, leaving the vault open in their terror, ran for their lives, as if they had been pursued by a hundred thousand devils. Andreuccio, little expecting this good fortune, got out of the vault, and the church, as quickly as he could. 

Day-light had now begun to appear, and wandering, with the ring on his finger, he knew not whither, he came at last to the sea-side, and found the way leading to his inn. There he met with his companions and his landlord, who had been in pain all that night for him; and having related to them all that had passed, he was advised to get out of Naples with all speed. He instantly complied with that advice, and returned to Perugia, having laid out his money on a ring, whereas the intent of his journey had been to buy horses. 

[The first part of this story has been imitated in many tales and romances, particularly in "Gil Blas” where a deceit, similar to that practised by the Sicilian damsel, has been adopted. One of the tableaux of the Trouveurs, entitled "Borvin de Provins” (Barbazan, iii, 357), is the origin of all those numerous tales in which the unwary are cozened by courtesans assuming the character of lost relations.]