10-2, Ghino di Tacco takes the Abbot of Cligni prisoner

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. 

Alfonso's magnificence having been much applauded, the king, who seemed more particularly pleased with it, laid his next commands upon Eliza, and she immediately said: - For a king to be munificent, and to give proofs of it to a person that had served him, must be allowed to be great and commendable. But what will you say to the wonderful generosity of a clergyman, towards one too that was his enemy; can anything be objected to that? Nothing surely can be said less than this; that if the one was a virtue in a king, the other in a churchman was a perfect prodigy; inasmuch as they are for the most part more sordid than even women, and avowed enemies to every kind of generosity. And although it is natural to desire revenge, they, notwithstanding their preaching up patience, and recommending the forgiveness of injuries to others, pursue it with more rancour than other people. This thing, therefore (I mean the generosity of a certain prelate), will be made appear in the following story. 

Ghino di Tacco was a man famous for his bold and insolent robberies, who being banished from Siena, and at utter enmity with the counts di Santa Fiore, caused the town of Radicofani to rebel against the Church, and lived there, whilst his gang robbed all who passed that way. Now, when Boniface the Eighth was pope, there came to court the abbot of Cligni, reputed to be one of the richest prelates in the world, and having impaired his stomach with high living, he was advised by his physicians to go to the baths of Siena, as a certain cure. Having leave from the pope, the abbot set out with a goodly train of coaches, carriages, horses, and servants, paying no respect to the rumours concerning this robber. Ghino was apprised of his coming, and took his measures accordingly; when, without the loss of a man, he inclosed the abbot and his whole retinue in a narrow defile, whence it was impossible for them to escape. This being done he sent one of his principal fellows to the abbot, with his service, requesting he would do him the favour to alight, and visit him at his castle. The abbot replied, with a great deal of passion, that he had nothing to do with Ghino, but that his resolution was to go on, and he would see who dared stop him. "My lord," quoth the man, with a great deal of humility, "you are now in a place where all excommunications are kicked out of doors, so please to oblige my master in this thing; it will be your best way." 

Whilst they were talking together, the place was soon surrounded with highwaymen, and the abbot, seeing himself a prisoner, went with a great deal of ill-will with the fellow to the castle, followed by his whole retinue, where he dismounted, and was lodged, by Ghino's appointment, in a poor, dark little room, whilst every other person was well accommodated according to his respective station, and the carriages and all the horses taken exact care of. This being done, Ghino went to the abbot, and said, "My lord, Ghino, whose guest you are, requests" the favour of you to let him know whither you are going, and upon what account?" The abbot was wise enough to lay all his haughtiness aside for the present, and satisfied him with regard to both. Ghino went away on hearing this; and having made up his mind that he would cure his lordship without a bath, he ordered a great fire to be kept constantly in his room, coming to him no more till next morning, when he brought him two slices of toasted bread, in a fine napkin, and a large glass of his own rich white wine, saying to him, "My lord, when Ghino was young he studied physic, and he declares that the very best medicine fora pain in the stomach is what he has now provided for you, of which these things are to be the beginning. Then take them, and have a good heart." The abbot, whose hunger was much greater than was his will to joke, ate the bread, though with a great deal of indignation, and drank the glass of wine, after which he began to talk a little arrogantly, asking many questions, and demanding more particularly to see this Ghino. But Ghino passed over part of what he said as vain, and the rest he answered very courteously, declaring that Ghino meant to make him a visit very soon, and then left him. The abbot saw him no more till next morning, when he brought him as much bread and wine as before, and in the same manner. And thus he continued doing many days, till he found the abbot had eaten some dried beans, which he had left purposely in the chamber, when he inquired of him, as from Ghino, how he found his stomach? The abbot replied, "I should be well enough if I were out of this man's clutches. There is nothing I want now so much as to eat, for his medicines have had such an effect upon me, that I am ready to die with hunger." 

Ghino, then, having furnished a room with the abbot's own goods, and provided an elegant entertainment, to which many people of the town were invited, as well as the abbot's own domestics, went the next morning to him, and said, "My lord, now you find yourself recovered, it is time for you to quit this infirmary." So he took him by the hand, and leading him into the chamber, left him there with his own people. Whilst Ghino was away giving orders about the feast, the abbot gave his people an account of the life he had led in that place, they on the other hand declaring that they had been used by Ghino with all possible respect. When the time came, they sat down, and were nobly entertained, but still without Ghino's making himself known. After the abbot had been treated for some days in that manner, Ghino had all the goods and furniture brought into a large room, and the horses were likewise led into a courtyard which was under it. Then he inquired how his lordship now found himself, and whether he was yet able to ride. The abbot made answer, that he was strong enough, and his stomach perfectly well, and that he only wanted to be quit of this man. Ghino then brought him into the room where all his goods were, and leading him also to the window, that he might take a view of his horses, he said, "My lord, you must understand it was no evil disposition, but his being driven a poor exile from his own house, and persecuted by many enemies, that forced Ghino di Tacco, whom you see before you, to be a robber upon the highways, and an enemy to the court of Rome. You seem, however, to be a person of honour; since, therefore, I have cured you of your weakness of stomach, I do not mean to treat you as I would do another person that should fall into my hands, that is, to take what I please; but I would have you consider my necessity, and then give me what you will yourself Here is all that belongs to you; the horses you may see out of the window: take either part or the whole, just as you are disposed, and go or stay, as is most agreeable to you." 

The abbot was surprised to hear a highwayman talk in so courteous a manner which did not a little please him; so, turning all his former passion and resentment into kindness and good-will, he ran with a heart full of friendship to embrace him: "I protest solemnly, that to procure the friendship of such a one as I take you to be» I would undergo more than what you have already made me suffer. Cursed be that evil fortune which has thrown you into this way of life! " So taking only a few of his most necessary things, and also of his horses, and leaving all the rest, he came back to Rome. 

The pope had heard of the abbot's being a prisoner, and though he was much concerned at it, yet upon seeing him, he inquired what benefit he had received from the baths? The abbot replied, with a smile, "Holy father, I found a physician much nearer, who has cured me exceedingly well," and he told him the manner of it, which made the pope laugh heartily. Then, going on with his story, and moved by a truly generous spirit, he requested of his holiness one favour. The pope, imagining he would ask something else, freely consented to grant it. Then said the abbot, "Holy father, what I have to ask is, that you would bestow a free pardon on Ghino di Tacco, my doctor, because, of all the people of worth that I ever met with, he certainly is most to be esteemed, and the damage he does is more the fault of fortune than himself. Change but his condition, and give him something to live upon, according to his rank and station, and I dare say you will have the same opinion of him that I have." The pope, being of a noble spirit, and a great encourager of merit, promised to do so, if he was such a person as the abbot reported, and, in the meantime, gave letters of safe conduct for his coming hither. Upon that assurance, Ghino came to court, when the pope was soon convinced of his worth, and reconciled to him, giving him the priory of an hospital, and creating him a knight. And there he continued as a friend and loyal servant to the holy church, and to the abbot of Cligni, as long as he lived. 

8-4, provost, church, Fiesole, Ciutazza

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. 

Eliza's novel was ended, when the queen, without delay, turned to Emilia, who began in this manner: - It will appear from our preceding novels, that priests, friars, and the rest of the clergy, have contributed their full share to our diversion: but as so much can hardly be said, but something may be added, I shall, therefore, tell you a story of a certain provost, who had a mind to make a lady love him, whether she would or not, and who was accordingly treated by her as he deserved. 

Fiesole, the summit whereof you may descry from this place, was once a great and ancient city, and, though now in ruins, had always its bishop, and so it has still. Near the cathedral, in a little house of her own, a widow lady, named Ricarda, resided for the greatest part of the year, with two of her brothers, both very worthy gentlemen. Now, as she went constantly to church, it happened that the provost fell so much in love with her, that he was never easy but in her company; and in process of time he had the assurance to speak to her, entreating her to regard him with the same tender feelings he entertained for her. This provost was somewhat ancient, but yet of a juvenile disposition: he was so proud also and haughty, and did everything with so ill a grace, that he was disagreeable to all the world. The lady, in particular, was so far from loving him that she hated him worse than the megrims; wherefore, she very prudently replied, “sir, I am much obliged to you for your gracious assurance that you love me, but such love as may and ought to subsist between us should never have anything disreputable in it. You are my spiritual father, a priest also, and in years; all which considerations should inspire you with different sentiments: on the other hand, I am no girl, being, as you see, in my widowhood, and, therefore, more discretion will be expected from me; for which reason I must beg your pardon, being resolved neither to love you nor be loved by you, in the way you propose." The provost, no way daunted by one denial, ceased not his solicitations, as well by letters as by word of mouth, every time he saw her at church; till growing weary of his impertinence, she resolved to rid herself of him in such a manner as he deserved, since she saw there was no other way; but yet she would do nothing without first consulting her brothers. Letting them know, therefore, the provost's design upon her, and what she meant to do, and having free leave from them, she went in a few days to church as usual. 

When the provost saw her come in, he went familiarly to meet her, and she receiving him with an open countenance, walked purposely apart with him, and heaving a deep sigh, said, "I have often heard, sir, that there is no fort so strong but it may be taken, which I now find to be my own case, for you have so beset me with complaisance and love, that I have been forced to break my resolution, and am now dis- posed to be at your service." He replied, with a great deal of joy, "Madam, I hold myself much obliged to you, and, to tell you the truth, I have often wondered how you could hold out so long, especially as I have never met with anything like it before. Nay, I have said, that if women were made of silver, they would not be worth a farthing, because there is none of them would be able to stand the test. But tell me, when can we be together?" She replied, “sweet sir, it may be whenever you please, as I have no husband to inquire after me at nights; but I cannot think of a place." - "How so? why not in your own house?" - "sir," she made answer, "you know I have two brothers, who have company most evenings, and our house is very small, so that it is impossible for you to come there, unless you could submit to be like a dumb person, and in the dark also: if you will consent to that it may be done, because they never come into my chamber; but yet theirs is so near to mine that the least whisper is soon heard." - "Madam," quoth he, "never mind it for one or two nights,, till I can think of some more convenient place." - "Just as you please, sir , but I beg of you that it may be a secret." -"Madam, make no doubt of that: but, if possible, let it be this evening." - "With all my heart," said she; and directing him how and when he was to come, she left him, and went home. 

Now, the lady had a maid not over young, and the ugliest creature that ever was born; for she had a flat nose, a wry mouth, great thick lips, long black teeth, sore eyes, with a green and yellow complexion, like a mulatto; besides all this, she was both lame and crooked, and her name was Ciuta, but, having such a miserable countenance of her own, she was called, by way of derision, Ciutazza (i. e. Trull); but with all her ugliness she was not without a spice of roguish humour. This maid the widow called to her, and said, "Ciutazza, if thou wilt do a little job for me, I will give thee a new gown." - " Madam," quoth she, "give it me, and I will go through fire and water to serve you." - "I mean," said the lady, "to have thee sleep with a man this night in my bed; caress him, and make much of him, but be sure not to speak a word, for fear my brothers should hear thee in the next room; and in the morning thou shalt have the gown." 

- "To oblige you, Madam," said Ciutazza, "I would sleep with half a dozen." And so in the evening the provost came, according to agreement, whilst the lady's brothers were in their own room, as she had directed, where they took care that he should hear them; and the provost went silently into her chamber in the dark, as did also Ciutazza, and to bed they went. 

As soon as this was done, the lady told her brothers, and left them to do the rest, as they had before resolved. Accordingly they went secretly to the piazza, when fortune was more favourable to their design than they could have expected, for they met the bishop coming to their house to pay them a visit. They turned back with him, and as it was in the summer they showed him into a little court, lit up with flambeaux. There, as they sat together over some choice wine, one of the young gentlemen said, "My lord, since you have so kindly deigned, of your own accord, to visit our little dwelling, to which we were going to invite you, we beg you would please to see a curiosity which we have ready to show you." The bishop consented, and one of them, taking a light, led the way, followed by the bishop and all the rest, into the chamber where the provost and Ciutazza were in bed, when they found them asleep in each other's arms. The provost awoke upon this, ashamed and frightened to death, and hid his head under the bed-clothes, whilst the bishop reprimanded him severely, and made him put his head out, that he might see whom he had got in bed with him. Then indeed, finding how the lady had served him, and being sensible of the utter shame he had incurred, the provost was the most miserable man alive. Having put on his clothes again, by the bishop's order, he was sent under guard to his own house, to undergo a penance equal to his crime. The bishop then desired to know how the aflair had happened, and they related every particular, on which he highly commended both the lady and her brothers, who, rather than imbrue their hands in a clergyman's blood, had dealt with him according to his merits, in a different manner. He ordered him, therefore, a penance of forty days, but love and disdain made him mourn nine days more; and, for a long time after, he could never go along the street, but the boys would point at him, and say, "There goes the priest that lay with Ciutazza;" which was such a mortification, that he became almost distracted. Thus the good and prudent lady freed herself from the provost's importunities, and Ciutazza got a new gown and a night's diversion. 

3-4 Felix, scholar, Puccio

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. 

When Filomena had finished her story, which was much commended by Dioneo, the queen, casting her eyes on Pamfìlo, said: "Continue this amusement by some agreeable story." He replied, that he was very willing, and began thus: 

- Some people there are, who, whilst they endeavour to get to heaven themselves, inadvertently send others thither, which was the case of a neighbour of ours, as you shall hear. Near to St. Brancazio, as I am informed, there lived an honest man, and one of good substance, whose name was Puccio di Rineri, who, being spritually (spiritually) minded, and having much converse with the Franciscans, was usually called Friar Puccio. 

This man, I say, regarding only his religious affairs, and having no family besides a wife and a maid-servant, used constantly to be at church, spending his whole time in saying Pater Nosters, hearing sermons, and going to masses; and for fasting, and all kinds of holy discipline, he was as devout as the best. What with his devotion, and perhaps his age, his wife, whose name was Isabella, a lady of about twenty-eight years of age, as fresh and fair and plump as an apple, had a great deal more fasting than she thought good for her, and many a time would gladly have been asleep or otherwise employed, when he was recounting to her the holy life of our Lord, the preachings of Father Anastasius, the lamentations of Mary Magdalen, and so forth. 

Now at that time there returned from Paris a monk belonging to he convent of St. Brancazio, a comely young man, of good parts and learning, with whom our Puccio contracted an acquaintance; and as he was able to solve all his scruples, and appeared to be very religious, Friar Puccio would frequently invite him to his house, both to dine and sup, whilst his wife shewed him great civility on her husband's account. 

Coming often to the house in this manner, he soon cast his eye upon Puccio's wife, and perceiving that he was nowise disagreeable to her, he took the first opportunity of making a discovery of his inclinations; but, though he found her disposed to compliance, he could in no way contrive the means, for she would go nowhere out of her own house, and there it could not be, for Puccio was never far from home, which threw the young monk into a kind of despair. At last it came into his head how the thing might be carried on in the house, without any suspicion, though the husband was there all the time. Being one day alone with Puccio, he began in this manner: "I understand. Brother Puccio, that all your desire is to become holy, but it seems to me as if you took quite a round-about way, whilst there is a much shorter path, which the pope and the other great prelates know and follow, yet they are unwilling it should be divulged, for the sake of the clergy, because they live chiefly on the charities of the people, who in that case would have no further need to give them alms. Now as you are my friend, and have entertained me well at your house, if I thought you would tell nobody, and would practise this way I am speaking of, I would reveal it to you." Puccio was extremely impatient to know the secret swearing, by all that was sacred, never to divulge it without the monk's consent, and promising, if possible, to observe it; "As you make this promise," quoth the other, "I will tell you." "You must understand, then, that the holy doctors of the church maintain, that penance in the manner I am going to lay down, is necessary to saintly beatitude. But take notice, I do not say that, after this penance, you will be no more capable of sinning. No; but all the sins committed before that time will be forgiven, and the sins committed afterwards will not be numbered to your damnation; but you may wash them away with holy water, as now you may do by venial sins. A man, then, must begin this penance by a strict confession of all his sins; after which fasting and abstinence are necessary for forty days; during which space you must refrain, not to say from women only, but even from your own wife. Besides this, you must have some place in your own house where you may look towards heaven all night long. Thither you are to go in the evening, and there you must have a very large table fixed in such a manner, that, as you stand upon your feet, the small of your back may lean upon it, whilst your arms are extended like a crucifix; and if you can make them reach to any peg of wood, so much the better. In this manner you are to gaze towards heaven, without altering your posture till the morning. If you had been a scholar, you should have repeated some prayers which I would have taught you; but as you are not, you must say three hundred Pater Nosters, with as many Ave Marias, in honour of the Trinity; and, fixing your eyes upon heaven, you are still to remember God, the Creator of heaven and earth, and to bear in mind Christ's passion, standing in the manner that he was nailed to the cross; and, when the bell sounds in the morning, you may throw yourself upon your bed to sleep. You must afterwards go to church, and hear three masses at least, and say fifty Pater Nosters, and the like number of Ave Marias; and when this is done, you may go fairly and honestly about any business you may have to do; afterwards get your dinner, and be at church in the evening, where you must say a few prayers which I shall give you in writing, without which all would signify nothing; and in the evening return as before. If you follow this method, as I have formerly done, I hope, before the expiration of your penance, that you will perceive wonderful things of the eternal beatitudes; supposing, at the same time, that you are thoroughly devout." 

Friar Puccio replied: "This is no such long and grievous affair, and with God's permission I will begin next Sunday;" and leaving his friend, he went and related the whole to his wife. She knew well enough what the monk meant by that standing still in one spot till the morning, and thinking it a very good plan, she told her husband that she was satisfied with that, or anything else that he should do for the good of his soul; and, to render his penance more effectual, she meant to keep him company with fasting, but with nothing else. So far they were agreed: and when Sunday came, he entered upon his course, whilst the monk came every evening to sup with her, bringing with him plenty of meat and drink, and he stayed with her always till morning, when it was Puccio's time to come to bed. 

Now the room he had fixed upon for his penance was next to that where the lady lay, and divided from it only by a very thin partition. One night, when he had just got through a hundred of his Pater Nosters, he heard a noise in the next room; and, making a full stop, he called out to his wife, to know what she was doing. The lady, who was full heartily, as well she might; "have not I heard you say a thousand times that there is no resting in bed with an empty stomach?" Poor Puccio imagined that her not sleeping was really occasioned by her going to bed without her supper, and said to her, in the simplicity of his heart, "I told you, my dear, not to fast; but since you would do it, even try and rest as well as you can: you make the very floor shake under my feet." - "Never mind: attend to what you are about, and I will do as well as I can." Puccio said no more, but resumed his Pater Nosters. 

After that night the lady and the monk found out another part of the house, where they diverted themselves as long as the penance lasted. In the morning, when the monk was gone, Isabella used to return to her own bed, before her husband came to lie down. Things continuing in this way during the time that Puccio was qualifying himself for saintship, Isabella often said to the roguish monk, "Is it not a good joke, that you have put Puccio upon a penance by which we have gained paradise?" She liked it, indeed, so well, and was so fond of the good cheer supplied her by the monk, after the long time she had been kept on low diet by her husband, that even when the forty days of penance were out she found means to meet the monk elsewhere, and feast with him without stint. Thus I have made good the truth of what I said at the beginning of my story, for you see that whilst poor Friar Puccio thought of winning paradise by his hard penance, he only opened its doors to his wife and to the monk who had shown him the short cut thither.