10-5, Dianora, Ansaldo, garden, January

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. 

Signor Gentil having been extolled to the very skies by the whole assembly, the king ordered Emilia to follow; and immediately, as though she were desirous of speaking, she began in this manner: - There is no one but must allow that Signor Gentil did a very noble action, but to say that nothing greater could be done, is saying too much, as I shall show in a very short novel. 

In the country of Frioli, which, though very cold, is yet beautified with many pleasant mountains, fine rivers and crystal springs, is a place called Udine, where lived a worthy lady, named Dianora, the wife of a very agreeable man, and one of great wealth, called Gilberto. Now she had taken the fancy of a great and noble lord, called Ansaldo, one of extraordinary generosity and prowess, and known all over the country, who used frequently to solicit her with messages and offers of love, but in vain. At length, being quite wearied with his importunities, and seeing that he still persisted, notwithstanding her repeated denials, she resolved to rid herself of him by a novel, and, as she thought, impossible demand. So she said to his emissary one day, "Good woman, you have often told me that Ansaldo loves me beyond all the world, and have offered me great presents on his part, which he may keep to himself, for I shall never be prevailed upon to a compliance in that manner. Could I be assured, indeed, that his love is really such as you say, then I should certainly be brought to return it: therefore, if he will convince me of that by a proof which I shall require, I will instantly be at his service." - "What is it, then," quoth the good woman, "that you desire him to do." - "It is this," she replied: "I would have a garden in the month of January, which is now coming on, as full of green herbs, flowers, and trees laden with fruit, as though it were the month of May: unless he does this for me, charge him to trouble me no more, for I will instantly complain to my husband, and all my friends." 

Ansaldo being made acquainted with this demand, which seemed an impossibility, and knowing that it was contrived on purpose to deprive him of all hopes of success, resolved yet to try all possible means in such a case, sending to every part of the world to find out a person able to assist him. At length he met with a magician, who would undertake it for a large sum of money; and having agreed upon a price, he waited impatiently for the time of its being done. On the night of the first of January, therefore, the cold being extreme, and everything covered with snow, this wise man so employed his art in a meadow near to the city, that in the morning there appeared there one of the finest gardens that ever was seen, filled with all kinds of herbs, flowers, trees, and fruits. Ansaldo beheld this marvellous creation with infinite pleasure, and picking some of the fairest fruit and flowers, he sent them privately to the lady, inviting her to come and see the garden which she had required, that she might be convinced of his love and fulfil the promise she had made, as became a woman of her word. The lady, seeing the flowers and fruits present, and having already heard from many people of this wonderful garden, began to repent of what she had done. But with all this repentance, being still desirous of seeing strange sights, she went thither with many more ladies, and having highly commended it, returned home very sorrowful, thinking of her engagement. Her trouble was too great to be concealed or dissembled, so that her husband at last perceived it, and demanded the reason. For some time she was ashamed to speak, but being constrained at last, she related the whole thing. Gilberto was greatly incensed about it, till, considering the upright intention of his lady in the affair, he began to be somewhat pacified, and said, "Dianora, it is not the act of a wise and virtuous lady to receive any messages, or make any conditions in regard to her chastity. Words have a more ready admittance to the heart than many people imagine, and with lovers nothing is impossible. You were highly to blame first to listen, and afterwards to covenant; but, as I know the purity of your intention, and to free you from your engagement, I will grant what nobody else would do in such a case. For fear of this necromancer, who, by Ansaldo's instigation, may do us some mischief if you disappoint him, I consent that you go to Ansaldo, and if you can by any means get quit of that tie with safety to your honour, that you endeavour to do so; otherwise that you comply indeed, though your will be chaste and pure." The poor lady wept bitterly, and showed great reluctance, but he insisted upon her doing as he said. So, early in the morning, without any great care to make herself fine, she went with her woman and two men-servants to Ansaldo's house. He was greatly surprised at hearing the lady was there, and said to the wise man, "You shall now see the effect of your skill. So he went to meet her, and showed her into a handsome room, where there was a great fire, and after they had sat down, "Madam," he said, "I beg, if the long regard I have had for you merit any reward, that you would please to tell me why you come here at this time, and thus attended." She blushed, and replied, with eyes full of tears, "sir, it is neither from love, nor from regard to my promise, but merely by my husband's order, who, showing more respect to the labours of your inordinate love than to his honour and mine, has forced me to come hither; therefore, as it is his command, I submit to your pleasure." If Ansaldo was surprised at the sight of the lady, he was now much more so at hearing her talk thus; and, being moved with Gilberto's generosity, his love was changed into compassion. "Madam," he said, "Heaven forbid that I should ever take away the honour of a person who has showed such pity for my love: therefore, you are as safe with me, as if you were my sister, and you may depart, when it seems good to you, upon condition that you tender your husband, in my name, those thanks which you think are due to his great generosity, requesting him, for the time to come, to esteem me always as his brother and faithful servant." The lady, overjoyed with this, replied, "All the world, sir, could never make me believe, when I consider your character, that anything could have happened on my coming hither, otherwise that it has now done; for which I shall always be profoundly grateful to you." She then took her leave, returned to her husband, and told him what had happened, and this proved the occasion of a strict friendship ever after between him and Ansaldo. 

The necromancer now being about to receive his reward, and having observed Gilberto's generosity to Ansaldo, and that of Ansaldo to the lady, said, "As Gilberto has been so liberal of his honour, and you of your love, you shall give me leave to be the same with regard to my pay: knowing it then to be worthily employed, I design it shall be yours." 

Ansaldo was ashamed, and pressed him to take all or part, but in vain. On the third day, the necromancer having made his garden vanish, and being ready to depart, Ansaldo thankfully dismissed him, having extinguished his inordinate desires, purely from a principle of honour. What say you now, ladies? Shall we prefer the dead lady, and the love of Gentil, grown cold, as destitute of all hope, to the liberality of Ansaldo, who loved more than ever, and who was fired with the greater expectation, since the prey so long pursued was then in his power? It seems to me mere folly to compare the generosity of Gentil with that of Ansaldo. 

[Manni observes, that this novel was probably founded on a story current in the age of Boccaccio (and subsequently mentioned by Torthemus), concerning a Jew physician, who, in the year 876, in the middle of winter, caused by enchantment a garden, with trees and flowers in bloom, to appear before a numerous and splendid company. The story, however, of Dianora, as well as the fourth of the present day, had formerly been told by Boccaccio himself, in the fifth book of his "Filocopo," which is an account of the loves of Flores and Biancafior. This story of Boccaccio is the origin of the "Frankelein's Tale," of Chaucer, in which the circumstances are precisely the same as in the "Decameron," except that the impossible thing required by the lady is, that her lover should remove the rocks from the coast of Brittany: a similar tale, however, according to Tyrwhitt, occurs in an old Breton lay, from which he conceives the incidents may have come immediately to the English poet. Boccaccio's story is unquestionably the origin of a story which occupies the whole of the twelfth canto of "Orlando Innamorato," and is related by a lady to Rinaldo, while he escorts her on a journey.] 

7-7, Lodovico being in love with Beatrice

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 meantime and he afterwards goes into the garden and beats the husband. 

Isabella's quick and lucky thought was admired by the whole company, when Filomena began, by the king's command, to this effect: - You must understand, that at Paris dwelt a certain gentleman, a Florentine, who, being a little reduced, was forced to go into trade, by which he acquired a great deal of wealth. He had only one son, named Lodovico, who, haying regard to the nobility of his father, more than to anything of business, was, instead of being brought up in a warehouse, sent, with some other young noblemen, into the service of the king of France, where he acquired all the accomplishments that belonged to a fine gentleman. Being one day in company with certain knights, who were just returned from the Holy Land, and talking of beauties in England, France, and other countries, one of them declared, that, in all parts of the world, of all the women that ever he saw, he never met with any to come up to Beatrice, the wife of Egano de' Galluzzi, of Bologna; to which his companions, who had been with him there, agreed. 

Lodovico, on hearing this, was possessed with such a desire to see her, that he could think of nothing else; and designing to go and make some stay there, if she proved to his liking, he pretended to his father that he had an inclination to go to the Holy Land, and obtained his very reluctant consent. Changing his name then to Anichino, he came to Bologna; and, as fortune would have it, saw Beatrice at her window the very next day, when he found her beauty to exceed even his warmest imagination, and, being quite enamoured, he resolved not to depart from Bologna till he had obtained his desire. Pondering, therefore, which was the most likely way to succeed, he supposed, that if he could but get to be a servant to the husband, he might probably carry his point. Accordingly, he sold his horses, and disposing of his servants, with orders never to take notice of him, he told his landlord, that he should be glad to get into the service of some person of distinction, if such a place could be met with. The landlord replied, "You are just such a person as would suit a gentleman here, called Egano, who has a great number of servants, and will always have well-looking, genteel people about him, like yourself: I will speak to him for you." This he did, and Anichino was immediately taken into the family, greatly to his satisfaction. Continuing then with Egano, where he had daily opportunities of seeing the lady, he gained so far upon him by his "good behaviour, that Egano could do nothing without him, and made him sole director of all his affairs. 

One day it happened, as Egano was gone out fowling, and left him behind, that Beatrice (who as yet knew nothing of his love, but had always commended his most engaging behaviour) made him sit down with her at chess, and Anichino, as it was his whole desire to please her, contrived to let her win, with which she was vastly delighted. - At length, all the women being gone out of the room, and they left by themselves, he heaved a deep sigh. She looked, and said, "What is the matter with you, Anichino? Are you uneasy because I win?" - "Madam," he replied, "it is a thing of more consequence which occasioned that sigh." - "Then, by the re- gard you have for me," quoth she, "I conjure you to tell it me." When Anichino saw himself entreated by his love for her, whom he valued beyond all the world, he gave a greater sigh than before. She desired again to know the reason. "Madam," he replied, "I am extremely afraid lest I should offend you by so doing; I doubt also if you would not speak of it to some other person." She made answer, " Be assured I shall not be offended; nor shall I ever speak of it again, unless you give me leave." - "Then," said he, "as I have your promise, I will reveal it." And he told her, with tears in his eyes, who he was; what he had heard of her, and where; and how he came to be a servant to her husband. He entreated her, in the most humble manner, to have pity on him, and accept of this secret offer of his love; or, if that was too great a favour for him to expect, that he might continue in the same condition as before; and that she would be pleased only to let him admire her. O! how singularly sweet are these Bolognian dispositions! In cases of this sort how worthy of praise! They delight not in people's tears and sighs; but, to soft and amorous entreaties, they are ever easy of access. Were I able to give them their due praise, my voice should never faint on so agreeable a subject. The lady had her eyes fixed upon him all the time he was speaking, and giving credit to his words, she began to conceive the same passion in her heart for him. "Anichino," she replied, "be of good cheer; you have effected in a moment (the small time only that you have been speaking), that which all the lords and gentlemen, who have been daily soliciting me, could never bring to pass: so that now I am more yours than my own. You have deserved my love, and you shall have it: come, therefore, to my chamber about midnight." Upon this they parted, and he waited with great impatience for night. 

Egano was now returned from fowling, and, being weary, went, as soon as he had supped, to bed, and the lady with him, leaving the door open, as she had promised. At the time appointed, Anichino went into the bed-chamber, and shutting the door again, he stepped gently to the lady's side of the bed, when, laying his hand upon her breast, he found she was awake. Instantly she seized it with both hers, and Keld him strongly, turning herself in bed at the same time, till she made her husband wake, when she said to him, "My dear, I would say nothing to you last night, because you seemed to be weary; but tell me, which of your servants do you believe to be the most faithful, and respect the most?"

Egano replied, "What a strange question this is! Do not you know that I never loved, and put such confidence in any servant, as I now do in Anichino? But why do you want to be informed?" Anichino, perceiving Egano to be awake, and hearing them talk together, endeavoured several times to draw his hand away, and get out of the room, imagining that she had put a trick upon him; but she held him so fast, that he could not. She then replied to Egano, saying, "I will tell you: I once thought as you do, and that he was the most trusty person about you, but I was mistaken; for he had the assurance, after you were gone out yesterday, to make an offer of his love to me; whilst I, to give you manifest proof of the fact, seemed to consent, and appointed to meet him this night under the pine-tree, in the garden. Now my intention was never to go thither; but if you have a mind to be convinced of his villainy, you need only slip on one of my petticoats, and put a veil over your head, and I am sure you will find him." - "Then," quoth he, "most certainly will I go." Rising, therefore, and disguising himself in that manner, as well as he could in the dark, he went into the garden to wait for Anichino. As soon as he was gone out, she rose also, and made fast the door. Anichino, who had been in the most horrible fear, and had endeavoured all he could to get from her, cursing both her and her love a thousand times over, and himself likewise, for giving credit to her, now at last finding out what was her design, was the happiest man imaginable. 

At length, when she thought he had been as long with her as it was safe for him to stay, she said, "I beg of you to take a cudgel, and go into the garden; and, pretending as if this was done only to make trial of my virtue, give him some hard language, as though you meant it for myself, and cudgel him soundly." Accordingly he rose, took a good stick with him and went into the garden, where Egano, seeing him come towards the pine-tree, hastened with a great deal of seeming pleasure to meet him. Then said Anichino, "What! you wicked woman, are you come? and could you think I would do such a thing by my master? I will make you repent your baseness." And lifting up his cudgel, he laid on to some purpose. - Egano, at these words, and feeling the blows, took to his heels, without speaking a word, whilst Anichino was close after him, crying out, "Away, you vile creature! depend upon it, my master shall know all tomorrow." 

Egano having sustained all this drubbing, returned at last to his chamber, when the lady said to him, " Well! did Anichino come into the garden?"Egano replied, "Would to God he had stayed away! for, besides all the foul language that could be used to any woman, he has almost broken every bone in my skin. I wondered indeed that he of all men should have addressed you in the way you told me, with intent to dishonour me; but, as he saw you of such a free, cheerful temper, he had a mind, no doubt, to make a trial of you." - "Then, thank Heaven," quoth she, "he proved me with words, and you with deeds. But, I believe, he may say that I bore the words better than you did the deeds: as he has showed himself so faithful, therefore, to you, you will regard him accordingly." - "Most certainly," said Egano: and from that time he concluded he had the most virtuous wife and the honestest servant of any man in the world. On which account (though Anichino and she often laughed together at the thing) they had an opportunity of gratifying their desires with the less suspicion (which could not have been done so well without such a stratagem) all the time Anichino thought fìt to stay with Egano at Bologna. 

[The incidents of this novel are amusing enough, but it does not appear that there was any necessity for the lovers to have had recourse to such intricate and perilous expedients. This tale has been copied by Ser. Giovanni, in the second and third day of his "Pecorone," and has given rise to that part of an old English comedy of the 17th century, called the "City Night Cap,” by John Davenport, which relates to Francisco's intrigue with Dorothea, the wife of Ludovico. It is the "Mari cocu, battu et content," of La Fontaine.] 

4-7, Pasquino , Simona, garden, leaf of sage

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 dies. 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. 

Pamfilo had finished his novel, when the king, seeming to be under no concern for Andrevuola, turned to Emilia, and desired her to begin, which she did accordingly in this manner: - Pamfilo's story puts me in mind of another, which is only like it in this respect, that, as Andrevuola lost her lover in a garden, so she of whom I am going to speak, was taken up in the same manner, as Andrevuola was, and delivered from the hands of justice, neither by force nor virtue, but by unexpected death. And though we have said before, that love makes his habitation in the houses of great people, yet does he not disown all influence over the poorer sort. On the contrary, all powerful as he is, he shows his power over them, as well as over the rich, as will appear in a great measure from my novel, which brings me back again to our city, whence we have so far strayed to talk of other subjects that have happened in different parts of the world. 

There lived not long since at Florence, a young woman, agreeable enough, for her rank in life, but descended of mean parents, whose name was Simona; and though she earned her bread by spinning, yet she was not beneath the passion of love, with which she was inspired by the pleasing conversation and behaviour of a young man of the same condition as herself, who used to bring her wool to spin for his master, a clothier. From this youth, whose name was Pasquino, she received the amorous flame, ever wishing, but not expecting anything farther; whilst still, as her wheel went round, she sent forth a thousand sighs, calling him then to mind who had brought her the wool. He, on the other hand, being desirous that his master's work should be well done, used to call oftener upon Simona than upon any one else, as if her spinning was to make up the whole piece; whence the one continuing to solicit, and the other desiring to be solicited, it happened, that the first began to assume more courage than he used to have, and the second lost a good deal of her fear and bashfulness, so that they seemed at last to have come to a tolerable understanding. 

This mutual good will of theirs continuing for some lime, and every day increasing, he said to her one day, that he desired of all things to meet her in a certain garden, where 

they might talk together with greater freedom and less suspicion. She assured him that she was willing; and telling her father, one Sunday after dinner, that she was going for a pardon to St. Gallo, she went along with a companion of hers, called Lagina, to the place appointed. There she found Pasquino with a friend of his, named Puccino, though-more usually called Stramba. Stramba and Lagina soon became acquainted, and each drew to one end of the garden, whilst Pasquino and Simona were at the other. In that part where this couple was, grew a large bush of sage, near which they seated themselves, and having talked about a feast, which they intended to have some holiday in that garden, he plucked a leaf of the sage, and began to rub his teeth and gums with it, saying, that nothing cleansed the teeth better after eating than sage; and when he had done, he returned to his former subject of the feast, when immediately he began to change countenance, his sight and speech both failed him, and he suddenly expired. 

When Simona saw this she began to lament, and scream for help to the other two, who instantly ran up, and seeing him not only swollen, but full of black spots, Stramba immediately cried out, "Oh! thou vile woman, thou hast poisoned him." He made such an uproar, that he was heard by many of the neighbours, who flocked thither, and finding the man dead and swollen, and hearing Stramba lament and accuse Simona of 

his death, whilst grief for the loss of her lover, and astonishment together, had so confounded her, that she scarcely made any defence, they supposed it was as he said. Upon this the poor creature was carried before a magistrate; when Stramba, and two other friends of Pasquino, being her accusers, the judge took immediate cognizance of the case, and not being able to see any malicious intent in Simona, or that she was in the least guilty, he wished to view the dead body, as well as the place and manner of the occurrence, because there were some things which he could not well understand from her account. Coming, then, without any great bustle to the garden, where Pasquino's body lay puffed up like a tun, the judge was surprised, and inquired particularly how it happened. Simona went to the bush of sage, and having related the whole affair, that he might have a perfect account, rubbed her teeth with a leaf, as Pasquino had done. Stramba and the rest looked upon this as a frivolous and vain pretence, and called out violently to the judge to have her burnt for her wickedness; whilst she (miserable wretch!) grieved for the loss of her lover, and terrified to death with their threats, having rubbed her teeth with the same sage that he had used, dropped down dead in a similar manner, to the wonder of them all.

Happy souls! to end both their loves and their lives on the same day. More happy still, if they went together to the same place! Happiest, if they love one another as much in the other world as here! But happiest of all, at least in our judgment, is the soul of Simona, whose innocence fortune would not leave at the mercy of such witnesses, and therefore found a way, by her dying the same death with her lover, for her to escape their slander, and to follow the soul of her beloved Pasquino. The judge was lost in amazement at this accident, as well as the rest of the company; and upon recollecting himself at last, he said, "This sage is plainly venomous; therefore, that nobody else may suffer by it, let it be cut up by the roots, and burnt." This was done by the gardener in his presence, when the cause of the lovers' deaths plainly appeared. Under the sage was a monstrous overgrown toad, with whose breath it was judged to be infected. And none being hardy enough to go near it, they made a circle of stubble round it, and burnt it along with the sage. So ended the process upon the death of poor Pasquino, whose body, as well as that of Simona, was interred by Stramba and the rest of the people present, in St. Paul's church, to which parish they were said to belong.