THE THIRD DAY. NOVEL I. Masetto da Lamporecchio

THE THIRD DAY.

The rising sun had now changed the complexion of the morning from scarlet to yellow, when the queen rose on Monday, and had all her company called up. The master of the household had long before sent many things that were necessary, as also people to do whatever was required: and seeing the queen now upon the march, he had everything else packed up, and removed bag and baggage; the ladies and gentlemen following behind. The queen marched on with an easy pace, attended by her ladies and the three gentlemen, and conducted by the music of nightingales and other tuneful birds, along a path not much frequented, but enamelled with various flowers, which began to open their bosoms to the ascending sun; and, directing her course full west, chatting merrily with her company all the way, in a little more than two miles she brought them to a most beautiful palace, seated upon an eminence in the middle of a large plain. When they had entered, and had seen the great hall and the chambers, most elegantly fitted up, and furnished with everything that was proper, they greatly extolled it, judging its lord to be truly a magnificent person. Going afterwards below stairs, and observing the spacious and pleasant court, the cellars stored with the richest wines, and delicate springs of water everywhere running, they commended it yet more. Thence they went to rest themselves in an open gallery (which overlooked the court) set out with all the flowers of the season; whither the master of the household brought wine and sweetmeats for their refreshment. 

They were now shown into the garden, which was on one side of the palace, and walled round about. It seemed so full of beauties at their first entrance, that they were the more attentive in viewing every part. All round and through the midst of it were broad straight walks flanked with vines, which seemed to promise a plenteous vintage; and being all in blossom, they gave so delicious a scent, joined with other flowers then blowing in the garden, that they thought themselves amongst the spiceries of the east. The sides of these walks were closed with white and red roses and jessamine, in such a manner as to exclude the morning and even the mid-day sun. What was the variety of plants, and how elegantly disposed, it would be needles to mention, since there was nothing belonging to our climate which was not there in great abundance. In the middle of this garden, what seemed more delightful than anything else, was a plot of ground like a meadow; the grass of a deep green, spangled with a thousand different flowers, and set round with orange and cedar trees, whose branches were stored with ripe fruit and blossoms, at the same time affording a most pleasing object to the eye, as well as a grateful odour to the smell. In the centre of this meadow was a fountain of white marble, beautifully carved; and (whether by a natural or artificial spring I know not) from a figure standing on a column in the midst of the fountain, a jet of water spouted up, which made a most agreeable sound in its fall: the water which came thence ran through the meadow by a secret passage; when, being received into canals, it appeared again, and was carried to every part of the garden, uniting in one stream at its going out, and falling with such force into the plain, as to turn two mills before it got thither. The sight of this garden, its form and contrivance, with the fountains and the spring proceeding from it, pleased the gentlemen and ladies so much, that they spared not to say that if there was a paradise on earth, it could be in no other form, nor was it possible to add anything to it. While they were walking about, therefore, diverting themselves with weaving chaplets of flowers, and listening to the various melody of the birds, who seemed to vie with each other, a new beauty presented itself to them, which they had before taken no notice of; they perceived the garden to be full of a hundred different creatures: in one place they saw rabbits issuing forth; from another quarter they saw hares: here were goats lying down, and there were deer grazing, with many others passing backwards and forwards at their pleasure, as though they were tame. When their senses had sufficiently feasted on these several beauties, the table was spread by the side of the fountain, and, after half a dozen songs and some dances, they sat down to eat, being served in a sumptuous manner with everything that was dainty and elegant; and when they had done feasting, they began again to sing and dance, till the queen commanded them to give over, and permitted such as were so disposed to take their ease. Accordingly some departed; and others, charmed with the pleasantness of the place, stayed to read or play at chess. At nine they arose, and went into the meadow at the fountain-side, and being seated there as usual, they waited for the time when they should begin their novels upon the subject which the queen had proposed. The first who was ordered to speak was Filostrato, who thus addressed them: - 

NOVEL I. 

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

There are many people, fair ladies, so simple as to imagine, that, after a young lady has put on the white veil, and the black hood, she ceases to have the feelings and passions of a woman, as if by becoming a nun she was converted into stone. If these people hear anything contrary to this opinion, they are as much offended as though some very heinous and unnatural crime was committed; never thinking of themselves, who cannot be satisfied, although they have the liberty of doing as they will; nor considering the prevalency of leisure and solitude. In like manner, there are others who think that the spade and pick-axe, with hard labour and gross feeding, quench all lustful appetites, depriving the people of all sense and understanding; but how much they are both mistaken, I shall, at the queen's command, now show you, keeping close to the subject which she has given us. 

There was formerly in our neighbourhood (and may be still) a convent of nuns, famous for their sanctity. In this convent (which shall be nameless, because I would not lessen the characters of its pious inmates), there were only eight young ladies, with an abbess; there was also a gardener to look after their fine garden, who, not being satisfied with his salary, made up his accounts with their steward, and returned to Lamporecchio, whence he came. Amongst many others who came to welcome him home, was a fine strapping young fellow named Masetto, who inquired of him where he had been to all that time? The honest man (whose name was Nuto) told him. The other inquired again in what capacity be served the convent?" I had care of the garden," he replied, "and used to go to the wood for faggots; I drew water for them also, with such-like services; but my wages were so small that they would scarcely find me shoes; and besides they are all so young and giddy, that I could do nothing to please them; for when I have been in the garden, one would cry do this, and another do that, and another would take the spade out of my hand, and tell me "that thing is in a wrong place,” and they have given me so much trouble altogether, that I have left them. The steward desired, at my departure, if I met with a proper person, to send him; but hang me if I do any such thing." 

When Massetto heard this, he had a great desire to get among those nuns, guessing from what Nuto had said, that he might be able to gain his ends. But lest his purpose should be defeated, if he let the other into the secret, he said to him, "You did very right to come away: what has a man to do among so many women? He might as well be with as many devils: for it is not once in ten times they know what they would be at." After they had done talking together, Masetto began to contrive what method he should take to get introduced; and being assured that he could do all the work that Nuto had mentioned, he had no fears upon that account: all the danger seemed rather to be in his youth and person: whether he might not be rejected. After much reflection, he reasoned thus with himself: "I live far enough off and nobody knows me: suppose I feign myself dumb, they will certainly receive me then." Resolved on this, without saying a word to any one about where he was going, he took an axe on his shoulder, and went like a poor man to the convent; and finding the steward in the court-yard, he made signs like a dumb person for a little bread, and that he would cleave wood if they bad any occasion. The steward gave him something to eat, and afterwards shewed him divers pieces of wood, which Nuto was not able to rend, but which Masetto, in a little time (being very strong), split all to pieces. The steward, having occasion to go to the wood, took him with him; where he made him fell several trees, load the ass with them, and drive it home before him: this Masetto did very well; and the steward wanting him for other things, he continued there for several days, till at length the abbess saw him, and asked the steward what the man did there?" Madam," he replied, "this is a poor man, deaf and dumb, who came the other day to ask charity, which I gave him, and he has done many things for us since: I believe, if he knows anything of gardening and could be prevailed upon to stay, that he might be of good service; for we want such a person, and he is strong, and will do what work we please: besides, there will be no fear of his seducing any of the young ladies." - "Why, truly," quoth the abbess, "you say right: see if he knows bow to work, and if so, try to keep him; make much of him, give him a pair of shoes, and an old coat, and let him have his fill of victuals." This the steward promised to do. Masetto, who was at no great distance, but seemed busy in sweeping the court, heard all this, and said merrily to himself, "Yes, if you let me stay here, I'll do your business as it never was done before." The steward, who was aware that he knew how to work, now inquired of him by signs whether he was willing to stay: and Masetto having made signs that he was, the steward took him into the garden, shewed him what he wished to have done, and left him there. 

Now the nuns used to come every day to tease and laugh at the deaf and dumb gardener, and would say the naughtiest words in the world before him, imagining that he did not hear them: whilst the abbess took no notice of all this, thinking perhaps that as the man could not wag his tongue, he was equally harmless in other respects. One day when he had lain down to rest himself, two nuns, who were walking in the garden, came to the place where he pretended to be asleep: and as they stood looking at him, one, who was a little more forward than the other said, "Could I be assured of your secrecy, I would tell you of a thought I have often had in my head, which might be of service to yourself." "You may speak safely," said the other, "for I will never disclose it." Then said the first nun: "We are kept here in strict confinement, and not a man suffered to come near us, but our steward, who is old, and this dumb man. Now I have many and many a time heard from ladies who have come to see us, that all the other delights in the world are nothing to what a woman enjoys in a man's arms. I have often therefore had it in my mind to try the experiment with this dumb fellow, since no other is to be had; besides he is the fittest in the world for our purpose, being such an idiot, that he cannot expose us if he would; what is your opinion? - "Alas!" quoth the other, "what is that you say? Do not you know that we have promised our virginity to God?"

"Oh! but sister," she replied, "how many things do we promise every day, which we never perform? If we have promised, there will be others found that shall be more punctual." - "But, if we should be with child, what would become of us then?" - "You think of the worst before it happens: it will be time enough to talk of that when it comes: there are a thousand ways of managing in such a case, that nobody will ever be the wiser unless we ourselves make the discovery." - "Well, then," said the second nun, who was even more curious than her friend to know what sort of an animal a man might be; "how shall we contrive this matter?" - "You see," replied the other, "it is about midday, and I believe our sisters are all asleep; let us look round the garden, and if nobody be in it, what have we to do, but for one of us to lead him into yonder arbour, whilst the other keeps watch. He is such a fool that we can do what we like with him." 

Masetto heard all this, and was quite ready to gratify the ladies, but waited until one of them should come and rouse him from his pretended sleep. The two nuns having assured themselves that nobody could see them, she who had been the first to move in the affair went and shook the gardener. He got up; the nun playfully took him by the hand, and led him, grinning and laughing like an idiot, to the arbour, where without giving her much trouble to explain her wishes he did what she wanted. Her curiosity having been satisfied, she made way for her companion, to whom Masetto, fool as he seemed, behaved equally well. Before they left him, each of them repeated the experiment once more, and they agreed in declaring that the result surpassed all that they could have imagined. After this it may easily be guessed how frequent were their visits to the arbour, and how punctually they availed themselves of the fitting hours to take their diversion with the good natured mute. 

It chanced, however, one day that their proceedings were observed by one of the sisterhood, who immediately brought two others to witness them. At first the trio were for informing the lady abbess, but afterwards they changed their minds, entered into an arrangement with the detected pair, and became jointly interested with them in Masetto's services. There now remained but three nuns who were not privy to the secret; but in course of time they too came in various ways to share in it with the rest. 

Finally the Abbess, who as yet had no notion of these doings, was taking a walk all alone in the garden one very sultry day, and found Masetto stripped to his shirt and asleep on the broad of his back, under an almond tree, having, it seems, not much to do that day, because he had been hard at work all the night before. Just then the wind fluttered the loose end of his single garment, and the Abbess saw what immediately gave her a fit of the complaint then prevalent in the convent. Waking up Masetto she took him to her chamber, where she kept him close for some days, to the great mortification of the nuns, who complained loudly that the gardener did not come to his daily labour. She let him go at last, but often had him back again, and altogether engrossed more than her fair share of his attendance. Masetto began to find it no easy task to please so many mistresses, and was strongly of opinion that things would come to a bad pass with him if he continued dumb much longer. One night then, when he was with the abbess, his tongue was suddenly untied, and said he, "I have often heard say, madam, that one cock can do very well for ten hens, but that ten men can hardly with their best endeavours satisfy one woman, whereas I have to serve nine. I can't stand it any longer. I'm fairly worn out with what I have done already; so please either to let me go my way in God's name, or put this matter to rights somehow." 

The abbess was astounded to hear him speak. "Why, how is this?" she said, "I thought you were dumb." - "so I was, madam, but not by nature. I had a long disorder which deprived me of my speech; and it was only this very night, thanks be to God, that I felt it come back to me." 

The abbess believed this tale, or feigned to do so, and asked him what he meant by saying that he had nine women to satisfy. Masetto explained the whole case to her; and she, like a discreet abbess, instead of sending him away, resolved to come to an understanding with her nuns, and devise with them how they might keep such a good gardener without incurring any scandal. A full and unreserved explanation soon took place between all parties, and the old steward happening to die very opportunely, Masetto was, with his own consent, unanimously chosen to fill the vacant place, and his duties were so apportioned that he could discharge them without inordinate fatigue. At the same time the people of the neighbourhood were made to believe that through the prayers of the sisterhood, and through the merits of the saint to whom the convent was dedicated, the man who had been so long dumb had been recovered his speech. Under the new steward's management the convent became a little nursery for the propagation of the monastic order, but everything was so quietly done that there never was any talk about it until after the death of the abbess, when Masetto, being now in years and wealthy, was desirous of returning home. 

His desire was readily complied with: and thus, taking no care for his children, but bequeathing them to the place where they were bred and born, he returned a wealthy man to his native place, which he had quitted with nothing but an axe over his shoulder, having had the wit to employ the season of his youth to good purpose. 

[Boccaccio took this story from the "Cento Novelle Antiche” but substituted an abbess and her nuns for a countess and her camerarie. He in his turn has been followed, with some slight modifications, by La Fontaine, in his "Mazet de Lamporechio.”] 

2-10 Paganino de Monaco, Signior Ricciardo di Chinzica

NOVEL X. 

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

All the company commended the queen's story, and especially Dioneo, who was the only person left to speak for that day; and having said much in praise of it, he began to this effect: - Ladies, part of the queen's novel has made me change my intention with regard to what I meant to relate: what I allude to is the brutishness of Bernard (though it turned out well for him), and of all such as himself, who think as he did; namely, that whilst they are travelling about from place to place, and diverting themselves sometimes with one lady and sometimes with another, they conclude that their wives are sitting with their hands before them all the while, as if we did not know to the contrary. I shall therefore show you how great the folly is of all such people, and of those especially, who, supposing themselves to be more powerful than nature hath really formed them, think to cover all by fabulous demonstrations, and endeavour to make other persons" constitutions and tempers square with their own, however contrary it may be to their natural bent and inclination. 

There once lived at Pisa, a certain judge, endowed with greater genius of mind than bodily ability, whose name was Signior Ricciardo di Chinzica. Being possessed with a notion that it would cost him no greater efforts to content a wife than to perform his judicial duties, he determined, as he was very rich, to have a wife who should be very young and very handsome; two things which he ought to have shunned, had he known how to advise himself as well as he did other people. He had his wish, however, for Signior Lotto Gualandi bestowed on him his daughter Bartolomea, one of the briskest and most beautiful ladies in all Pisa, though there are few among them all that are not as yellow as a kite's foot. The worthy judge brought his bride home in great state, and gave a sumptuous wedding entertainment, but only summed up once in the course of the night, and even then was near breaking down in his harangue; and after all he was obliged to recruit his exhausted spirits with malmsey and cordial confections before he could return to his ordinary avocations. Being a better judge now of his own strength, he began to teach his wife a calendar, formerly printed at Ravenna, for the use of children learning to read. With that document in his hand, he showed her that there was scarcely a day in the year but what was dedicated to some saint or other, and some days had more saints than one: in reverence to whom, as he proved by many reasons, a man and his wife ought to. keep asunder at those times. To these he added the fast days, the four terms, the vigils of the Apostles, and a thousand other saints, with Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays, and all Lent; also certain seasons of the moon, and many other exceptions; and in short he seemed to think it fit that a dies non should be as frequent an occurrence in the conjugal bed as in the courts of law. In this manner he lived with his lady, to her great discontent, scarcely conversing with her once a month, and keeping a strict watch over her, for fear some other person should teach her what belonged to working-days, as he had done with respect to holidays. 

In the meantime it happened that, the season growing extremely hot, Messer Ricciardo went for recreation to spend a few days at one of his country-seats, near Monte Nero, taking his lady with him; and, to make it more agreeable to her, they went out fishing together one day, he and the fishermen being in one boat, and she in another, along with some ladies, who went to see the sport. Thinking of nothing but their diversion, they had insensibly drifted out many miles to sea, without perceiving it, when on a sudden they were surprised, in the midst of their sport by a galliot belonging to one Paganino da Monaco, a famous pirate of those days. They tried hard to escape, but in spite of all their efforts, the pirate captured the boat which had the women on board, and struck by the beauty of the judge's wife, he carried her into his own ship in sight of her husband, who had now reached the shore; and, without meddling with anything else, sailed directly away. How sorrowful Ricciardo was at seeing this you may easily imagine, he who was jealous of the very air itself. Loud and long were the complaints he made, both at Pisa and elsewhere, of the villany of these corsairs; but all in vain, for he knew not who it was that had taken his wife, or whither she was carried. 

As for Paganino, he was delighted to have made prize of a lady so young and so handsome; and, being without a wife, he resolved to keep her in lieu of one. He began by soothing her alarm with all sorts of tender expressions, and as these had not all the effect he desired, when night was come he proceeded to administer more practical consolation; for he had lost his almanac, and had clean forgotten all distinction between workdays and holidays. His charitable efforts were so successful, that long before the lady reached Monaco, the judge and his laws were quite gone out of her head, and she lived with all the comfort in the world with Paganino, who, besides the consolation he bestowed on her by night and by day, treated her with the respect and consideration due to a wife. 

After some time, it came to Messer Ricciardo's ears what had become of his wife, and he set off, with the utmost impatience, to fetch her back, supposing no other person so proper for that business as himself, and fully resolved to give any sum of money for her ransom. Arrived at Monaco, he saw her, and she him; and that night she told Paganino of it, informing him what she meant to do. The next morning Messer Ricciardo meeting with Paganino, they soon became acquainted together; the pirate pretending all the time to know nothing of him, but waiting to see what he meant to do. As soon as a fit opportunity offered, Messer Ricciardo began to set forth the occasion of his coming thither, and, in as handsome a manner as he could, to desire that the other would take what ransom he thought fit, and restore him his wife. Paganino answered very courteously - "sir, you are heartily welcome; but the case, in short, is this: I have a young woman in the house with me, though whether she is your wife, or any other person's, I cannot tell; for I neither knew you nor her before she lived with me. If you are her husband, as you say, I will bring you to her, since you seem to be a very civil gentleman, and she must certainly know you. If she agrees with your story, and is willing you should take her away, your behaviour has been such, that I shall desire no other recompense than what you are pleased to give me. But if it should prove otherwise, I must tell you, that you offer me great wrong to attempt to take her from me: for I am a young man, and know what to do with a wife as well as another person, especially such an one as she, who is the most agreeable woman I ever saw." "Most certainly, sir, she is my wife," Messer Ricciardo replied, "and, if you please to take me to where she is, you will soon be convinced of it, for she will immediately throw her arms about my neck: therefore I desire it may be as you have proposed." - "Let us go then," quoth Paganino. 

When they were come into the house, and sat down together in the hall, Paganino ordered the lady to be called, and she being dressed, and ready for that purpose, came to them, but took no more notice of Messer Ricciardo, than she would have done of any other stranger who should come into the house with Paganino. The judge, who had expected to be received by her with the utmost joy, was much surprised at this, and thought to himself, 'surely the grief I have sustained for the loss of her, has so changed my looks, that she does not know me again." He therefore said to her, "My love, it has cost me dear to take you fishing, for I was never so grieved in my whole life, as since I lost you: and yet you seem not to know me; so cruelly are you silent. Do not you see that I am your Ricciardo, come to pay whatever ransom the gentleman may demand, in whose house we are now together, to have you back with me? And he is so kind as to offer to restore you at what price I shall fix myself." - "Do you speak to me, sir?" said the lady, turning to him with a smile. "Take care you do not mistake my person, for I do not remember ever in my whole life to have seen you before." "Do you take care what you say," he replied, "look well at me; if you will recollect yourself, you may plainly see that I am your husband Ricciardo di Chinzica." The lady made answer, "You will excuse me, sir, it is not so modest as you may suppose, to gaze much upon you; but I have looked enough to know, that I never saw you in my whole life till now." Ricciardo supposed that she did this only through fear of Paganino, and that she was unwilling to confess before him; for which reason he desired, as a favour, to talk alone with her in the chamber. Paganino consented on condition that he would not offer to kiss her against her will; and bade the lady to go up stairs with Messer Ricciardo, hear what he had to say, and answer him as she thought proper. 

She complied, and when they were seated together, the judge again addressed her, "Alas! my life, my soul, sweet object of all my wishes! "he exclaimed, "do you not know your Ricciardo, who loves you more than himself? How can this be? Am I so altered, my jewel? Look upon me a little." She began to laugh, and without letting him proceed farther, said, "I am not so forgetful, you must be aware, as not to know that you are Ricciardo di Chinzica, my husband; but during the time I was with you, it very ill appeared that you had any knowledge of me: for were you really as wise as you would be thought, you must have perceived that I was young and lively, and consequently you ought to have bethought you that young wives have need of something else besides food and raiment, though modesty forbids them to mention it. If you were fonder of the study of the laws than of a wife, you ought never to have married: though, in truth, you seem rather a proclaimer of feasts and fasts, than a judge; yet, let me tell you, should you allow your labourers in the field as many holidays as you take yourself at home, you would never reap one grain of corn. Heaven, in its merciful consideration for my youth, has made me fall in with a person whom I like very well, who keeps none of your Fridays and Saturdays, nor your feasts, vigils, and long Lents: him, therefore, I intend to abide with while my youth continues, and let the fasting part alone till I grow old. Therefore the sooner you go about your business, in God's name, the better, and keep as many fast days without me as you please." 

The poor judge was wofully discomfitted by this speech, and said, after she had done speaking, "My dear love, what words are these that I hear from you? Have you no regard for your parents" honour, and your own? Had you rather abide here in a mortal sin, as this man's harlot, than at Pisa as my wife? He will soon grow weary of you, and turn you off with great contempt; but I shall always love you, and when I die, leave you mistress of my house. Can an inordinate and shameful appetite make you careless of your honour, and of me, who love you more than my own life? Do not say so, my dearest! Go along with me: now I know what the grievance is, I will strive to do better. My joy! my treasure! change your mind and depart with me, for I have never known a happy day since you were taken from me." "Sir," she replied, "I desire nobody to be careful of my honour but myself: my parents should have had regard to that when they made me your wife; and if they were careless of me at that time, why should I now be mindful of them? And as for my living in a mortal sin, never trouble your head about that: I am here considered as Paganino's wife, but at Pisa I was more like your baggage; there was so much to do between us with respect to the times of the moon, the quadratures and conjunctions of the planets; whereas here we mind no such thing. Paganino cuddles me all night in his arms, and hugs, and kisses, and bites me, and the Lord knows what besides. But you say you will strive to do better; it is impossible, our complexions are so widely different. Go home, therefore, and try to keep yourself alive, for that is as much as you are able to do: and as for his discarding me, should that ever happen (which at present seems far from his thoughts), I will never return to you, for, if you were squeezed in a press, one could not get a spoonful of juice out of your dry body. No, I have had vexation enough with you already, and for comfort I would look elsewhere. In the meantime, I tell you once more, that here we have no feasts and fasts, and here I intend to stay; therefore, either go directly about your business, or I will call out that you design to force me." 

The judge, now utterly confounded, and aware at last of his folly in marrying so young a person, left the room, and had some talk with Paganino, which came to nothing. In the end, therefore, he was forced to leave his wife, and he returned to Pisa, where he ran raving about the streets, making no answer to any friend that accosted him, except that his strumpet would keep no holidays; and soon afterwards he died. The news came no sooner to the ears of Paganino, than he married the widow, knowing the love she had for him; and they lived happily together, banishing all fasts, Lents, and such things from their house. Wherefore, it seems plain to me, my dear ladies, that Bernard quite mistook the case in his dispute with Ambrose. 

This story made them laugh till their sides ached, and all agreed that Dioneo was in the right, and that Bernard was an ass. And now the queen, seeing that her reign was at an end, took the garland from her own head, and put it upon Neifile's, saying pleasantly to her, "To you, dear friend, belongs henceforth the government of this little people." Neifile, blushing at the favour done her, looked like a rose in the dewy dawn of an April day, her eyes, though a little downcast, yet sparkling like the morning star. After the murmur of the applauding company was a little abated, and she had resumed her courage, she spoke to this effect: "As I am now your queen, I shall keep to the method which has been hitherto observed, and which you have approved of by your concurrence, and will tell you in a few words what I would farther have done. You all know that tomorrow will be Friday and the next Saturday, both of which are inconvenient days, on account of laying in provisions. Moreover, Friday is a day to be reverenced, on account of our Saviour's passion: therefore I hold it fit that we rather pray that day, than attend to novels. As for Saturday, it is usual to make everything clean on that day: many people also observe it as a fast, in honour of the holy Virgin, as well as the ensuing sabbath, on which day no work may be done. Wherefore, as we cannot go on exactly in the same manner as we first began, I hold it best to suspend the relation of any more novels: and as we shall then have been here four days, it will be convenient to go to another place, which I have already fixed upon, and where I have made provision for you, if we would avoid admitting some new guests, who might probably come to see us. When we shall be there assembled, let our next argument still be the mutability of fortune, as exemplified in the adventures of such persons as have acquired, by their diligence, something greatly wanted by them, or else recovered what they had lost. Let every one think of something to say upon this subject, which may be useful, or at least entertaining; saving always his privilege to Dioneo." 

They all commended what the queen had ordered, and agreed it should be done; she afterwards called the master of the household, to give directions for that night's entertainment, and for what else was necessary during her royalty: and then she gave the company leave to go wherever they pleased. They took a walk, therefore, into the garden, where they amused themselves till supper-time: and having supped with great cheerfulness and mirth, and being risen from table, Emilia began a dance, by the queen's command; whilst the following song was sung by Pampinea, the rest joining in a chorus. 

SONG. 

Of all I want or wish possest,

Which of us here should sing but I, 

Come, gentle Cupid, heavenly guest,

The constant source of all my joy! 

And teach my late desponding lyre 

No more in plaintive notes to mourn. 

But mirth and am"rous joy inspire, 

Whilst in your pleasing flames I burn. 

You first before my eyes have plac'd 

An ardent lover, gay and young; 

With every manly virtue grac'd, 

And soft persuasion on his tongue. 

But what crowns all my hope is this, 

Our hearts and wishes fondly join; 

That mutual and the same our bliss, 

His love sincere, and fix'd as mine. 

Cupid, ´tis to your gift I owe 

That in this world I'm amply blest; 

May Heav´n, in whom I trust, bestow 

In that to come, eternal rest! 

They sang many more songs also, and led up several more dances, playing divers kinds of music; but the queen judging that it was now time to go to bed, they went with a light before them to their respective chambers, bestowing the two following days in the manner, which she had before prescribed to them; and waiting with impatience for Sunday. 

[La Fontaine's "Calendrier des Vieillards” is an imitation of this story. The concluding incident corresponds with one in the story of "D'un Tailleur et de sa Femme,” in the "Contes Turcs.”] 

2-9 Bernard of Genoa

NOVEL IX. 

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

Eliza having discharged her duty by the last moving story, the queen, who was of a most graceful person, taking the next turn upon herself, spoke with a smile to this effect: 

- We must make good our agreement with Dioneo; and therefore, as only he and I remain to speak, I shall begin with my story, and leave him to the last, as he has desired. It is a common saying, that the deceiver lies at the mercy of the deceived; which I think can only be proved true by circumstances of that kind, which have happened in the world; this, then, I propose to show you, hoping a relation of this sort will not be disagreeable, to the end you may be upon your guard against such as would deceive you. There happened together in an inn at Paris some Italian merchants, who had come thither upon their different occasions; and meeting at supper one night, and conversing merrily of one thing after another, they came at last to talk of their wives, whom they had left behind them: when one of them said, in a jesting way, "I do not know what my wife does with herself, but I am sure if I meet with anything that pleases me, I forget my love for her, and make use of the opportunity." - "And so do I," quoth another; "for whether I believe it or not, my wife will do as she pleases." A third was of the same opinion, and all seemed to agree that their wives at home lost no time in their absence. Only one man among them all, named Bernard Lomellin, of Genoa, avowed the contrary; declaring, that he had a wife, in whom were centred all the virtues that could adorn either sex; that she was young and beautiful in her person; that she was mistress of her needle; that no man-servant waited with more dexterity at his master's table, than he was served by her, she being thoroughly discreet and well bred; that, besides her skill in horsemanship, and the management of a hawk, there was no merchant understood accounts better; and coming at length to what began the dispute, he declared, with an oath, that no woman upon earth could be more virtuous and chaste than she was; for he firmly believed, were he to be absent from her for ten years, she would have to do with no other person. 

Amongst the merchants who had been talking upon this subject, was a young fellow called Ambrose of Piacenza, who made the greatest fun in the world of what Bernard said last in praise of his wife, asking him, whether the emperor had given him this privilege, exclusive of the rest of mankind? Bernard, a little agitated, said, "Not the emperor, but God Almighty, who was something more powerful than the emperor, had bestowed this favour upon him." Ambrose replied, "I make not the least doubt, but that you think you speak truth: but in my opinion, you have not enough considered the nature of things; for if you had, I do not believe your understanding so mean as not to find many reasons to make you think more coolly of the matter. Wherefore, that you may not imagine that we, who have spoken so much at large concerning our wives, suppose them of a different make from yours, but that we have merely regard to the natural propensity of all, I shall beg leave to reason a little with you on this subject. I have always understood that man is the most noble of God's creatures, and that woman is in the next degree to him: now as man is allowed to be more perfect, he must consequently have more resolution and constancy. In like manner, women are always more wavering and fickle, as I could show by several reasons, which I shall omit at present. If, therefore, man, who is allowed to have the most stability, cannot - I will not say resist a woman that should entreat him, but cannot even help desiring and doing all that lies in his power to get into the company of a woman that he likes, and this not once in a month, but a thousand times every day, what can you think a woman, naturally weak, can do against the entreaties, flatteries, gifts, and a thousand other means, which an artful lover knows how to use? Do you think she can resist? Affirm it as you will, I can never think you in earnest. You say your wife is flesh and blood, and therefore subject to the same desires as other women, and her strength to resist those desires must be the same: be she then ever so virtuous, it is possible for her to do like other women: and if it be possible, you should never have denied it in that positive manner, and maintained the contrary, as you have done." 

"I am a merchant, and not a philosopher," Bernard replied, "and shall answer you as such; I tell you, therefore, that what you say may be the case of women of little understanding, and who have no sense of shame; but such as are wise have such anxious regard for their honour, that they become more firm than men, who are not so tender on that point; and such a one is my wife." 

"Truly," said Ambrose, "if for every fault of this kind they were to have a horn spring out of their foreheads, to bear testimony against them, I believe few would be guilty: but so far from having a horn grow, if they be wise, there is nothing to make the least discovery: and as shame and loss of character happen only when things are made public, therefore what they can accomplish in secret they rarely fail to do: or, if they abstain, it is through their folly. Take this then for a rule - that woman only is chaste who has never been asked; or she who herself has asked and been refused. And though I am convinced of this by natural and just reasons, yet I should not speak as I do, if 1 had not tried the humours and affections of many different women. Let me also tell you, that if I was in company with your most virtuous wife, I should not doubt my obtaining the same favour from her that I have gained from many others." 

Bernard was provoked at this, and said, "There is no end of disputing; you assert, and I assert, which is all nothing: but since you say they are so easily warped, and have such an opinion of your own power that way: to convince you of my wife's virtue, I will forfeit my head, if you ever bring her to a compliance, upon condition that, if you should not prevail over her, you only lose a thousand florins of gold." 

Ambrose replied, with a good deal of warmth, "Of what use will your life be to me, if I should win it? but if you have a mind to put the thing to the trial, stake five thousand florins, which are of less value than your life, against one thousand of mine; and as you fix no time, I will oblige myself to go to Genoa, and in less than three months from the day of my departure to gain my will of your wife, and to bring such tokens thereof back with me as you yourself shall confess to be just; provided you will give me your word, that you will neither come to Genoa in that time, nor write to her about the matter." 

Bernard said he liked the wager; and though the other merchants endeavoured all they could to prevent it, as well knowing what mischief might ensue, yet the two merchants were so warm, that, in spite of all their friends could do, they immediately signed the articles to that purpose. Bernard, therefore, stayed behind, whilst Ambrose made the best of his way to Genoa. There he continued a day or two, informing himself, as cautiously as possible, of the name of the street where the lady lived, as also of her character, when he soon heard all that Bernard had related to be true, and a great deal more; which made him conclude that he had come thither on a very foolish errand: but meeting with a poor woman who frequented the house, to whom the lady was very kind, he wrought so far upon her, by means of a bribe, that he was carried in a chest, made according to his own directions, not only into the house, but even into the lady's bed-chamber, where it was to be left for some days, for the greater security, as if the good woman was going abroad. 

When night came, and the lady, as he supposed, was asleep, he opened the chest with certain instruments which he had carried with him for that end, and went softly into the room, where a light was burning, by which he observed carefully the form and situation of the chamber, and also the pictures, and everything remarkable in it, which he endeavoured to keep in his memory. Coming then to the bedside, and seeing the lady and a little girl that was in bed with her, both fast asleep, he found her as beautiful as if she had been dressed; but yet he could perceive no sign to carry away concerning her, unless it was a mole upon her left breast; with which being pretty well satisfied, and not daring, from the lady's known character, to presume farther; after being there the greatest part of the night, he took a purse, and also a gown, and a ring and girdle; all which he put into his chest, and went into it again, making it fast as before; and there he continued two nights, without the lady's perceiving anything of the matter. The third day the woman came for the chest, according to her appointment, and carried it back; when Ambrose satisfied her according to promise, and hastened away to Paris with these tokens before the limited time. 

He then summoned the merchants together who were present when the wager was laid, declaring to Bernard that he had won; having brought the tokens which he had promised to produce. First, then, he described the chamber and the paintings, and showed those things, which he said he had received from herself. Bernard owned that the chamber was as he had described it; and he remembered, also, that the things which he had brought belonged to his wife; but he added, that the other might have had an account of the room, as well as procured the other things, from some of the servants; therefore, if he could say nothing more, this did not seem sufficient to entitle him to the wager. Then Ambrose replied, "Truly this ought to satisfy you; but since you would have me say something more, know then, that Madam Ginevra, your wife, has a mole upon her left breast." When Bernard heard this, he was struck to the very heart, 

and his countenance changed in such a manner, as to convince them, if he had not said another word, that Ambrose spoke truth; and after some time he replied: "Gentlemen, what Ambrose says is true; and, as I own myself to have lost, he may come when he pleases, and I will pay him." 

The money, therefore, was paid the next day, and Bernard set out for Genoa, most cruelly incensed against his wife; and being come to a country-house of his, about twenty miles off, he sent a servant whom he could trust, with a couple of horses and a letter to her; wherein he acquainted her with his return, and that he would have her come away along with the servant, whom he had charged, at the same time, as soon as he came to a fit place, to put her to death, and repair to him. The servant delivered the letter to his mistress, who received the news with great joy; and the next morning she set forwards with him. As they travelled along, talking of divers things by the way, they came into a solitary vale surrounded with trees, which the servant thought a fit place for the execution of his master's orders; therefore, drawing a knife out of his pocket, and taking the lady by the arm, he said, "Madam, commend your soul to God, for here you must die." She, in the utmost astonishment, begged for God's sake that, before he put her to death, he would tell her what she had done to offend him in that manner. "Madam," said the servant, "you have done me no harm; and as to your husband, I can say only this, that he ordered me to kill you by the way, without showing you the least mercy; threatening otherwise to hang me up. You know full well my obligations to him, and that I must not resist his commands; I am sorry for you, God knows, but I cannot help it." The lady wept, and said, " Alas! do not murder me, who have never injured you, for the sake of another person: God is my witness, who knoweth all things, that I never did anything to deserve this from my husband; but, setting that aside, you may, if you please, serve God, your master, and myself, in this manner; namely, do you take my clothes, leaving me only your hat and doublet, and carry them to my lord and yours, telling him that you have killed me; and I swear, by that life for which I shall be indebted to you, that I will go where neither he, you, nor any person in this country, shall ever hear more concerning me." The servant, who was loth to put her to death, was easily prevailed upon; and leaving her his coat and hat, and some money which she had about her, and entreating her not to make any stay, went straight to his master, telling him that he had obeyed his commands, and left the body to be devoured by wolves. After some time Bernard returned to Genoa, and the fact being discovered, he was much blamed for what he had done. 

The lady being left alone, as soon as night came on, she disguised herself as well as she could, and went to a neighbouring village, where she procured what she wanted of an old woman, and she mended and cut the doublet shorter, and turned her shift into a pair of trowsers; and having cut her hair, and appearing in every respect like a common sailor, she went to the sea-side, where she met a Catalonian gentleman, named Senor Encararch (EN: in the Italian original : gentile uom catalano, il cui nome era segner En Cararh), who being just come on shore to refresh himself at a spring of fresh water, she fell into discourse with him, and, agreeing to enter into his service, went on board, calling herself Sicurano da Finale. There she obtained better clothes, and she proved so expert and diligent a servant, that he was greatly pleased with her. Soon afterwards this gentleman sailed to Alexandria, carrying with him a number of falcons as a present to the sultan, who often entertained him at his table; and taking particular notice of the behaviour of Sicurano, who waited always upon her master, he begged her of the gentleman much against his will; and in a little time she was in as great favour with the sultan as she had been with her former master. 

Now at a certain time of the year there was to be a fair at Acre, which was under the dominion of the sultan, and where was a great resort both of Christian and Turkish merchants, for whose greater security the sultan used to send one of his ordinary officers with a band of soldiers. And the time now drawing near, he resolved to send Sicurano for that purpose, as being well skilled in the languages; and she arriving at Acre as captain of the guard for the merchants, discharged her duty with great care and diligence, conversing daily with Sicilian, Pisan, Genoese, Venetian, and other Italian merchants, whom she chiefly was acquainted with, because they were of her own country. As she was one day therefore in a shop belonging to some Venetian merchant, amongst some other toys, she cast her eyes upon a purse and girdle, which she soon knew to be her own; but without making any such discovery, she asked whom they belonged to, and whether they were to be sold? Now it happened that Ambrose was come thither with a great stock of goods, and hearing the captain of the guard make inquiry whom those things belonged to, he stepped forwards, and said, with a laugh, "sir, they are mine, and not to be sold; but if you like them, they are at your service." Sicurano seeing him laugh, supposed it was at some action or behaviour of hers, and therefore, with a more settled countenance, she said, "I suppose you laugh to see me, a man professing arms, inquiring after such womanish toys." - "sir," replied Ambrose, "I do not laugh at that; but I laugh only at the manner by which I obtained them.'sicurano then replied, "Good sir, if it be not too much trouble, tell me how that was." "sir," quoth Ambrose, "a lady of Genoa, called Ginevra, wife to one Bernard Lomellin, gave them to me one night when I lay with her, and desired I would keep them for her sake. I laugh therefore, at Bernard's folly, who laid me five thousand florins to one thousand, that I could not obtain my will of her: which I did, and won my wager, whilst he, who deserved to have been punished for his brutality more than she, who did no more than what all women do, returned to Genoa, and by what I can find, had her put to death." 

Sicurano had now found out the grounds of Bernard's displeasure; and as she perceived that this man had been the cause of it, she determined not to let him go unpunished: but seeming to be pleased with his story, she became more acquainted with him; and when the fair was ended, she took him with her to Alexandria, made him hire a shop, and lodged money in his hands, which turned to such account, that he was very willing to stay there. Sicurano, desirous of making her innocence appear to her husband, agreed with some Genoese merchants, under some pretence or other, to have him brought thither; and he being come in a poor and wretched plight, she had sent him privately to a friend's house to be taken care of, till it should be time to put her purpose in execution. Now Sicurano had made Ambrose tell the story before the sultan, who seemed pleased with it; but as soon as her husband was come, she determined to wait no longer; and taking a fit opportunity, she prevailed upon the sultan to send for Ambrose and Bernard both before him, and in the presence of Bernard, to make the other confess by force, if he would not own it otherwise, how the affair was, which he had so boasted of concerning Bernard's wife. Accordingly they were brought face to face, and the sultan, with a stem countenance, commanded Ambrose, before a number of people to speak the truth, namely, how he had won of Bernard the five thousand florins. Sicurano also, who was present, and in whom Ambrose put a good deal of confidence, declared with a great deal of anger in her looks, that he should be severely chastised, if he did not. Being terrified, therefore, on both sides, and in some measure compelled; expecting also to restore only the five thousand florins without any other punishment, he related the whole affair. Which being done, Sicurano, as minister to the sultan, turned to Bernard, and said, "What did you then do to your wife, on account of this lie?" He replied, "Being outrageous with the loss of my money and the shame to which I was exposed, for the injury I thought I had sustained from her, I ordered one of my servants to murder her, and, as he informs me, she was immediately devoured by wolves." 

These things being related in the presence of the sultan, and many other witnesses, without his knowing Sicurano's purpose, she said: "My lord, you now see plainly what great reason the poor woman has to boast of her gallant and her husband; for the one deprives her of her good character with lies, and ruins her husband at the same time; whilst the other, showing greater regard for that person's falseness than to the virtue of his wife (of which he might have been assured from long experience), has her murdered, and devoured by wolves. Besides, such is the respect that they both bear towards her, that she is now known to neither of them, though they have been long entertained by her. But that you may more perfectly understand what both have deserved, and if, at my request, you will punish the deceiver, and excuse the person who was deceived, she shall forthwith appear before you and them." The sultan, who was disposed to show favour to Sicurano in everything, agreed that the lady should appear; at which Bernard was much surprised, supposing she was dead; whilst Ambrose, foreseeing what was likely to happen, began to think of something worse than repayment of the money, not knowing whether he had most reason to fear or hope in consequence of her appearing there; and he waited her coming with the utmost consternation. 

The sultan having thus given leave, Sicurano threw herself at his feet, and, laying aside her manly voice and demeanour, she said, "My lord, I am the miserable and unfortunate Ginevra, who, for the space of six years have wandered over the world in man's disguise, being most basely aspersed by that villain Ambrose, and given up to a servant by that most cruel and unjust man, to be murdered and devoured by wolves." And showing her breast, she made it appear that she was the same woman. Turning then to Ambrose, she resolutely demanded, when it was that he had lain with her, as he had formerly vaunted. But he knowing her again, was so struck with shame, that he could not utter a word. The sultan, who had all along taken her for a man, was so surprised at what he heard and saw, that it appeared to him more like a dream than truth; but upon recollecting himself, and seeing everything plainly made out, he most highly commended the life, constancy, and behaviour of Ginevra, heretofore called Sicurano; and ordering proper apparel and attendants for her, he pardoned Bernard, at her request, and spared him the death he had justly merited; while he, now knowing her again, knelt down and begged pardon, which she readily granted, however unworthy he was of it, and embraced him as her husband. The sultan then ordered Ambrose to be fastened to a stake, in the most eminent part of the city, and his naked body smeared over with honey, and that he should hang there till he should drop in pieces; which sentence was soon put in execution. He next gave charge that all the culprit's substance should be given to Ginevra, which did not amount to less than ten thousand double ducats: and making a most sumptuous feast, in honour of Bernard, as her husband, and Ginevra, as a most worthy lady, he presented her with plate and money to the amount of ten thousand ducats more; and providing a ship for them, when the feast was over, he gave them leave to depart for Genoa, which they did with great joy, and were received with the utmost respect, especially Ginevra, who was thought to be dead; and the same esteem was continued towards her as long as she lived. As for Ambrose, he was not only destroyed the very day he was impaled, by wasps and hornets, with which the country abounds, but he was eaten to the very bones, which being bound together by the sinews, remained hanging there for some time, as a testimony of his villany. And thus it is, that the deceiver lies at the mercy of the deceived. 

[The origin of this tale is unknown. It has in part been closely followed by Shakespeare in his "Cymbeline.”]