Tales From the Decameron of Giovanni Boccaccio

by Giovanni Boccaccio

  ‘Were you not told about the kind of supper you were to serve?’

  The woman turned to him defiantly, and said:

  ‘What are you talking about? Bah! get on with your supper, if you want it. I shall do as I think fit, not as I am told. If you don’t like it, you can lump it.’

  Melissus was astounded by the woman’s reply, and took great exception to it. And Joseph said: ‘Woman, you are just the same as ever; but believe me, I shall make you change your ways.’ Then, turning to Melissus, he said: ‘We shall soon see, my friend, whether Solomon’s advice was sound. Pray be good enough to stay and observe what I shall do, and look upon it as a game. If you should be tempted to interfere, remember what the muleteer said to us when we felt so sorry for his mule.’

  ‘Since I am a guest in your house,’ said Melissus, ‘I have no intention of opposing your wishes.’

  Having laid his hands on a good, stout stick of sapling oak, Joseph made his way to his wife’s bedroom, to which she had retired, mumbling and muttering angrily to herself, from the supper-table. And grabbing her by the tresses, he flung her to the floor at his feet and began to belabour her cruelly.

  The woman first began to shriek and then to threaten; but on finding that Joseph was totally unmoved by all this, she began, bruised and battered from head to toe, to plead with him in God’s name to spare her life, saying she would never again do anything to displease him.

  None of this had the slightest effect upon Joseph, who on the contrary tanned her hide with ever-increasing fury, dealing her hefty blows about the ribs, the haunches, and the shoulders until eventually he stopped from sheer exhaustion. And to cut a long story short, there was not a bone nor a muscle nor a sinew in the good woman’s back that was not rent asunder.

  His task completed, Joseph came back to Melissus and said to him:

  ‘Tomorrow we shall see how Solomon’s advice to go to Goose-bridge has stood up to the test.’ Then, having rested for a while, he washed his hands and supped with Melissus; and in due course they both retired to bed.

  Meanwhile his unfortunate wife picked herself up with great difficulty from the floor and collapsed on to her bed, where she slept as best she could till the following morning. And having risen very early, she sent to ask Joseph what he would like for breakfast.

  Joseph had a good laugh with Melissus over this, and issued the necessary instructions. And when, in due course, they came down to breakfast, they found an excellent meal awaiting them, precisely as Joseph had ordered. Hence they were both full of praise for the advice which at first they had ill understood.

  A few days later, Melissus took his leave of Joseph and returned home, where he told a wise man about what he had heard from Solomon; and the man said:

  ‘He could not have given you a truer or a better piece of advice. You know perfectly well that you love no one, and that you dispense your hospitality and your favours, not because you love other people, but merely for pomp and pride. Love, therefore, as Solomon told you, and you will be loved.’5

  So that was how the shrew was punished, and how the young man came to be loved through loving others.

  TENTH STORY

  Father Gianni is prevailed upon by Neighbour Pietro to cast a spell in order to turn his wife into a mare; but when he comes to fasten on the tail, Neighbour Pietro, by saying that he didn’t want a tail, completely ruins the spell.

  This story of the queen’s produced one or two murmurs from the ladies, and one or two laughs from the young men; but when they had quieted down, Dioneo began to address them as follows:

  Charming ladies, the beauty of a flock of white doves is better enhanced by a black crow than by a pure white swan; and likewise the presence of a simpleton among a group of intelligent people will sometimes add brilliance and grace to their wisdom, as well as affording pleasure and amusement.

  Accordingly, since you are all models of tact and discretion, whereas I am something of a fool, I ought to command a higher place in your affections, by augmenting the light of your excellence through my own shortcomings, than if I were to diminish it by my superior worth. And hence, in telling you the story I am about to relate, I must claim greater licence to present myself in my true colours, and crave your more patient indulgence, than if I were blessed with greater intelligence. I shall tell you a tale, then, of no great length, from which you will learn how carefully one must observe the instructions of those who do things with the aid of magic, and how the slightest failure to do so may ruin all the magician has achieved.

  Some years ago, in Barletta, there was a priest called Father Gianni di Barolo,1 who, because he had a poor living and wished to supplement his income, took to carrying goods, with his mare, round the various fairs of Apulia, and to buying and selling. In the course of his travels, he became very friendly with a man called Pietro da Tresanti,2 who practised the same trade as his own, but with a donkey, and in token of his friendship and affection he always addressed him, in the Apulian fashion, as Neighbour Pietro. And whenever Pietro came to Barletta, Father Gianni always invited him to his church, where he shared his quarters with him and entertained him to the best of his ability.

  For his own part, Neighbour Pietro was exceedingly poor and had a tiny little house in Tresanti, hardly big enough to accommodate himself, his donkey, and his beautiful young wife. But whenever Father Gianni turned up in Tresanti, he took him to his house and entertained him there as best he could, in appreciation of the latter’s hospitality in Barletta. However, when it came to putting him up for the night, Pietro was unable to do as much for him as he would have liked, because he only had one little bed, in which he and his beautiful wife used to sleep. Father Gianni was therefore obliged to bed down on a heap of straw in the stable, alongside his mare and Pietro’s donkey.

  Pietro’s wife, knowing of the hospitality which the priest accorded to her husband in Barletta, had offered on several occasions, when the priest came to stay with them, to go and sleep with a neighbour of hers called Zita Carapresa di Giudice Leo, so that the priest could sleep in the bed with her husband. But the priest wouldn’t hear of it, and on one occasion he said to her:

  ‘My dear Gemmata, don’t trouble your head over me. I am quite all right, because whenever I choose I can transform this mare3 of mine into a fair young maid and turn in with her. Then when it suits me I turn her back into a mare. And that is why I’d never be without her.’

  The young woman was astonished, believed every word of it, and told her husband, adding:

  ‘If he’s as good a friend as you say, why don’t you get him to teach you the spell, so that you can turn me into a mare and run your business with the mare as well as the donkey? We should earn twice as much money, and when we got home you could turn me back into a woman, as I am now.’

  Being more of a simpleton than a sage, Neighbour Pietro believed all this and took her advice to heart; and he began pestering Father Gianni for all he was worth to teach him the secret. Father Gianni did all he could to talk him out of his folly, but without success, and so he said to him:

  ‘Very well, since you insist, tomorrow we shall rise, as usual, before dawn, and I shall show you how it’s done. To tell the truth, as you’ll see for yourself, the most difficult part of the operation is to fasten on the tail.’

  That night, Pietro and Gemmata were looking forward so eagerly to this business that they hardly slept a wink, and as soon as the dawn was approaching, they scrambled out of bed and called Father Gianni, who, having risen in his nightshirt, came to Pietro’s tiny little bedroom and said:

  ‘I know of no other person in the world, apart from yourself, for whom I would perform this favour, but as you continue to press me, I shall do it. However, if you want it to work, you must do exactly as I tell you.’

  They assured him that they would do as he said. So Father Gianni picked up a lantern, handed it to Neighbour Pietro, and said:

  ‘Watch me closely, and memorize carefully what I say. Unless you want to ru
in everything, be sure not to utter a word, no matter what you may see or hear. And pray to God that the tail sticks firmly in place.’

  Neighbour Pietro took the lantern and assured him he would do as he had said. Then Father Gianni got Gemmata to remove all her clothes and to stand on all fours like a mare, likewise instructing her not to utter a word whatever happened, after which he began to fondle her face and her head with his hands, saying:

  ‘This be a fine mare’s head.’

  Then he stroked her hair, saying:

  ‘This be a fine mare’s mane.’

  And stroking her arms, he said:

  ‘These be fine mare’s legs and fine mare’s hooves.’

  Then he stroked her breasts, which were so round and firm that a certain uninvited guest was roused and stood erect. And he said:

  ‘This be a fine mare’s breast.’

  He then did the same to her back, her belly, her rump, her thighs and her legs: and finally, having nothing left to attend to except the tail, he lifted his shirt, took hold of the dibber that he did his planting with, and stuck it straight and true in the place made for it, saying:

  ‘And this be a fine mare’s tail.’

  Until this happened, Neighbour Pietro had been closely observing it all in silence, but he took a poor view of this last bit of business, and exclaimed:

  ‘Oh, Father Gianni, no tail! I don’t want a tail!’

  The vital sap which all plants need to make them grow had already arrived, when Father Gianni, standing back, said:

  ‘Alas! Neighbour Pietro, what have you done? Didn’t I tell you not to say a word no matter what you saw? The mare was just about to materialize, but now you’ve ruined everything by opening your mouth, and there’s no way of ever making another.’

  ‘That suits me,’ said Neighbour Pietro. ‘I didn’t want the tail. Why didn’t you ask me to do it? Besides, you stuck it on too low.’

  To which Father Gianni replied:

  ‘I didn’t ask you because you wouldn’t have known how to fasten it on, the first time, as deftly as I.’

  The young woman, hearing these words, stood up and said to her husband, in all seriousness:

  ‘Pah! what an idiot you are! Why did you have to ruin everything for the pair of us? Did you ever see a mare without a tail? So help me God, you’re as poor as a church mouse already, but you deserve to be a lot poorer.’

  Now that it was no longer possible to turn the young woman into a mare because of the words that Neighbour Pietro had uttered, she put on her clothes again, feeling all sad and forlorn. Meanwhile her husband prepared to return to his old trade, with no more than a donkey as usual: then he and Father Gianni went off to the fair at Bitonto4 together, and he never asked the same favour of him again.

  * * *

  How the ladies laughed to hear this tale, whose meaning they had grasped more readily than Dioneo had intended, may be left to the imagination of those among my fair readers who are laughing at it still. However, the stories were now at an end, the sun’s heat had begun to abate, and the queen, knowing that her sovereignty had run its course, rose to her feet and removed her crown. This she placed upon the head of Panfilo, who alone remained to be invested with the honour; and smiling she said:

  ‘My lord, you are left with an arduous task, for since you are the last, you must make up for the failings of myself and my predecessors in the office to which you have now acceded. God grant you grace in this undertaking, as He has granted it to me in crowning you our king.’

  Accepting with joy the honour she had bestowed upon him, Panfilo replied:

  ‘Your own excellence, madam, and that of my other subjects, will ensure that my reign is no less worthy of praise than those that have preceded it.’ Then, following the example of his predecessors, he made all necessary arrangements with the steward; after which he turned to address the waiting ladies:

  ‘Enamoured ladies,’ he said, ‘our queen of today, Emilia, prudently left you at liberty to speak on whatever subject you chose, so that you might rest your faculties. But now that you are refreshed, I consider that we should revert to our customary rule, and I therefore want you all to think of something to say, tomorrow, on the subject of those who have performed liberal or munificent deeds, whether in the cause of love or otherwise. The telling and the hearing of such things will assuredly fill you with a burning desire, well disposed as you already are in spirit, to comport yourselves valorously. And thus our lives, which cannot be other than brief in these our mortal bodies, will be preserved by the fame of our achievements – a goal which every man who does not simply attend to his belly, like an animal, should not only desire but most zealously pursue and strive to attain.’

  The theme proposed by Panfilo was unanimously approved by the joyful company, and by the leave of their new king they all arose from where they were sitting and applied themselves, each according to his taste, to their usual pastimes; and thus they whiled away the time until supper. To this they came in festive mood, and at the end of the meal, which was served with meticulous care and formal propriety, they rose from their places and proceeded to dance as usual. They then sang countless songs, more entertaining for the words than polished in the singing, till finally the king asked Neifile to sing one on her own account. And without further ado, in a clear and gladsome voice, she began charmingly to sing, as follows:

  ‘I am so young1 I love to sing

  And take delight in the early spring

  Thanks to the sweet thoughts Love doth bring.

  ‘I see in green fields as I go

  Yellow and red and white flowers blow,

  Briar-roses and fair lilies grow.

  ‘And in all these his face I see

  Who has so taken hold of me

  His wish is mine eternally.

  ‘And when one certain bloom I spy

  Which most recalls him to my eye

  I pluck and greet it lovingly,

  ‘Kiss it, and thus show that I know

  What my whole soul aspireth to

  And where my heart desires to go:

  ‘Then, with the rest, I place it there

  Among a posy bound with care

  With my own light and golden hair.

  ‘That pleasure given by a flower

  To mortal eyes through Nature’s power

  Is so bestowed on me that there

  ‘I fancy my sweet love to be

  Standing himself in front of me,

  Whose person hath so kindled me.

  ‘Never in words could be expressed

  Its scent’s effect upon my breast,

  Of which my sighs are witnesses.

  ‘They never harsh nor rough breathe forth

  But warm and sweet, of greater worth

  Than other ladies’ here on earth,

  ‘And make their way unto my love,

  Who when he hears them straight doth move

  To bring me bliss just as, in sooth,

  I murmur, “Come to me, and prove

  I never need despair thy love”’

  The king and all the ladies heaped lavish praise upon Neifile’s song; after which, since much of the night was already spent, the king decreed that everyone should go and rest until the morning.

  Here ends the Ninth Day of the Decameron

  TENTH DAY

  Here begins the Tenth and Last Day, wherein, under the rule of Panfilo, the discussion turns upon those who have performed liberal or munificent deeds,1 whether in the cause of love or otherwise.

  One or two cloudlets in the western sky were still suffused with crimson, whilst those in the east, caught in the rays of the approaching sun, were already brightly tipped with gold, when Panfilo got up and caused the ladies and his two companions to be roused. When all were present, he conferred with them and decided upon the place to which they should go to amuse themselves; he then set forth at a leisurely pace, accompanied by Filomena and Fiammetta, and followed by all the rest. For some little time they saunt
ered gaily along, talking about the lives they intended to lead in the future, and answering each other’s questions, until, having walked a considerable distance, they found that the sun was becoming too hot for their comfort, and returned to the palace. Gathering round the fountain, they had some glasses rinsed in its limpid waters, and those among them who were thirsty drank their fill; after which they roamed freely through the garden, savouring its delectable shade, until the hour of breakfast. And when they had eaten and slept, as was their custom, they forgathered in a spot designated by the king, who called upon Neifile to tell the first story; whereupon she cheerfully began, as follows:

  FIRST STORY

  A worthy knight enters the service of the King of Spain, by whom he feels that he is ill-requited; so the King gives him irrefutable proof that the fault lies, not with himself, but with the knight’s own cruel fortune, in the end rewarding him most handsomely.

  I account it an especial favour, honourable ladies, that our king should have singled me out to speak first on so weighty a theme as that of munificence, which, even as the sun embellishes and graces the whole of the heavens, is the light and splendour of every other virtue. So I shall tell you a little story, which to my way of thinking is most delightful, and which surely cannot be other than profitable to recall.

  You are to know, then, that of the many gallant knights who have graced our city for longer than I can remember, there was one in particular, Messer Ruggieri de’ Figiovanni,1 who was possibly the finest of them all. Being both wealthy and stout of heart, and seeing that, because of the general tenor of Tuscan manners, there would be little or no opportunity for him to prove his worth by remaining in these parts, he made up his mind to spend some time with King Alphonso of Spain,2 who was better renowned for his prowess than any other ruler of his day. And so he set out with a most impressive array of armour and horses and a large retinue, and made his way to Alphonso’s court in Spain, where the King accorded him a gracious welcome.