Nothing was further removed from her thoughts than the prospect of seeing any wolves, but all of a sudden, whilst she was standing there in the way we have described, a wolf of terrifying size leapt out from a nearby thicket; on seeing which, she scarcely had time to exclaim ‘Lord, deliver me!’ before the wolf hurled itself at her throat, seized her firmly in its jaws, and began to carry her off as though she were a new-born lamb.
So tightly was the wolf holding on to her throat that she was unable to scream for help, nor was there anything else she could do; and hence the wolf, as it bore her away, would assuredly have strangled her but for the fact that it ran towards some shepherds, who yelled at the beast and forced it to release her. The poor, unfortunate woman was recognized by the shepherds, who carried her back to her house, and after long and intensive treatment at the hands of various physicians, she recovered. Her recovery was not complete, however, for the whole of her throat and a part of her face were so badly disfigured that whereas she was formerly a beautiful woman, she was thenceforth deformed and utterly loath-some to look upon. Hence she was ashamed to show herself in public, and shed many a bitter tear for her petulant ways and her refusal to give credence, when it would have cost her nothing, to her husband’s prophetic dream.
EIGHTH STORY
Biondello plays a trick on Ciacco in regard of a breakfast, whereupon Ciacco discreetly avenges himself, causing Biondello to receive a terrible hiding.
Each and every member of the joyful company maintained that what Talano had seen in his sleep was no dream, but rather a vision, as it corresponded so exactly with what had actually taken place. But when they had all finished talking, the queen called upon Lauretta to follow, and so she began:
Judicious ladies, just as my predecessors today have almost without exception taken their cue from something already said, I too am prompted, by the account Pampinea gave us yesterday of the scholar’s bitter vendetta, to tell you of another vendetta, which, whilst it was no laughing matter for its victim, was at the same time rather less brutal.
I would have you know, then, that in Florence there was once a man known to everyone as Ciacco,1 who was the greatest glutton that ever lived. Since his purse was unequal to the demands made upon it by his gluttony, and since he was also a highly cultivated person, never at a loss for something clever and amusing to say, he built a reputation for himself, not exactly as a jester but rather as a wit, and took to mixing with wealthy people possessing a taste for good food, with whom he regularly supped and breakfasted even when not invited.
In Florence, at the time of which I am speaking, there was a man called Biondello, who was a dapper little fellow, elegant to a fault and neater than a fly, with a coif surmounting a head of long, fair hair, exquisitely arranged so that not a single strand was out of place, and this man practised the same profession as Ciacco.
One morning, during Lent, Biondello was at the fishmarket buying a pair of huge lampreys for Messer Vieri de’ Cerchi,2 when he was observed by Ciacco, who went up to him and said:
‘Oho! What have we here?’
To which Biondello replied:
‘The other three that were sent to Messer Corso Donati’s3 yesterday evening, along with a sturgeon, were much finer specimens than these. He’s invited one or two gentlemen to breakfast, and because he thought there might not be enough to go round, he got me to purchase these other two. Won’t you be coming?’
‘What a question to ask!’ Ciacco replied. ‘Of course I shall be coming.’
At what seemed to him an appropriate hour, Ciacco made his way to the house of Messer Corso, whom he found with several of his neighbours waiting to go to breakfast. When Messer Corso asked him the nature of his business, Ciacco replied:
‘I have come, sir, in order to breakfast with you and your friends.’
‘You are most welcome,’ said Messer Corso. ‘And since the meal is now ready, let us go and eat.’
So they all sat down at table, and after a first course of tunny and chick-peas they had some fried fish from the Arno, after which the meal came abruptly to an end.
On discovering that Biondello had deceived him, Ciacco was boiling with indignation, and resolved to pay him back in his own coin. A few days later he came across Biondello, who had meanwhile amused a number of people with the tale of his little hoax. No sooner did Biondello catch sight of Ciacco than he greeted him and asked, with a broad grin, what he had thought of Messer Corso’s lampreys.
‘That is a question,’ replied Ciacco, ‘which you will be far better able to answer yourself, before another week has passed.’
After leaving Biondello, Ciacco went to work without further ado, and having agreed upon terms with a crafty intermediary, he handed him an enormous wine-bottle, led him to a spot near the Loggia de’ Cavicciuli,4 and pointing out to him a gentleman there called Messer Filippo Argenti5 – a huge, powerful, muscular-looking fellow, who was as haughty, hot-tempered, and quarrelsome a man as ever drew breath – he said:
‘You are to go up to that man over there with this flask in your hand, and say to him: “Sir, I have been sent to you by Biondello, who asks if you will be so kind as to rubify this flask for him with some of your excellent red wine, as he wants to wet his whistle with his comrades.” But be very careful not to let him lay his hands on you, otherwise you’ll have a thin time of it and my plans will be ruined.’
‘Do I have to say anything else?’ said the intermediary.
‘No,’ said Ciacco. ‘Now off you go, and when you’ve said your piece, return here to me with the flask and I shall pay you your fee.’
So the intermediary made his way across to Messer Filippo and delivered the message, which Messer Filippo no sooner heard than he concluded that Biondello, who was no stranger to him, was having a joke at his expense. Not being slow to take offence, he went all red in the face and said:
‘Rubify? Wet his whistle? God curse the fellow, and you too!’
Whereupon he leapt to his feet and shot out an arm at the intermediary, intending to take him by the scruff of the neck. But the latter, being on his guard, was too quick for him and took to his heels. He then returned by a roundabout route to Ciacco, who had witnessed the whole scene, and told him what Messer Filippo had said.
Ciacco was delighted, and having paid the man his fee, went off in search of Biondello, never resting for a moment till he found him.
‘Have you been to the Loggia de’ Cavicciuli lately?’ he asked him.
‘No, I haven’t,’ replied Biondello. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because I’ve heard that Messer Filippo is looking for you,’ said Ciacco. ‘I couldn’t tell you what it is he wants.’
‘Good,’ said Biondello. ‘I’ll go over there and converse with him a little.’
Biondello then took his leave, and Ciacco followed him at a discreet distance to see what would happen. Meanwhile Messer Filippo, having failed to catch the intermediary, had been left in a towering rage and was breathing fire and fury, being unable to make any sense of the man’s words except that Biondello, at the prompting of some person or other, was making fun of him. And it was whilst he was fuming away in this manner that Biondello arrived on the scene.
No sooner did Messer Filippo set eyes on Biondello than he strode up to him and gave him a tremendous punch in the face.
‘Oh alas, sir!’ cried Biondello. ‘What does this mean?’
‘Scoundrel!’ yelled Messer Filippo, tearing Biondello’s coif to ribbons and hurling his hood to the ground, at the same time raining blows upon him. ‘You’ll see only too clearly what it means. I’ll teach you to send people to me with all this talk of rubifying flasks and wetting your whistle. Do you suppose you can make fun of me as though I were a child?’
And so saying, he pounded Biondello’s face with a pair of fists that seemed to be made of iron. Nor was this all, for he disarranged every hair on the poor fellow’s head, and having rolled him over in the mud, tore all the clothes he was wearing to shr
eds. So zealously did he address himself to his task that from the first moment to the last Biondello was unable to utter so much as a single syllable, or to ask him why he was attacking him. He had certainly heard Messer Filippo talk about ‘rubifying flasks’ and ‘wetting whistles’, but what these phrases might signify he had no idea.
Having taken an almighty drubbing, he was eventually surrounded by a number of onlookers, who succeeded with the greatest difficulty in removing him, battered and bedraggled, from Messer Filippo’s reach. They then explained why Messer Filippo had done it and admonished him for sending such a message, telling him that in future he should remember who Messer Filippo was and that he was not a man to be trifled with.
His eyes full of tears, Biondello protested his innocence, denying that he had ever sent anyone to Messer Filippo for wine. But there was little he could do about it now, and after making himself look a little more presentable he returned home, sorrowful and forlorn, rightly concluding that this was a piece of Ciacco’s handiwork. Several days later, when the bruises had faded from his face and he once again began to show himself in public, one of the first people he happened to meet was Ciacco.
‘Tell me, Biondello,’ he asked, laughing, ‘what opinion did you form of Messer Filippo’s wine?’
‘The same as the one you formed of Messer Corso’s lampreys,’ he replied.
Then Ciacco said:
‘From now on it’s up to you: if you should ever try to present me with another of those sumptuous meals, I shall supply you with one of these excellent drinks.’
Knowing it was easier for him to bear ill-will to Ciacco than to do him any actual harm, Biondello bade him a polite good day, and took care never to play any tricks on him again.
NINTH STORY
Two young men ask Solomon’s advice, the first as to how he may win people’s love, the second as to how he should punish his obstinate wife. Solomon replies by telling the former to love, and the latter to go to Goosebridge.
Not wishing to revoke Dioneo’s privilege, the queen saw that she alone remained to tell a story, and when the ladies had finished laughing over the hapless Biondello, she cheerfully thus began:
Lovable ladies, if the order of things is impartially considered, it will quickly be apparent that the vast majority of women are through Nature and custom, as well as in law, subservient to men, by whose opinions their conduct and actions are bound to be governed. It therefore behoves any woman who seeks a calm, contented and untroubled life with her menfolk, to be humble, patient, and obedient, besides being virtuous, a quality that every judicious woman considers her especial and most valued possession.
Even if this lesson were not taught to us by the law, which in all things is directed to the common good, and by usage (or custom as we have called it), Nature proves it to us very plainly, for she has made us soft and fragile of body, timid and fearful of heart, compassionate and benign of disposition, and has furnished us with meagre physical strength, pleasing voices, and gently moving limbs. All of which shows that we need to be governed by others; and it stands to reason that those who need to be aided and governed must be submissive, obedient, and deferential to their benefactors and governors. But who are the governors and benefactors of us women, if they are not our menfolk? Hence we should always submit to men’s will, and do them all possible honour, and any woman who behaves differently is worthy, in my opinion, not only of severe censure, but of harsh punishment.
I have expressed views of this kind on previous occasions, and I was confirmed in them a little while ago by what Pampinea told us about Talano’s obstinate wife, to whom God sent the punishment that her husband was unable to visit upon her. I repeat, therefore, that in my judgement, all those women should be harshly and rigidly punished, who are other than agreeable, kindly, and compliant, as required by Nature, usage, and law.
Hence I should like to acquaint you with a piece of advice that was once proffered by Solomon,1 for it is a useful remedy in treating those who are afflicted by the malady of which I have spoken. It should not be thought that his counsel applies to all women, regardless of whether they require such a remedy, although men have a proverb which says: ‘For a good horse and a bad, spurs are required; for a good woman and a bad, the rod is required.’2 Which words, being frivolously interpreted, all women would readily concede to be true; but I suggest that even in their moral sense they are no less admissible.
All women are pliant and yielding by nature, and hence for those who step beyond their permitted bounds the rod is required to punish their transgressions; and in order to sustain the virtue of the others, who practise restraint, the rod is required to encourage and frighten them.
But leaving all preaching aside, and coming to what I propose to tell you, I say that when the fame of Solomon’s wisdom, having spread to the four corners of the earth, was at its highest peak, and it was known that he would share it unstintingly with anyone wishing to verify it in person, many people came to him from different parts of the world to ask his advice on matters of great privacy and complexity; and one of those who set out to go and consult him was a young man called Melissus,3 who was of a noble family and very rich, and was born and bred in the town of Lajazzo.4
As he was on his way to Jerusalem, after leaving Antioch he chanced upon another young man, riding in the same direction, whose name was Joseph; and after a while, as is usually the way with travellers, they fell into conversation.
Having learned what manner of man this Joseph was, and whence he had come, he asked him where he was going and for what purpose. To which Joseph replied that he was going to seek Solomon’s advice about how he should deal with his wife, who was the most perverse and stubborn woman on earth, and against whose wilfulness all his entreaties, endearments, and everything else had availed him nothing. Then he in turn asked Melissus whence he had come, where he was going, and why; and Melissus replied:
‘I come from Lajazzo, and like yourself, I too suffer a misfortune. I am a rich young man, and I spend my substance in banqueting and entertaining my fellow citizens, but the curious thing about it is that despite all this I cannot find a single man who wishes me well. And so I am going where you are going, to seek advice about what I must do to be loved.’
So the two companions journeyed on together, and on reaching Jerusalem, through the good offices of one of Solomon’s lords, they were ushered into his presence and Melissus briefly explained the nature of his business. And all that Solomon said by way of reply was: ‘Love.’
This said, Melissus was promptly shown the door, and Joseph explained his own reason for coming. But the only answer he received from Solomon was: ‘Go to Goosebridge,’ and the words were scarcely out of the King’s mouth before Joseph, too, was removed from his presence. Outside, he found Melissus waiting for him, and told him about the answer he had been given.
After pondering upon these words without succeeding in extracting a meaning from them, or anything that might help to resolve their problems, the two young men, feeling they had been made to look foolish, began to make their way homewards. After travelling for several days, they came to a fine-looking bridge across a river; and since a lengthy baggage-train of mules and horses happened to be using the bridge, they were forced to wait till all the animals had crossed it.
When all but a few of them had done so, one of the mules took fright, in the way they frequently do, and refused to take another step. So one of the muleteers took hold of a stick and began to beat it, quite gently to begin with, in order to make it go across. But the mule, veering from one side of the road to the other and occasionally turning back, was utterly determined not to go on. This caused the muleteer to lose his temper completely, and he began to beat it with his stick quite unmercifully, raining a series of terrible blows on its head, its flanks, and its hindquarters, but all to no avail.
Melissus and Joseph, who were standing there watching all this, directed a stream of abuse at the muleteer, saying:
‘Hey!
villain, what are you doing? Do you want to kill the poor beast? Why don’t you try talking nicely to him and leading him across gently? He’ll come more quickly that way than by beating him as you are doing.’
‘You know your horses and I know my mule,’ replied the muleteer. ‘Just you leave him to me.’
Having said this he began to beat the mule all over again, and administered so many blows to each of its flanks that the mule moved on, and the muleteer’s point was made.
As the two young men were about to proceed on their way, Joseph saw a fellow sitting on the farther side of the bridge and asked him what the place was called.
‘Sir,’ the good man replied, ‘this place is called Goosebridge.’
No sooner did Joseph hear the name than he recalled the words of Solomon, and said to Melissus:
‘I do declare, my friend, that the advice I had from Solomon may yet turn out to be sound and sensible. For now it’s perfectly plain to me that I’ve never known how to beat my wife properly, and this muleteer has shown me what I must do.’
A few days later they came to Antioch, and Joseph invited Melissus to stay with him and rest for a few days before going on with his journey. Having met with an icy reception from his wife, Joseph told her to see that supper was prepared, taking her instructions from Melissus; and the latter, seeing that Joseph wanted him to do it, briefly explained what he would like to eat. But the woman, true to her old habits, did almost the exact opposite of what Melissus had prescribed; and when Joseph saw what she had done, he rounded on her angrily and said:
‘Were you not told about the kind of supper you were to serve?’
The woman turned to him defiantly, and said:
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