--
Fra Cipolla promises to shew certain country-folk a feather of the Angel
Gabriel, in lieu of which he finds coals, which he avers to be of those
with which St. Lawrence was roasted.
--
All the company save Dioneo being delivered of their several stories, he
wist that 'twas his turn to speak. Wherefore, without awaiting any very
express command, he enjoined silence on those that were commending
Guido's pithy quip, and thus began:--Sweet my ladies, albeit 'tis my
privilege to speak of what likes me most, I purpose not to-day to deviate
from that theme whereon you have all discoursed most appositely; but,
following in your footsteps, I am minded to shew you with what adroitness
and readiness of resource one of the Friars of St. Antony avoided a
pickle that two young men had in readiness for him. Nor, if, in order to
do the story full justice, I be somewhat prolix of speech, should it be
burdensome to you, if you will but glance at the sun, which is yet in
mid-heaven.
Certaldo, as perchance you may have heard, is a town of Val d'Elsa within
our country-side, which, small though it is, had in it aforetime people
of rank and wealth. Thither, for that there he found good pasture, 'twas
long the wont of one of the Friars of St. Antony to resort once every
year, to collect the alms that fools gave them. Fra Cipolla(1)--so hight
the friar--met with a hearty welcome, no less, perchance, by reason of
his name than for other cause, the onions produced in that district being
famous throughout Tuscany. He was little of person, red-haired,
jolly-visaged, and the very best of good fellows; and therewithal, though
learning he had none, he was so excellent and ready a speaker that whoso
knew him not would not only have esteemed him a great rhetorician, but
would have pronounced him Tully himself or, perchance, Quintilian; and in
all the country-side there was scarce a soul to whom he was not either
gossip or friend or lover. Being thus wont from time to time to visit
Certaldo, the friar came there once upon a time in the month of August,
and on a Sunday morning, all the good folk of the neighbouring farms
being come to mass in the parish church, he took occasion to come forward
and say:--"Ladies and gentlemen, you wot 'tis your custom to send year by
year to the poor of Baron Master St. Antony somewhat of your wheat and
oats, more or less, according to the ability and the devoutness of each,
that blessed St. Antony may save your oxen and asses and pigs and sheep
from harm; and you are also accustomed, and especially those whose names
are on the books of our confraternity, to pay your trifling annual dues.
To collect which offerings, I am hither sent by my superior, to wit,
Master Abbot; wherefore, with the blessing of God, after none, when you
hear the bells ring, you will come out of the church to the place where
in the usual way I shall deliver you my sermon, and you will kiss the
cross; and therewithal, knowing, as I do, that you are one and all most
devoted to Baron Master St. Antony, I will by way of especial grace shew
you a most holy and goodly relic, which I brought myself from the Holy
Land overseas, which is none other than one of the feathers of the Angel
Gabriel, which he left behind him in the room of the Virgin Mary, when he
came to make her the annunciation in Nazareth." And having said thus
much, he ceased, and went on with the mass. Now among the many that were
in the church, while Fra Cipolla made this speech, were two very wily
young wags, the one Giovanni del Bragoniera by name, the other Biagio
Pizzini; who, albeit they were on the best of terms with Fra Cipolla and
much in his company, had a sly laugh together over the relic, and
resolved to make game of him and his feather. So, having learned that Fra
Cipolla was to breakfast that morning in the town with one of his
friends, as soon as they knew that he was at table, down they hied them
into the street, and to the inn where the friar lodged, having complotted
that Biagio should keep the friar's servant in play, while Giovanni made
search among the friar's goods and chattels for this feather, whatever it
might be, to carry it off, that they might see how the friar would
afterwards explain the matter to the people. Now Fra Cipolla had for
servant one Guccio,(2) whom some called by way of addition Balena,(3)
others Imbratta,(4) others again Porco,(5) and who was such a rascallion
that sure it is that Lippo Topo(6) himself never painted his like.
Concerning whom Fra Cipolla would ofttimes make merry with his familiars,
saying:--"My servant has nine qualities, any one of which in Solomon,
Aristotle, or Seneca, would have been enough to spoil all their virtue,
wisdom and holiness. Consider, then, what sort of a man he must be that
has these nine qualities, and yet never a spark of either virtue or
wisdom or holiness." And being asked upon divers occasions what these
nine qualities might be, he strung them together in rhyme, and
answered:--"I will tell you. Lazy and uncleanly and a liar he is,
Negligent, disobedient and foulmouthed, iwis, And reckless and witless
and mannerless: and therewithal he has some other petty vices, which
'twere best to pass over. And the most amusing thing about him is, that,
wherever he goes, he is for taking a wife and renting a house, and on the
strength of a big, black, greasy beard he deems himself so very handsome
a fellow and seductive, that he takes all the women that see him to be in
love with him, and, if he were left alone, he would slip his girdle and
run after them all. True it is that he is of great use to me, for that,
be any minded to speak with me never so secretly, he must still have his
share of the audience; and, if perchance aught is demanded of me, such is
his fear lest I should be at a loss what answer to make, that he
presently replies, ay or no, as he deems meet."
Now, when he left this knave at the inn, Fra Cipolla had strictly
enjoined him on no account to suffer any one to touch aught of his, and
least of all his wallet, because it contained the holy things. But Guccio
Imbratta, who was fonder of the kitchen than any nightingale of the green
boughs, and most particularly if he espied there a maid, and in the
host's kitchen had caught sight of a coarse fat woman, short and
misshapen, with a pair of breasts that shewed as two buckets of muck and
a face that might have belonged to one of the Baronci, all reeking with
sweat and grease and smoke, left Fra Cipolla's room and all his things to
take care of themselves, and like a vulture swooping down upon the
carrion, was in the kitchen in a trice. Where, though 'twas August, he
sat him down by the fire, and fell a gossiping with Nuta--such was the
maid's name--and told her that he was a gentleman by procuration,(7) and
had more florins than could be reckoned, besides those that he had to
give away, which were rather more than less, and that he could do and say
such things as never were or might be seen or heard forever, good Lord!
and a day. And all heedless of his cowl, which had as much grease upon it
as would have furnished forth the caldron of Altopascio,(8) and of his
rent and patched doublet, inlaid with filth about the neck and under the
armpits, and so stained that it shewed hues more various than ever did
silk from Tartary or the Indies, and of his shoes that were all to
pieces, and of his hose that were all in tatters, he told her in a tone
that would have become the Sieur de Chatillon, that he was minded to
rehabit her and put her in trim, and raise her from her abject condition,
and place her where, though she would not have much to call her own, at
any rate she would have hope of better things, with much more to the like
effect; which professions, though made with every appearance of good
will, proved, like most of his schemes, insubstantial as air, and came to
nothing.
Finding Guccio Porco thus occupied with Nuta, the two young men gleefully
accounted their work half done, and, none gainsaying them, entered Fra
Cipolla's room, which was open, and lit at once upon the wallet, in which
was the feather. The wallet opened, they found, wrapt up in many folds of
taffeta, a little casket, on opening which they discovered one of the
tail-feathers of a parrot, which they deemed must be that which the friar
had promised to shew the good folk of Certaldo. And in sooth he might
well have so imposed upon them, for in those days the luxuries of Egypt
had scarce been introduced into Tuscany, though they have since been
brought over in prodigious abundance, to the grave hurt of all Italy. And
though some conversance with them there was, yet in those parts folk knew
next to nothing of them; but, adhering to the honest, simple ways of
their forefathers, had not seen, nay for the most part had not so much as
heard tell of, a parrot.
So the young men, having found the feather, took it out with great glee;
and looking around for something to replace it, they espied in a corner
of the room some pieces of coal, wherewith they filled the casket; which
they then closed, and having set the room in order exactly as they had
found it, they quitted it unperceived, and hied them merrily off with the
feather, and posted themselves where they might hear what Fra Cipolla
would say when he found the coals in its stead. Mass said, the simple
folk that were in the church went home with the tidings that the feather
of the Angel Gabriel was to be seen after none; and this goodman telling
his neighbour, and that goodwife her gossip, by the time every one had
breakfasted, the town could scarce hold the multitude of men and women
that flocked thither all agog to see this feather.
Fra Cipolla, having made a hearty breakfast and had a little nap, got up
shortly after none, and marking the great concourse of country-folk that
were come to see the feather, sent word to Guccio Imbratta to go up there
with the bells, and bring with him the wallet. Guccio, though 'twas with
difficulty that he tore himself away from the kitchen and Nuta, hied him
up with the things required; and though, when he got up, he was winded,
for he was corpulent with drinking nought but water, he did Fra Cipolla's
bidding by going to the church door and ringing the bells amain. When all
the people were gathered about the door, Fra Cipolla, all unwitting that
aught of his was missing, began his sermon, and after much said in
glorification of himself, caused the confiteor to be recited with great
solemnity, and two torches to be lit by way of preliminary to the shewing
of the feather of the Angel Gabriel: he then bared his head, carefully
unfolded the taffeta, and took out the casket, which, after a few
prefatory words in praise and laudation of the Angel Gabriel and his
relic, he opened. When he saw that it contained nought but coals, he did
not suspect Guccio Balena of playing the trick, for he knew that he was
not clever enough, nor did he curse him, that his carelessness had
allowed another to play it, but he inly imprecated himself, that he had
committed his things to the keeping of one whom he knew to be "negligent
and disobedient, reckless and witless." Nevertheless, he changed not
colour, but with face and hands upturned to heaven, he said in a voice
that all might hear:--"O God, blessed be Thy might for ever and ever."
Then, closing the casket, and turning to the people:--"Ladies and
gentlemen," he said, "you are to know, that when I was yet a very young
man, I was sent by my superior into those parts where the sun rises, and
I was expressly bidden to search until I should find the Privileges of
Porcellana, which, though they cost nothing to seal, are of much more use
to others than to us. On which errand I set forth, taking my departure
from Venice, and traversing the Borgo de' Greci,(9) and thence on
horseback the realm of Algarve,(10) and so by Baldacca(11) I came to
Parione,(12) whence, somewhat athirst, I after a while got on to
Sardinia.(13) But wherefore go I about to enumerate all the lands in
which I pursued my quest? Having passed the straits of San Giorgio, I
arrived at Truffia(14) and Buffia,(15) countries thickly populated and
with great nations, whence I pursued my journey to Menzogna,(16) where I
met with many of our own brethren, and of other religious not a few,
intent one and all on eschewing hardship for the love of God, making
little account of others! toil, so they might ensue their own advantage,
and paying in nought but unminted coin(17) throughout the length and
breadth of the country; and so I came to the land of Abruzzi, where the
men and women go in pattens on the mountains, and clothe the hogs with
their own entrails;(18) and a little further on I found folk that carried
bread in staves and wine in sacks.(19) And leaving them, I arrived at the
mountains of the Bachi,(20) where all the waters run downwards. In short
I penetrated so far that I came at last to India Pastinaca,(21) where I
swear to you by the habit that I wear, that I saw pruning-hooks(22) fly:
a thing that none would believe that had not seen it. Whereof be my
witness that I lie not Maso del Saggio, that great merchant, whom I found
there cracking nuts, and selling the shells by retail! However, not being
able to find that whereof I was in quest, because from thence one must
travel by water, I turned back, and so came at length to the Holy Land,
where in summer cold bread costs four deniers, and hot bread is to be had
for nothing. And there I found the venerable father
Nonmiblasmetesevoipiace,(23) the most worshipful Patriarch of Jerusalem;
who out of respect for the habit that I have ever worn, to wit, that of
Baron Master St. Antony, was pleased to let me see all the holy relics
that he had by him, which were so many, that, were I to enumerate them
all, I should not come to the end of them in some miles. However, not to
disappoint you, I will tell you a few of them. In the first place, then,
he shewed me the finger of the Holy Spirit, as whole and entire as it
ever was, and the tuft of the Seraph that appeared to St. Francis, and
one of the nails of the Cherubim, and one of the ribs of the Verbum Caro
hie thee to the casement,(24) and some of the vestments of the Holy
Catholic Faith, and some of the rays of the star that appeared to the
Magi in the East, and a phial of the sweat of St. Michael a battling with
the Devil and the jaws of death of St. Lazarus, and other relics. And for
that I gave him a liberal supply of the acclivities(25) of Monte Morello
in the vulgar and some chapters of Caprezio, of which he had long been in
quest, he was pleased to let me participate in his holy relics, and gave
me one of the teeth of the Holy Cross, and in a small phial a bit of the
sound of the bells of Solomon's temple, and this feather of the Angel
Gabriel, whereof I have told you, and one of the pattens of San Gherardo
da Villa Magna, which, not long ago, I gave at Florence to Gherardo di
Bonsi, who holds him in prodigious veneration. He also gave me some of
the coals with which the most blessed martyr, St. Lawrence, was roasted.
All which things I devoutly brought thence, and have them all safe. True
it is that my superior has not hitherto permitted me to shew them, until
he should be certified that they are genuine. However, now that this is
avouched by certain miracles wrought by them, of which we have tidings by
letter from the Patriarch, he has given me leave to shew them. But,
fearing to trust them to another, I always carry them with me; and to
tell you the truth I carry the feather of the Angel Gabriel, lest it
should get spoiled, in a casket, and the coals, with which St. Lawrence
was roasted, in another casket; which caskets are so like the one to the
other, that not seldom I mistake one for the other, which has befallen me
on this occasion; for, whereas I thought to have brought with me the
casket wherein is the feather, I have brought instead that which contains
the coals. Nor deem I this a mischance; nay, methinks, 'tis by
interposition, of God, and that He Himself put the casket of coals in my
hand, for I mind me that the feast of St. Lawrence falls but two days
hence. Wherefore God, being minded that by shewing you the coals, with
which he was roasted, I should rekindle in your souls the devotion that
you ought to feel towards him, guided my hand, not to the feather which I
meant to take, but to the blessed coals that were extinguished by the
humours that exuded from that most holy body. And so, blessed children,
bare your heads and devoutly draw nigh to see them. But first of all I
would have you know, that whoso has the sign of the cross made upon him
with these coals, may live secure for the whole of the ensuing year, that
fire shall not touch him, that he feel it not."
Having so said, the friar, chanting a hymn in praise of St. Lawrence,
opened the casket, and shewed the coals. Whereon the foolish crowd gazed
a while in awe and reverent wonder, and then came pressing forward in a
mighty throng about Fra Cipolla with offerings beyond their wont, each
and all praying him to touch them with the coals. Wherefore Fra Cipolla
took the coals in his hand, and set about making on their white blouses,
and on their doublets, and on the veils of the women crosses as big as
might be, averring the while that whatever the coals might thus lose
would be made good to them again in the casket, as he had often proved.
On this wise, to his exceeding great profit, he marked all the folk of
Certaldo with the cross, and, thanks to his ready wit and resource, had
his laugh at those, who by robbing him of the feather thought to make a
laughing-stock of him. They, indeed, being among his hearers, and marking
his novel expedient, and how voluble he was, and what a long story he
made of it, laughed till they thought their jaws would break; and, when
the congregation was dispersed, they went up to him, and never so merrily
told him what they had done, and returned him his feather; which next
year proved no less lucrative to him than that day the coals had been.
(1) Onion.
(2) Diminutive of Arriguccio.
(3) Whale.
(4) Filth.
(5) Hog.
(6) The works of this painter seem to be lost.
(7) One of the humorous ineptitudes of which Boccaccio is fond.
(8) An abbey near Lucca famous for its doles of broth.
(9) Perhaps part of the "sesto" of Florence known as the Borgo, as the
tradition of the commentators that the friar's itinerary is wholly
Florentine is not to be lightly set aside.
(10) Il Garbo, a quarter or street in Florence, doubtless so called
because the wares of Algarve were there sold. Rer. Ital. Script.
(Muratori: Suppl. Tartini) ii. 119. Villani, Istorie Fiorentine, iv. 12,
xii. 18.
(11) A famous tavern in Florence. Florio, Vocab. Ital. e Ingl., ed
Torriano, 1659.
(12) A "borgo" in Florence. Villani, Istorie Fiorentine, iv. 7.
(13) A suburb of Florence on the Arno, ib. ix. 256.
(14) The land of Cajolery.
(15) The land of Drollery.
(16) The land of Lies.
(17) I.e. in false promises: suggested by Dante's Pagando di moneta senza
conio. Parad. xxix. 126.
(18) A reference to sausage-making.
(19) I.e. cakes fashioned in a hollow ring, and wines in leathern
bottles.
(20) Grubs.
(21) In allusion to the shapeless fish, so called, which was proverbially
taken as a type of the outlandish.
(22) A jeu de mots, "pennati," pruning-hooks, signifying also feathered,
though "pennuti" is more common in that sense.
(23) Takemenottotaskanitlikeyou.
(24) Fatti alle finestre, a subterfuge for factum est.
(25) Piagge, jocularly for pagine: doubtless some mighty tome of school
divinity is meant.
Immense was the delight and diversion which this story afforded to all
the company alike, and great and general was the laughter over Fra
Cipolla, and more especially at his pilgrimage, and the relics, as well
those that he had but seen as those that he had brought back with him.
Which being ended, the queen, taking note that therewith the close of her
sovereignty was come, stood up, took off the crown, and set it on
Dioneo's head, saying with a laugh:--"'Tis time, Dioneo, that thou prove
the weight of the burden of having ladies to govern and guide. Be thou
king then; and let thy rule be such that, when 'tis ended, we may have
cause to commend it." Dioneo took the crown, and laughingly
answered:--"Kings worthier far than I you may well have seen many a time
ere now--I speak of the kings in chess; but let me have of you that
obedience which is due to a true king, and of a surety I will give you to
taste of that solace, without which perfection of joy there may not be in
any festivity. But enough of this: I will govern as best I may." Then, as
was the wont, he sent for the seneschal, and gave him particular
instruction how to order matters during the term of his sovereignty;
which done, he said:--"Noble ladies, such and so diverse has been our
discourse of the ways of men and their various fortunes, that but for the
visit that we had a while ago from Madam Licisca, who by what she said
has furnished me with matter of discourse for to-morrow, I doubt I had
been not a little put to it to find a theme. You heard how she said that
there was not a woman in her neighbourhood whose husband had her
virginity; adding that well she knew how many and what manner of tricks
they, after marriage, played their husbands. The first count we may well
leave to the girls whom it concerns; the second, methinks, should prove a
diverting topic: wherefore I ordain that, taking our cue from Madam
Licisca, we discourse to-morrow of the tricks that, either for love or
for their deliverance from peril, ladies have heretofore played their
husbands, and whether they were by the said husbands detected or no." To
discourse of such a topic some of the ladies deemed unmeet for them, and
besought the king to find another theme. But the king made
answer:--"Ladies, what manner of theme I have prescribed I know as well
as you, nor was I to be diverted from prescribing it by that which you
now think to declare unto me, for I wot the times are such that, so only
men and women have a care to do nought that is unseemly, 'tis allowable
to them to discourse of what they please. For in sooth, as you must know,
so out of joint are the times that the judges have deserted the
judgment-seat, the laws are silent, and ample licence to preserve his
life as best he may is accorded to each and all. Wherefore, if you are
somewhat less strict of speech than is your wont, not that aught unseemly
in act may follow, but that you may afford solace to yourselves and
others, I see not how you can be open to reasonable censure on the part
of any. Furthermore, nought that has been said from the first day to the
present moment has, methinks, in any degree sullied the immaculate honour
of your company, nor, God helping us, shall aught ever sully it. Besides,
who is there that knows not the quality of your honour? which were proof,
I make no doubt, against not only the seductive influence of diverting
discourse, but even the terror of death. And, to tell you the truth,
whoso wist that you refused to discourse of these light matters for a
while, would be apt to suspect that 'twas but for that you had yourselves
erred in like sort. And truly a goodly honour would you confer upon me,
obedient as I have ever been to you, if after making me your king and
your lawgiver, you were to refuse to discourse of the theme which I
prescribe. Away, then, with this scruple fitter for low minds than yours,
and let each study how she may give us a goodly story, and Fortune
prosper her therein."
So spake the king, and the ladies, hearkening, said that, even as he
would, so it should be: whereupon he gave all leave to do as they might
be severally minded until the supper-hour. The sun was still quite high
in the heaven, for they had not enlarged in their discourse: wherefore,
Dioneo with the other gallants being set to play at dice, Elisa called
the other ladies apart, and said:--"There is a nook hard by this place,
where I think none of you has ever been: 'tis called the Ladies' Vale:
whither, ever since we have been here, I have desired to take you, but
time meet I have not found until today, when the sun is still so high:
if, then, you are minded to visit it, I have no manner of doubt that,
when you are there, you will be very glad you came." The ladies answered
that they were ready, and so, saying nought to the young men, they
summoned one of their maids, and set forth; nor had they gone much more
than a mile, when they arrived at the Vale of Ladies. They entered it by
a very strait gorge, through which there issued a rivulet, clear as
crystal, and a sight, than which nought more fair and pleasant,
especially at that time when the heat was great, could be imagined, met
their eyes. Within the valley, as one of them afterwards told me, was a
plain about half-a-mile in circumference, and so exactly circular that it
might have been fashioned according to the compass, though it seemed a
work of Nature's art, not man's: 'twas girdled about by six hills of no
great height, each crowned with a palace that shewed as a goodly little
castle. The slopes of the hills were graduated from summit to base after
the manner of the successive tiers, ever abridging their circle, that we
see in our theatres; and as many as fronted the southern rays were all
planted so close with vines, olives, almond-trees, cherry-trees,
fig-trees and other fruitbearing trees not a few, that there was not a
hand's-breadth of vacant space. Those that fronted the north were in like
manner covered with copses of oak saplings, ashes and other trees, as
green and straight as might be. Besides which, the plain, which was shut
in on all sides save that on which the ladies had entered, was full of
firs, cypresses, and bay-trees, with here and there a pine, in order and
symmetry so meet and excellent as had they been planted by an artist, the
best that might be found in that kind; wherethrough, even when the sun
was in the zenith, scarce a ray of light might reach the ground, which
was all one lawn of the finest turf, pranked with the hyacinth and divers
other flowers. Add to which--nor was there aught there more
delightsome--a rivulet that, issuing from one of the gorges between two
of the hills, descended over ledges of living rock, making, as it fell, a
murmur most gratifying to the ear, and, seen from a distance, shewed as a
spray of finest, powdered quick-silver, and no sooner reached the little
plain, than 'twas gathered into a tiny channel, by which it sped with
great velocity to the middle of the plain, where it formed a diminutive
lake, like the fishponds that townsfolk sometimes make in their gardens,
when they have occasion for them. The lake was not so deep but that a man
might stand therein with his breast above the water; and so clear, so
pellucid was the water that the bottom, which was of the finest gravel,
shewed so distinct, that one, had he wished, who had nought better to do,
might have counted the stones. Nor was it only the bottom that was to be
seen, but such a multitude of fishes, glancing to and fro, as was at once
a delight and a marvel to behold. Bank it had none, but its margin was
the lawn, to which it imparted a goodlier freshness. So much of the water
as it might not contain was received by another tiny channel, through
which, issuing from the vale, it glided swiftly to the plain below.
To which pleasaunce the damsels being come surveyed it with roving
glance, and finding it commendable, and marking the lake in front of
them, did, as 'twas very hot, and they deemed themselves secure from
observation, resolve to take a bath. So, having bidden their maid wait
and keep watch over the access to the vale, and give them warning, if
haply any should approach it, they all seven undressed and got into the
water, which to the whiteness of their flesh was even such a veil as fine
glass is to the vermeil of the rose. They, being thus in the water, the
clearness of which was thereby in no wise affected, did presently begin
to go hither and thither after the fish, which had much ado where to
bestow themselves so as to escape out of their hands. In which diversion
they spent some time, and caught a few, and then they hied them out of
the water and dressed them again, and bethinking them that 'twas time to
return to the palace, they began slowly sauntering thither, dilating much
as they went upon the beauty of the place, albeit they could not extol it
more than they had already done. 'Twas still quite early when they
reached the palace, so that they found the gallants yet at play where
they had left them. To whom quoth Pampinea with a smile:--"We have stolen
a march upon you to-day." "So," replied Dioneo, "'tis with you do first
and say after?" "Ay, my lord," returned Pampinea, and told him at large
whence they came, and what the place was like, and how far 'twas off, and
what they had done. What she said of the beauty of the spot begat in the
king a desire to see it: wherefore he straightway ordered supper, whereof
when all had gaily partaken, the three gallants parted from the ladies
and hied them with their servants to the vale, where none of them had
ever been before, and, having marked all its beauties, extolled it as
scarce to be matched in all the world. Then, as the hour was very late,
they did but bathe, and as soon as they had resumed their clothes,
returned to the ladies, whom they found dancing a carol to an air that
Fiammetta sang, which done, they conversed of the Ladies' Vale, waxing
eloquent in praise thereof: insomuch that the king called the seneschal,
and bade him have some beds made ready and carried thither on the morrow,
that any that were so minded might there take their siesta. He then had
lights and wine and comfits brought; and when they had taken a slight
refection, he bade all address them to the dance. So at his behest
Pamfilo led a dance, and then the king, turning with gracious mien to
Elisa:--"Fair damsel," quoth he, "'twas thou to-day didst me this honour
of the crown; and 'tis my will that thine to-night be the honour of the
song; wherefore sing us whatsoever thou hast most lief." "That gladly
will I," replied Elisa smiling; and thus with dulcet voice began:--
If of thy talons, Love, be quit I may,
I deem it scarce can be
But other fangs I may elude for aye.
Service I took with thee, a tender maid,
In thy war thinking perfect peace to find,
And all my arms upon the ground I laid,
Yielding myself to thee with trustful mind:
Thou, harpy-tyrant, whom no faith may bind,
Eftsoons didst swoop on me,
And with thy cruel claws mad'st me thy prey.
Then thy poor captive, bound with many a chain,
Thou tookst, and gav'st to him, whom fate did call
Hither my death to be; for that in pain
And bitter tears I waste away, his thrall:
Nor heave I e'er a sigh, or tear let fall,
So harsh a lord is he,
That him inclines a jot my grief to allay.
My prayers upon the idle air are spent:
He hears not, will not hear; wherefore in vain
The more each hour my soul doth her torment;
Nor may I die, albeit to die were gain.
Ah! Lord, have pity of my bitter pain!
Help have I none but thee;
Then take and bind and at my feet him lay.
But if thou wilt not, do my soul but loose
From hope, that her still binds with triple chain.
Sure, O my Lord, this prayer thou'lt not refuse:
The which so thou to grant me do but deign,
I look my wonted beauty to regain,
And banish misery
With roses white and red bedecked and gay.
So with a most piteous sigh ended Elisa her song, whereat all wondered
exceedingly, nor might any conjecture wherefore she so sang. But the
king, who was in a jolly humour, sent for Tindaro, and bade him out with
his cornemuse, and caused them tread many a measure thereto, until, no
small part of the night being thus spent, he gave leave to all to betake
them to rest.
--
Endeth here the sixth day of the Decameron, beginneth the seventh, in
which, under the rule of Dioneo, discourse is had of the tricks which,
either for love or for their deliverance from peril, ladies have
heretofore played their husbands, and whether they were by the said
husbands detected, or no.
--
Fled was now each star from the eastern sky, save only that which we call
Lucifer, which still glowed in the whitening dawn, when uprose the
seneschal, and with a goodly baggage-train hied him to the Ladies' Vale,
there to make all things ready according to the ordinance and commandment
of the king. Nor was it long after his departure that the king rose,
being awaked by the stir and bustle that the servants made in lading the
horses, and being risen he likewise roused all the ladies and the other
gallants; and so, when as yet 'twas scarce clear daybreak, they all took
the road; nor seemed it to them that the nightingales and the other birds
had ever chanted so blithely as that morning. By which choir they were
attended to the Ladies' Vale, where they were greeted by other warblers
not a few, that seemed rejoiced at their arrival. Roving about the vale,
and surveying its beauties afresh, they rated them higher than on the
previous day, as indeed the hour was more apt to shew them forth. Then
with good wine and comfits they broke their fast, and, that they might
not lag behind the songsters, they fell a singing, whereto the vale
responded, ever echoing their strains; nor did the birds, as minded not
to be beaten, fail to swell the chorus with notes of unwonted sweetness.
However, breakfast-time came, and then, the tables being laid under a
living canopy of trees, and beside other goodly trees that fringed the
little lake, they sat them down in order as to the king seemed meet. So
they took their meal, glancing from time to time at the lake, where the
fish darted to and fro in multitudinous shoals, which afforded not only
delight to their eyes but matter for converse. Breakfast ended, and the
tables removed, they fell a singing again more blithely than before.
After which, there being set, in divers places about the little vale,
beds which the discreet seneschal had duly furnished and equipped within
and without with store of French coverlets, and other bedgear, all, that
were so minded, had leave of the king to go to sleep, and those that
cared not to sleep might betake them, as each might choose, to any of
their wonted diversions. But, all at length being risen, and the time for
addressing them to the story-telling being come, the king had carpets
spread on the sward no great way from the place where they had
breakfasted; and, all having sat them down beside the lake, he bade
Emilia begin; which, blithe and smiling, Emilia did on this wise.