--
Two Sienese love a lady, one of them being her gossip: the gossip dies,
having promised his comrade to return to him from the other world; which
he does, and tells him what sort of life is led there.
--
None now was left to tell, save the king, who, as soon as the ladies had
ceased mourning over the fall of the pear-tree, that had done no wrong,
and were silent, began thus:--Most manifest it is that 'tis the prime
duty of a just king to observe the laws that he has made; and, if he do
not so, he is to be esteemed no king, but a slave that has merited
punishment, into which fault, and under which condemnation, I, your king,
must, as of necessity, fall. For, indeed, when yesterday I made the law
which governs our discourse of to-day, I thought not to-day to avail
myself of my privilege, but to submit to the law, no less than you, and
to discourse of the same topic whereof you all have discoursed; but not
only has the very story been told which I had intended to tell, but
therewithal so many things else, and so very much goodlier have been
said, that, search my memory as I may, I cannot mind me of aught, nor wot
I that touching such a matter there is indeed aught, for me to say, that
would be comparable with what has been said; wherefore, as infringe I
must the law that I myself have made, I confess myself worthy of
punishment, and instantly declaring my readiness to pay any forfeit that
may be demanded of me, am minded to have recourse to my wonted privilege.
And such, dearest ladies, is the potency of Elisa's story of the
godfather and his gossip, and therewith of the simplicity of the Sienese,
that I am prompted thereby to pass from this topic of the beguilement of
foolish husbands by their cunning wives to a little story touching these
same Sienese, which, albeit there is not a little therein which you were
best not to believe, may yet be in some degree entertaining to hear.
Know, then, that at Siena there dwelt in Porta Salaia two young men of
the people, named, the one, Tingoccio Mini, the other Meuccio di Tura,
who, by what appeared, loved one another not a little, for they were
scarce ever out of one another's company; and being wont, like other
folk, to go to church and listen to sermons, they heard from time to time
of the glory and the woe, which in the other world are allotted,
according to merit, to the souls of the dead. Of which matters craving,
but being unable to come by, more certain assurance, they agreed together
that, whichever of them should die first, should, if he might, return to
the survivor, and certify him of that which he would fain know; and this
agreement they confirmed with an oath. Now, after they had made this
engagement, and while they were still constantly together, Tingoccio
chanced to become sponsor to one Ambruogio Anselmini, that dwelt in Campo
Reggi, who had had a son by his wife, Monna Mita. The lady was exceeding
fair, and amorous withal, and Tingoccio being wont sometimes to visit her
as his gossip, and to take Meuccio with him, he, notwithstanding his
sponsorship, grew enamoured of her, as did also Meuccio, for she pleased
him not a little, and he heard her much commended by Tingoccio. Which
love each concealed from the other; but not for the same reason.
Tingoccio was averse to discover it to Meuccio, for that he deemed it an
ignominious thing to love his gossip, and was ashamed to let any one know
it. Meuccio was on his guard for a very different reason, to wit, that he
was already ware that the lady was in Tingoccio's good graces. Wherefore
he said to himself:--If I avow my love to him, he will be jealous of me,
and as, being her gossip, he can speak with her as often as he pleases,
he will do all he can to make her hate me, and so I shall never have any
favour of her.
Now, the two young men being thus, as I have said, on terms of most
familiar friendship, it befell that Tingoccio, being the better able to
open his heart to the lady, did so order his demeanour and discourse that
he had from her all that he desired. Nor was his friend's success hidden
from Meuccio; though, much as it vexed him, yet still cherishing the hope
of eventually attaining his end, and fearing to give Tingoccio occasion
to baulk or hamper him in some way, he feigned to know nought of the
matter. So Tingoccio, more fortunate than his comrade, and rival in love,
did with such assiduity till his gossip's good land that he got thereby a
malady, which in the course of some days waxed so grievous that he
succumbed thereto, and departed this life. And on the night of the third
day after his decease (perchance because earlier he might not) he made
his appearance, according to his promise, in Meuccio's chamber, and
called Meuccio, who was fast asleep, by his name. Whereupon:--"Who art
thou?" quoth Meuccio, as he awoke. "'Tis I, Tingoccio," replied he, "come
back, in fulfilment of the pledge I gave thee, to give thee tidings of
the other world." For a while Meuccio saw him not without terror: then,
his courage reviving:--"Welcome, my brother," quoth he: and proceeded to
ask him if he were lost. "Nought is lost but what is irrecoverable,"
replied Tingoccio: "how then should I be here, if I were lost?" "Nay,"
quoth then Meuccio; "I mean it not so: I would know of thee, whether thou
art of the number of the souls that are condemned to the penal fire of
hell." "Why no," returned Tingoccio, "not just that; but still for the
sins that I did I am in most sore and grievous torment." Meuccio then
questioned Tingoccio in detail of the pains there meted out for each of
the sins done here; and Tingoccio enumerated them all. Whereupon Meuccio
asked if there were aught he might do for him here on earth. Tingoccio
answered in the affirmative; to wit, that he might have masses and
prayers said and alms-deeds done for him, for that such things were of
great service to the souls there. "That gladly will I," replied Meuccio;
and then, as Tingoccio was about to take his leave, he bethought him of
the gossip, and raising his head a little, he said:--"I mind me,
Tingoccio, of the gossip, with whom thou wast wont to lie when thou wast
here. Now what is thy punishment for that?" "My brother," returned
Tingoccio, "as soon as I got down there, I met one that seemed to know
all my sins by heart, who bade me betake me to a place, where, while in
direst torment I bewept my sins, I found comrades not a few condemned to
the same pains; and so, standing there among them, and calling to mind
what I had done with the gossip, and foreboding in requital thereof a
much greater torment than had yet been allotted me, albeit I was in a
great and most vehement flame, I quaked for fear in every part of me.
Which one that was beside me observing:--'What,' quoth he, 'hast thou
done more than the rest of us that are here, that thou quakest thus as
thou standest in the fire?' 'My friend,' quoth I, 'I am in mortal fear of
the doom that I expect for a great sin that I once committed.' He then
asked what sin it might be. ''Twas on this wise,' replied I: 'I lay with
my gossip, and that so much that I died thereof.' Whereat, he did but
laugh, saying:--'Go to, fool, make thy mind easy; for here there is no
account taken of gossips.' Which completely revived my drooping spirits."
'Twas now near daybreak: wherefore:--"Adieu! Meuccio," quoth his friend:
"for longer tarry with thee I may not;" and so he vanished. As for
Meuccio, having learned that no account was taken of gossips in the other
world, he began to laugh at his own folly in that he had already spared
divers such; and so, being quit of his ignorance, he in that respect in
course of time waxed wise. Which matters had Fra Rinaldo but known, he
would not have needed to go about syllogizing in order to bring his fair
gossip to pleasure him.
The sun was westering, and a light breeze blew, when the king, his story
ended, and none else being left to speak, arose, and taking off the
crown, set it on Lauretta's head, saying:--"Madam, I crown you with
yourself(1) queen of our company: 'tis now for you, as our sovereign
lady, to make such ordinances as you shall deem meet for our common
solace and delectation;" and having so said, he sat him down again. Queen
Lauretta sent for the seneschal, and bade him have a care that the tables
should be set in the pleasant vale somewhat earlier than had been their
wont, that their return to the palace might be more leisurely; after
which she gave him to know what else he had to do during her sovereignty.
Then turning to the company:--"Yesterday," quoth she, "Dioneo would have
it that to-day we should discourse of the tricks that wives play their
husbands; and but that I am minded not to shew as of the breed of yelping
curs, that are ever prompt to retaliate, I would ordain that to-morrow we
discourse of the tricks that husbands play their wives. However, in lieu
thereof, I will have every one take thought to tell of those tricks that,
daily, woman plays man, or man woman, or one man another; wherein, I
doubt not, there will be matter of discourse no less agreeable than has
been that of to-day." So saying, she rose and dismissed the company until
supper-time. So the ladies and the men being risen, some bared their feet
and betook them to the clear water, there to disport them, while others
took their pleasure upon the green lawn amid the trees that there grew
goodly and straight. For no brief while Dioneo and Fiammetta sang in
concert of Arcite and Palamon. And so, each and all taking their several
pastimes, they sped the hours with exceeding great delight until
supper-time. Which being come, they sat them down at table beside the
little lake, and there, while a thousand songsters charmed their ears,
and a gentle breeze, that blew from the environing hills, fanned them,
and never a fly annoyed them, reposefully and joyously they supped. The
tables removed, they roved a while about the pleasant vale, and then, the
sun being still high, for 'twas but half vespers, the queen gave the
word, and they wended their way back to their wonted abode, and going
slowly, and beguiling the way with quips and quirks without number upon
divers matters, nor those alone of which they had that day discoursed,
they arrived, hard upon nightfall, at the goodly palace. There, the short
walk's fatigue dispelled by wines most cool and comfits, they presently
gathered for the dance about the fair fountain, and now they footed it to
the strains of Tindaro's cornemuse, and now to other music. Which done,
the queen bade Filomena give them a song; and thus Filomena sang:--
Ah! woe is me, my soul!
Ah! shall I ever thither fare again
Whence I was parted to my grievous dole?
Full sure I know not; but within my breast
Throbs ever the same fire
Of yearning there where erst I was to be.
O thou in whom is all my weal, my rest,
Lord of my heart's desire,
Ah! tell me thou! for none to ask save thee
Neither dare I, nor see.
Ah! dear my Lord, this wasted heart disdain
Thou wilt not, but with hope at length console.
Kindled the flame I know not what delight,
Which me doth so devour,
That day and night alike I find no ease;
For whether it was by hearing, touch, or sight,
Unwonted was the power,
And fresh the fire that me each way did seize;
Wherein without release
I languish still, and of thee, Lord, am fain,
For thou alone canst comfort and make whole.
Ah! tell me if it shall be, and how soon,
That I again thee meet
Where those death-dealing eyes I kissed. Thou, chief
Weal of my soul, my very soul, this boon
Deny not; say that fleet
Thou hiest hither: comfort thus my grief.
Ah! let the time be brief
Till thou art here, and then long time remain;
For I, Love-stricken, crave but Love's control.
Let me but once again mine own thee call,
No more so indiscreet
As erst, I'll be, to let thee from me part:
Nay, I'll still hold thee, let what may befall,
And of thy mouth so sweet
Such solace take as may content my heart
So this be all my art,
Thee to entice, me with thine arms to enchain:
Whereon but musing inly chants my soul.
This song set all the company conjecturing what new and delightsome love
might now hold Filomena in its sway; and as its words imported that she
had had more joyance thereof than sight alone might yield, some that were
there grew envious of her excess of happiness. However, the song being
ended, the queen, bethinking her that the morrow was Friday, thus
graciously addressed them all:--"Ye wot, noble ladies, and ye also, my
gallants, that to-morrow is the day that is sacred to the passion of our
Lord, which, if ye remember, we kept devoutly when Neifile was queen,
intermitting delectable discourse, as we did also on the ensuing
Saturday. Wherefore, being minded to follow Neifile's excellent example,
I deem that now, as then, 'twere a seemly thing to surcease from this our
pastime of story-telling for those two days, and compose our minds to
meditation on what was at that season accomplished for the weal of our
souls." All the company having approved their queen's devout speech, she,
as the night was now far spent, dismissed them; and so they all betook
them to slumber.
(1) A play upon laurea (laurel wreath) and Lauretta.
--
Endeth here the seventh day of the Decameron, beginneth the eighth, in
which, under the rule of Lauretta, discourse is had of those tricks that,
daily, woman plays man, or man woman, or one man another.
--
The summits of the loftiest mountains were already illumined by the rays
of the rising sun, the shades of night were fled, and all things plainly
visible, when the queen and her company arose, and hied them first to the
dewy mead, where for a while they walked: then, about half tierce, they
wended their way to a little church that was hard by, where they heard
Divine service; after which, they returned to the palace, and having
breakfasted with gay and gladsome cheer, and sung and danced a while,
were dismissed by the queen, to rest them as to each might seem good. But
when the sun was past the meridian, the queen mustered them again for
their wonted pastime; and, all being seated by the fair fountain, thus,
at her command, Neifile began.