--
A scholar loves a widow lady, who, being enamoured of another, causes him
to spend a winter's night awaiting her in the snow. He afterwards by a
stratagem causes her to stand for a whole day in July, naked upon a
tower, exposed to the flies, the gadflies, and the sun.
--
Over the woes of poor Calandrino the ladies laughed not a little, and had
laughed yet more, but that it irked them that those that had robbed him
of the pig should also take from him the capons. However, the story being
ended, the queen bade Pampinea give them hers: and thus forthwith
Pampinea began:--Dearest ladies, it happens oftentimes that the artful
scorner meets his match; wherefore 'tis only little wits that delight to
scorn. In a series of stories we have heard tell of tricks played without
aught in the way of reprisals following: by mine I purpose in some degree
to excite your compassion for a gentlewoman of our city (albeit the
retribution that came upon her was but just) whose flout was returned in
the like sort, and to such effect that she well-nigh died thereof. The
which to hear will not be unprofitable to you, for thereby you will learn
to be more careful how you flout others, and therein you will do very
wisely.
'Tis not many years since there dwelt at Florence a lady young and fair,
and of a high spirit, as also of right gentle lineage, and tolerably well
endowed with temporal goods. Now Elena--such was the lady's name--being
left a widow, was minded never to marry again, being enamoured of a
handsome young gallant of her own choosing, with whom she, recking nought
of any other lover, did, by the help of a maid in whom she placed much
trust, not seldom speed the time gaily and with marvellous delight.
Meanwhile it so befell that a young nobleman of our city, Rinieri by
name, who had spent much time in study at Paris, not that he might
thereafter sell his knowledge by retail, but that he might learn the
reasons and causes of things, which accomplishment shews to most
excellent advantage in a gentleman, returned to Florence, and there lived
as a citizen in no small honour with his fellows, both by reason of his
rank and of his learning. But as it is often the case that those who are
most versed in deep matters are the soonest mastered by Love, so was it
with Rinieri. For at a festal gathering, to which one day he went, there
appeared before his eyes this Elena, of whom we spoke, clad in black, as
is the wont of our Florentine widows, and shewing to his mind so much
fairer and more debonair than any other woman that he had ever seen, that
happy indeed he deemed the man might call himself, to whom God in His
goodness should grant the right to hold her naked in his arms. So now and
again he eyed her stealthily, and knowing that boons goodly and precious
are not to be gotten without trouble, he made up his mind to study and
labour with all assiduity how best to please her, that so he might win
her love, and thereby the enjoyment of her.
The young gentlewoman was not used to keep her eyes bent ever towards the
infernal regions; but, rating herself at no less, if not more, than her
deserts, she was dexterous to move them to and fro, and thus busily
scanning her company, soon detected the men who regarded her with
pleasure. By which means having discovered Rinieri's passion, she inly
laughed, and said:--'Twill turn out that 'twas not for nothing that I
came here to-day, for, if I mistake not, I have caught a gander by the
bill. So she gave him an occasional sidelong glance, and sought as best
she might to make him believe that she was not indifferent to him,
deeming that the more men she might captivate by her charms, the higher
those charms would be rated, and most especially by him whom she had made
lord of them and her love. The erudite scholar bade adieu to
philosophical meditation, for the lady entirely engrossed his mind; and,
having discovered her house, he, thinking to please her, found divers
pretexts for frequently passing by it. Whereon the lady, her vanity
flattered for the reason aforesaid, plumed herself not a little, and
shewed herself pleased to see him. Thus encouraged, the scholar found
means to make friends with her maid, to whom he discovered his love,
praying her to do her endeavour with her mistress, that he might have her
favour. The maid was profuse of promises, and gave her mistress his
message, which she no sooner heard, than she was convulsed with laughter,
and replied:--"He brought sense enough hither from Paris: knowest thou
where he has since been to lose it? Go to, now; let us give him that
which he seeks. Tell him, when he next speaks to you of the matter, that
I love him vastly more than he loves me, but that I must have regard to
my reputation, so that I may be able to hold my head up among other
ladies; which, if he is really the wise man they say, will cause him to
affect me much more." Ah! poor woman! poor woman! she little knew, my
ladies, how rash it is to try conclusions with scholars.
The maid found the scholar, and did her mistress's errand. The scholar,
overjoyed, proceeded to urge his suit with more ardour, to indite
letters, and send presents. The lady received all that he sent her, but
vouchsafed no answers save such as were couched in general terms: and on
this wise she kept him dangling a long while. At last, having disclosed
the whole affair to her lover, who evinced some resentment and jealousy,
she, to convince him that his suspicions were groundless, and for that
she was much importuned by the scholar, sent word to him by her maid,
that never since he had assured her of his love, had occasion served her
to do him pleasure, but that next Christmastide she hoped to be with him;
wherefore, if he were minded to await her in the courtyard of her house
on the night of the day next following the feast, she would meet him
there as soon as she could. Elated as ne'er another, the scholar hied him
at the appointed time to the lady's house, and being ushered into a
courtyard by the maid, who forthwith turned the key upon him, addressed
himself there to await the lady's coming.
Now the lady's lover, by her appointment, was with her that evening; and,
when they had gaily supped, she told him what she had in hand that night,
adding:--"And so thou wilt be able to gauge the love which I have borne
and bear this scholar, whom thou hast foolishly regarded as a rival." The
lover heard the lady's words with no small delight, and waited in eager
expectancy to see her make them good. The scholar, hanging about there in
the courtyard, began to find it somewhat chillier than he would have
liked, for it had snowed hard all day long, so that the snow lay
everywhere thick on the ground; however, he bore it patiently, expecting
to be recompensed by and by. After a while the lady said to her
lover:--"Go we to the chamber and take a peep through a lattice at him of
whom thou art turned jealous, and mark what he does, and how he will
answer the maid, whom I have bidden go speak with him." So the pair hied
them to a lattice, wherethrough they could see without being seen, and
heard the maid call from another lattice to the scholar,
saying:--"Rinieri, my lady is distressed as never woman was, for that one
of her brothers is come here to-night, and after talking a long while
with her, must needs sup with her, and is not yet gone, but, I think, he
will soon be off; and that is the reason why she has not been able to
come to thee, but she will come soon now. She trusts it does not irk thee
to wait so long." Whereto the scholar, supposing that 'twas true, made
answer:--"Tell my lady to give herself no anxiety on my account, until
she can conveniently come to me, but to do so as soon as she may."
Whereupon the maid withdrew from the window, and went to bed; while the
lady said to her lover:--"Now, what sayst thou? Thinkst thou that, if I
had that regard for him, which thou fearest, I would suffer him to tarry
below there to get frozen?" Which said, the lady and her now partly
reassured lover got them to bed, where for a great while they disported
them right gamesomely, laughing together and making merry over the
luckless scholar.
The scholar, meanwhile, paced up and down the courtyard to keep himself
warm, nor indeed had he where to sit, or take shelter: in this plight he
bestowed many a curse upon the lady's brother for his long tarrying, and
never a sound did he hear but he thought that 'twas the lady opening the
door. But vain indeed were his hopes: the lady, having solaced herself
with her lover until hard upon midnight, then said to him:--"How ratest
thou our scholar, my soul? whether is the greater his wit, or the love I
bear him, thinkst thou? Will the cold, that, of my ordaining, he now
suffers, banish from thy breast the suspicion which my light words the
other day implanted there?" "Ay, indeed, heart of my body!" replied the
lover, "well wot I now that even as thou art to me, my weal, my
consolation, my bliss, so am I to thee." "So:" quoth the lady, "then I
must have full a thousand kisses from thee, to prove that thou sayst
sooth." The lover's answer was to strain her to his heart, and give her
not merely a thousand but a hundred thousand kisses. In such converse
they dallied a while longer, and then:--"Get we up, now," quoth the lady,
"that we may go see if 'tis quite spent, that fire, with which, as he
wrote to me daily, this new lover of mine used to burn." So up they got
and hied them to the lattice which they had used before, and peering out
into the courtyard, saw the scholar dancing a hornpipe to the music that
his own teeth made, a chattering for extremity of cold; nor had they ever
seen it footed so nimbly and at such a pace. Whereupon:--"How sayst thou,
sweet my hope?" quoth the lady. "Know I not how to make men dance without
the aid of either trumpet or cornemuse?" "Indeed thou dost my heart's
delight," replied the lover. Quoth then the lady:--"I have a mind that we
go down to the door. Thou wilt keep quiet, and I will speak to him, and
we shall hear what he says, which, peradventure, we shall find no less
diverting than the sight of him."
So they stole softly out of the chamber and down to the door, which
leaving fast closed, the lady set her lips to a little hole that was
there, and with a low voice called the scholar, who, hearing her call
him, praised God, making too sure that he was to be admitted, and being
come to the door, said:--"Here am I, Madam; open for God's sake; let me
in, for I die of cold." "Oh! ay," replied the lady, "I know thou hast a
chill, and of course, there being a little snow about, 'tis mighty cold;
but well I wot the nights are colder far at Paris. I cannot let thee in
as yet, because my accursed brother, that came to sup here this evening,
is still with me; but he will soon take himself off, and then I will let
thee in without a moment's delay. I have but now with no small difficulty
given him the slip, to come and give thee heart that the waiting irk thee
not." "Nay but, Madam," replied the scholar, "for the love of God, I
entreat you, let me in, that I may have a roof over my head, because for
some time past there has been never so thick a fall of snow, and 'tis yet
snowing; and then I will wait as long as you please." "Alas! sweet my
love," quoth the lady, "that I may not, for this door makes such a din,
when one opens it, that my brother would be sure to hear, were I to let
thee in; but I will go tell him to get him gone, and so come back and
admit thee." "Go at once, then," returned the scholar, "and prithee, see
that a good fire be kindled, that, when I get in, I may warm myself, for
I am now so chilled through and through that I have scarce any feeling
left." "That can scarce be," rejoined the lady, "if it be true, what thou
hast so protested in thy letters, that thou art all afire for love of me:
'tis plain to me now that thou didst but mock me. I now take my leave of
thee: wait and be of good cheer."
So the lady and her lover, who, to his immense delight, had heard all
that passed, betook them to bed; however, little sleep had they that
night, but spent the best part of it in disporting themselves and making
merry over the unfortunate scholar, who, his teeth now chattering to such
a tune that he seemed to have been metamorphosed into a stork, perceived
that he had been befooled, and after making divers fruitless attempts to
open the door and seeking means of egress to no better purpose, paced to
and fro like a lion, cursing the villainous weather, the long night, his
simplicity, and the perversity of the lady, against whom (the vehemence
of his wrath suddenly converting the love he had so long borne her to
bitter and remorseless enmity) he now plotted within himself divers and
grand schemes of revenge, on which he was far more bent than ever he had
been on forgathering with her.
Slowly the night wore away, and with the first streaks of dawn the maid,
by her mistress's direction, came down, opened the door of the courtyard,
and putting on a compassionate air, greeted Rinieri with:--"Foul fall him
that came here yestereve; he has afflicted us with his presence all night
long, and has kept thee a freezing out here: but harkye, take it not
amiss; that which might not be to-night shall be another time: well wot I
that nought could have befallen that my lady could so ill brook." For all
his wrath, the scholar, witting, like the wise man he was, that menaces
serve but to put the menaced on his guard, kept pent within his breast
that which unbridled resentment would have uttered, and said quietly, and
without betraying the least trace of anger:--"In truth 'twas the worst
night I ever spent, but I understood quite well that the lady was in no
wise to blame, for that she herself, being moved to pity of me, came down
here to make her excuses, and to comfort me; and, as thou sayst, what has
not been to-night will be another time: wherefore commend me to her, and
so, adieu!" Then, well-nigh paralysed for cold, he got him, as best he
might, home, where, weary and fit to die for drowsiness, he threw himself
on his bed, and fell into a deep sleep, from which he awoke to find that
he had all but lost the use of his arms and legs. He therefore sent for
some physicians, and having told them what a chill he had gotten, caused
them have a care to his health. But, though they treated him with active
and most drastic remedies, it cost them some time and no little trouble
to restore to the cramped muscles their wonted pliancy, and, indeed, but
for his youth and the milder weather that was at hand, 'twould have gone
very hard with him.
However, recover he did his health and lustihood, and nursing his enmity,
feigned to be vastly more enamoured of his widow than ever before. And so
it was that after a while Fortune furnished him with an opportunity of
satisfying his resentment, for the gallant of whom the widow was
enamoured, utterly regardless of the love she bore him, grew enamoured of
another lady, and was minded no more to pleasure the widow in aught
either by word or by deed; wherefore she now pined in tears and
bitterness of spirit. However, her maid, who commiserated her not a
little, and knew not how to dispel the dumps that the loss of her lover
had caused her, espying the scholar pass along the street, as he had been
wont, conceived the silly idea that the lady's lover might be induced to
return to his old love by some practice of a necromantic order, wherein
she doubted not that the scholar must be a thorough adept; which idea she
imparted to her mistress. The lady, being none too well furnished with
sense, never thinking that, if the scholar had been an adept in
necromancy, he would have made use of it in his own behoof, gave heed to
what her maid said, and forthwith bade her learn of the scholar whether
he would place his skill at her service, and assure him that, if he so
did, she, in guerdon thereof, would do his pleasure. The maid did her
mistress's errand well and faithfully. The scholar no sooner heard the
message, than he said to himself:--Praised be Thy name, O God, that the
time is now come, when with Thy help I may be avenged upon this wicked
woman of the wrong she did me in requital of the great love I bore her.
Then, turning to the maid, he said:--"Tell my lady to set her mind at
ease touching this matter; for that, were her lover in India, I would
forthwith bring him hither to crave her pardon of that wherein he has
offended her. As to the course she should take in the matter, I tarry but
her pleasure to make it known to her, when and where she may think fit:
tell her so, and bid her from me to be of good cheer." The maid carried
his answer to her mistress, and arranged that they should meet in the
church of Santa Lucia of Prato. Thither accordingly they came, the lady
and the scholar, and conversed apart, and the lady, quite oblivious of
the ill-usage by which she had well-nigh done him to death, opened all
her mind to him, and besought him, if he had any regard to her welfare,
to aid her to the attainment of her desire. "Madam," replied the scholar,
"true it is that among other lore that I acquired at Paris was this of
necromancy, whereof, indeed, I know all that may be known; but, as 'tis
in the last degree displeasing to God, I had sworn never to practise it
either for my own or for any other's behoof. 'Tis also true that the love
I bear you is such that I know not how to refuse you aught that you would
have me do for you; and so, were this single essay enough to consign me
to hell, I would adventure it to pleasure you. But I mind me that 'tis a
matter scarce so easy of performance as, perchance, you suppose, most
especially when a woman would fain recover the love of a man, or a man
that of a woman, for then it must be done by the postulant in proper
person, and at night, and in lonely places, and unattended, so that it
needs a stout heart; nor know I whether you are disposed to comply with
these conditions." The lady, too enamoured to be discreet, made
answer:--"So shrewdly does Love goad me, that there is nought I would not
do to bring him back to me who wrongfully has deserted me; but tell me,
prithee, wherein it is that I have need of this stout heart." "Madam,"
returned the despiteful scholar, "'twill be my part to fashion in tin an
image of him you would fain lure back to you: and when I have sent you
the image, 'twill be for you, when the moon is well on the wane, to dip
yourself, being stark naked, and the image, seven times in a flowing
stream, and this you must do quite alone about the hour of first sleep,
and afterwards, still naked, you must get you upon some tree or some
deserted house, and facing the North, with the image in your hand, say
certain words that I shall give you in writing seven times; which, when
you have done, there will come to you two damsels, the fairest you ever
saw, who will greet you graciously, and ask of you what you would fain
have; to whom you will disclose frankly and fully all that you crave; and
see to it that you make no mistake in the name; and when you have said
all, they will depart, and you may then descend and return to the spot
where you left your clothes, and resume them and go home. And rest
assured, that before the ensuing midnight your lover will come to you in
tears, and crave your pardon and mercy, and that thenceforth he will
never again desert you for any other woman."
The lady gave entire credence to the scholar's words, and deeming her
lover as good as in her arms again, recovered half her wonted spirits:
wherefore:--"Make no doubt," quoth she, "that I shall do as thou biddest;
and indeed I am most favoured by circumstance; for in upper Val d'Arno I
have an estate adjoining the river, and 'tis now July, so that to bathe
will be delightful. Ay, and now I mind me that at no great distance from
the river there is a little tower, which is deserted, save that now and
again the shepherds will get them up by the chestnut-wood ladder to the
roof, thence to look out for their strayed sheep; 'tis a place lonely
indeed, and quite out of ken; and when I have clomb it, as climb it I
will, I doubt not 'twill be the best place in all the world to give
effect to your instructions."
Well pleased to be certified of the lady's intention, the scholar, to
whom her estate and the tower were very well known, made answer:--"I was
never in those parts, Madam, and therefore know neither your estate nor
the tower, but, if 'tis as you say, 'twill certainly be the best place in
the world for your purpose. So, when time shall serve, I will send you
the image and the orison. But I pray you, when you shall have your
heart's desire, and know that I have done you good service, do not forget
me, but keep your promise to me." "That will I without fail," quoth the
lady; and so she bade him farewell, and went home. The scholar, gleefully
anticipating the success of his enterprise, fashioned an image, and
inscribed it with certain magical signs, and wrote some gibberish by way
of orison, which in due time he sent to the lady, bidding her the very
next night do as he had prescribed: and thereupon he hied him privily
with one of his servants to the house of a friend hard by the tower,
there to carry his purpose into effect. The lady, on her part, set out
with her maid, and betook her to her estate, and, night being come, sent
the maid to bed, as if she were minded to go to rest herself; and about
the hour of first sleep stole out of the house and down to the tower,
beside the Arno; and when, having carefully looked about her, she was
satisfied that never a soul was to be seen or heard, she took off her
clothes and hid them under a bush; then, with the image in her hand, she
dipped herself seven times in the river; which done, she hied her with
the image to the tower. The scholar, having at nightfall couched himself
with his servant among the willows and other trees that fringed the bank,
marked all that she did, and how, as she passed by him, the whiteness of
her flesh dispelled the shades of night, and scanning attentively her
bosom and every other part of her body, and finding them very fair, felt,
as he bethought him what would shortly befall them, some pity of her;
while, on the other hand, he was suddenly assailed by the solicitations
of the flesh which caused that to stand which had been inert, and
prompted him to sally forth of his ambush and take her by force, and have
his pleasure of her. And, what with his compassion and passion, he was
like to be worsted; but then as he bethought him who he was, and what a
grievous wrong had been done him, and for what cause, and by whom, his
wrath, thus rekindled, got the better of the other affections, so that he
swerved not from his resolve, but suffered her to go her way.
The lady ascended the tower, and standing with her face to the North,
began to recite the scholar's orison, while he, having stolen into the
tower but a little behind her, cautiously shifted the ladder that led up
to the roof on which the lady stood, and waited to observe what she would
say and do. Seven times the lady said the orison, and then awaited the
appearance of the two damsels; and so long had she to wait--not to
mention that the night was a good deal cooler than she would have
liked--that she saw day break; whereupon, disconcerted that it had not
fallen out as the scholar had promised, she said to herself:--I misdoubt
me he was minded to give me such a night as I gave him; but if such was
his intent, he is but maladroit in his revenge, for this night is not as
long by a third as his was, besides which, the cold is of another
quality. And that day might not overtake her there, she began to think of
descending, but, finding that the ladder was removed, she felt as if the
world had come to nought beneath her feet, her senses reeled, and she
fell in a swoon upon the floor of the roof. When she came to herself, she
burst into tears and piteous lamentations, and witting now very well that
'twas the doing of the scholar, she began to repent her that she had
first offended him, and then trusted him unduly, having such good cause
to reckon upon his enmity; in which frame she abode long time. Then,
searching if haply she might find some means of descent, and finding
none, she fell a weeping again, and bitterly to herself she said:--Alas
for thee, wretched woman! what will thy brothers, thy kinsmen, thy
neighbours, nay, what will all Florence say of thee, when 'tis known that
thou hast been found here naked? Thy honour, hitherto unsuspect, will be
known to have been but a shew, and shouldst thou seek thy defence in
lying excuses, if any such may be fashioned, the accursed scholar, who
knows all thy doings, will not suffer it. Ah! poor wretch! that at one
and the same time hast lost thy too dearly cherished gallant and thine
own honour! And therewith she was taken with such a transport of grief,
that she was like to cast herself from the tower to the ground. Then,
bethinking her that if she might espy some lad making towards the tower
with his sheep, she might send him for her maid, for the sun was now
risen, she approached one of the parapets of the tower, and looked out,
and so it befell that the scholar, awakening from a slumber, in which he
had lain a while at the foot of a bush, espied her, and she him.
Whereupon:--"Good-day, Madam," quoth he:--"are the damsels yet come?" The
lady saw and heard him not without bursting afresh into a flood of tears,
and besought him to come into the tower, that she might speak with him: a
request which the scholar very courteously granted. The lady then threw
herself prone on the floor of the roof; and, only her head being visible
through the aperture, thus through her sobs she spoke:--"Verily, Rinieri,
if I gave thee a bad night, thou art well avenged on me, for, though it
be July, meseemed I was sore a cold last night, standing here with never
a thread upon me, and, besides, I have so bitterly bewept both the trick
I played thee and my own folly in trusting thee, that I marvel that I
have still eyes in my head. Wherefore I implore thee, not for love of me,
whom thou hast no cause to love, but for the respect thou hast for
thyself as a gentleman, that thou let that which thou hast already done
suffice thee to avenge the wrong I did thee, and bring me my clothes,
that I may be able to get me down from here, and spare to take from me
that which, however thou mightst hereafter wish, thou couldst not restore
to me, to wit, my honour; whereas, if I deprived thee of that one night
with me, 'tis in my power to give thee many another night in recompense
thereof, and thou hast but to choose thine own times. Let this, then,
suffice, and like a worthy gentleman be satisfied to have taken thy
revenge, and to have let me know it: put not forth thy might against a
woman: 'tis no glory to the eagle to have vanquished a dove; wherefore
for God's and thine own honour's sake have mercy on me."
The scholar, albeit his haughty spirit still brooded on her evil
entreatment of him, yet saw her not weep and supplicate without a certain
compunction mingling with his exultation; but vengeance he had desired
above all things, to have wreaked it was indeed sweet, and albeit his
humanity prompted him to have compassion on the hapless woman, yet it
availed not to subdue the fierceness of his resentment; wherefore thus he
made answer:--"Madam Elena, had my prayers (albeit art I had none to
mingle with them tears and honeyed words as thou dost with thine)
inclined thee that night, when I stood perishing with cold amid the snow
that filled thy courtyard, to accord me the very least shelter, 'twere
but a light matter for me to hearken now to thine; but, if thou art now
so much more careful of thy honour than thou wast wont to be, and it irks
thee to tarry there naked, address thy prayers to him in whose arms it
irked thee not naked to pass that night thou mindest thee of, albeit thou
wist that I with hasty foot was beating time upon the snow in thy
courtyard to the accompaniment of chattering teeth: 'tis he that thou
shouldst call to succour thee, to fetch thy clothes, to adjust the ladder
for thy descent; 'tis he in whom thou shouldst labour to inspire this
tenderness thou now shewest for thy honour, that honour which for his
sake thou hast not scrupled to jeopardize both now and on a thousand
other occasions. Why, then, call'st thou not him to come to thy succour?
To whom pertains it rather than to him? Thou art his. And of whom will he
have a care, whom will he succour, if not thee? Thou askedst him that
night, when thou wast wantoning with him, whether seemed to him the
greater, my folly or the love thou didst bear him: call him now, foolish
woman, and see if the love thou bearest him, and thy wit and his, may
avail to deliver thee from my folly. 'Tis now no longer in thy power to
shew me courtesy of that which I no more desire, nor yet to refuse it,
did I desire it. Reserve thy nights for thy lover, if so be thou go hence
alive. Be they all thine and his. One of them was more than I cared for;
'tis enough for me to have been flouted once. Ay, and by thy cunning of
speech thou strivest might and main to conciliate my good-will, calling
me worthy gentleman, by which insinuation thou wouldst fain induce me
magnanimously to desist from further chastisement of thy baseness. But
thy cajoleries shall not now cloud the eyes of my mind, as did once thy
false promises. I know myself, and better now for thy one night's
instruction than for all the time I spent at Paris. But, granted that I
were disposed to be magnanimous, thou art not of those to whom 'tis meet
to shew magnanimity. A wild beast such as thou, having merited vengeance,
can claim no relief from suffering save death, though in the case of a
human being 'twould suffice to temper vengeance with mercy, as thou
saidst. Wherefore I, albeit no eagle, witting thee to be no dove, but a
venomous serpent, mankind's most ancient enemy, am minded, bating no jot
of malice or of might, to harry thee to the bitter end: natheless this
which I do is not properly to be called vengeance but rather just
retribution; seeing that vengeance should be in excess of the offence,
and this my chastisement of thee will fall short of it; for, were I
minded to be avenged on thee, considering what account thou madest of my
heart and soul, 'twould not suffice me to take thy life, no, nor the
lives of a hundred others such as thee; for I should but slay a vile and
base and wicked woman. And what the Devil art thou more than any other
pitiful baggage, that I should spare thy little store of beauty, which a
few years will ruin, covering thy face with wrinkles? And yet 'twas not
for want of will that thou didst fail to do to death a worthy gentleman,
as thou but now didst call me, of whom in a single day of his life the
world may well have more profit than of a hundred thousand like thee
while the world shall last. Wherefore by this rude discipline I will
teach thee what it is to flout men of spirit, and more especially what it
is to flout scholars, that if thou escape with thy life thou mayst have
good cause ever hereafter to shun such folly. But if thou art so fain to
make the descent, why cast not thyself down, whereby, God helping, thou
wouldst at once break thy neck, be quit of the torment thou endurest, and
make me the happiest man alive? I have no more to say to thee. 'Twas my
art and craft thus caused thee climb; be it thine to find the way down:
thou hadst cunning enough, when thou wast minded to flout me."
While the scholar thus spoke, the hapless lady wept incessantly, and
before he had done, to aggravate her misery, the sun was high in the
heaven. However, when he was silent, thus she made answer:--"Ah! ruthless
man, if that accursed night has so rankled with thee, and thou deemest my
fault so grave that neither my youth and beauty, nor my bitter tears, nor
yet my humble supplications may move thee to pity, let this at least move
thee, and abate somewhat of thy remorseless severity, that 'twas my act
alone, in that of late I trusted thee, and discovered to thee all my
secret, that did open the way to compass thy end, and make me cognizant
of my guilt, seeing that, had I not confided in thee, on no wise mightst
thou have been avenged on me; which thou wouldst seem so ardently to have
desired. Turn thee, then, turn thee, I pray thee, from thy wrath, and
pardon me. So thou wilt pardon me, and get me down hence, right gladly
will I give up for ever my faithless gallant, and thou shalt be my sole
lover and lord, albeit thou sayst hard things of my beauty, slight and
shortlived as thou wouldst have it to be, which, however it may compare
with others, is, I wot, to be prized, if for no other reason, yet for
this, that 'tis the admiration and solace and delight of young men, and
thou art not yet old. And albeit I have been harshly treated by thee, yet
believe I cannot that thou wouldst have me do myself so shamefully to
death as to cast me down, like some abandoned wretch, before thine eyes,
in which, unless thou wast then, as thou hast since shewn thyself, a
liar, I found such favour. Ah! have pity on me for God's and mercy's
sake! The sun waxes exceeding hot, and having suffered not a little by
the cold of last night, I now begin to be sorely afflicted by the heat."
"Madam," rejoined the scholar, who held her in parley with no small
delight, "'twas not for any love that thou didst bear me that thou
trustedst me, but that thou mightst recover that which thou hadst lost,
for which cause thou meritest but the greater punishment; and foolish
indeed art thou if thou supposest that such was the sole means available
for my revenge. I had a thousand others, and, while I feigned to love
thee, I had laid a thousand gins for thy feet, into one or other of which
in no long time, though this had not occurred, thou must needs have
fallen, and that too to thy more grievous suffering and shame; nor was it
to spare thee, but that I might be the sooner rejoiced by thy
discomfiture that I took my present course. And though all other means
had failed me, I had still the pen, with which I would have written of
thee such matters and in such a sort, that when thou wist them, as thou
shouldst have done, thou wouldst have regretted a thousand times that
thou hadst ever been born. The might of the pen is greater far than they
suppose, who have not proved it by experience. By God I swear, so may He,
who has prospered me thus far in this my revenge, prosper me to the end!
that I would have written of thee things that would have so shamed thee
in thine own--not to speak of others'--sight that thou hadst put out
thine eyes that thou mightst no more see thyself; wherefore chide not the
sea, for that it has sent forth a tiny rivulet. For thy love, or whether
thou be mine or no, nought care I. Be thou still his, whose thou hast
been, if thou canst. Hate him as I once did, I now love him, by reason of
his present entreatment of thee. Ye go getting you enamoured, ye women,
and nought will satisfy you but young gallants, because ye mark that
their flesh is ruddier, and their beards are blacker, than other folk's,
and that they carry themselves well, and foot it featly in the dance, and
joust; but those that are now more mature were even as they, and possess
a knowledge which they have yet to acquire. And therewithal ye deem that
they ride better, and cover more miles in a day, than men of riper age.
Now that they dust the pelisse with more vigour I certainly allow, but
their seniors, being more experienced, know better the places where the
fleas lurk; and spare and dainty diet is preferable to abundance without
savour: moreover hard trotting will gall and jade even the youngest,
whereas an easy pace, though it bring one somewhat later to the inn, at
any rate brings one thither fresh. Ye discern not, witless creatures that
ye are, how much of evil this little shew of bravery serves to hide. Your
young gallant is never content with one woman, but lusts after as many as
he sets eyes on; nor is there any but he deems himself worthy of her:
wherefore 'tis not possible that their love should be lasting, as thou
hast but now proved and mayst only too truly witness. Moreover to be
worshipped, to be caressed by their ladies they deem but their due; nor
is there aught whereon they plume and boast them so proudly as their
conquests: which impertinence has caused not a few women to surrender to
the friars, who keep their own counsel. Peradventure thou wilt say that
never a soul save thy maid, and I wist aught of thy loves; but, if so,
thou hast been misinformed, and if thou so believest, thou dost
misbelieve. Scarce aught else is talked of either in his quarter or in
thine; but most often 'tis those most concerned whose ears such matters
reach last. Moreover, they rob you, these young gallants, whereas the
others make you presents. So, then, having made a bad choice, be thou
still his to whom thou hast given thyself, and leave me, whom thou didst
flout, to another, for I have found a lady of much greater charms than
thine, and that has understood me better than thou didst. And that thou
mayst get thee to the other world better certified of the desire of my
eyes than thou wouldst seem to be here by my words, delay no more, but
cast thyself down, whereby thy soul, taken forthwith, as I doubt not she
will be, into the embrace of the Devil, may see whether thy headlong fall
afflicts mine eyes, or no. But, for that I doubt thou meanest not thus to
gladden me, I bid thee, if thou findest the sun begin to scorch thee,
remember the cold thou didst cause me to endure, wherewith, by admixture,
thou mayst readily temper the sun's heat."
The hapless lady, seeing that the scholar's words were ever to the same
ruthless effect, burst afresh into tears, and said:--"Lo, now, since
nought that pertains to me may move thee, be thou at least moved by the
love thou bearest this lady of whom thou speakest, who, thou sayst, is
wiser than I, and loves thee, and for love of her pardon me, and fetch me
my clothes, that I may resume them, and get me down hence." Whereat the
scholar fell a laughing, and seeing that 'twas not a little past tierce,
made answer:--"Lo, now, I know not how to deny thee, adjuring me as thou
dost by such a lady: tell me, then, where thy clothes are, and I will go
fetch them, and bring thee down." The lady, believing him, was somewhat
comforted, and told him where she had laid her clothes. The scholar then
quitted the tower, bidding his servant on no account to stir from his
post, but to keep close by, and, as best he might, bar the tower against
all comers until his return: which said, he betook him to the house of
his friend, where he breakfasted much at his ease, and thereafter went to
sleep. Left alone upon the tower, the lady, somewhat cheered by her fond
hope, but still exceeding sorrowful, drew nigh to a part of the wall
where there was a little shade, and there sate down to wait. And now lost
in most melancholy brooding, now dissolved in tears, now plunged in
despair of ever seeing the scholar return with her clothes, but never
more than a brief while in any one mood, spent with grief and the night's
vigil, she by and by fell asleep. The sun was now in the zenith, and
smote with extreme fervour full and unmitigated upon her tender and
delicate frame, and upon her bare head, insomuch that his rays did not
only scorch but bit by bit excoriate every part of her flesh that was
exposed to them, and so shrewdly burn her that, albeit she was in a deep
sleep, the pain awoke her. And as by reason thereof she writhed a little,
she felt the scorched skin part in sunder and shed itself, as will happen
when one tugs at a parchment that has been singed by the fire, while her
head ached so sore that it seemed like to split, and no wonder. Nor might
she find place either to lie or to stand on the floor of the roof, but
ever went to and fro, weeping. Besides which there stirred not the least
breath of wind, and flies and gadflies did swarm in prodigious quantity,
which, settling upon her excoriate flesh, stung her so shrewdly that
'twas as if she received so many stabs with a javelin, and she was ever
restlessly feeling her sores with her hands, and cursing herself, her
life, her lover, and the scholar.
Thus by the exorbitant heat of the sun, by the flies and gadflies,
harassed, goaded, and lacerated, tormented also by hunger, and yet more
by thirst, and, thereto by a thousand distressful thoughts, she panted
herself erect on her feet, and looked about her, if haply she might see
or hear any one, with intent, come what might, to call to him and crave
his succour. But even this hostile Fortune had disallowed her. The
husbandmen were all gone from the fields by reason of the heat, and
indeed there had come none to work that day in the neighbourhood of the
tower, for that all were employed in threshing their corn beside their
cottages: wherefore she heard but the cicalas, while Arno, tantalizing
her with the sight of his waters, increased rather than diminished her
thirst. Ay, and in like manner, wherever she espied a copse, or a patch
of shade, or a house, 'twas a torment to her, for the longing she had for
it. What more is to be said of this hapless woman? Only this: that what
with the heat of the sun above and the floor beneath her, and the
scarification of her flesh in every part by the flies and gadflies, that
flesh, which in the night had dispelled the gloom by its whiteness, was
now become red as madder, and so besprent with clots of blood, that whoso
had seen her would have deemed her the most hideous object in the world.
Thus resourceless and hopeless, she passed the long hours, expecting
death rather than aught else, until half none was come and gone; when,
his siesta ended, the scholar bethought him of his lady, and being minded
to see how she fared, hied him back to the tower, and sent his servant
away to break his fast. As soon as the lady espied him, she came, spent
and crushed by her sore affliction, to the aperture, and thus addressed
him:--"Rinieri, the cup of thy vengeance is full to overflowing: for if I
gave thee a night of freezing in my courtyard, thou hast given me upon
this tower a day of scorching, nay, of burning, and therewithal of
perishing of hunger and thirst: wherefore by God I entreat thee to come
up hither, and as my heart fails me to take my life, take it thou, for
'tis death I desire of all things, such and so grievous is my suffering.
But if this grace thou wilt not grant, at least bring me a cup of water
wherewith to lave my mouth, for which my tears do not suffice, so parched
and torrid is it within." Well wist the scholar by her voice how spent
she was; he also saw a part of her body burned through and through by the
sun; whereby, and by reason of the lowliness of her entreaties, he felt
some little pity for her; but all the same he made answer:--"Nay, wicked
woman, 'tis not by my hands thou shalt die; thou canst die by thine own
whenever thou art so minded; and to temper thy heat thou shalt have just
as much water from me as I had fire from thee to mitigate my cold. I only
regret that for the cure of my chill the physicians were fain to use
foul-smelling muck, whereas thy burns can be treated with fragrant
rose-water; and that, whereas I was like to lose my muscles and the use
of my limbs, thou, for all thy excoriation by the heat, wilt yet be fair
again, like a snake that has sloughed off the old skin." "Alas! woe's
me!" replied the lady, "for charms acquired at such a cost, God grant
them to those that hate me. But thou, most fell of all wild beasts, how
hast thou borne thus to torture me? What more had I to expect of thee or
any other, had I done all thy kith and kin to death with direst torments?
Verily, I know not what more cruel suffering thou couldst have inflicted
on a traitor that had put a whole city to the slaughter than this which
thou hast allotted to me, to be thus roasted, and devoured of the flies,
and therewithal to refuse me even a cup of water, though the very
murderers condemned to death by the law, as they go to execution, not
seldom are allowed wine to drink, so they but ask it. Lo now, I see that
thou art inexorable in thy ruthlessness, and on no wise to be moved by my
suffering: wherefore with resignation I will compose me to await death,
that God may have mercy on my soul. And may this that thou doest escape
not the searching glance of His just eyes." Which said, she dragged
herself, sore suffering, toward the middle of the floor, despairing of
ever escaping from her fiery torment, besides which, not once only, but a
thousand times she thought to choke for thirst, and ever she wept
bitterly and bewailed her evil fate. But at length the day wore to
vespers, and the scholar, being sated with his revenge, caused his
servant to take her clothes and wrap them in his cloak, and hied him with
the servant to the hapless lady's house, where, finding her maid sitting
disconsolate and woebegone and resourceless at the door:--"Good woman,"
quoth he, "what has befallen thy mistress?" Whereto:--"Sir, I know not,"
replied the maid. "I looked to find her this morning abed, for methought
she went to bed last night, but neither there nor anywhere else could I
find her, nor know I what is become of her; wherefore exceeding great is
my distress; but have you, Sir, nought to say of the matter?" "Only
this," returned the scholar, "that I would I had had thee with her there
where I have had her, that I might have requited thee of thy offence,
even as I have requited her of hers. But be assured that thou shalt not
escape my hands, until thou hast from me such wage of thy labour that
thou shalt never flout man more, but thou shalt mind thee of me." Then,
turning to his servant, he said:--"Give her these clothes, and tell her
that she may go bring her mistress away, if she will." The servant did
his bidding; and the maid, what with the message and her recognition of
the clothes, was mightily afraid, lest they had slain the lady, and
scarce suppressing a shriek, took the clothes, and, bursting into tears,
set off, as soon as the scholar was gone, at a run for the tower.
Now one of the lady's husbandmen had had the misfortune to lose two of
his hogs that day, and, seeking them, came to the tower not long after
the scholar had gone thence, and peering about in all quarters, if haply
he might have sight of his hogs, heard the woeful lamentation that the
hapless lady made, and got him up into the tower, and called out as loud
as he might:--"Who wails up there?" The lady recognized her husbandman's
voice, and called him by name, saying:--"Prithee, go fetch my maid, and
cause her come up hither to me." The husbandman, knowing her by her
voice, replied:--"Alas! Madam, who set you there? Your maid has been
seeking you all day long: but who would ever have supposed that you were
there?" Whereupon he took the props of the ladder, and set them in
position, and proceeded to secure the rounds to them with withies. Thus
engaged he was found by the maid, who, as she entered the tower, beat her
face and breast, and unable longer to keep silence, cried out:--"Alas,
sweet my lady, where are you?" Whereto the lady made answer as loud as
she might:--"O my sister, here above am I, weep not, but fetch me my
clothes forthwith." Well-nigh restored to heart, to hear her mistress's
voice, the maid, assisted by the husbandman, ascended the ladder, which
he had now all but set in order, and gaining the roof, and seeing her
lady lie there naked, spent and fordone, and liker to a half-burned stump
than to a human being, she planted her nails in her face and fell a
weeping over her, as if she were a corpse. However, the lady bade her for
God's sake be silent, and help her to dress, and having learned from her
that none knew where she had been, save those that had brought her her
clothes and the husbandman that was there present, was somewhat consoled,
and besought her for God's sake to say nought of the matter to any. Thus
long time they conversed, and then the husbandman took the lady on his
shoulders, for walk she could not, and bore her safely out of the tower.
The unfortunate maid, following after with somewhat less caution,
slipped, and falling from the ladder to the ground, broke her thigh, and
roared for pain like any lion. So the husbandman set the lady down upon a
grassy mead, while he went to see what had befallen the maid, whom,
finding her thigh broken, he brought, and laid beside the lady: who,
seeing her woes completed by this last misfortune, and that she of whom,
most of all, she had expected succour, was lamed of a thigh, was
distressed beyond measure, and wept again so piteously that not only was
the husbandman powerless to comfort her, but was himself fain to weep.
However, as the sun was now low, that they might not be there surprised
by night, he, with the disconsolate lady's approval, hied him home, and
called to his aid two of his brothers and his wife, who returned with
him, bearing a plank, whereon they laid the maid, and so they carried her
to the lady's house. There, by dint of cold water and words of cheer,
they restored some heart to the lady, whom the husbandman then took upon
his shoulders, and bore to her chamber. The husbandman's wife fed her
with sops of bread, and then undressed her, and put her to bed. They also
provided the means to carry her and the maid to Florence; and so 'twas
done. There the lady, who was very fertile in artifices, invented an
entirely fictitious story of what had happened as well in regard of her
maid as of herself, whereby she persuaded both her brothers and her
sisters and every one else, that 'twas all due to the enchantments of
evil spirits. The physicians lost no time, and, albeit the lady's
suffering and mortification were extreme, for she left more than one skin
sticking to the sheets, they cured her of a high fever, and certain
attendant maladies; as also the maid of her fractured thigh. The end of
all which was that the lady forgot her lover, and having learned
discretion, was thenceforth careful neither to love nor to flout; and the
scholar, learning that the maid had broken her thigh, deemed his
vengeance complete, and was satisfied to say never a word more of the
affair. Such then were the consequences of her flouts to this foolish
young woman, who deemed that she might trifle with a scholar with the
like impunity as with others, not duly understanding that they--I say not
all, but the more part--know where the Devil keeps his tail.(1)
Wherefore, my ladies, have a care how you flout men, and more especially
scholars.
(1) I.e. are a match for the Devil himself in cunning.