There were once two very intimate friends, both of the family of
Saveli, in Rome; the name of one of whom was Bucciolo; that of
the other Pietro Paolo, both of good birth and easy
circumstances. Expressing a mutual wish to study for a while
together at Bologna they took leave of their relatives and set
out. One of them attached himself to the study of the civil law,
the other to that of the canon law, and thus they continued to
apply themselves for some length of time. But the subject of
Decretals takes a much narrower range than is embraced by the
common law, so Bucciolo, who pursued the former, made greater
progress than did Pietro Paolo, and, having taken a licentiate's
degree, he began to think of returning to Rome. "You see, my
dear fellow student," he observed to his friend Paolo, "I am now
a licentiate, and it is time for me to think of moving
homewards." "Nay, not so," replied his companion; "I have to
entreat you will not think of leaving me here this winter. Stay
for me till spring, and we can return together. In the meantime
you may pursue some other study, so that you need not lose any
time;" and to this Bucciolo at length consented, promising to
await his relative's own good time.
Having thus resolved, he had immediate recourse to his former
tutor, informing him of his determination to bear his friend
company a little longer, and entreating to be employed in some
pleasant study to beguile the period during which he had to
remain. The professor begged him to suggest something he should
like, as he should be very happy to assist him in its attainment.
"My worthy tutor," replied Bucciolo, "I think I should like to
learn the way in which one falls in love, and the best manner to
begin." "O very good!" cried the tutor, laughing. "You could
not have hit upon anything better, for you must know that, if
such be your object I am a complete adept in the art. To lose
no time, in the first place go next Sunday to the church of the
Frati Minori (Friars Minor of St. Francis), where all the ladies
will be clustered together, and pay proper attention during
service in order to discover if any one of them in particular
happens to please you. When you have done this, keep your eye
upon her after service, to see the way she takes to her
residence, and then come back to me. And let this be the first
lesson--the first part--of that in which it is my intention to
instruct you." Bucciolo went accordingly, and taking his station
the next Sunday in the church, as he had been directed, his eyes,
wandering in every direction, were fixed upon all the pretty
women in the place, and upon one in particular, who pleased him
above all the rest. She was by far the most beautiful and
attractive lady he could discover, and on leaving church he took
care to obey his master and follow her until he had made himself
acquainted with her residence. Nor was it long before the young
lady began to perceive that the student was smitten with her;
upon which Bucciolo returned to his master and informed him of
what he had done. "I have," said he, "learned as much as you
ordered me, and have found somebody I like very well." "So far,
good," cried the professor, not a little amused at the sort of
science to which his pupil had thus seriously devoted himself--
"so far, good! And now observe what I have next to say to you:
Take care to walk two or three times a day very respectfully
before her house, casting your eyes about you in such a way that
no one may catch you staring in her face; look in a modest and
becoming manner, so that she cannot fail to notice and be struck
with it. And then return to me; and this, sir, will be the
second lesson in this gay science."
So the scholar went and promenaded with great discretion before
the lady's door, who observed that he appeared to be passing to
and fro out of respect to one of the inhabitants. This attracted
her attention, for which Bucciolo very discreetly expressed his
gratitude by looks and bows, which being as often returned, the
scholar began to be aware that the lady liked him. He
immediately went and told the professor all that had passed, who
replied, "Come, you have done very well. I am hitherto quite
satisfied. It is now time for you to find some way of speaking
to her, which you may easily do by means of those gipsies who
haunt the streets of Bologna, crying ladies' veils, purses and
other articles for sale. Send word by her that you are the
lady's most faithful, devoted servant, and that there is no one
in the world you so much wish to please. In short, let her urge
your suit, and take care to bring the answer to me as soon as you
have received it. I will then tell you how you are to proceed."
Departing in all haste, he soon found a little old pedlar woman,
quite perfect in the trade, to whom he said he should take it as
a particular favour if she would do one thing, for which he would
reward her handsomely. Upon this she declared her readiness to
serve him in anything he pleased. "For you know," she added, "it
is my business to get money in every way I can." Bucciolo gave
her two florins, saying, "I wish you to go for me to-day as far
as the Via Maccarella, where resides a young lady of the name of
Giovanna, for whom I have the very highest regard. Pray tell her
so, and recommend me to her most affectionately, so as to obtain
for me her good graces by every means in your power. I entreat
you to have my interest at heart, and to say such pretty things
as she cannot refuse to hear." "O leave that to me, sir," said
the little old woman, "I will not fail to say a good word for you
at the proper time." "Delay not," said Bucciolo, "but go now,
and I will wait for you here;" and she set off at once, taking
her basket of trinkets under her arm. On approaching the place,
she saw the lady before the door, enjoying the air, and curtseying
to her very low, "Do I happen to have anything here you would
fancy?" she said, displaying her wares. "Pray, take something,
madam--whatever pleases you best." Veils, stays, purses, and
mirrors were now spread in the most tempting way before the
lady's eyes. Out of all these things her attention seemed to be
most attracted by a beautiful purse, which, she observed, if she
could afford, she should like to purchase. "Nay, madam,"
exclaimed the crone, "do not think anything about the price--take
anything yo please, since they are all paid for already, I assure
you." Surprised at hearing this, and perceiving the very
respectful manner of the speaker, the lady rejoined, "Do you know
what you are saying? What do you mean by that?" The old woman,
pretending now to be much affected, said, "Well, madam, if it
must be so, I shall tell you. It is very true that a young
gentleman of the name of Bucciolo sent me hither; one who loves
you better than all the world besides. There is nothing he would
not do to please you, and indeed he appears to very wretched
because he cannot speak to you, and he is so very good, that it
is quite a pity. I think it will be the death of him, and then
he is such a fine--such an elegant--young man, the more is the
pity!" on hearing this, the lady, blushing deeply, turned
sharply round upon the little old woman, exclaiming, "O you
wicked creature! were it not for the sake of my own reputation, I
would give you such a lesson that you should remember it to the
latest day of your life! A pretty story to come before decent
people with! Are you not ashamed of yourself to let such words
come out of your mouth?" Then seizing an iron bar that lay
across the doorway, "Ill betide you, little wretch!" she cried,
as she brandished it. "If you ever come this way again, depend
on it, you will never go back alive!" The trembling old trot,
quickly bundling up her wares, scampered off, in dread of feeling
that cruel weapon on her shoulders, nor did she think of stopping
till she had reached the place where Bucciolo stood waiting her
return. Eagerly inquiring the news and how she succeeded, "O
very badly--very badly," answered the crone. "I was never in
such a fright in all my life. Why, she will neither see nor
listen to you, and if I had not run away, I should have felt the
weight of a great iron bar upon my shoulders. For my own part, I
shall go there no more; and I advise you, signor, to look to
yourself how you proceed in such affairs in future."
Poor Bucciolo became quite disconsolate, and returned in all
haste to acquaint the professor with this unlucky result. But
the professor, not a whit cast down, consoled him, saying, "Do
not despair; a tree is not levelled at a single stroke, you know.
I think you must have a repetition of your lesson to-night. So
go and walk before her door as usual; notice how she eyes you,
and whether she appears angry or not, and then come back again to
me." Bucciolo accordingly proceeded without delay to the lady's
house. The moment she perceived him she called her maid and said
to her, "Quick, quick--hasten after the young man--that is he,
and tell him from me that he must come and speak with me this
evening without fail--without fail." The girl soon came up with
Bucciolo, and thus addressed him: "My lady, signor, my lady,
Giovanna, would be glad of your company this evening, she would
be very glad to speak with you." Greatly surprised at this,
Bucciolo replied, "Tell your lady I shall be most happy to wait
upon her," so saying, he set off once more to the professor, and
reported the progress of the affair. But this time the master
looked a little more serious; for, from some trivial
circumstances put together, he began to entertain suspicions that
the lady was (as it really turned out) no other than his own
wife. So he rather anxiously inquired of Bucciolo whether he
intended to accept the invitation. "To be sure I do," replied
his pupil. "Then," said the professor, "promise that you will
come here before you set off." "Certainly I will," answered
Bucciolo readily, and took his leave.
Now Bucciolo was far from suspecting that the lady bore so near a
relationship to his respected tutor, although the latter began to
be rather uneasy as to the result, feeling some twinges of
jealousy which were by no means pleasant. For he passed most of
his winter evenings at the college where he gave lectures, and
not unfrequently remained there for the night. "I should be
sorry," said he to himself, "if this young gentleman were
learning these things at my expense, and I must therefore know
the real state of the case." In the evening his pupil called
according to promise, saying, "Worthy master, I am now ready to
go." "Well, go," replied the professor; "but be wise, Signor
Bucciolo--be wise and think more than once what you are about."
"Trust me for that," said the scholar, a little piqued: "I shall
go well provided, and not walk into the mouth of danger unarmed."
And away he went, furnished with a good cuirass, a rapier, and a
stiletto in his belt. He was no sooner on his way than the
professor slipped out quietly after him, dogging his steps
closely, until, trembling with rage, he saw him stop at his own
house-door, which, on a smart tap being given, was quickly opened
by the lady herself and the pupil admitted. When the professor
saw that it was indeed his own wife, he was quite overwhelmed and
thought, "Alas, I fear this young fellow has learned more than he
confesses at my expense;" and vowing to be revenged, he ran back
to the college, where arming himself with sword and dagger, he
then hastened to his house in a terrible passion. Arriving at his
own door, he knocked loudly, and the lady, sitting before the
fire with Bucciolo, instantly knew it was her husband, so taking
hold of Bucciolo, she concealed him hurriedly under a heap of
damp clothes lying on a table near the window for ironing, which
done, she ran to the door and inquired who was there. "Open
quickly," exclaimed the professor. "You vile woman, you shall
soon know who is here!" On opening the door, she beheld him with
a drawn sword, and cried in well-affected alarm, "O my dearest
life, what means this?" "You know very well what it means," said
he. "The villain is now in the house." "Good Heaven! what is
that you say?" exclaimed the lady. "Are you gone out of your
wits? Come and search the house, and if you find anybody, I will
give you leave to kill me on the spot. What! do you think I
should now begin to misconduct myself as I never before did as
none of my family ever did before? Beware lest the Evil One
should be tempting you, and, suddenly depriving you of your
senses, draw you to perdition!" But the professor, calling for
candles, began to search the house from the cellar upwards--among
the tubs and casks--in every place but the right place--running
his sword through the beds and under the beds, and into every
inch of the bedding--leaving no corner or crevice of the whole
house untouched. The lady accompanied him with a candle in her
hand, frequently interrupting him with, "Say your beads--say your
beads, good signor; it is certain that the Evil One is dealing
with you, for were I half so bad as you esteem me, I would kill
myself with my own hands. But I entreat you not to give way to
this evil suggestion: oppose the adversary while you can."
Hearing these virtuous observations of his wife, and not being
able to discover any one after the strictest search, the
professor began to think that he must, after all, be possessed,
and presently extinguished the lights and returned to the
college. The lady, on shutting the door after him, called out to
Bucciolo to come from his hiding place, and then, stirring the
fire, began to prepare a fine capon for supper, with some
delicious wines and fruits. And thus they regaled themselves,
highly entertained with each other, nor was it their least
satisfaction that the professor had just left them, apparently
convinced that they had learned nothing at his expense.
Proceeding to the college the next morning, Bucciolo, without the
least suspicion of the truth, informed his master that he had
something for his ear which he was sure would make him laugh.
"How so?" demanded the professor. "Why," said his pupil, "you
must know that last night, just as I had entered the lady's
house, who should come in but her husband, and in such a rage!
He searched the whole house from top to bottom, without being
able to find me. I lay under a heap of newly-washed clothes,
which were not half dry. In short, the lady played her part so
well that the poor gentleman forthwith took his leave, and we
afterwards ate a fine capon for supper and drank such wines--and
with such zest! It was really one of the pleasantest evenings I
ever spent in my life. But I think I'll go and take a nap, for I
promised to return this evening about the same hour." "Then be
sure before you go," said the professor, trembling with
suppressed rage, "be sure to come and tell me when you set out."
"O certainly," responded Bucciolo, and away he went. Such was
now the unhappy tutor's condition as to render him incapable of
delivering a single lecture during the whole day, and such was
his extreme vexation and eagerness for evening, that he spent his
time in arming himself with sword and dagger and cuirass,
meditating only upon deeds of blood. At the appointed time came
Bucciolo, with the utmost innocence, saying, "My dear master, I
am going now." "Yes, go," replied the professor, "and come back
to-morrow morning, if you can, and tell me how you have fared."
"I intend doing so," said Bucciolo, and departed at a brisk pace
for the house of the lady.
Armed cap-�-pie, the professor ran out after him, keeping pretty
close to his heels, with the intention of catching him just as he
entered. But the lady, being on the watch, opened the door
suddenly for the pupil and shut it in her husband's face. The
professor began to knock and to call out with a furious noise.
Extinguishing the light in a moment, the lady placed Bucciolo
behind the door, and throwing her arms round her husband's neck
as he entered, motioned to her lover while thus she held his
enemy to make his escape, and he, upon the husband's rushing
forward, slipped out from behind the door unperceived. She then
began to scream as loud as she could, "Help! Help! The professor
has gone mad! Will nobody help me?" for he was in an ungovernable
rage, and she clung faster to him than before. The neighbours
running to her assistance and seeing the peaceable professor
armed with deadly weapons, and his wife crying out, "Help, for
the love of Heaven!--too much study hath driven him mad!"{ they
readily believed such to be the fact. "Come, good signor," they
said, "what is all this about? Try to compose yourself--nay, do
not struggle so hard, but let us help you to your couch." "How
can I rest, think you," he replied, "while this wicked woman
harbours paramours in my house? I saw him come in with my own
eyes." "Wretch that I am!" cried his wife. "inquire of all my
friends and neighbours whether any one of them ever saw anything
the least unbecoming in my conduct." The whole party with one voice entreated
the professor to lay such thoughts aside, for there was not a
better lady breathing, or one who set a higher value upon her
reputation. "But how can that be," said he, "when I saw him
enter the house, and he is in it now?" In the meanwhile the
lady's two brothers arrived, when she began to weep bitterly,
exclaiming, "O my dear brothers, my poor husband has gone mad,
quite mad--and he even says there is a man in the house. I
believe he would kill me if he could; but you know me too well to
listen for a moment to such a story," and she continued to weep.
The brothers then accosted the professor in no gentle terms: "We
are surprised, signor--we are shocked to find that you dare
bestow such epithets on our sister. What can have led you, after
living so amicably together, to bring these charges against her
now?" "I can only tell you," answered the professor, "that there
is a man in the house. I saw him enter." "Then come, and let us
find him. Show him to us," retorted the incensed brothers, "for
we will sift this matter to the bottom. Show us the man, and we
will then punish her in such a way as will satisfy you." One of
the brothers, taking his sister aside, said, "First tell me, have
you really got any one hidden in the house? Tell the truth."
"Heavens!" cried his sister, "I tell you, I would rather suffer
death. Should I be the first to bring a scandal on our house? I
wonder you are not ashamed to mention such a thing." Rejoiced to
hear this, the brothers, directed by the professor, at once
commenced a search. Half frantic, he led them at once to the
great bundle of linen, which he pierced through and through with
his sword, firmly believing that he was killing Bucciolo, all the
while taunting him at every blow. "There! I told you," cried his
wife, "that he was mad. To think of destroying your own property
thus! It is plain he did not help to get them up," she
continued, whimpering--"all my best clothes!"
Having now sought everywhere in vain, one of the brothers
observed, "He is indeed mad," to which the other agreed, while he
again attacked the professor in the bitterest terms: "You have
carried matters too far, signor; your conduct to our sister is
shameful, and nothing but insanity can excuse it." Vexed enough
before, the professor upon this flew into a violent passion, and
brandished his naked sword in such a way that the others were
obliged to use their sticks, which they did so very effectively
that, after breaking them over his head, they chained him down
like a maniac upon the floor, declaring he had lost his wits by
excessive study, and taking possession of his house, they
remained with their sister all night. Next morning they sent for
a physician, who ordered a couch to be placed as near as possible
to the fire, that no one should be allowed to speak or reply to
the patient, and that he should be strictly dieted until he
recovered his wits; and this regimen was diligently
enforced.[FN#489]
A report immediately spread through Bologna that the good
professor had become insane, which caused very general regret,
his friends observing to each other, "It is indeed a bad
business; but I suspected yesterday how it was--he could scarcely
get a word out as he was delivering his lecture, did you not
perceive?" "Yes," said another, "I saw him change colour, poor
fellow." And by everybody, everywhere, it was decided that the
professor was mad. In this situation numbers of his scholars
went to see him, and among the rest Bucciolo, knowing nothing of
what had happened, agreed to accompany them to the college,
desirous of acquainting his master with last night's adventure.
What was his surprise to learn that he had actually taken leave
of his senses, and being directed on leaving the college to the
professor's house, he was almost panic-struck on approaching the
place, beginning to comprehend the whole affair. Yet, in order
that no one might be led to suspect the truth, he walked into the
house along with the rest, and on reaching a certain apartment
which he knew, he beheld his poor tutor almost beaten to a mummy,
and chained down upon his bed, close to the fire. His pupils
were standing round condoling with him and lamenting his piteous
case. At length it came to Bucciolo's turn to say something to
him, which he did as follows: "My dear master, I am as truly
concerned for you as if you were my own father, and if there is
anything in which I can be of service to you, command me as your
own son." To this the poor professor only replied, "No,
Bucciolo, depart in peace, my pupil; depart, for you have learned
much, very much, at my expense." Here his wife interrupted him:
"You see how he wanders--heed not what he says--pay no attention
to him, signor." Bucciolo, however, prepared to depart, and
taking a hasty leave of the professor, he proceeded to the
lodging of his friend Pietro Paolo, and said to him, "Fare you
well. God bless you, my friend. I must away; and I have lately
learned so much at other people's expense that I am going home."
So saying, he hurried away, and in due course arrived in safety
in Rome.
The affliction of the professor of Giovanni's sprightly tale will
probably be considered by most readers as well-merited
punishment; the young gallant proved an apt scholar in the art of
love, and here was the inciter to evil repaid with the same coin!
Straparola also tells the story, but in a different form, in his
"Pleasant Nights" (Piacevoli Notti), First Day, second novella;
and his version is taken into a small collection entitled
"Tarlton's Newes out of Purgatorie," first published in or before
1590--a catchpenny tract in which, of course, Dick Tarlton had
never a hand, any more than he had in the collection of jests
which goes under his name.