[Day the Third]
TEDALDO ELISEI, HAVING FALLEN OUT WITH HIS MISTRESS,
DEPARTETH FLORENCE AND RETURNING THITHER, AFTER AWHILE, IN A
PILGRIM'S FAVOUR, SPEAKETH WITH THE LADY AND MAKETH HER
COGNISANT OF HER ERROR; AFTER WHICH HE DELIVERETH HER
HUSBAND, WHO HAD BEEN CONVICTED OF MURDERING HIM, FROM DEATH
AND RECONCILING HIM WITH HIS BRETHREN, THENCEFORWARD
DISCREETLY ENJOYETH HIMSELF WITH HIS MISTRESS
Fiammetta being now silent, commended of all, the queen, to lose no
time, forthright committed the burden of discourse to Emilia, who
began thus: "It pleaseth me to return to our city, whence it pleased
the last two speakers to depart, and to show you how a townsman of
ours regained his lost mistress.
There was, then, in Florence a noble youth, whose name was Tedaldo
Elisei and who, being beyond measure enamoured of a lady called Madam
Ermellina, the wife of one Aldobrandino Palermini, deserved for his
praiseworthy fashions, to enjoy his desire. However, Fortune, the
enemy of the happy, denied him this solace, for that, whatever might
have been the cause, the lady, after complying awhile with Tedaldo's
wishes, suddenly altogether withdrew her good graces from him and not
only refused to hearken to any message of his, but would on no wise
see him; wherefore he fell into a dire and cruel melancholy; but his
love for her had been so hidden that none guessed it to be the cause
of his chagrin. After he had in divers ways studied amain to recover
the love himseemed he had lost without his fault and finding all his
labour vain, he resolved to withdraw from the world, that he might not
afford her who was the cause of his ill the pleasure of seeing him
pine away; wherefore, without saying aught to friend or kinsman, save
to a comrade of his, who knew all, he took such monies as he might
avail to have and departing secretly, came to Ancona, where, under the
name of Filippo di Sanlodeccio, he made acquaintance with a rich
merchant and taking service with him, accompanied him to Cyprus on
board a ship of his.
His manners and behaviour so pleased the merchant that he not only
assigned him a good wage, but made him in part his associate and put
into his hands a great part of his affairs, which he ordered so well
and so diligently that in a few years he himself became a rich and
famous and considerable merchant; and albeit, in the midst of these
his dealings, he oft remembered him of his cruel mistress and was
grievously tormented of love and yearned sore to look on her again,
such was his constancy that seven years long he got the better of the
battle. But, chancing one day to hear sing in Cyprus a song that
himself had made aforetime and wherein was recounted the love he bore
his mistress and she him and the pleasure he had of her, and thinking
it could not be she had forgotten him, he flamed up into such a
passion of desire to see her again that, unable to endure longer, he
resolved to return to Florence.
Accordingly, having set all his affairs in order, he betook himself
with one only servant to Ancona and transporting all his good thither,
despatched it to Florence to a friend of the Anconese his partner,
whilst he himself, in the disguise of a pilgrim returning from the
Holy Sepulchre, followed secretly after with his servant and coming to
Florence, put up at a little hostelry kept by two brothers, in the
neighbourhood of his mistress's house, whereto he repaired first of
all, to see her, an he might. However, he found the windows and doors
and all else closed, wherefore his heart misgave him she was dead or
had removed thence and he betook himself, in great concern, to the
house of his brethren, before which he saw four of the latter clad all
in black. At this he marvelled exceedingly and knowing himself so
changed both in habit and person from that which he was used to be,
whenas he departed thence, that he might not lightly be recognized, he
boldly accosted a cordwainer hard by and asked him why they were clad
in black; whereto he answered, 'Yonder men are clad in black for that
it is not yet a fortnight since a brother of theirs, who had not been
here this great while, was murdered, and I understand they have
proved to the court that one Aldobrandino Palermini, who is in prison,
slew him, for that he was a well-wisher of his wife and had returned
hither unknown to be with her.'
Tedaldo marvelled exceedingly that any one should so resemble him as
to be taken for him and was grieved for Aldobrandino's ill fortune.
Then, having learned that the lady was alive and well and it being now
night, he returned, full of various thoughts, to the inn and having
supped with his servant, was put to sleep well nigh at the top of the
house. There, what with the many thoughts that stirred him and the
badness of the bed and peradventure also by reason of the supper,
which had been meagre, half the night passed whilst he had not yet
been able to fall asleep; wherefore, being awake, himseemed about
midnight he heard folk come down into the house from the roof, and
after through the chinks of the chamber-door he saw a light come up
thither. Thereupon he stole softly to the door and putting his eye to
the chink, fell a-spying what this might mean and saw a comely enough
lass who held the light, whilst three men, who had come down from the
roof, made towards her; and after some greetings had passed between
them, one of them said to the girl, 'Henceforth, praised be God, we
may abide secure, since we know now for certain that the death of
Tedaldo Elisei hath been proved by his brethren against Aldobrandino
Palermini, who hath confessed thereto, and judgment is now recorded;
nevertheless, it behoveth to keep strict silence, for that, should it
ever become known that it was we [who slew him], we shall be in the
same danger as is Aldobrandino.' Having thus bespoken the woman, who
showed herself much rejoiced thereat, they left her and going below,
betook themselves to bed.
Tedaldo, hearing this, fell a-considering how many and how great are
the errors which may befall the minds of men, bethinking him first of
his brothers who had bewept and buried a stranger in his stead and
after of the innocent man accused on false suspicion and brought by
untrue witness to the point of death, no less than of the blind
severity of laws and rulers, who ofttimes, under cover of diligent
investigation of the truth, cause, by their cruelties, prove that
which is false and style themselves ministers of justice and of God,
whereas indeed they are executors of iniquity and of the devil; after
which he turned his thought to the deliverance of Aldobrandino and
determined in himself what he should do. Accordingly, arising in the
morning, he left his servant at the inn and betook himself alone,
whenas it seemed to him time, to the house of his mistress, where,
chancing to find the door open, he entered in and saw the lady seated,
all full of tears and bitterness of soul, in a little ground floor
room that was there.
At this sight he was like to weep for compassion of her and drawing
near to her, said, 'Madam, afflict not yourself; your peace is at
hand.' The lady, hearing this, lifted her eyes and said, weeping,
'Good man, thou seemest to me a stranger pilgrim; what knowest thou of
my peace or of my affliction?' 'Madam,' answered Tedaldo, 'I am of
Constantinople and am but now come hither, being sent of God to turn
your tears into laughter and to deliver your husband from death.'
Quoth she, 'An thou be of Constantinople and newly come hither, how
knowest thou who I am or who is my husband?' Thereupon, the pilgrim
beginning from the beginning, recounted to her the whole history of
Aldobrandino's troubles and told her who she was and how long she had
been married and other things which he very well knew of her affairs;
whereat she marvelled exceedingly and holding him for a prophet, fell
on her knees at his feet, beseeching him for God's sake, an he were
come for Aldobrandino's salvation, to despatch, for that the time was
short.
The pilgrim, feigning himself a very holy man, said, 'Madam, arise and
weep not, but hearken well to that which I shall say to you and take
good care never to tell it to any. According to that which God hath
revealed unto me, the tribulation wherein you now are hath betided you
because of a sin committed by you aforetime, which God the Lord hath
chosen in part to purge with this present annoy and will have
altogether amended of you; else will you fall into far greater
affliction.' 'Sir,' answered the lady, 'I have many sins and know not
which one, more than another, God the Lord would have me amend;
wherefore, an you know it, tell me and I will do what I may to amend
it.' 'Madam,' rejoined the pilgrim, 'I know well enough what it is,
nor do I question you thereof the better to know it, but to the intent
that, telling it yourself, you may have the more remorse thereof. But
let us come to the fact; tell me, do you remember, ever to have had a
lover?'
The lady, hearing this, heaved a deep sigh and marvelled sore,
supposing none had ever known it, albeit, in the days when he was
slain who had been buried for Tedaldo, there had been some whispering
thereof, for certain words not very discreetly used by Tedaldo's
confidant, who knew it; then answered, 'I see that God discovereth
unto you all men's secrets, wherefore I am resolved not to hide mine
own from you. True it is that in my youth I loved over all the
ill-fortuned youth whose death is laid to my husband's charge, which
death I have bewept as sore as it was grievous to me, for that, albeit
I showed myself harsh and cruel to him before his departure, yet
neither his long absence nor his unhappy death hath availed to tear
him from my heart.' Quoth the pilgrim, 'The hapless youth who is dead
you never loved, but Tedaldo Elisei ay.[176] But tell me, what was the
occasion of your falling out with him? Did he ever give you any
offence?' 'Certes, no,' replied she; 'he never offended against me;
the cause of the breach was the prate of an accursed friar, to whom I
once confessed me and who, when I told him of the love I bore Tedaldo
and the privacy I had with him, made such a racket about my ears that
I tremble yet to think of it, telling me that, an I desisted not
therefrom, I should go in the devil's mouth to the deepest deep of
hell and there be cast into everlasting fire; whereupon there entered
into me such a fear that I altogether determined to forswear all
further converse with him, and that I might have no occasion
therefor, I would no longer receive his letters or messages; albeit I
believe, had he persevered awhile, instead of getting him gone (as I
presume) in despair, that, seeing him, as I did, waste away like snow
in the sun, my harsh resolve would have yielded, for that I had no
greater desire in the world.'
[Footnote 176: _i.e._ It was not the dead man, but Tedaldo Elisei whom
you loved. (_Lo sventurato giovane che fu morto non amasti voi mai, ma
Tedaldo Elisei si._)]
'Madam,' rejoined the pilgrim, 'it is this sin alone that now
afflicteth you. I know for certain that Tedaldo did you no manner of
violence; whenas you fell in love with him, you did it of your own
free will, for that he pleased you; and as you yourself would have it,
he came to you and enjoyed your privacy, wherein both with words and
deeds you showed him such complaisance that, if he loved you before,
you caused his love redouble a thousandfold. And this being so (as I
know it was) what cause should have availed to move you so harshly to
withdraw yourself from him? These things should be pondered awhile
beforehand and if you think you may presently have cause to repent
thereof, as of ill doing, you ought not to do them. You might, at your
pleasure, have ordained of him, as of that which belonged to you, that
he should no longer be yours; but to go about to deprive him of
yourself, you who were his, was a theft and an unseemly thing, whenas
it was not his will. Now you must know that I am a friar and am
therefore well acquainted with all their usances; and if I speak
somewhat at large of them for your profit, it is not forbidden me, as
it were to another; nay, and it pleaseth me to speak of them, so you
may henceforward know them better than you appear to have done in the
past.
Friars of old were very pious and worthy men, but those who nowadays
style themselves friars and would be held such have nothing of the
monk but the gown; nor is this latter even that of a true friar, for
that,--whereas of the founders of the monastic orders they[177] were
ordained strait and poor and of coarse stuff and demonstrative[178] of
the spirit of the wearers, who testified that they held things
temporal in contempt whenas they wrapped their bodies in so mean a
habit,--those of our time have them made full and double and glossy
and of the finest cloth and have brought them to a quaint pontifical
cut, insomuch that they think it no shame to flaunt it withal
peacock-wise, in the churches and public places, even as do the laity
with their apparel; and like as with the sweep-net the fisher goeth
about to take many fishes in the river at one cast, even so these,
wrapping themselves about with the amplest of skirts, study to
entangle therein great store of prudish maids and widows and many
other silly women and men, and this is their chief concern over any
other exercise; wherefore, to speak more plainly, they have not the
friar's gown, but only the colours thereof.
[Footnote 177: _i.e._ friars' gowns. Boccaccio constantly uses this
irregular form of enallage, especially in dialogue.]
[Footnote 178: Or, as we should nowadays say, "typical."]
Moreover, whereas the ancients[179] desired the salvation of mankind,
those of our day covet women and riches and turn their every thought
to terrifying the minds of the foolish with clamours and
depicturements[180] and to making believe that sins may be purged with
almsdeeds and masses, to the intent that unto themselves (who, of
poltroonery, not of devoutness, and that they may not suffer
fatigue,[181] have, as a last resort, turned friars) one may bring
bread, another send wine and a third give them a dole of money for the
souls of their departed friends. Certes, it is true that almsdeeds and
prayers purge away sins; but, if those who give alms knew on what
manner folks they bestow them, they would or keep them for themselves
or cast them before as many hogs. And for that these[182] know that,
the fewer the possessors of a great treasure, the more they live at
ease, every one of them studieth with clamours and bugbears to detach
others from that whereof he would fain abide sole possessor. They
decry lust in men, in order that, they who are chidden desisting from
women, the latter may be left to the chiders; they condemn usury and
unjust gains, to the intent that, it being entrusted to them to make
restitution thereof, they may, with that which they declare must bring
to perdition him who hath it, make wide their gowns and purchase
bishopricks and other great benefices.
[Footnote 179: _i.e._ the founders of the monastic orders.]
[Footnote 180: Lit. pictures, paintings (_dipinture_), but evidently
here used in a tropical sense, Boccaccio's apparent meaning being that
the hypocritical friars used to terrify their devotees by picturing to
them, in vivid colours, the horrors of the punishment reserved for
sinners.]
[Footnote 181: _i.e._ may not have to labour for their living.]
[Footnote 182: _i.e._ the false friars.]
And when they are taken to task of these and many other unseemly
things that they do, they think that to answer, "Do as we say and not
as we do," is a sufficient discharge of every grave burden, as if it
were possible for the sheep to be more constant and stouter to resist
temptation[183] than the shepherds. And how many there be of those to
whom they make such a reply who apprehend it not after the
fashion[184] in which they say it, the most part of them know. The
monks of our day would have you do as they say, to wit, fill their
purses with money, trust your secrets to them, observe chastity,
practise patience and forgiveness of injuries and keep yourselves from
evil speaking,--all things good, seemly and righteous; but why would
they have this? So they may do that, which if the laity did,
themselves could not do. Who knoweth not that without money idleness
may not endure? An thou expend thy monies in thy pleasures, the friar
will not be able to idle it in the monastery; an thou follow after
women, there will be no room for him, and except thou be patient or a
forgiver of injuries, he will not dare to come to thy house to corrupt
thy family. But why should I hark back after every particular? They
condemn themselves in the eyes of the understanding as often as they
make this excuse. An they believe not themselves able to abstain and
lead a devout life, why do they not rather abide at home? Or, if they
will e'en give themselves unto this,[185] why do they not ensue that
other holy saying of the Gospel, "Christ began to do and to
teach?"[186] Let them first do and after teach others. I have in my
time seen a thousand of them wooers, lovers and haunters, not of lay
women alone, but of nuns; ay, and of those that make the greatest
outcry in the pulpit. Shall we, then, follow after these who are thus
fashioned? Whoso doth it doth that which he will, but God knoweth if
he do wisely.
[Footnote 183: Lit. more of iron (_più di ferro_).]
[Footnote 184: Sic (_per lo modo_); but _quære_ not rather "in the
sense."]
[Footnote 185: _i.e._ if they must enter upon this way of life, to
wit, that of the friar.]
[Footnote 186: The reference is apparently to the opening verse of the
Acts of the Apostles, where Luke says, "The former treatise have I
made, O Theophilus, of all that Jesus began to do and to teach." It
need hardly be remarked that the passage in question does not bear the
interpretation Boccaccio would put upon it.]
But, granted even we are to allow that which the friar who chid you
said to you, to wit, that it is a grievous sin to break the marriage
vow, is it not a far greater sin to rob a man and a greater yet to
slay him or drive him into exile, to wander miserably about the world?
Every one must allow this. For a woman to have converse with a man is
a sin of nature; but to rob him or slay him or drive him into exile
proceedeth from malignity of mind. That you robbed Tedaldo I have
already shown you, in despoiling him of yourself, who had become his
of your spontaneous will, and I say also that, so far as in you lay,
you slew him, for that it was none of your fault,--showing yourself,
as you did, hourly more cruel,--that he slew not himself with his own
hand; and the law willeth that whoso is the cause of the ill that is
done be held alike guilty with him who doth it. And that you were the
cause of his exile and of his going wandering seven years about the
world cannot be denied. So that in whichever one of these three things
aforesaid you have committed a far greater sin than in your converse
with him.
But, let us see; maybe Tedaldo deserved this usage? Certes, he did
not; you yourself have already confessed it, more by token that I know
he loveth[187] you more than himself. No woman was ever so honoured,
so exalted, so magnified over every other of her sex as were you by
him, whenas he found himself where he might fairly speak of you,
without engendering suspicion. His every good, his every honour, his
every liberty were all committed by him into your hands. Was he not
noble and young? Was he not handsome among all his townsmen? Was he
not accomplished in such things as pertain unto young men? Was he not
loved, cherished and well seen of every one? You will not say nay to
this either. Then how, at the bidding of a scurvy, envious numskull of
a friar, could you take such a cruel resolve against him? I know not
what error is that of women who eschew men and hold them in little
esteem, whenas, considering what themselves are and what and how great
is the nobility, beyond every other animal, given of God to man, they
should rather glory whenas they are loved of any and prize him over
all and study with all diligence to please him, so he may never desist
from loving them. This how you did, moved by the prate of a friar,
who must for certain have been some broth-swilling pasty-gorger, you
yourself know; and most like he had a mind to put himself in the place
whence he studied to expel others.
[Footnote 187: _Sic_; but the past tense "loved" is probably intended,
as the pretended pilgrim had not yet discovered Tedaldo to be alive.]
This, then, is the sin that Divine justice, the which with a just
balance bringeth all its operations to effect, hath willed not to
leave unpunished; and even as you without reason studied to withdraw
yourself from Tedaldo, so on like wise hath your husband been and is
yet, without reason, in peril for Tedaldo, and you in tribulation.
Wherefrom an you would be delivered, that which it behoveth you to
promise, and yet more to do, is this; that, should it ever chance that
Tedaldo return hither from his long banishment, you will render him
again your favour, your love, your goodwill and your privacy and
reinstate him in that condition wherein he was, ere you foolishly
hearkened to yonder crack-brained friar.'
The pilgrim having thus made an end of his discourse, the lady, who
had hearkened thereto with the utmost attention, for that his
arguments appeared to her most true and that, hearing him say, she
accounted herself of a certainty afflicted for the sin of which he
spoke, said, 'Friend of God, I know full well that the things you
allege are true, and in great part by your showing do I perceive what
manner of folk are these friars, whom till now I have held all saints.
Moreover, I acknowledge my default without doubt to have been great in
that which I wrought against Tedaldo; and an I might, I would gladly
amend it on such wise as you have said; but how may this be done?
Tedaldo can never more return hither; he is dead; wherefore I know not
why it should behove me promise that which may not be performed.'
'Madam,' replied the pilgrim, 'according to that which God hath
revealed unto me, Tedaldo is nowise dead, but alive and well and in
good case, so but he had your favour.' Quoth the lady, 'Look what you
say; I saw him dead before my door of several knife-thrusts and had
him in these arms and bathed his dead face with many tears, the which
it may be gave occasion for that which hath been spoken thereof
unseemly.' 'Madam,' replied the pilgrim, 'whatever you may say, I
certify you that Tedaldo is alive, and if you will e'en promise me
that [which I ask,] with intent to fulfil your promise, I hope you
shall soon see him.' Quoth she, 'That do I promise and will gladly
perform; nor could aught betide that would afford me such content as
to see my husband free and unharmed and Tedaldo alive.'
Thereupon it seemed to Tedaldo time to discover himself and to comfort
the lady with more certain hope of her husband, and accordingly he
said, 'Madam, in order that I may comfort you for your husband, it
behoveth me reveal to you a secret, which look you discover not unto
any, as you value your life.' Now they were in a very retired place
and alone, the lady having conceived the utmost confidence of the
sanctity which herseemed was in the pilgrim; wherefore Tedaldo,
pulling out a ring, which she had given him the last night he had been
with her and which he had kept with the utmost diligence, and showing
it to her, said, 'Madam, know you this?' As soon as she saw it, she
recognized it and answered, 'Ay, sir; I gave it to Tedaldo aforetime.'
Whereupon the pilgrim, rising to his feet, hastily cast off his
palmer's gown and hat and speaking Florence-fashion, said, 'And know
you me?'
When the lady saw this, she knew him to be Tedaldo and was all aghast,
fearing him as one feareth the dead, an they be seen after death to go
as if alive; wherefore she made not towards him to welcome him as
Tedaldo returned from Cyprus, but would have fled from him in
affright, as he were Tedaldo come back from the tomb. Whereupon,
'Madam,' quoth he, 'fear not; I am your Tedaldo, alive and well, and
have never died nor been slain, whatsoever you and my brothers may
believe.' The lady, somewhat reassured and knowing his voice,
considered him awhile longer and avouched in herself that he was
certainly Tedaldo; wherefore she threw herself, weeping, on his neck
and kissed him, saying, 'Welcome back, sweet my Tedaldo.'
Tedaldo, having kissed and embraced her, said, 'Madam, it is no time
now for closer greetings; I must e'en go take order that Aldobrandino
may be restored to you safe and sound; whereof I hope that, ere
to-morrow come eventide, you shall hear news that will please you;
nay, if, as I expect, I have good news of his safety, I trust this
night to be able to come to you and report them to you at more leisure
than I can at this present.' Then, donning his gown and hat again, he
kissed the lady once more and bidding her be of good hope, took leave
of her and repaired whereas Aldobrandino lay in prison, occupied more
with fear of imminent death than with hopes of deliverance to come.
Tedaldo, with the gaoler's consent, went in to him, in the guise of a
ghostly comforter, and seating himself by his side, said to him,
'Aldobrandino, I am a friend of thine, sent thee for thy deliverance
by God, who hath taken pity on thee because of thine innocence;
wherefore, if, in reverence to Him, thou wilt grant me a little boon
that I shall ask of thee, thou shalt without fail, ere to-morrow be
night, whereas thou lookest for sentence of death, hear that of thine
acquittance.'
'Honest man,' replied the prisoner, 'since thou art solicitous of my
deliverance, albeit I know thee not nor mind me ever to have seen
thee, needs must thou be a friend, as thou sayst. In truth, the sin,
for which they say I am to be doomed to death, I never committed;
though others enough have I committed aforetime, which, it may be,
have brought me to this pass. But this I say to thee, of reverence to
God; an He presently have compassion on me, I will not only promise,
but gladly do any thing, however great, to say nothing of a little
one; wherefore ask that which pleaseth thee, for without fail, if it
come to pass that I escape with life, I will punctually perform it.'
Then said the pilgrim, 'What I would have of thee is that thou pardon
Tedaldo's four brothers the having brought thee to this pass,
believing thee guilty of their brother's death, and have them again
for brethren and for friends, whenas they crave thee pardon thereof.'
Whereto quoth Aldobrandino, 'None knoweth but he who hath suffered the
affront how sweet a thing is vengeance and with what ardour it is
desired; nevertheless, so God may apply Himself to my deliverance, I
will freely pardon them; nay, I pardon them now, and if I come off
hence alive and escape, I will in this hold such course as shall be
to thy liking.'
This pleased the pilgrim and without concerning himself to say more to
him, he exhorted him to be of good heart, for that, ere the ensuing
day came to an end, he should without fail hear very certain news of
his safety. Then, taking leave of him, he repaired to the Seignory and
said privily to a gentleman who was in session there, 'My lord, every
one should gladly labour to bring to light the truth of things, and
especially those who hold such a room as this of yours, to the end
that those may not suffer the penalty who have not committed the crime
and that the guilty may be punished; that which may be brought about,
to your honour and the bane of those who have merited it, I am come
hither to you. As you know, you have rigorously proceeded against
Aldobrandino Palermini and thinking you have found for truth that it
was he who slew Tedaldo Elisei, are minded to condemn him; but this is
most certainly false, as I doubt not to show you, ere midnight betide,
by giving into your hands the murderers of the young man in question.'
The worthy gentleman, who was in concern for Aldobrandino, willingly
gave ear to the pilgrim's words and having conferred at large with him
upon the matter, on his information, took the two innkeeper brothers
and their servant, without resistance, in their first sleep. He would
have put them to the question, to discover how the case stood; but
they brooked it not and each first for himself, and after all
together, openly confessed that it was they who had slain Tedaldo
Elisei, knowing him not. Being questioned of the case, they said [that
it was] for that he had given the wife of one of them sore annoy, what
while they were abroad, and would fain have enforced her to do his
will.
The pilgrim, having heard this, with the magistrate's consent took his
leave and repairing privily to the house of Madam Ermellina, found her
alone and awaiting him, (all else in the house being gone to sleep,)
alike desirous of having good news of her husband and of fully
reconciling herself with her Tedaldo. He accosted her with a joyful
countenance and said, 'Dearest lady mine, be of good cheer, for
to-morrow thou shalt certainly have thine Aldobrandino here again safe
and sound'; and to give her more entire assurance thereof, he fully
recounted to her that which he had done. Whereupon she, glad as ever
woman was of two so sudden and so happy chances, to wit, the having
her lover alive again, whom she verily believed to have bewept dead,
and the seeing Aldobrandino free from peril, whose death she looked
ere many days to have to mourn, affectionately embraced and kissed
Tedaldo; then, getting them to bed together, with one accord they made
a glad and gracious peace, taking delight and joyance one of the
other. Whenas the day drew near, Tedaldo arose, after showing the lady
that which he purposed to do and praying her anew to keep it a close
secret, and went forth, even in his pilgrim's habit, to attend, whenas
it should be time, to Aldobrandino's affairs. The day come, it
appearing to the Seignory that they had full information of the
matter, they straightway discharged Aldobrandino and a few days after
let strike off the murderers' heads whereas they had committed the
crime.
Aldobrandino being now, to the great joy of himself and his wife and
of all his friends and kinsfolk, free and manifestly acknowledging
that he owed his deliverance to the good offices of the pilgrim,
carried the latter to his house for such time as it pleased him to
sojourn in the city; and there they could not sate themselves of doing
him honour and worship, especially the lady, who knew with whom she
had to do. After awhile, deeming it time to bring his brothers to an
accord with Aldobrandino and knowing that they were not only put to
shame by the latter's acquittance, but went armed for fear [of his
resentment,] he demanded of his host the fulfilment of his promise.
Aldobrandino freely answered that he was ready, whereupon the pilgrim
caused him prepare against the morrow a goodly banquet, whereat he
told him he would have him and his kinsmen and kinswomen entertain the
four brothers and their ladies, adding that he himself would go
incontinent and bid the latter on his part to peace and his banquet.
Aldobrandino consenting to all that liked the pilgrim, the latter
forthright betook himself to the four brothers and plying them with
store of such words as behoved unto the matter, in fine, with
irrepugnable arguments, brought them easily enough to consent to
regain Aldobrandino's friendship by asking pardon; which done, he
invited them and their ladies to dinner with Aldobrandino next
morning, and they, being certified of his good faith, frankly accepted
the invitation.
Accordingly, on the morrow, towards dinner-time, Tedaldo's four
brothers, clad all in black as they were, came, with sundry of their
friends, to the house of Aldobrandino, who stayed for them, and there,
in the presence of all who had been bidden of him to bear them
company, cast down their arms and committed themselves to his mercy,
craving forgiveness of that which they had wrought against him.
Aldobrandino, weeping, received them affectionately, and kissing them
all on the mouth, despatched the matter in a few words, remitting unto
them every injury received. After them came their wives and sisters,
clad all in sad-coloured raiment, and were graciously received by
Madam Ermellina and the other ladies. Then were all, ladies and men
alike, magnificently entertained at the banquet, nor was there aught
in the entertainment other than commendable, except it were the
taciturnity occasioned by the yet fresh sorrow expressed in the sombre
raiment of Tedaldo's kinsfolk. Now on this account the pilgrim's
device of the banquet had been blamed of some and he had observed it;
wherefore, the time being come to do away with the constraint
aforesaid, he rose to his feet, according as he had foreordained in
himself, what while the rest still ate of the fruits, and said,
'Nothing hath lacked to this entertainment that should make it joyful,
save only Tedaldo himself; whom (since having had him continually with
you, you have not known him) I will e'en discover to you.'
So saying, he cast off his palmer's gown and all other his pilgrim's
weeds and abiding in a jerkin of green sendal, was with no little
amazement, long eyed and considered of all, ere any would venture to
believe it was indeed he. Tedaldo, seeing this, recounted many
particulars of the relations and things betided between them, as well
as of his own adventures; whereupon his brethren and the other
gentlemen present ran all to embrace him, with eyes full of joyful
tears, as after did the ladies on like wise, as well strangers as
kinswomen, except only Madam Ermellina. Which Aldobrandino seeing,
'What is this, Ermellina?' quoth he. 'Why dost thou not welcome
Tedaldo, as do the other ladies?' Whereto she answered, in the hearing
of all, 'There is none who had more gladly welcomed and would yet
welcome him than myself, who am more beholden to him than any other
woman, seeing that by his means I have gotten thee again; but the
unseemly words spoken in the days when we mourned him whom we deemed
Tedaldo made me refrain therefrom.' Quoth her husband, 'Go to;
thinkest thou I believe in the howlers?[188] He hath right well shown
their prate to be false by procuring my deliverance; more by token
that I never believed it. Quick, rise and go and embrace him.'
[Footnote 188: Lit. barkers (_abbajatori_), _i.e._ slanderers.]
The lady, who desired nothing better, was not slow to obey her husband
in this and accordingly, arising, embraced Tedaldo, as the other
ladies had done, and gave him joyous welcome. This liberality of
Aldobrandino was mighty pleasing to Tedaldo's brothers and to every
man and woman there, and thereby all suspect[189] that had been
aroused in the minds of some by the words aforesaid was done away.
Then, every one having given Tedaldo joy, he with his own hands rent
the black clothes on his brothers' backs and the sad-coloured on those
of his sisters and kinswomen and would have them send after other
apparel, which whenas they had donned, they gave themselves to singing
and dancing and other diversions galore; wherefore the banquet, which
had had a silent beginning had a loud-resounding ending. Thereafter,
with the utmost mirth, they one and all repaired, even as they were,
to Tedaldo's house, where they supped that night, and on this wise
they continued to feast several days longer.
[Footnote 189: Lit. despite, rancour (_rugginuzza_), but the phrase
appears to refer to the suspicions excited by the whispers that had
been current, as above mentioned, of the connection between Ermellina
and Tedaldo.]
The Florentines awhile regarded Tedaldo with amazement, as a man risen
from the dead; nay, in many an one's mind, and even in that of his
brethren, there abode a certain faint doubt an he were indeed himself
and they did not yet thoroughly believe it, nor belike had they
believed it for a long time to come but for a chance which made them
clear who the murdered man was which was on this wise. There passed
one day before their house certain footmen[190] of Lunigiana, who,
seeing Tedaldo, made towards him and said, 'Give you good day,
Faziuolo.' Whereto Tedaldo in his brothers' presence answered, 'You
mistake me.' The others, hearing him speak, were abashed and cried him
pardon, saying, 'Forsooth you resemble, more than ever we saw one man
favour another, a comrade of ours called Faziuolo of Pontremoli, who
came hither some fortnight or more agone, nor could we ever since
learn what is come of him. Indeed, we marvelled at the dress, for that
he was a soldier, even as we are.' Tedaldo's elder brother, hearing
this, came forward and enquired how this Faziuolo had been clad. They
told him and it was found to have been punctually as they said;
wherefore, what with these and what with other tokens, it was known
for certain that he who had been slain was Faziuolo and not Tedaldo,
and all doubt of the latter[191] accordingly departed [the minds of]
his brothers and of every other. Tedaldo, then, being returned very
rich, persevered in his love and the lady falling out with him no
more, they long, discreetly dealing, had enjoyment of their love. God
grant us to enjoy ours!"
[Footnote 190: _i.e._ foot-soldiers.]
[Footnote 191: _i.e._ of his identity.]