[Day the Third]
ALIBECH, TURNING HERMIT, IS TAUGHT BY RUSTICO, A MONK, TO
PUT THE DEVIL IN HELL, AND BEING AFTER BROUGHT AWAY THENCE,
BECOMETH NEERBALE HIS WIFE
Dioneo, who had diligently hearkened to the queen's story, seeing that
it was ended and that it rested with him alone to tell, without
awaiting commandment, smilingly began to speak as follows: "Charming
ladies, maybe you have never heard tell how one putteth the devil in
hell; wherefore, without much departing from the tenor of that
whereof you have discoursed all this day, I will e'en tell it you.
Belike, having learned it, you may catch the spirit[202] thereof and
come to know that, albeit Love sojourneth liefer in jocund palaces and
luxurious chambers than in the hovels of the poor, yet none the less
doth he whiles make his power felt midmost thick forests and rugged
mountains and in desert caverns; whereby it may be understood that all
things are subject to his puissance.
[Footnote 202: _Guadagnare l'anima_, lit. gain the soul (syn. pith,
kernel, substance). This passage is ambiguous and should perhaps be
rendered "catch the knack or trick" or "acquire the wish."]
To come, then, to the fact, I say that in the city of Capsa in Barbary
there was aforetime a very rich man, who, among his other children,
had a fair and winsome young daughter, by name Alibech. She, not being
a Christian and hearing many Christians who abode in the town mightily
extol the Christian faith and the service of God, one day questioned
one of them in what manner one might avail to serve God with the least
hindrance. The other answered that they best served God who most
strictly eschewed the things of the world, as those did who had
betaken them into the solitudes of the deserts of Thebais. The girl,
who was maybe fourteen years old and very simple, moved by no ordered
desire, but by some childish fancy, set off next morning by stealth
and all alone, to go to the desert of Thebais, without letting any
know her intent. After some days, her desire persisting, she won, with
no little toil, to the deserts in question and seeing a hut afar off,
went thither and found at the door a holy man, who marvelled to see
her there and asked her what she sought. She replied that, being
inspired of God, she went seeking to enter into His service and was
now in quest of one who should teach her how it behoved to serve Him.
The worthy man, seeing her young and very fair and fearing lest, an he
entertained her, the devil should beguile him, commended her pious
intent and giving her somewhat to eat of roots of herbs and wild
apples and dates and to drink of water, said to her, 'Daughter mine,
not far hence is a holy man, who is a much better master than I of
that which thou goest seeking; do thou betake thyself to him'; and put
her in the way. However, when she reached the man in question, she had
of him the same answer and faring farther, came to the cell of a young
hermit, a very devout and good man, whose name was Rustico and to whom
she made the same request as she had done to the others. He, having a
mind to make a trial of his own constancy, sent her not away, as the
others had done, but received her into his cell, and the night being
come, he made her a little bed of palm-fronds and bade her lie down to
rest thereon. This done, temptations tarried not to give battle to his
powers of resistance and he, finding himself grossly deceived by these
latter, turned tail, without awaiting many assaults, and confessed
himself beaten; then, laying aside devout thoughts and orisons and
mortifications, he fell to revolving in his memory the youth and
beauty of the damsel and bethinking himself what course he should take
with her, so as to win to that which he desired of her, without her
taking him for a debauched fellow.
Accordingly, having sounded her with sundry questions, he found that
she had never known man and was in truth as simple as she seemed;
wherefore he bethought him how, under colour of the service of God, he
might bring her to his pleasures. In the first place, he showeth her
with many words how great an enemy the devil was of God the Lord and
after gave her to understand that the most acceptable service that
could be rendered to God was to put back the devil into hell, whereto
he had condemned him. The girl asked him how this might be done; and
he, 'Thou shalt soon know that; do thou but as thou shalt see me do.'
So saying, he proceeded to put off the few garments he had and abode
stark naked, as likewise did the girl, whereupon he fell on his knees,
as he would pray, and caused her abide over against himself.[203]
[Footnote 203: The translators regret that the disuse into which magic
has fallen, makes it impossible to render the technicalities of that
mysterious art into tolerable English; they have therefore found it
necessary to insert several passages in the original Italian.]
E cosí stando, essendo Rustico, piú che mai, nel suo disidero acceso,
per lo vederla cosí bella, venue la resurrezion della carne; la quale
riguardando Alibech, e maravigliatasti, disse: Rustico, quella che cosa
è, che io ti veggio, che cosí si pigne in fuori, e non l' ho io? O
figliuola mia, disse Rustico, questo è il diavolo, di che io t'ho
parlato, e vedi tu ora: egli mi dà grandissima molestia, tanta, che io
appena la posso sofferire. Allora disse la giovane. O lodato sia Iddio,
ché io veggio, che io sto meglio, che non stai tu, ché io non ho
cotesto diavolo io. Disse Rustico, tu di vero; ma tu hai un' altra
cosa, che non l'ho io, et haila in iscambio di questo. Disse Alibech: O
che? A cui Rustico disse: Hai l'inferno; e dicoti, che io mi credo, che
Dio t'abbia qui mandata per la salute dell' anima mia; perciòche, se
questo diavolo pur mi darà questa noia, ove tu cogli aver di me tanta
pietà, e sofferire, che io in inferno il rimetta; tu mi darai
grandissima consolazione, et a Dio farai grandissimo piacere, e
servigio; se tu per quello fare in queste parti venuta se; che tu di.
La giovane di buona fede rispose O padre mio, poscia che io ho
l'inferno, sia pure quando vi piacerà mettervi il diavolo. Disse allora
Rustico: Figliuola mia benedetta sia tu: andiamo dunque, e
rimettiamlovi sí, che egli poscia mi lasci stare. E cosí detto, menate
la giovane sopra uno de' loro letticelli, le 'nsegnò, come star si
dovesse a dover incarcerare quel maladetto da Dio. La giovane, che mai
piú non aveva in inferno messo diavolo alcuno, per la prima volta sentí
un poco di noia; perché ella disse a Rustico.
Per certo, padre mio, mala cosa dee essere questo diavolo, e veramente
nimico di Iddio ché ancora all'inferno, non che altrui duole quando,
egli v'è dentro rimesso. Disse Rustico: Figliuola, egli non averrà
sempre cosí: e per fare, che questo non avvenisse, da sei volte anziche
di su il letticel si movesero, ve 'l rimisero; tantoche per quella
volta gli trasser sí la superbia del capo, che egli si stette
volentieri in pace. Ma ritornatagli poi nel seguente tempo piú volte, e
la giovane ubbidente sempre a trargliela si disponesse, avvenne, che il
giuoco le cominciò a piacere; e cominciò a dire a Rustico. Ben veggio,
che il ver dicevano que valenti uomini in Capsa, che il servire a Dio
era cosí dolce cosa, e per certo io non mi ricordo, che mai alcuna
altra ne facessi, che di tanto diletto, e piacere mi fosse, quanto è il
rimettere il diavolo in inferno; e perciò giudico ogn' altra persona,
che ad altro che a servire a Dio attende, essere una bestia. Per la
qual cosa essa spesse volte andava a Rustico, e gli diceva. Padre mio,
io son qui venuta per servire a Dio, e non per istare oziosa; andiamo a
rimittere il diavolo in inferno. La qual cosa faccendo, diceva ella
alcuna volta. Rustico, io non so perché il diavolo si fugga di
ninferno, ché s' egli vi stesse cosí volentiere, come l'inferno il
riceve, e tiene; agli non sene uscirebbe mai. Cosí adunque invitando
spesso la giovane Rustico, et al servigio di Dio confortandolo, se la
bambagia del farsetto tratta gli avea, che egli a talora sentiva
freddo, che un' altro sarebbe sudato; e perciò egli incominciò a dire
alla giovane, che il diavolo non era da gastigare, né da rimettere in
inferno, se non quando egli per superbia levasse il capo; e noi, per la
grazia, di Dio, l'abbiamo sí sgannato, che egla priega Iddio di starsi
in pace: e cosí alquanto impose di silenzio alla giovane. La qual,
poiche vide che Rustico non la richiedeva a dovere il diavolo rimittere
in inferno, gli disse un giorno. Rustico, se il diavolo tuo è
gastigato, e piú non ti dà noia me il mio ninferno non lascia stare:
perché tu farai bene, che tu col tuo diavolo aiuti ad attutare la
rabbia al mio inferno; come io col mio ninferno ho ajutato a trarre la
superbia al tuo diavolo.
_Transcriber's Note:_ The following is a 1886 translation of this
passage by John Payne, printed for the Villon Society by private
subscription and for private circulation only:
Matters standing thus and Rustico being more than ever inflamed in
his desires to see her so fair, there came the resurrection of the
flesh, which Alibech observing and marvelling, 'Rustico,' quoth she,
'what is that I see on thee which thrusteth forth thus and which I
have not?' 'Faith, daughter mine,' answered he, 'this is the devil
whereof I bespoke thee; and see now, he giveth me such sore annoy
that I can scarce put up with it.' Then said the girl, 'Now praised
be God! I see I fare better than thou, in that I have none of yonder
devil.' 'True,' rejoined Rustico; 'but thou hast otherwhat that I
have not, and thou hast it instead of this.' 'What is that?' asked
Alibech; and he, 'Thou hast hell, and I tell thee methinketh God
hath sent thee hither for my soul's health, for that, whenas this
devil doth me this annoy, an it please thee have so much compassion
on me as to suffer me put him back into hell, thou wilt give me the
utmost solacement and wilt do God a very great pleasure and service,
so indeed thou be come into these parts to do as thou sayst.'
The girl answered in good faith, 'Marry, father mine, since I have
hell, be it whensoever it pleaseth thee;' whereupon quoth Rustico,
'Daughter, blessed be thou; let us go then and put him back there,
so he may after leave me in peace.' So saying, he laid her on one of
their little beds and taught her how she should do to imprison that
accursed one of God. The girl, who had never yet put any devil in
hell, for the first time felt some little pain; wherefore she said
to Rustico, 'Certes, father mine, this same devil must be an ill
thing and an enemy in very deed of God, for that it irketh hell
itself, let be otherwhat, when he is put back therein.' 'Daughter,'
answered Rustico, 'it will not always happen thus;' and to the end
that this should not happen, six times, or ever they stirred from
the bed, they put him in hell again, insomuch that for the nonce
they so took the conceit out of his head that he willingly abode at
peace. But, it returning to him again and again the ensuing days and
the obedient girl still lending herself to take it out of him, it
befell that the sport began to please her and she said to Rustico,
'I see now that those good people in Capsa spoke sooth, when they
avouched that it was so sweet a thing to serve God; for, certes, I
remember me not to have ever done aught that afforded me such
pleasance and delight as putting the devil in hell; wherefore
methinketh that whoso applieth himself unto aught other than God His
service is a fool.'
Accordingly, she came ofttimes to Rustico and said to him, 'Father
mine, I came here to serve God and not to abide idle; let us go put
the devil in hell.' Which doing, she said whiles, 'Rustico, I know
not why the devil fleeth away from hell; for, an he abode there as
willingly as hell receiveth him and holdeth him, he would never come
forth therefrom.' The girl, then, on this wise often inviting
Rustico and exhorting him to the service of God, so took the bombast
out of his doublet that he felt cold what time another had sweated;
wherefore he fell to telling her that the devil was not to be
chastised nor put into hell, save whenas he should lift up his head
for pride; 'and we,' added he, 'by God's grace, have so baffled him
that he prayeth our Lord to suffer him abide in peace;' and on this
wise he for awhile imposed silence on her. However, when she saw
that he required her not of putting the devil in hell, she said to
him one day, 'Rustico, an thy devil be chastened and give thee no
more annoy, my hell letteth me not be; wherefore thou wilt do well
to aid me with thy devil in abating the raging of my hell, even as
with my hell I have helped thee take the conceit out of thy devil.'
Rustico, who lived on roots and water, could ill avail to answer her
calls and told her that it would need overmany devils to appease hell,
but he would do what he might thereof. Accordingly he satisfied her
bytimes, but so seldom it was but casting a bean into the lion's
mouth; whereas the girl, herseeming she served not God as diligently
as she would fain have done, murmured somewhat. But, whilst this
debate was toward between Rustico his devil and Alibech her hell, for
overmuch desire on the one part and lack of power on the other, it
befell that a fire broke out in Capsa and burnt Alibech's father in
his own house, with as many children and other family as he had; by
reason whereof she abode heir to all his good. Thereupon, a young man
called Neerbale, who had spent all his substance in gallantry, hearing
that she was alive, set out in search of her and finding her, before
the court[204] had laid hands upon her father's estate, as that of a
man dying without heir, to Rustico's great satisfaction, but against
her own will, brought her back to Capsa, where he took her to wife and
succeeded, in her right, to the ample inheritance of her father.
[Footnote 204: _i.e._ the government (_corte_).]
There, being asked by the women at what she served God in the desert,
she answered (Neerbale having not yet lain with her) that she served
Him at putting the devil in hell and that Neerbale had done a grievous
sin in that he had taken her from such service. The ladies asked, 'How
putteth one the devil in hell?' And the girl, what with words and
what with gestures, expounded it to them; whereat they set up so great
a laughing that they laugh yet and said, 'Give yourself no concern, my
child; nay, for that is done here also and Neerbale will serve our
Lord full well with thee at this.' Thereafter, telling it from one to
another throughout the city, they brought it to a common saying there
that the most acceptable service one could render to God was to put
the devil in hell, which byword, having passed the sea hither, is yet
current here. Wherefore do all you young ladies, who have need of
God's grace, learn to put the devil in hell, for that this is highly
acceptable to Him and pleasing to both parties and much good may grow
and ensue thereof."
* * * * *
A thousand times or more had Dioneo's story moved the modest ladies to
laughter, so quaint and comical did his words appear to them; then,
whenas he had made an end thereof, the queen, knowing the term of her
sovranty to be come, lifted the laurel from her head and set it
merrily on that of Filostrato, saying: "We shall presently see if the
wolf will know how to govern the ewes better than the ewes have
governed the wolves." Filostrato, hearing this, said, laughing, "An I
were hearkened to, the wolves had taught the ewes to put the devil in
hell, no worse than Rustico taught Alibech; wherefore do ye not style
us wolven, since you yourselves have not been ewen. Algates, I will
govern the kingdom committed to me to the best of my power." "Harkye,
Filostrato," rejoined Neifile, "in seeking to teach us, you might have
chanced to learn sense, even as did Masetto of Lamporecchio of the
nuns, and find your tongue what time your bones should have learnt to
whistle without a master."
Filostrato, finding that he still got a Roland for his Oliver,[205]
gave over pleasantry and addressed himself to the governance of the
kingdom committed to him. Wherefore, letting call the seneschal, he
was fain to know at what point things stood all and after discreetly
ordained that which he judged would be well and would content the
company for such time as his seignory should endure. Then, turning to
the ladies, "Lovesome ladies," quoth he, "since I knew good from evil,
I have, for my ill fortune, been still subject unto Love for the
charms of one or other of you; nor hath humility neither obedience,
no, nor the assiduous ensuing him in all his usances, in so far as it
hath been known of me, availed me but that first I have been abandoned
for another and after have still gone from bad to worse; and so I
believe I shall fare unto my death; wherefore it pleaseth me that it
be discoursed to-morrow of none other matter than that which is most
conformable to mine own case, to wit, OF THOSE WHOSE LOVES HAVE HAD
UNHAPPY ENDING, for that I in the long run look for a most unhappy
[issue to mine own]; nor was the name by which you call me conferred
on me for otherwhat by such an one who knew well what it meant."[206]
So saying, he rose to his feet and dismissed every one until
supper-time.
[Footnote 205: Lit. that scythes were no less plenty that he had
arrows (_che falci si trovavano non meno che egli avesse strali_), a
proverbial expression the exact bearing of which I do not know, but
whose evident sense I have rendered in the equivalent English idiom.]
[Footnote 206: Syn. what he said (_che si dire_). See ante, p. 11,
note.]
The garden was so goodly and so delightsome that there was none who
elected to go forth thereof, in the hope of finding more pleasance
elsewhere. Nay, the sun, now grown mild, making it nowise irksome to
give chase to the fawns and kids and rabbits and other beasts which
were thereabout and which, as they sat, had come maybe an hundred
times to disturb them by skipping through their midst, some addressed
themselves to pursue them. Dioneo and Fiammetta fell to singing of
Messer Guglielmo and the Lady of Vergiu,[207] whilst Filomena and
Pamfilo sat down to chess; and so, some doing one thing and some
another, the time passed on such wise that the hour of supper came
well nigh unlooked for; whereupon, the tables being set round about
the fair fountain, they supped there in the evening with the utmost
delight.
[Footnote 207: Apparently the well-known fabliau of the Dame de Vergy,
upon which Marguerite d'Angoulême founded the seventieth story of the
Heptameron.]
As soon as the tables were taken away, Filostrato, not to depart from
the course holden of those who had been queens before him, commanded
Lauretta to lead up a dance and sing a song. "My lord," answered she,
"I know none of other folk's songs, nor have I in mind any of mine own
which should best beseem so joyous a company; but, an you choose one
of those which I have, I will willingly sing it." Quote the king,
"Nothing of thine can be other than goodly and pleasing; wherefore
sing us such as thou hast." Lauretta, then, with a sweet voice enough,
but in a somewhat plaintive style, began thus, the other ladies
answering:
No maid disconsolate
Hath cause as I, alack!
Who sigh for love in vain, to mourn her fate.
He who moves heaven and all the stars in air
Made me for His delight
Lovesome and sprightly, kind and debonair,
E'en here below to give each lofty spright
Some inkling of that fair
That still in heaven abideth in His sight;
But erring men's unright,
Ill knowing me, my worth
Accepted not, nay, with dispraise did bate.
Erst was there one who held me dear and fain
Took me, a youngling maid,
Into his arms and thought and heart and brain,
Caught fire at my sweet eyes; yea time, unstayed
Of aught, that flits amain
And lightly, all to wooing me he laid.
I, courteous, nought gainsaid
And held[208] him worthy me;
But now, woe's me, of him I'm desolate.
Then unto me there did himself present
A youngling proud and haught,
Renowning him for valorous and gent;
He took and holds me and with erring thought[209]
To jealousy is bent;
Whence I, alack! nigh to despair am wrought,
As knowing myself,--brought
Into this world for good
Of many an one,--engrossed of one sole mate.
The luckless hour I curse, in very deed,
When I, alas! said yea,
Vesture to change,--so fair in that dusk wede
I was and glad, whereas in this more gay
A weary life I lead,
Far less than erst held honest, welaway!
Ah, dolorous bridal day,
Would God I had been dead
Or e'er I proved thee in such ill estate!
O lover dear, with whom well pleased was I
Whilere past all that be,--
Who now before Him sittest in the sky
Who fashioned us,--have pity upon me
Who cannot, though I die,
Forget thee for another; cause me see
The flame that kindled thee
For me lives yet unquenched
And my recall up thither[210] impetrate.
[Footnote 208: Lit. made (_Di me il feci digno_).]
[Footnote 209: _i.e._ false suspicion (_falso pensiero_).]
[Footnote 210: _i.e._ to heaven (_e costa su m'impetra la tornata_).]
Here Lauretta made an end of her song, wherein, albeit attentively
followed of all, she was diversely apprehended of divers persons, and
there were those who would e'en understand, Milan-fashion, that a good
hog was better than a handsome wench;[211] but others were of a
loftier and better and truer apprehension, whereof it booteth not to
tell at this present. Thereafter the king let kindle store of
flambeaux upon the grass and among the flowers and caused sing divers
other songs, until every star began to decline, that was above the
horizon, when, deeming it time for sleep, he bade all with a good
night betake themselves to their chambers.
[Footnote 211: The pertinence of this allusion, which probably refers
to some current Milanese proverbial saying, the word _tosa_, here used
by Boccaccio for "wench," belonging to the Lombard dialect, is not
very clear. The expression "Milan-fashion" (_alla melanese_) may be
supposed to refer to the proverbial materialism of the people of
Lombardy.]
HERE ENDETH THE THIRD DAY
OF THE DECAMERON
_Day the Fourth_
HERE BEGINNETH THE FOURTH DAY OF THE DECAMERON WHEREIN UNDER
THE GOVERNANCE OF FILOSTRATO IS DISCOURSED OF THOSE WHOSE
LOVES HAVE HAD UNHAPPY ENDINGS
Dearest ladies, as well by words of wise men heard as by things many a
time both seen and read of myself, I had conceived that the boisterous
and burning blast of envy was apt to smite none but lofty towers or
the highest summits of the trees; but I find myself mistaken in my
conceit, for that, fleeing, as I have still studied to flee, from the
cruel onslaught of that raging wind, I have striven to go, not only in
the plains, but in the very deepest of the valleys, as many manifestly
enough appear to whoso considereth these present stories, the which
have been written by me, not only in vulgar Florentine and in prose
and without [author's] name, but eke in as humble and sober a style as
might be. Yet for all this have I not availed to escape being cruelly
shaken, nay, well nigh uprooted, of the aforesaid wind and all torn of
the fangs of envy; wherefore I can very manifestly understand that to
be true which the wise use to say, to wit, that misery alone in things
present is without envy.[212]
[Footnote 212: Sic (_senza invidia_); but the meaning is that misery
alone is without _enviers_.]
There are then, discreet ladies, some who, reading these stories, have
said that you please me overmuch and that it is not a seemly thing
that I should take so much delight in pleasuring and solacing you; and
some have said yet worse of commending you as I do. Others, making a
show of wishing to speak more maturely, have said that it sorteth ill
with mine age henceforth to follow after things of this kind, to wit,
to discourse of women or to study to please them. And many, feigning
themselves mighty tender of my repute, avouch that I should do more
wisely to abide with the Muses on Parnassus than to busy myself among
you with these toys. Again, there be some who, speaking more
despitefully than advisedly, have said that I should do more
discreetly to consider whence I might get me bread than to go peddling
after these baubles, feeding upon wind; and certain others, in
disparagement of my pains, study to prove the things recounted by me
to have been otherwise than as I present them to you.
With such, then, and so many blusterings,[213] such atrocious
backbitings, such needle-pricks, noble ladies, am I, what while I
battle in your service, baffled and buffeted and transfixed even to
the quick. The which things, God knoweth, I hear and apprehend with an
untroubled mind; and albeit my defence in this pertaineth altogether
unto you, natheless, I purpose not to spare mine own pains; nay,
without answering so much [at large] as it might behove, I mean to rid
mine ears of them with some slight rejoinder, and that without delay;
for that if even now, I being not yet come to[214] the third part of
my travail, they[215] are many and presume amain, I opine that, ere I
come to the end thereof, they may, having had no rebuff at the first,
on such wise be multiplied that with whatsoever little pains of theirs
they might overthrow me, nor might your powers, great though they be,
avail to withstand this.
[Footnote 213: _i.e._ blasts of calumny.]
[Footnote 214: _i.e._ having not yet accomplished.]
[Footnote 215: _i.e._ my censors.]
But, ere I come to make answer to any of them, it pleaseth me, in mine
own defence, to relate, not an entire story,--lest it should seem I
would fain mingle mine own stories with those of so commendable a
company as that which I have presented to you,--but a part of
one,--that so its very default [of completeness] may attest that it is
none of those,--and accordingly, speaking to my assailants, I say that
in our city, a good while agone, there was a townsman, by name Filippo
Balducci, a man of mean enough extraction, but rich and well addressed
and versed in such matters as his condition comported. He had a wife,
whom he loved with an exceeding love, as she him, and they lived a
peaceful life together, studying nothing so much as wholly to please
one another. In course of time it came to pass, as it cometh to pass
of all, that the good lady departed this life and left Filippo nought
of herself but one only son, begotten of him and maybe two years old.
Filippo for the death of his lady abode as disconsolate as ever man
might, having lost a beloved one, and seeing himself left alone and
forlorn of that company which most he loved, he resolved to be no more
of the world, but to give himself altogether to the service of God and
do the like with his little son. Wherefore, bestowing all his good for
the love of God,[216] he repaired without delay to the top of Mount
Asinajo, where he took up his abode with his son in a little hut and
there living with him upon alms, in the practice of fasts and prayers,
straitly guarded himself from discoursing whereas the boy was, of any
temporal thing, neither suffered him see aught thereof, lest this
should divert him from the service aforesaid, but still bespoke him of
the glories of life eternal and of God and the saints, teaching him
nought but pious orisons; and in this way of life he kept him many
years, never suffering him go forth of the hermitage nor showing him
aught other than himself.
[Footnote 216: _i.e._ in alms.]
Now the good man was used to come whiles into Florence, where being
succoured, according to his occasions, of the friends of God, he
returned to his hut, and it chanced one day that, his son being now
eighteen years old and Filippo an old man, the lad asked him whither
he went. Filippo told him and the boy said, "Father mine, you are now
an old man and can ill endure fatigue; why do you not whiles carry me
to Florence and bring me to know the friends and devotees of God and
yourself, to the end that I, who am young and better able to toil than
you, may after, whenas it pleaseth you, go to Florence for our
occasions, whilst you abide here?" The worthy man, considering that
his son was now grown to man's estate and thinking him so inured to
the service of God that the things of this world might thenceforth
uneath allure him to themselves, said in himself, "The lad saith
well"; and accordingly, having occasion to go thither, he carried him
with him. There the youth, seeing the palaces, the houses, the
churches and all the other things whereof one seeth all the city full,
began, as one who had never to his recollection beheld the like, to
marvel amain and questioned his father of many things what they were
and how they were called. Filippo told him and he, hearing him, abode
content and questioned of somewhat else.
As they went thus, the son asking and the father answering, they
encountered by chance a company of pretty and well-dressed young
women, coming from a wedding, whom as soon as the young man saw, he
asked his father what manner of things these were. "My son," answered
Filippo, "cast your eyes on the ground and look not at them, for that
they are an ill thing." Quoth the son, "And how are they called?" The
father, not to awaken in the lad's mind a carnal appetite less than
useful, would not name them by the proper name, to wit, women, but
said, "They are called green geese." Whereupon, marvellous to relate,
he who have never seen a woman and who recked not of palaces nor oxen
nor horses nor asses nor monies nor of aught else he had seen, said
suddenly, "Father mine, I prithee get me one of these green geese."
"Alack, my son," replied the father, "hold they peace; I tell thee
they are an ill thing." "How!" asked the youth. "Are ill things then
made after this fashion?" and Filippo answered, "Ay." Then said the
son, "I know not what you would say nor why these are an ill thing;
for my part, meseemeth I never yet saw aught goodly or pleasing as are
these. They are fairer than the painted angels you have shown me
whiles. For God's sake, an you reck of me, contrive that we may carry
one of yonder green geese back with us up yonder, and I will give it
to eat." "Nay," answered the father, "I will not: thou knowest not
whereon they feed." And he understood incontinent that nature was
stronger than his wit and repented him of having brought the youth to
Florence. But I will have it suffice me to have told this much of the
present story and return to those for whose behoof I have related it.
Some, then, of my censurers say that I do ill, young ladies, in
studying overmuch to please you and that you please me overmuch. Which
things I do most openly confess, to wit, that you please me and that I
study to please you, and I ask them if they marvel thereat,--considering
(let be the having known the dulcet kisses and amorous embracements
and delightsome couplings that are of you, most sweet ladies, often
gotten) only my having seen and still seeing your dainty manners and
lovesome beauty and sprightly grace and above all your womanly
courtesy,--whenas he who had been reared and bred on a wild and
solitary mountain and within the bounds of a little cell, without
other company than his father, no sooner set eyes on you than you
alone were desired of him, you alone sought, you alone followed with
the eagerness of passion. Will they, then, blame me, back bite me,
rend me with their tongues if I, whose body Heaven created all apt to
love you, I, who from my childhood vowed my soul to you, feeling the
potency of the light of your eyes and the sweetness of your honeyed
words and the flame enkindled by your piteous sighs,--if, I say, you
please me or if I study to please you, seeing that you over all else
pleased a hermitling, a lad without understanding, nay, rather, a wild
animal? Certes, it is only those, who, having neither sense nor
cognizance of the pleasures and potency of natural affection, love you
not nor desire to be loved of you, that chide me thus; and of these I
reck little.
As for those who go railing anent mine age, it would seem they know
ill that, for all the leek hath a white head, the tail thereof is
green. But to these, laying aside pleasantry, I answer that never, no,
not to the extreme limit of my life, shall I repute it to myself for
shame to seek to please those whom Guido Cavalcanti and Dante
Alighieri, when already stricken in years, and Messer Cino da Pistoja,
when a very old man, held in honour and whose approof was dear to
them. And were it not to depart from the wonted usance of discourse, I
would cite history in support and show it to be all full of stories of
ancient and noble men who in their ripest years have still above all
studied to please the ladies, the which an they know not, let them go
learn. That I should abide with the Muses on Parnassus, I confess to
be good counsel; but, since we can neither abide for ever with the
Muses, nor they with us, it is nothing blameworthy if, whenas it
chanceth a man is parted from them, he take delight in seeing that
which is like unto them. The muses are women, and albeit women may not
avail to match with them, yet at first sight they have a semblance of
them; insomuch that, an they pleased me not for aught else, for this
they should please me; more by token that women have aforetime been to
me the occasion of composing a thousand verses, whereas the Muses
never were to me the occasion of making any. They aided me, indeed,
and showed me how to compose the verses in question; and peradventure,
in the writing of these present things, all lowly though they be, they
have come whiles to abide with me, in token maybe and honour of the
likeness that women bear to them; wherefore, in inditing these toys, I
stray not so far from Mount Parnassus nor from the Muses as many
belike conceive.
But what shall we say to those who have such compassion on my hunger
that they counsel me provide myself bread? Certes, I know not, save
that, whenas I seek to imagine in myself what would be their answer,
an I should of necessity beseech them thereof, to wit, of bread,
methinketh they would reply, "Go seek it among thy fables." Indeed,
aforetime poets have found more thereof among their fables than many a
rich man among his treasures, and many, following after their fables,
have caused their age to flourish; whereas, on the contrary, many, in
seeking to have more bread than they needed, have perished miserably.
What more [shall I say?] Let them drive me forth, whenas I ask it of
them, not that, Godamercy, I have yet need thereof; and even should
need betide, I know with the Apostle Paul both how to abound and
suffer need;[217] wherefore let none be more careful of me than I am
of myself. For those who say that these things have not been such as I
have here set them down, I would fain have them produce the originals,
and an these latter accord not with that of which I write, I will
confess their objection for just and will study to amend myself; but
till otherwhat than words appeareth, I will leave them to their
opinion and follow mine own, saying of them that which they say of me.
[Footnote 217: "I know both how to be abased and I know how to abound;
everywhere and in all things I am instructed both to be full and to be
hungry, both to abound and suffer need."--_Philippians_ iv. 12.]
Wherefore, deeming that for the nonce I have answered enough, I say
that, armed, as I hope to be, with God's aid and yours, gentlest
ladies, and with fair patience, I will fare on with this that I have
begun, turning my back to the wind aforesaid and letting it blow, for
that I see not that aught can betide me other than that which betideth
thin dust, the which a whirlwind, whenas it bloweth, either stirreth
not from the earth, or, an it stir it, carrieth it aloft and leaveth
it oftentimes upon the heads of men and upon the crowns of kings and
emperors, nay, bytimes upon high palaces and lofty towers, whence an
it fall, it cannot go lower than the place wherefrom it was uplifted.
And if ever with all my might I vowed myself to seek to please you in
aught, now more than ever shall I address myself thereto; for that I
know none can with reason say otherwhat than that I and others who
love you do according to nature, whose laws to seek to gainstand
demandeth overgreat strength, and oftentimes not only in vain, but to
the exceeding hurt of whoso striveth to that end, is this strength
employed. Such strength I confess I have not nor ever desired in this
to have; and an I had it, I had liefer lend it to others than use it
for myself. Wherefore, let the carpers be silent and an they avail not
to warm themselves, let them live star-stricken[218] and abiding in
their delights--or rather their corrupt appetites,--leave me to abide
in mine for this brief life that is appointed me. But now, fair
ladies, for that we have strayed enough, needs must we return whence
we set out and ensue the ordinance commenced.
[Footnote 218: _i.e._ benumbed (_assiderati_).]
The sun had already banished every star from the sky and had driven
from the earth the humid vapours of the night, when Filostrato,
arising, caused all his company arise and with them betook himself to
the fair garden, where they all proceeded to disport themselves, and
the eating-hour come, they dined whereas they had supped on the
foregoing evening. Then, after having slept, what time the sun was at
its highest, they seated themselves, after the wonted fashion, hard by
the fair fountain, and Filostrato bade Fiammetta give beginning to the
story-telling; whereupon, without awaiting further commandment, she
began with womanly grace as follows: