--
Bergamino, with a story of Primasso and the Abbot of Cluny, finely censures
a sudden access of avarice in Messer Cane della Scala.
--
Emilia's charming manner and her story drew laughter and commendation from
the queen and all the company, who were much tickled by her new type of
crusader. When the laughter had subsided, and all were again silent,
Filostrato, on whom the narration now fell, began on this wise:--
A fine thing it is, noble ladies, to hit a fixed mark; but if, on the sudden
appearance of some strange object, it be forthwith hit by the bowman, 'tis
little short of a miracle. The corrupt and filthy life of the clergy offers
on many sides a fixed mark of iniquity at which, whoever is so minded, may
let fly, with little doubt that they will reach it, the winged words of
reproof and reprehension. Wherefore, though the worthy man did well to
censure in the person of the inquisitor the pretended charity of the friars
who give to the poor what they ought rather to give to the pigs or throw
away, higher indeed is the praise which I accord to him, of whom, taking my
cue from the last story, I mean to speak; seeing that by a clever apologue
he rebuked a sudden and unwonted access of avarice in Messer Cane della
Scala, conveying in a figure what he had at heart to say touching Messer
Cane and himself; which apologue is to follow.
Far and wide, almost to the ends of the earth, is borne the most illustrious
renown of Messer Cane della Scala, in many ways the favoured child of
fortune, a lord almost without a peer among the notables and magnificoes of
Italy since the time of the Emperor Frederic II. Now Messer Cane, being
minded to hold high festival at Verona, whereof fame should speak marvellous
things, and many folk from divers parts, of whom the greater number were
jesters of every order, being already arrived, Messer Cane did suddenly (for
some cause or another) abandon his design, and dismissed them with a partial
recompense. One only, Bergamino by name, a speaker ready and polished in a
degree credible only to such as heard him, remained, having received no
recompense or conge, still cherishing the hope that this omission might yet
turn out to his advantage. But Messer Cane was possessed with the idea that
whatever he might give Bergamino would be far more completely thrown away
than if he had tossed it into the fire; so never a word of the sort said he
or sent he to him. A few days thus passed, and then Bergamino, seeing that
he was in no demand or request for aught that belonged to his office, and
being also at heavy charges at his inn for the keep of his horses and
servants, fell into a sort of melancholy; but still he waited a while, not
deeming it expedient to leave. He had brought with him three rich and goodly
robes, given him by other lords, that he might make a brave show at the
festival, and when his host began to press for payment he gave him one of
the robes; afterwards, there being still much outstanding against him, he
must needs, if he would tarry longer at the inn, give the host the second
robe; after which he began to live on the third, being minded remain there,
as long as it would hold out, in expectation of better luck, and then to
take his departure. Now, while he was thus living on the third robe, it
chanced that Messer Cane encountered him one day as he sate at breakfast
with a very melancholy visage. Which Messer Cane observing, said, rather to
tease him than expecting to elicit from him any pleasant retort:--"What ails
thee, Bergamino, that thou art still so melancholy? Let me know the reason
why." Whereupon Bergamino, without a moment's reflection, told the following
story, which could not have fitted his own case more exactly if it had been
long premeditated.
My lord, you must know that Primasso was a grammarian of great eminence, and
excellent and quick beyond all others in versifying; whereby he waxed so
notable and famous that, albeit he was not everywhere known by sight, yet
there were scarce any that did not at least by name and report know who
Primasso was. Now it so happened that, being once at Paris in straitened
circumstances, as it was his lot to be most of his time by reason that
virtue is little appreciated by the powerful, he heard speak of the Abbot of
Cluny, who, except the Pope, is supposed to be the richest prelate, in
regard of his vast revenues, that the Church of God can shew; and marvellous
and magnificent things were told him of the perpetual court which the abbot
kept, and how, wherever he was, he denied not to any that came there either
meat or drink, so only that he preferred his request while the abbot was at
table. Which when Primasso heard, he determined to go and see for himself
what magnificent state this abbot kept, for he was one that took great
delight in observing the ways of powerful and lordly men; wherefore he asked
how far from Paris was the abbot then sojourning. He was informed that the
abbot was then at one of his places distant perhaps six miles; which
Primasso concluded he could reach in time for breakfast, if he started early
in the morning. When he had learned the way, he found that no one else was
travelling by it, and fearing lest by mischance he should lose it, and so
find himself where it would not be easy for him to get food, he determined
to obviate so disagreeable a contingency by taking with him three loaves of
bread--as for drink, water, though not much to his taste, was, he supposed,
to be found everywhere. So, having disposed the loaves in the fold of his
tunic, he took the road and made such progress that he reached the abbot's
place of sojourn before the breakfast-hour. Having entered, he made the
circuit of the entire place, observing everything, the vast array of tables,
and the vast kitchen well-appointed with all things needful for the
preparation and service of the breakfast, and saying to himself:--"In very
truth this man is even such a magnifico as he is reported to be." While his
attention was thus occupied, the abbot's seneschal, it being now
breakfast-time, gave order to serve water for the hands, which being washen,
they sat them all down to breakfast. Now it so happened that Primasso was
placed immediately in front of the door by which the abbot must pass from
his chamber, into the hall, in which, according to rule of his court,
neither wine, nor bread, nor aught else drinkable or eatable was ever set on
the tables before he made his appearance and was seated. The seneschal,
therefore, having set the tables, sent word to the abbot, that all was now
ready, and they waited only his pleasure. So the abbot gave the word, the
door of his chamber was thrown open, and he took a step or two forward
towards the hall, gazing straight in front of him as he went. Thus it fell
out that the first man on whom he set eyes was Primasso, who was in very
sorry trim. The abbot, who knew him not by sight, no sooner saw him, than,
surprised by a churlish mood to which he had hitherto been an entire
stranger, he said to himself:--"So it is to such as this man that I give my
hospitality;" and going back into the chamber he bade lock the door, and
asked of his attendants whether the vile fellow that sate at table directly
opposite the door was known to any of them, who, one and all, answered in
the negative. Primasso waited a little, but he was not used to fast, and his
journey had whetted his appetite. So, as the abbot did not return, he drew
out one of the loaves which he had brought with him, and began to eat. The
abbot, after a while, bade one of his servants go see whether Primasso were
gone. The servant returned with the answer:--"No, sir, and (what is more) he
is eating a loaf of bread, which he seems to have brought with him." "Be it
so then," said the abbot, who was vexed that he was not gone of his own
accord, but was not disposed to turn him out; "let him eat his own bread, if
he have any, for he shall have none of ours today." By and by Primasso,
having finished his first loaf, began, as the abbot did not make his
appearance, to eat the second; which was likewise reported to the abbot, who
had again sent to see if he were gone. Finally, as the abbot still delayed
his coming, Primasso, having finished the second loaf, began upon the third;
whereof, once more, word was carried to the abbot, who now began to commune
with himself and say:--"Alas! my soul, what unwonted mood harbourest thou
to-day? What avarice? what scorn? and of whom? I have given my hospitality,
now for many a year, to whoso craved it, without looking to see whether he
were gentle or churl, poor or rich, merchant or cheat, and mine eyes have
seen it squandered on vile fellows without number; and nought of that which
I feel towards this man ever entered my mind. Assuredly it cannot be that he
is a man of no consequence, who is the occasion of this access of avarice in
me. Though he seem to me a vile fellow, he must be some great man, that my
mind is thus obstinately averse to do him honour." Of which musings the
upshot was that he sent to inquire who the vile fellow was, and learning
that he was Primasso, come to see if what he had heard of his magnificent
state were true, he was stricken with shame, having heard of old Primasso's
fame, and knowing him to be a great man. Wherefore, being zealous to make
him the amend, he studied to do him honour in many ways; and after
breakfast, that his garb might accord with his native dignity, he caused him
to be nobly arrayed, and setting him upon a palfrey and filling his purse,
left it to his own choice, whether to go or to stay. So Primasso, with a
full heart, thanked him for his courtesy in terms the amplest that he could
command, and, having left Paris afoot, returned thither on horseback."
Messer Cane was shrewd enough to apprehend Bergamino's meaning perfectly
well without a gloss, and said with a smile:--"Bergamino, thy parable is
apt, and declares to me very plainly thy losses, my avarice, and what thou
desirest of me. And in good sooth this access of avarice, of which thou art
the occasion, is the first that I have experienced. But I will expel the
intruder with the baton which thou thyself hast furnished." So he paid
Bergamino's reckoning, habited him nobly in one of his own robes, gave him
money and a palfrey, and left it for the time at his discretion, whether to
go or to stay.