--
Alibech turns hermit, and is taught by Rustico, a monk, how the Devil is put
in hell. She is afterwards conveyed thence, and becomes the wife of
Neerbale.
--
Dioneo, observing that the queen's story, which he had followed with the
closest attention, was now ended, and that it only remained for him to
speak, waited not to be bidden, but smilingly thus began:--
Gracious ladies, perchance you have not yet heard how the Devil is put in
hell; wherefore, without deviating far from the topic of which you have
discoursed throughout the day, I will tell you how 'tis done; it may be the
lesson will prove inspiring; besides which, you may learn therefrom that,
albeit Love prefers the gay palace and the dainty chamber to the rude cabin,
yet, for all that, he may at times manifest his might in wilds matted with
forests, rugged with alps, and desolate with caverns: whereby it may be
understood that all things are subject to his sway. But--to come to my
story--I say that in the city of Capsa(1) in Barbary there was once a very
rich man, who with other children had a fair and dainty little daughter,
Alibech by name. Now Alibech, not being a Christian, and hearing many
Christians, that were in the city, speak much in praise of the Christian
Faith and the service of God, did one day inquire of one of them after what
fashion it were possible to serve God with as few impediments as might be,
and was informed that they served God best who most completely renounced the
world and its affairs; like those who had fixed their abode in the wilds of
the Thebaid desert. Whereupon, actuated by no sober predilection, but by
childish impulse, the girl, who was very simple and about fourteen years of
age, said never a word more of the matter, but stole away on the morrow, and
quite alone set out to walk to the Thebaid desert; and, by force of
resolution, albeit with no small suffering, she after some days reached
those wilds; where, espying a cabin a great way off, she hied her thither,
and found a holy man by the door, who, marvelling to see her there, asked
her what she came there to seek. She answered that, guided by the spirit of
God, she was come thither, seeking, if haply she might serve Him, and also
find some one that might teach her how He ought to be served. Marking her
youth and great beauty, the worthy man, fearing lest, if he suffered her to
remain with him, he should be ensnared by the Devil, commended her good
intention, set before her a frugal repast of roots of herbs, crab-apples and
dates, with a little water to wash them down, and said to her:--"My
daughter, there is a holy man not far from here, who is much better able to
teach thee that of which thou art in quest than I am; go to him, therefore;"
and he shewed her the way. But when she was come whither she was directed,
she met with the same answer as before, and so, setting forth again, she
came at length to the cell of a young hermit, a worthy man and very devout--
his name Rustico--whom she interrogated as she had the others. Rustico,
being minded to make severe trial of his constancy, did not send her away,
as the others had done, but kept her with him in his cell, and when night
came, made her a little bed of palm-leaves; whereon he bade her compose
herself to sleep. Hardly had she done so before the solicitations of the
flesh joined battle with the powers of Rustico's spirit, and he, finding
himself left in the lurch by the latter, endured not many assaults before he
beat a retreat, and surrendered at discretion: wherefore he bade adieu to
holy meditation and prayer and discipline, and fell a musing on the youth
and beauty of his companion, and also how he might so order his conversation
with her, that without seeming to her to be a libertine he might yet compass
that which he craved of her. So, probing her by certain questions, he
discovered that she was as yet entirely without cognizance of man, and as
simple as she seemed: wherefore he excogitated a plan for bringing her to
pleasure him under colour of serving God. He began by giving her a long
lecture on the great enmity that subsists between God and the Devil; after
which he gave her to understand that, God having condemned the Devil to
hell, to put him there was of all services the most acceptable to God. The
girl asking him how it might be done, Rustico answered:--"Thou shalt know it
in a trice; thou hast but to do that which thou seest me do." Then, having
divested himself of his scanty clothing, he threw himself stark naked on his
knees, as if he would pray; whereby he caused the girl, who followed his
example, to confront him in the same posture. Whereupon Rustico, seeing her
so fair, felt an accession of desire, and therewith came an insurgence of
the flesh, which Alibech marking with surprise, said:--"Rustico, what is
this, which I see thee have, that so protrudes, and which I have not?" "Oh!
my daughter," said Rustico, "'tis the Devil of whom I have told thee: and,
seest thou? he is now tormenting me most grievously, insomuch that I am
scarce able to hold out." Then:--"Praise be to God," said the girl, "I see
that I am in better case than thou, for no such Devil have I." "Sooth sayst
thou," returned Rustico; "but instead of him thou hast somewhat else that I
have not." "Oh!" said Alibech, "what may that be?" "Hell," answered Rustico:
"and I tell thee, that 'tis my belief that God has sent thee hither for the
salvation of my soul; seeing that, if this Devil shall continue to plague me
thus, then, so thou wilt have compassion on me and permit me to put him in
hell, thou wilt both afford me great and exceeding great solace, and render
to God an exceeding most acceptable service, if, as thou sayst, thou art
come into these parts for such a purpose." In good faith the girl made
answer:--"As I have hell to match your Devil, be it, my father, as and when
you will." Whereupon:--"Bless thee, my daughter," said Rustico, "go we then,
and put him there, that he leave me henceforth in peace." Which said, he
took the girl to one of the beds and taught her the posture in which she
must lie in order to incarcerate this spirit accursed of God. The girl,
having never before put any devil in hell, felt on this first occasion a
twinge of pain: wherefore she said to Rustico:--"Of a surety, my father, he
must be a wicked fellow, this devil, and in very truth a foe to God; for
there is sorrow even in hell--not to speak of other places--when he is put
there." "Daughter," said Rustico, "'twill not be always so." And for better
assurance thereof they put him there six times before they quitted the bed;
whereby they so thoroughly abased his pride that he was fain to be quiet.
However, the proud fit returning upon him from time to time, and the girl
addressing herself always obediently to its reduction, it so befell that she
began to find the game agreeable, and would say to Rustico:--"Now see I
plainly that 'twas true, what the worthy men said at Capsa, of the service
of God being so delightful: indeed I cannot remember that in aught that ever
I did I had so much pleasure, so much solace, as in putting the Devil in
hell; for which cause I deem it insensate folly on the part of any one to
have a care to aught else than the service of God." Wherefore many a time
she would come to Rustico, and say to him:--"My father, 'twas to serve God
that I came hither, and not to pass my days in idleness: go we then, and put
the Devil in hell." And while they did so, she would now and again say:--"I
know not, Rustico, why the Devil should escape from hell; were he but as
ready to stay there as hell is to receive and retain him, he would never
come out of it." So, the girl thus frequently inviting and exhorting Rustico
to the service of God, there came at length a time when she had so
thoroughly lightened his doublet that he shivered when another would have
sweated; wherefore he began to instruct her that the Devil was not to be
corrected and put in hell, save when his head was exalted with pride;
adding, "and we by God's grace have brought him to so sober a mind that he
prays God he may be left in peace;" by which means he for a time kept the
girl quiet. But when she saw that Rustico had no more occasion for her to
put the Devil in hell, she said to him one day:--"Rustico, if thy Devil is
chastened and gives thee no more trouble, my hell, on the other hand, gives
me no peace; wherefore, I with my hell have holpen thee to abase the pride
of thy Devil, so thou wouldst do well to lend me the aid of thy Devil to
allay the fervent heat of my hell." Rustico, whose diet was roots of herbs
and water, was scarce able to respond to her demands: he told her that
'twould require not a few devils to allay the heat of hell; but that he
would do what might be in his power; and so now and again he satisfied her;
but so seldom that 'twas as if he had tossed a bean into the jaws of a lion.
Whereat the girl, being fain of more of the service of God than she had, did
somewhat repine. However, the case standing thus (deficiency of power
against superfluity of desire) between Rustico's Devil and Alibech's hell,
it chanced that a fire broke out in Capsa, whereby the house of Alibech's
father was burned, and he and all his sons and the rest of his household
perished; so that Alibech was left sole heiress of all his estate. And a
young gallant, Neerbale by name, who by reckless munificence had wasted all
his substance, having discovered that she was alive, addressed himself to
the pursuit of her, and, having found her in time to prevent the
confiscation of her father's estate as an escheat for failure of heirs, took
her, much to Rustico's relief and against her own will, back to Capsa, and
made her his wife, and shared with her her vast patrimony. But before he had
lain with her, she was questioned by the ladies of the manner in which she
had served God in the desert; whereto she answered, that she had been wont
to serve Him by putting the Devil in hell, and that Neerbale had committed a
great sin, when he took her out of such service. The ladies being curious to
know how the Devil was put in hell, the girl satisfied them, partly by
words, partly by signs. Whereat they laughed exorbitantly (and still laugh)
and said to her:--"Be not down-hearted, daughter; 'tis done here too;
Neerbale will know well how to serve God with you in that way." And so the
story passing from mouth to mouth throughout the city, it came at last to be
a common proverb, that the most acceptable service that can be rendered to
God is to put the Devil in hell; which proverb, having travelled hither
across the sea, is still current. Wherefore, young ladies, you that have
need of the grace of God, see to it that you learn how to put the Devil in
hell, because 'tis mightily pleasing to God, and of great solace to both the
parties, and much good may thereby be engendered and ensue.
(1) Now Gafsa, in Tunis.
A thousand times or more had Dioneo's story brought the laugh to the lips of
the honourable ladies, so quaint and curiously entertaining found they the
fashion of it. And now at its close the queen, seeing the term of her
sovereignty come, took the laurel wreath from her head, and with mien most
debonair, set it on the brow of Filostrato, saying:--"We shall soon see
whether the wolf will know better how to guide the sheep than the sheep have
yet succeeded in guiding the wolves." Whereat Filostrato said with a laugh:-
-"Had I been hearkened to, the wolves would have taught the sheep to put the
Devil in hell even as Rustico taught Alibech. Wherefore call us not wolves,
seeing that you have not shewn yourselves sheep: however, as best I may be
able, I will govern the kingdom committed to my charge." Whereupon Neifile
took him up: "Hark ye, Filostrato," she said, "while you thought to teach
us, you might have learnt a lesson from us, as did Masetto da Lamporecchio
from the nuns, and have recovered your speech when the bones had learned to
whistle without a master."(1) Filostrato, perceiving that there was a scythe
for each of his arrows, gave up jesting, and addressed himself to the
governance of his kingdom. He called the seneschal, and held him strictly to
account in every particular; he then judiciously ordered all matters as he
deemed would be best and most to the satisfaction of the company, while his
sovereignty should last; and having so done, he turned to the ladies, and
said:--"Loving ladies, as my ill luck would have it, since I have had wit to
tell good from evil, the charms of one or other of you have kept me ever a
slave to Love: and for all I shewed myself humble and obedient and
conformable, so far as I knew how, to all his ways, my fate has been still
the same, to be discarded for another, and go ever from bad to worse; and
so, I suppose, 'twill be with me to the hour of my death. Wherefore I am
minded that to-morrow our discourse be of no other topic than that which is
most germane to my condition, to wit, of those whose loves had a disastrous
close: because mine, I expect, will in the long run be most disastrous; nor
for other cause was the name, by which you address me, given me by one that
well knew its signification." Which said, he arose, and dismissed them all
until supper-time.
So fair and delightsome was the garden that none saw fit to quit it, and
seek diversion elsewhere. Rather--for the sun now shone with a tempered
radiance that caused no discomfort--some of the ladies gave chase to the
kids and conies and other creatures that haunted it, and, scampering to and
fro among them as they sate, had caused them a hundred times, or so, some
slight embarrassment. Dioneo and Fiammetta fell a singing of Messer
Guglielmo and the lady of Vergiu.(2) Filomena and Pamfilo sat them down to a
game of chess; and, as thus they pursued each their several diversions, time
sped so swiftly that the supper-hour stole upon them almost unawares:
whereupon they ranged the tables round the beautiful fountain, and supped
with all glad and festal cheer.
When the tables were removed, Filostrato, being minded to follow in the
footsteps of his fair predecessors in sway, bade Lauretta lead a dance and
sing a song. She answered:--"My lord, songs of others know I none, nor does
my memory furnish me with any of mine own that seems meet for so gay a
company; but, if you will be content with what I have, gladly will I give
you thereof." "Nought of thine," returned the king, "could be other than
goodly and delectable. Wherefore give us even what thou hast." So
encouraged, Lauretta, with dulcet voice, but manner somewhat languishing,
raised the ensuing strain, to which the other ladies responded:--
What dame disconsolate
May so lament as I,
That vainly sigh, to Love still dedicate?
He that the heaven and every orb doth move
Formed me for His delight
Fair, debonair and gracious, apt for love;
That here on earth each soaring spirit might
Have foretaste how, above,
That beauty shews that standeth in His sight.
Ah! but dull wit and slight,
For that it judgeth ill,
Liketh me not, nay, doth me vilely rate.
There was who loved me, and my maiden grace
Did fondly clip and strain,
As in his arms, so in his soul's embrace,
And from mine eyes Love's fire did drink amain,
And time that glides apace
In nought but courting me to spend was fain
Whom courteous I did deign
Ev'n as my peer to entreat;
But am of him bereft! Ah! dolorous fate!
Came to me next a gallant swol'n with pride,
Brave, in his own conceit,
And no less noble eke. Whom woe betide
That he me took, and holds in all unmeet
Suspicion, jealous-eyed!
And I, who wot that me the world should greet
As the predestined sweet
Of many men, well-nigh
Despair, to be to one thus subjugate.
Ah! woe is me! cursed be the luckless day,
When, a new gown to wear,
I said the fatal ay; for blithe and gay
In that plain gown I lived, no whit less fair;
While in this rich array
A sad and far less honoured life I bear!
Would I had died, or e'er
Sounded those notes of joy
(Ah! dolorous cheer!) my woe to celebrate!
So list my supplication, lover dear,
Of whom such joyance I,
As ne'er another, had. Thou that in clear
Light of the Maker's presence art, deny
Not pity to thy fere,
Who thee may ne'er forget; but let one sigh
Breathe tidings that on high
Thou burnest still for me;
And sue of God that He me there translate.
So ended Lauretta her song, to which all hearkened attentively, though not
all interpreted it alike. Some were inclined to give it a moral after the
Milanese fashion, to wit, that a good porker was better than a pretty quean.
Others construed it in a higher, better and truer sense, which 'tis not to
the present purpose to unfold. Some more songs followed by command of the
king, who caused torches not a few to be lighted and ranged about the
flowery mead; and so the night was prolonged until the last star that had
risen had begun to set. Then, bethinking him that 'twas time for slumber,
the king bade all good-night, and dismissed them to their several chambers.
(1) I.e. when you were so emaciated that your bones made music like a
skeleton in the wind.
(2) Evidently some version of the tragical conte "de la Chastelaine de
Vergi, qui mori por laialment amer son ami." See "Fabliaux et Contes," ed.
Barbazan, iv. 296: and cf. Bandello, Pt. iv. Nov. v, and Heptameron, Journee
vii. Nouvelle lxx.
--
Endeth here the third day of the Decameron, beginneth the fourth, in which,
under the rule of Filostrato, discourse is had of those whose loves had a
disastrous close.
--
Dearest ladies, as well from what I heard in converse with the wise, as from
matters that not seldom fell within my own observation and reading, I formed
the opinion that the vehement and scorching blast of envy was apt to vent
itself only upon lofty towers or the highest tree-tops: but therein I find
that I misjudged; for, whereas I ever sought and studied how best to elude
the buffetings of that furious hurricane, and to that end kept a course not
merely on the plain, but, by preference, in the depth of the valley; as
should be abundantly clear to whoso looks at these little stories, written
as they are not only in the vulgar Florentine, and in prose, and without
dedicatory flourish, but also in as homely and simple a style as may be;
nevertheless all this has not stood me in such stead but that I have been
shrewdly shaken, nay, all but uprooted by the blast, and altogether
lacerated by the bite of this same envy. Whereby I may very well understand
that 'tis true, what the sages aver, that only misery is exempt from envy in
the present life. Know then, discreet my ladies, that some there are, who,
reading these little stories, have alleged that I am too fond of you, and
that 'tis not a seemly thing that I should take so much pleasure in
ministering to your gratification and solace; and some have found more fault
with me for praising you as I do. Others, affecting to deliver a more
considered judgment, have said that it ill befits my time of life to ensue
such matters, to wit, the discoursing of women, or endeavouring to pleasure
them. And not a few, feigning a mighty tender regard to my fame, aver that I
should do more wisely to keep ever with the Muses on Parnassus, than to
forgather with you in such vain dalliance. Those again there are, who,
evincing less wisdom than despite, have told me that I should shew sounder
sense if I bethought me how to get my daily bread, than, going after these
idle toys, to nourish myself upon the wind; while certain others, in
disparagement of my work, strive might and main to make it appear that the
matters which I relate fell out otherwise than as I set them forth. Such
then, noble ladies, are the blasts, such the sharp and cruel fangs, by
which, while I champion your cause, I am assailed, harassed and well-nigh
pierced through and through. Which censures I hear and mark, God knows, with
equal mind: and, though to you belongs all my defence, yet I mean not to be
niggard of my own powers, but rather, without dealing out to them the
castigation they deserve, to give them such slight answer as may secure my
ears some respite of their clamour; and that without delay; seeing that, if
already, though I have not completed the third part of my work, they are not
a few and very presumptuous, I deem it possible, that before I have reached
the end, should they receive no check, they may have grown so numerous, that
'twould scarce tax their powers to sink me; and that your forces, great
though they be, would not suffice to withstand them. However I am minded to
answer none of them, until I have related in my behoof, not indeed an entire
story, for I would not seem to foist my stories in among those of so
honourable a company as that with which I have made you acquainted, but a
part of one, that its very incompleteness may shew that it is not one of
them: wherefore, addressing my assailants, I say:--That in our city there
was in old time a citizen named Filippo Balducci, a man of quite low origin,
but of good substance and well versed and expert in matters belonging to his
condition, who had a wife that he most dearly loved, as did she him, so that
their life passed in peace and concord, nor there was aught they studied so
much as how to please each other perfectly. Now it came to pass, as it does
to every one, that the good lady departed this life, leaving Filippo nought
of hers but an only son, that she had had by him, and who was then about two
years old. His wife's death left Filippo as disconsolate as ever was any man
for the loss of a loved one: and sorely missing the companionship that was
most dear to him, he resolved to have done with the world, and devote
himself and his little son to the service of God. Wherefore, having
dedicated all his goods to charitable uses, he forthwith betook him to the
summit of Monte Asinaio, where he installed himself with his son in a little
cell, and living on alms, passed his days in fasting and prayer, being
careful above all things to say nothing to the boy of any temporal matters,
nor to let him see aught of the kind, lest they should distract his mind
from his religious exercises, but discoursing with him continually of the
glory of the life eternal and of God and the saints, and teaching him nought
else but holy orisons: in which way of life he kept him not a few years,
never suffering him to quit the cell or see aught but himself. From time to
time the worthy man would go Florence, where divers of the faithful would
afford him relief according to his needs, and so he would return to his
cell. And thus it fell out that one day Filippo, now an aged man, being
asked by the boy, who was about eighteen years old, whither he went, told
him. Whereupon:--"Father," said the boy, "you are now old, and scarce able
to support fatigue; why take you me not with you for once to Florence, and
give me to know devout friends of God and you, so that I, who am young and
fitter for such exertion than you, may thereafter go to Florence for our
supplies at your pleasure, and you remain here?"
The worthy man, bethinking him that his son was now grown up, and so
habituated to the service of God as hardly to be seduced by the things of
the world, said to himself:--"He says well." And so, as he must needs go to
Florence, he took the boy with him. Where, seeing the palaces, the houses,
the churches, and all matters else with which the city abounds, and of which
he had no more recollection than if he had never seen them, the boy found
all passing strange, and questioned his father of not a few of them, what
they were and how they were named; his curiosity being no sooner satisfied
in one particular than he plied his father with a further question. And so
it befell that, while son and father were thus occupied in asking and
answering questions, they encountered a bevy of damsels, fair and richly
arrayed, being on their return from a wedding; whom the young man no sooner
saw, than he asked his father what they might be. "My son," answered the
father, "fix thy gaze on the ground, regard them not at all, for naughty
things are they." "Oh!" said the son, "and what is their name?" The father,
fearing to awaken some mischievous craving of concupiscence in the young
man, would not denote them truly, to wit, as women, but said:--"They are
called goslings." Whereupon, wonderful to tell! the lad who had never before
set eyes on any woman, thought no more of the palaces, the oxen, the horses,
the asses, the money, or aught else that he had seen, but
exclaimed:--"Prithee, father, let me have one of those goslings." "Alas, my
son," replied the father, "speak not of them; they are naughty things."
"Oh!" questioned the son; "but are naughty things made like that?" "Ay,"
returned the father. Whereupon the son:--"I know not," he said, "what you
say, nor why they should be naughty things: for my part I have as yet seen
nought that seemed to me so fair and delectable. They are fairer than the
painted angels that you have so often shewn me. Oh! if you love me, do but
let us take one of these goslings up there, and I will see that she have
whereon to bill." "Nay," said the father, "that will not I. Thou knowest not
whereon they bill;" and straightway, being ware that nature was more potent
than his art, he repented him that he had brought the boy to Florence.
But enough of this story: 'tis time for me to cut it short, and return to
those, for whose instruction 'tis told. They say then, some of these my
censors, that I am too fond of you, young ladies, and am at too great pains
to pleasure you. Now that I am fond of you, and am at pains to pleasure you,
I do most frankly and fully confess; and I ask them whether, considering
only all that it means to have had, and to have continually, before one's
eyes your debonair demeanour, your bewitching beauty and exquisite grace,
and therewithal your modest womanliness, not to speak of having known the
amorous kisses, the caressing embraces, the voluptuous comminglings, whereof
our intercourse with you, ladies most sweet, not seldom is productive, they
do verily marvel that I am fond of you, seeing that one who was nurtured,
reared, and brought up on a savage and solitary mountain, within the narrow
circuit of a cell, without other companion than his father, had no sooner
seen you than 'twas you alone that he desired, that he demanded, that he
sought with ardour? Will they tear, will they lacerate me with their
censures, if I, whose body Heaven fashioned all apt for love, whose soul
from very boyhood was dedicate to you, am not insensible to the power of the
light of your eyes, to the sweetness of your honeyed words, to the flame
that is kindled by your gentle sighs, but am fond of you and sedulous to
pleasure you; you, again I bid them remember, in whom a hermit, a rude,
witless lad, liker to an animal than to a human being, found more to delight
him than in aught else that he saw? Of a truth whoso taxes me thus must be
one that, feeling, knowing nought of the pleasure and power of natural
affection, loves you not, nor craves your love; and such an one I hold in
light esteem. And as for those that go about to find ground of exception in
my age, they do but shew that they ill understand that the leek, albeit its
head is white, has a green tail. But jesting apart, thus I answer them, that
never to the end of my life shall I deem it shameful to me to pleasure those
to whom Guido Cavalcanti and Dante Alighieri in their old age, and Messer
Cino da Pistoia in extreme old age, accounted it an honour and found it a
delight to minister gratification. And but that 'twere a deviation from the
use and wont of discourse, I would call history to my aid, and shew it to
abound with stories of noble men of old time, who in their ripest age
studied above all things else to pleasure the ladies; whereof if they be
ignorant, go they and get them to school. To keep with the Muses on
Parnassus is counsel I approve; but tarry with them always we cannot, nor
they with us, nor is a man blameworthy, if, when he happen to part from
them, he find his delight in those that resemble them. The Muses are ladies,
and albeit ladies are not the peers of the Muses, yet they have their
outward semblance; for which cause, if for no other, 'tis reasonable that I
should be fond of them. Besides which, ladies have been to me the occasion
of composing some thousand verses, but of never a verse that I made were the
Muses the occasion. Howbeit 'twas with their aid, 'twas under their
influence that I composed those thousand verses, and perchance they have
sometimes visited me to encourage me in my present task, humble indeed
though it be, doing honour and paying, as it were, tribute, to the likeness
which the ladies have to them; wherefore, while I weave these stories, I
stray not so far from Mount Parnassus and the Muses as not a few perchance
suppose. But what shall we say to those, in whom my hunger excites such
commiseration that they bid me get me bread? Verily I know not, save this:--
Suppose that in my need I were to beg bread of them, what would be their
answer? I doubt not they would say:--"Go seek it among the fables." And in
sooth the poets have found more bread among their fables than many rich men
among their treasures. And many that have gone after fables have crowned
their days with splendour, while, on the other hand, not a few, in the
endeavour to get them more bread than they needed, have perished miserably.
But why waste more words on them? Let them send me packing, when I ask bread
of them; not that, thank God, I have yet need of it, and should I ever come
to be in need of it, I know, like the Apostle, how to abound and to be in
want, and so am minded to be beholden to none but myself. As for those who
say that these matters fell out otherwise than as I relate them, I should
account it no small favour, if they would produce the originals, and should
what I write not accord with them, I would acknowledge the justice of their
censure, and study to amend my ways; but, until better evidence is
forthcoming than their words, I shall adhere to my own opinion without
seeking to deprive them of theirs, and give them tit for tat. And being
minded that for this while this answer suffice, I say that with God and you,
in whom I trust, most gentle ladies, to aid and protect me, and patience for
my stay, I shall go forward with my work, turning my back on this tempest,
however it may rage; for I see not that I can fare worse than the fine dust,
which the blast of the whirlwind either leaves where it lies, or bears
aloft, not seldom over the heads of men, over the crowns of kings, of
emperors, and sometimes suffers to settle on the roofs of lofty palaces, and
the summits of the tallest towers, whence if it fall, it cannot sink lower
than the level from which it was raised. And if I ever devoted myself and
all my powers to minister in any wise to your gratification, I am now minded
more than ever so to do, because I know that there is nought that any can
justly say in regard thereof, but that I, and others who love you, follow
the promptings of nature, whose laws whoso would withstand, has need of
powers pre-eminent, and, even so, will oft-times labour not merely in vain
but to his own most grievous disadvantage. Such powers I own that I neither
have, nor, to such end, desire to have; and had I them, I would rather leave
them to another than use them myself. Wherefore let my detractors hold their
peace, and if they cannot get heat, why, let them shiver their life away;
and, while they remain addicted to their delights, or rather corrupt tastes,
let them leave me to follow my own bent during the brief life that is
accorded us. But this has been a long digression, fair ladies, and 'tis time
to retrace our steps to the point where we deviated, and continue in the
course on which we started.
The sun had chased every star from the sky, and lifted the dank murk of
night from the earth, when, Filostrato being risen, and having roused all
his company, they hied them to the fair garden, and there fell to disporting
themselves: the time for breakfast being come, they took it where they had
supped on the preceding evening, and after they had slept they rose, when
the sun was in his zenith, and seated themselves in their wonted manner by
the beautiful fountain; where Fiammetta, being bidden by Filostrato to lead
off the story-telling, awaited no second command, but debonairly thus began.