=Dimitrio the chapman, having disguised himself as a certain
Gramottiveggio, surprises his wife Polissena with a priest, and
sends her back to her brothers, who put her to death, and Dimitrio
afterwards marries his serving-woman.=
We often see, dear ladies, great inequality in the degree of mutual
love. How often will the husband love the wife entirely, and she care
little for him; and, on the other hand, the wife will love the husband
to find nothing but hatred in return. In conditions like these is born
the passion of sudden jealousy, the destroyer of all happiness,
rendering a decent life impossible; likewise dishonourings and unseemly
deaths, which often shed deep disgrace over all our sex. I will say
nothing of the headlong perils, of the numberless ills, into which both
men and women rush on account of this accursed jealousy. It would weary
rather than divert you were I to recount them all to you one by one;
but, as it is my task to bring to an end this evening of pleasant
discourse, I will tell you a story of Gramottiveggio, now told for the
first time, and I believe you will gather therefrom no less pleasure
than edification.
The noble city of Venice, famed for the integrity of its magistrates,
for the justice of its laws, and as being the resort of men from every
nation of the world, is seated on the bosom of the Adriatic sea, and is
named the queen of cities, the refuge of the unhappy, the asylum of the
oppressed. Her walls are the sea and her roof the sky; and, though the
earth produces nought, there is no scarcity of anything that life in a
great city demands.
In this rich and magnificent city there lived in former days a merchant
whose name was Dimitrio, a good and trustworthy man of upright life,
though of low degree. He was possessed with a great desire of offspring,
wherefore he took to wife a fair and graceful girl named Polissena, whom
he loved as dearly as ever man loved woman, letting her clothe herself
so sumptuously that there was no dame in all the city—save amongst the
nobles—who could outvie her in raiment, or in rings, or in pearls of
price. And besides he took care to let her have abundance of delicate
victuals, which, not being suitable to one of her humble degree, gave
her the look of being more pampered and dainty than she should have
been.
It chanced one day that Dimitrio, who on account of his business was
often constrained to travel by sea, determined to take ship with a cargo
of goods for Cyprus, and, when he had got ready his apparel and stocked
the house with provisions and everything that was needful, he left his
dear wife Polissena with a fair and buxom serving-maid to bear her
company, and set sail on his voyage.
After his departure Polissena went on living luxuriously and indulged
herself with every delicacy, and before very long found she was unable
to endure further the pricks of amorous appetite, so she cast her eyes
upon the parish priest and became hotly enamoured of him. The priest on
his part, being young, lively, and well-favoured, came at last to divine
the meaning of the glances Polissena cast towards him out of the corner
of her eye, and, seeing that she was gifted with a lovely face and a
graceful shape, and further endowed with all the charms men desire in a
woman, he soon began to return her amorous looks. Thus love grew up
between them, and many days had not passed before Polissena brought the
young man privily into the house to take her pleasure with him. And
thus, for the course of many months, they secretly enjoyed the delights
of love in close embraces and sweet kisses, letting the poor husband
fare the best he might in the perils of sea and land.
Now when Dimitrio had been some time in Cyprus, and had made there a
reasonable profit on his goods, he sailed back to Venice, and, having
disembarked, he went to his home and to his dear Polissena, who, as soon
as she saw him, burst into tears, and when Dimitrio asked her the reason
of her weeping, she replied, ‘I weep because of some bad news which came
to me of late, and also for the great joy I feel in seeing you again;
for I heard tell by many that all the ships which had sailed for Cyprus
were wrecked, and I feared sorely lest some terrible misadventure should
have overtaken you. But now, seeing you have by God’s mercy returned
safe and sound, I cannot keep back my tears for the joy I feel.’ The
simple Dimitrio, who had returned to Venice to make up—as he thought—to
his wife for the solitary time she had passed during his long absence,
deemed that the tears and sighs of Polissena sprang from her warm and
constant love for him; but the poor dupe never suspected that all the
while she was saying in her heart, ‘Would to Heaven that he had been
drowned at sea! for then I might the more safely and readily take my
pleasure with my lover who loves me so well.’
Before a month had passed Dimitrio was forced to set out on his travels
once more, whereat Polissena was filled with joy greater than can be
imagined, and forthwith sent word to her lover, who showed himself to be
no less on the alert; and, when the settled hour for their foregathering
had come, he went secretly to her. But the comings and goings of the
priest could not be kept secret enough to escape for long the eye of a
certain Manusso, a friend of Dimitrio, who lived just opposite.
Wherefore Manusso, who held Dimitrio in high esteem for that he was a
pleasant companion and one ever ready to do a friendly service, grew
mightily suspicious of his young neighbour, and kept a sharp watch over
her. When he had satisfied himself that, with a given sign at a certain
hour, the door would always be opened to the priest, and that after this
the lovers would disport themselves with less circumspection than
prudence demanded, he determined that the business, which was as yet a
secret, should not be brought to light so as to stir up a scandal, but
to let his project have time to ripen by awaiting the return of
Dimitrio.
When Dimitrio found himself at liberty to return home, he took ship, and
with a favourable breeze sailed back to Venice; and, having disembarked,
went straight to his own house and knocked at the door, thus arousing
the servant, who, when she had looked out of the window and recognized
her master, ran quickly to let him in, weeping with joy the while.
Polissena, when she heard her husband had returned, came downstairs
forthwith, taking him in her arms and embracing and kissing him as if
she had been the most loving wife in the world. And because he was weary
and altogether worn out by the sea voyage, he went to bed without taking
any food, and slept so soundly that the morning came before he had taken
any amorous pleasure with his wife. When the night had passed and full
daylight had come, Dimitrio awoke, and, having left the bed without
bestowing so much as a single kiss upon his wife, took a little box, out
of which he drew a few ornamental trinkets of no small value, which, on
returning to bed, he gave to his wife, who set little store by them,
seeing that her thoughts were running upon another matter. Shortly after
this it happened that Dimitrio had occasion to go into Apulia to
purchase oil and other merchandise, and, having announced this to his
wife, he began to make ready for his journey. She, cunning and full of
mischief, and feigning to be heartbroken at his departure, kissed him
lovingly and besought him to tarry yet a few days longer with her; but
in her heart of hearts she reckoned one day of his presence like a
thousand, since it prevented her from taking her pleasure in the arms of
her lover.
Now Manusso, who had often espied the priest courting Polissena and
doing divers other things which it is not seemly to mention, felt that
he would be working his friend a wrong if he should not now let him know
all that he had seen. Therefore he determined, come what might, to tell
him all. So, having invited him one day to dinner, he said to him as
they sat at table, ‘Dimitrio, my friend, you know, if I am not mistaken,
that I have always held, and shall ever hold you in great affection, so
long as there is breath in my body; nor could you name any task, however
difficult, which I would not undertake for the love I bear you; and, if
you would not take it ill, I could tell you of certain matters which
might annoy you rather than please you, but I fear to speak lest thereby
I should disturb your peace of mind. Nevertheless, if you will take
it—as I hope you will—circumspectly and prudently, you will not let your
anger get the mastery over you, and thus blind your eyes to the truth.’
‘Know you not,’ answered Dimitrio, ‘that you may say to me anything you
please? If you have, by any mischance, killed a man, tell me, and do not
doubt my fidelity.’ Manusso answered, ‘I have killed nobody, but I have
seen another man slay your honour and your good name.’ ‘Speak your
meaning clearly,’ said Dimitrio, ‘and do not beat about the bush with
ambiguous words.’ ‘Do you wish me to tell it you briefly?’ asked
Manusso; ‘then listen and hear patiently what I have to say. Polissena
your wife, whom you hold so dear, all the time you are away sleeps every
night with a priest and takes her pleasure with him.’ ‘How can this be
possible,’ said Dimitrio, ‘seeing that she loves me so tenderly, never
failing when I leave her to shed floods of tears on my bosom and to fill
the air with her sighs? If I were to behold this thing with my own eyes
I would not believe it.’ ‘If you are wise, as I believe you to be,’ said
Manusso, ‘if there is any reason in you, you will not shut your eyes, as
is the way with so many simpletons and fools. I will let you see with
your eyes and touch with your hands all that I have told you; then you
may be convinced.’ ‘Then,’ said Dimitrio, ‘I shall be content to do
whatever you may direct me in order to let you show me all you have
promised.’ Then Manusso replied, ‘But you must take care to keep your
secret and put a good face on the matter, otherwise you will wreck the
whole plot.[21] When next you have to go abroad, make believe to set
sail, but in lieu of quitting Venice come to my lodgings as secretly as
you can, and I will clear up the mystery for you.’
When the day came for Dimitrio to start on his journey he embraced his
wife tenderly, while he bade her take good care of the house, and having
taken leave of her feigned to go on board his ship, but turned and
withdrew secretly to the lodging of Manusso. By chance it happened that,
before two o’clock had struck, a terrible storm came on, with rain so
heavy that it seemed as if the heavens themselves were broken up, and
the rain ceased not all through the night. The priest, who had already
been advertised of the departure of Dimitrio, and cared neither for wind
nor rain, was waiting for the hour of assignation. When he gave the sign
the door was opened to him, and, as soon as he was inside, Polissena
greeted him with sweet and passionate kisses; while the husband, who was
concealed in a passage over the way, saw all that went on, and, being no
longer able to contradict his friend’s assertion, was altogether
overwhelmed, and burst into tears on account of the righteous grief
which possessed him. Then said his friend to him, ‘Now what do you
think? Have you not seen something you would never have believed? But
say not a word and keep yourself cool, for if you listen to what I have
to say, and do exactly what I shall direct you, you shall see something
more. Take off the clothes you are now wearing, and put on some beggar’s
rags, and smear your face and your hands with dirt; then go over to your
own house as a beggar, and in a counterfeited voice ask for a night’s
lodging. Most likely the servant, seeing how bad a night it is, will
take pity on you and take you in; and if you do this, you will probably
see something else you would rather not see.’
Dimitrio, having listened to his friend’s counsel, took off his clothes
and put on instead the rags of a poor man who had come to the house and
asked for lodging in God’s name, and, although it still rained smartly,
he went over to the door of his own house, at which he knocked thrice,
weeping and groaning bitterly the while. The serving-maid having opened
the window, cried out who was there, and Dimitrio, in a broken and
feigned voice, replied that it was a poor old man, almost drowned by the
rain, who begged a night’s lodging. Whereupon the kindly girl, who was
just as tender-hearted towards the poor and wretched as was her mistress
towards the priest, ran to Polissena and begged her to grant the
petition of this poor man who was soaked with rain, and to give him
shelter till he should be warm and dry. ‘He can draw us some water,’ she
went on, ‘and make up the fire, so that the fowls may be the sooner
roasted. Then I can prepare the soup, and get ready the spoons, and do
other chores about the kitchen.’ To this the mistress agreed, and the
girl, having opened the door, let him in and bade him sit by the fire
and turn the spit. It happened that the priest and Polissena, who had in
the meantime been in the chamber, came down into the kitchen holding one
another by the hand, and at once began to make mock of the poor wight
with his dirty face. Going up to him Polissena asked what was his name.
‘I am called Gramottiveggio, signora,’ he replied; and Polissena when
she heard this began to laugh heartily, showing all her teeth so plainly
that a leech might have drawn any one of them. Then she threw her arms
round the priest, crying out, ‘Come, dear heart, and let me kiss you.’
And poor Dimitrio had to look on while they thus kissed and embraced
each other. I leave you to fancy what he felt at seeing his wife kissed
and fondled by a priest in his very presence.
When the time had come for supper, the servant, when the lovers had sat
down, returned to the kitchen and said to the poor man: ‘Well now,
father, I must just tell you that my mistress has for a husband as good
a man as you would find in all Venice, one who lets her want for
nothing, and God only knows where the poor man is in this dreadful
weather, while she, an ungrateful hussy, caring nothing for his person
and less for his honour, has let herself be blinded by this lecherous
passion—always fondling this lover, and shutting the door to everybody
but him alone. But, I pray you, let us go softly to the door of the
chamber; then you will see what they are doing, and how they bear
themselves at table.’ And when they came to the door they espied the two
lovers within, making good play with the viands, and carrying on all
sort of amorous dalliance the while.
When the hour of bedtime came, the two lovers retired to rest, and,
after a little playful pastime, began to sport in good earnest,[22] and
made so much ado that the poor Dimitrio, who was abed in a chamber
adjoining, did not close his eyes all night, and understood completely
what was going on. As soon as morning came he repaired to the lodgings
of Manusso, who, as soon as he saw him, said, laughing, ‘Well, friend,
how is the business going on? Is all you have seen to your taste?’ ‘No,
indeed,’ answered Dimitrio; ‘I would never have believed it had I not
seen it with my own eyes; but, patience! since my ill luck will have it
so.’ Then Manusso, who was a crafty fellow, said, ‘My friend, I would
have you do what I shall tell you. Wash yourself well and put on your
own clothes, and go straightway to your house, and make believe that by
great good luck you had not embarked before the storm broke. Take good
care that the priest steal not away; for, as soon as you enter, he will
assuredly hide himself somewhere, and will lie there till he can make
his retreat safely. Meantime, summon all your wife’s relations to a
banquet at your house, and then, when you have dragged the priest from
his hiding-place in their presence, you can do anything else which may
seem good to you.’
Dimitrio was highly pleased at his friend’s advice, and as soon as he
had stripped himself of his ragged clothes went over to his house and
knocked at the door. The servant, when she saw it was her master, ran
forthwith to Polissena, who was yet in bed with the priest, and said to
her, ‘Signora, my master is come back.’ Her mistress, when she heard
these words, was beside herself with fright, and, getting up with what
despatch she could, she hid the priest, who was in his shirt, in the
coffer where she kept all her choicest raiment, and then ran in her
fur-lined cloak, all shoeless as she was, to open the door to Dimitrio.
‘My dear husband,’ she cried, ‘you are indeed welcome. I have not closed
my eyes for love of you, wondering always how fortune might be using
you, but God be praised for that you have come back safe and sound.’
Dimitrio, as soon as he entered the chamber, said, ‘Polissena, my love,
I scarcely slept a wink last night on account of the bad weather, so
that now I would fain rest a little; and in the meanwhile let the
servant go to your brothers’ house and bid them dine with us to-day.’ To
this Polissena replied, ‘Would it not be better to wait till another
day, seeing that it rains so heavily, and the girl is busy calendering
our body linen and sheets and other napery?’ ‘To-morrow the weather will
mend, and I shall have to set forth,’ said Dimitrio. Polissena then
said, ‘But you might go yourself; or, if you are too weary, go ask your
friend Manusso to do you this service.’ ‘That is a good suggestion,’
said Dimitrio, and, having sent for his friend, he carried the affair
out exactly as it had been settled.
The brothers of Polissena came, and they dined jovially together. When
the table was cleared, Dimitrio cried: ‘Good brothers-in-law of mine, I
have never properly let you see my house, nor the fine apparel which I
have given to Polissena, my wife and your sister, so that you might
judge therefrom how I treat her. Now go, Polissena, my good wife, get up
and show your brothers over the house.’ Dimitrio then rose and showed
them his storehouses full of wheat and timber and oil and other
merchandise, then casks of malvoisie and Greek wine and other
delicacies. Next he said to his wife: ‘Bring out the rings and the
pearls which I have bought for you. Just look at these fine emeralds in
this little casket; the diamonds, the rubies, and other rings of price.
Does it seem to you, my brothers, that your sister is well treated by
me?’ ‘We knew all this well, brother,’ they replied, ‘and if we had not
been satisfied with your worth, we would not have given you our sister
to wife.’
But Dimitrio had not yet finished, for he next directed his wife to open
all her coffers, and to bring out her fair raiment; but Polissena, her
heart sinking with dread, replied, ‘What need can there be to open the
coffers and show my clothes? Do not my brothers know well enough that
you always let me be attired full honourably—more sumptuously indeed
than our station calls for?’ But Dimitrio cried out, ‘Open this coffer,
and that, at once,’ and when they were opened he went on showing all her
wardrobe to her brothers.
Now when they came to the last coffer the key of this was nowhere to be
found, for the good reason that the priest was hidden therein. Dimitrio,
when he saw the key was not forthcoming, took up a hammer and beat the
lock so lustily that it gave way, and then he opened the coffer.
The priest, shaking with fear, could in no way hide himself, or escape
being recognized by all the bystanders. The brothers of Polissena, when
they saw how the matter stood, were so strongly moved by anger that they
were within a little of slaying her and her lover as well on the spot
with the daggers they wore, but the husband was averse to this course,
deeming it shameful to kill a man in his shirt, however stout a fellow
he might be. He spake to the brothers thus: ‘What think ye now of this
trull of a wife of mine?’ Then, turning to Polissena, he said: ‘Have I
deserved such a return as this from you? Wretched woman! who has any
right to keep me back from cutting your throat?’ The poor wretch, who
could in no wise excuse herself, was silent, because her husband told
her to her face all he had seen of her doings the night before so
clearly that she could not find a word to say in her defence. Then,
turning to the priest, who stood with his head bent down, he said: ‘Take
your clothes and go quickly from this place, and bad luck go with you.
Let me never see your face again, for I have no wish to soil my hands in
your accursed blood for the sake of a guilty woman. Now begone; why do
you tarry?’ The priest, without opening his mouth, stole away, fancying
as he went that Dimitrio and his brothers-in-law were close behind him
with their knives. Then Dimitrio, turning to his brothers-in-law, said:
‘Take your sister where you will, for I will not have her before my eyes
any longer.’ And the brothers, inflamed with rage, took her out of the
house and slew her forthwith. When news of this was brought to Dimitrio,
he cast his eyes on the serving-maid, who was indeed a very comely lass,
and he bore in mind, moreover, the kind turn she had done him. So he
made her his wife. He gave her, likewise, all the jewels and raiment of
his first wife, and lived many years with her in joy and peace.
As soon as Arianna had brought her story to an end, the company with one
voice cried out that the worth and the constancy of the unlucky Dimitrio
was most noteworthy, even when he saw before his very eyes the priest
who had wrought him this dishonour, and quite as noteworthy was the
terror of the culprit, who, clad only in his shirt, and seeing the
husband and brothers of his mistress close upon him, trembled like a
leaf shaken by the wind. And then the Signora, perceiving that
discussion on the matter promised to be overmuch, called for silence,
and directed Arianna to give her enigma, whereupon she, with her
gracious manner and pleasant smile, set it forth in these words:
Three jolly friends sat down to eat,
A merrier crew you could not meet.
They tried and emptied every dish,
For better fare they could not wish.
The varlet next before them placed
A dish with three fat pigeons graced.
Each ate his pigeon, bones and all,
But pigeons twain were left withal.
This enigma seemed to the company to be one very difficult to solve, and
finally it was judged to be impossible, for no one saw how, after each
had eaten his pigeon, two out of the three could remain on the board,
but they did not look for the snake which was hidden in the grass. When,
therefore, Arianna saw that the secret of her enigma had not been
grasped, and that the solution was impossible, she turned her fair and
delicate face towards the Signora and said: “It seems, dear lady, that
my enigma is not to be solved, and yet it is not so difficult but that
it may be easily disentangled. The answer is this: Out of the three
jolly friends one bore the name of Each. As they sat together at the
same table they ate as if they had been famished wolves, and when, at
the end of the feast, the varlet brought them three roast pigeons, two
out of the three revellers were so full that they could eat no more, but
the one whose name was Each finished his neatly, so there were two
pigeons left when they rose from the table.”
The solution of this obscure riddle was greeted with great laughter and
applause, for not one of the company could have solved it. Thus, the
last story of this present night having been told, the Signora directed
everyone to go home to rest. And by the flare of torches, which shed
over all the place a white light, the ladies and gentlemen were escorted
to the landing-place.
=The End of the First Night.=
[Illustration: [Fleuron]]
=Night the Second.=
[Illustration: [Fleuron]]
[Illustration: [Fleuron]]
=The Fables and Enigmas of Messer Giovanni Francesco Straparola da
Caravaggio.=
=Night the Second.=
Phœbus had already plunged his golden wheels into the salt waves of the
Indian ocean, his rays no longer gave light to the world, his horned
sister now ruled the universe with her mild beams, and the sparkling
stars had spread their fires thickly over the sky, when the courtly and
honourable company met once more at the accustomed spot. And when they
had seated themselves according to their rank, the Signora Lucretia gave
the word that they should observe, this night, the same order in their
entertainment as hitherto. And, seeing that five of the damsels had not
told their stories, the Signora bade the Trevisan to write the names of
these on paper, then to place the billets in a golden vase, and to draw
them out one after another, as they had done last night. The Trevisan
hastened to obey her command, and the first paper which was taken out of
the vase bore the name of Isabella, the second that of Fiordiana, the
third that of Lionora, the fourth that of Lodovica, and the fifth that
of Vicenza. Then the flutes struck up a tune, and they all began to sing
and dance in a circle, Antonio Molino and Lionora leading the revel; and
they all laughed so loud and heartily, that meseems the sound of their
merriment is still to be heard. And when the measure had come to an end
they all sat down, and the damsels sang a fair carol in praise of the
Signora.
SONG.
What once we sang we sing to-day,
And ever will we tune our lay,
To praise thee, lady, as the queen
Of beauty, and of all our bene;
The loftiest theme the poet sings,
The sweetest chord that shakes the strings,
The fairest shape the painter gives,
The peer of all in thee survives.
He who never owns the spell
Which moves us now thy praise to tell,
Wins no kindly word from me.
He the bliss shall never see
That flows on earth from faithful love,
And waits on spirits blest above.
At the close of this pleasant song Isabella, who had been chosen to
begin the entertainment of the second night, began to tell the story
which follows.