4-27; 
 
 .36 
 
 1918. 
 
 '' J -J , 1 
 
 
 
 ■'i'l.-^p 
 
CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 GIFT OF 
 Luzerne Coville 
 
Date Due 
 
 
 

 191 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PQ 4272.E5A36 1918 
 
 Tales from Boccaccio. 
 
 3 1924 027 778 301 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924027778301 
 
STRATFORD UNIVERSAL LIBRARY 
 
 Tales 
 From Boccaccio 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 The Stratford Company, Publishers 
 
 1918 
 
Copyright 1918 
 
 The STEATFOBD CO., Publishers 
 
 Boston, Mass. 
 
 The Alpine Press, Boston, Mass., U. S. A. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Scoundrel Becomes a Saint 5 
 
 The Story of the Three Rings 18 
 
 The Tragedy of Illicit Love 22 
 
 Iphigenia, Mistress of Cimon 26 
 
 Calandrino's Story 38 
 
 Befriending His Enemy 47 
 
 The Story of Griselda 54 
 
The Scoundrel Becomes a Saint 
 
 IT is told, that Museiatto Franzesi, being from a very rich, and 
 considerable merchant in France become a knight and it be- 
 hoving him thereupon go into Tuscany with Messire Charles 
 Sansterre, brother to the Kiag of France, who had been required 
 and bidden thither by Pope Boniface, found his affairs in one 
 part and another sore embroiled (as those of merchants most 
 times are), and was luiable lightly or promptly to disentangle 
 them; wherefore he bethought himself to commit them unto di- 
 verse persons and made shift for all save only he abode in doubt 
 whom he might leave sufficient to the recovery of the credits he 
 had given to certain Burgundians. The cause of his doubt was 
 that he knew the Burgundians to be litigious, quarrelsome fel- 
 lows, ill-eonditioned and disloyal, and could not call one to 
 mind, in whom he might put any trust, curst enough to cope 
 with their perversity. After long consideration of the matter, 
 there came to his memory a certain Master Ciapperello da 
 Prato, who came often to his house in Paris and whom, for that 
 he was little of person and mighty nice in his dress, the French, 
 knowing not what Cepparello meant and thinking it be the same 
 with Cappello, to wit, in their vernacular, Chaplet, called him, 
 not Cappello, but Ciappelletto, and accordingly as Ciappelletto 
 he was known everywhere, whilst few knew him for Master Ciap- 
 perello. 
 
 Now this said Ciappelletto was of this manner life, that, 
 being a scrivener, he thought very great shame whenas any of his 
 instruments was found (and indeed he drew few such) othqr 
 than false ; whilst of the latter he would have drawn as many as 
 
6 TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 
 
 migM be required of him and these with a better will by way of 
 gift than any other for a great wage. False witness he bore with 
 especial delight, required or not required, and the greatest re- 
 gard being in those times paid to oaths in France, as he recked 
 nothing of forswearing himself, he knavishly gained all the 
 suits concerning which he was called upon to tell the truth upon 
 his faith. He took inordinate pleasure and was mighty diligent 
 in stirring up troubles and enmities and scandals between 
 friends and kinsfolk and whomsoever else, and the greater the 
 mischiefs he saw ensue thereof, the more he rejoiced. If bidden 
 to manslaughter or whatsoever other naughty deed, he went 
 about it with a wUl, without ever saying nay thereto ; and many 
 a time of his proper choice he had been known to wound men 
 and do them to death with his own hand. He was a terrible 
 blasphemer of God and the saints, and that for every trifle, be- 
 ing the most choleric man alive. To church he went never and 
 all the sacraments thereof he flouted in abominable terms, as 
 things of no account ; whilst, on the other hand, he was still f aiii 
 to haunt and use taverns and other lewd places. Of women he 
 was as fond as dogs of the stick ; but in the contrary he delighted 
 more than any filthy feUow alive. He robbed and pillaged with 
 as much conscience as a godly man would make oblation to God ; 
 he was a very glutton and a great wine bibber, insomuch that 
 bytimes it wrought him shameful mischief, and to boot, he was 
 a notorious gamester and a caster of cogged dice. But why 
 shoidd I enlarge in so many words. He was belike the worst man 
 that ever was bom. His wickedness had long been upheld by the 
 power and interest of Messer Musciatto, who had many a time 
 safeguarded him as well from private persons, to whom he often 
 did a mischief, as from the law, against which he was a perpet- 
 ual ofEender. 
 
 This Master Ciappelletto, then, coming to Musciatto 's mind, 
 the latter, who was very well acquainted with his way of life, 
 bethought himself that he should be such an one as the perver- 
 
TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 7 
 
 sity of the Burgundians required and accordingly, sending for 
 him, he bespoke him thus: 'Master Ciappelletto, I am, as thou 
 knowest, about altogether to withdraw hence, and having to do, 
 amongst others, with certain Burgundians, men full of guild, I 
 know none whom I may leave to recover my due from them 
 more fitting than myself, more by token that thou dost nothing 
 at this present; wherefore, an thou wilt undertake this, I will 
 e'en procure thee the favor of the Court and give thee such part 
 as shall be meet of that which thou shalt recover.' 
 
 Dan Ciappelletto, who was then out of employ and iU pro- 
 vided with the goods of the world, seeing him who had long been 
 his stay and his refuge about to depart thence, lost no time in 
 deliberation, but, as of necessity constrained, replied that he 
 would well. They being come to an accord, Musciatto departed 
 and Ciappelletto, having gotten his patron's procuration and 
 letters commendatory from the king, betook himself into Bur- 
 gundy, where well nigh none knew him, and there, contrary to 
 his nature, began courteously and blandly to seek to get in his 
 pajTnents and do what wherefore he was come thither, as if re- 
 serving choler and violence for a last resort. Dealing thus and 
 lodging in the house of two Florentines, brothers, who there lent 
 at usance and who entertained him with great honor for the 
 love of Messer Musciatto, it chanced that he fell sick, whereupon 
 the two brothers promptly fetched physicians and servants to 
 tend him and furnished him with all that behoved unto the re- 
 covery of his health. 
 
 But every succor was in vain, for that, by the physician's re- 
 port, the good man, who was now old and had lived disorderly, 
 grew daily worse, as one who had a mortal sickness; wherefore 
 the two brothers were sore concerned and one day, being pretty 
 near the chamber where he lay sick, they began to take counsel, 
 together saying one to the other, 'How shall we do with yonder 
 fellow? We have a sorry bargain on our hands of his affair, for 
 that to send him forth of our house, thus sick, were a sore re- 
 
8 TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 
 
 proaeh to us and a manifest sign of little wit on our part, if the 
 folk, who have seen us first receive him and after let tend and 
 medicine him with such solicitude, should now see him suddenly 
 put out of our house, sick imto death as he is, without it being 
 possible for him to have done aught that should displease us. 
 On the other hand, he hath been so wicked a man that he will 
 never consent to confess or take any sacrament of the church; 
 and he dying without confession, no church will receive his 
 body ; nay, he will be cast into a ditch, like a dog. Again, even 
 if he do confess, his sins are so many and so horrible that the like 
 will come of it, for that there is nor priest nor friar who can or 
 will absolve him thereof; wherefore, being unshriven, he will 
 still be cast into the ditches. Should it happen thus, the people 
 of the city, as well on account of our trade, which appeareth to 
 them most iniquitous and of which they missay all day, as of 
 their itch to plunder us, seeing this, will rise up in riot and cry 
 out, ' ' These Lombard dogs, whom the church ref useth to receive, 
 are to be suffered here no longer;" — ^and they will run to our 
 houses and despoil us not only of our good, but may be of our 
 lives, to boot; wherefore in any case it will go ill with us, if 
 yonder fellow die.' 
 
 Master Ciappelletto, who as we have said lay near the place 
 where the two brothers were in discourse, being quick of hear- 
 ing, as is most times the case with the sick, heard what they 
 said of him and calling them to him, bespoke them thus : 'I will 
 not have you anywise misdoubt of me nor fear to take any hurt 
 by me. I have heard what you say of me and am well assured 
 that it would happen even as you say, should matters pass as 
 you expect; but it shall go otherwise. I have in my lifetime 
 done God the Lord so many an affront that it will make neither 
 more nor less, an I do Him yet another at the point of death ; 
 wherefore do you make shift to bring me the holiest and wor- 
 thiest friar you may avail to have, if any such there be, and 
 leave the rest to me, for that I will assuredly order your affairs 
 
TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 9 
 
 and mine own on such wise that all shall go well and you shall 
 have good cause to be satisfied.' 
 
 The two brothers, albeit they conceived no great hope of this, 
 nevertheless betook themselves to a brotherhood of monks and 
 demanded some holy and learned man to hear the confession 
 of a Lombard who lay sick in their house. There was given 
 them a venerable brother of holy and good life and a past mas- 
 ter in Holy Writ, a very reverend man, for whom all the towns- 
 folk had a very great and special regard, and they carried him 
 to their house; where, coming to the chamber where Master 
 Ciappelletto lay and seating himself by his side, he began first 
 tenderly to comfort him and after asked him how long it was 
 since he had confessed last; whereto Master Ciappelletto, who 
 had never confessed in his life, answered, 'Father, it had been 
 my usance to confess every week once at the least and often 
 more; it is true that, since I fell sick, to wit, these eight days 
 past, I have not confessed, such is the annoy that my sickness 
 hath given me.' Quoth the friar. 'My son, thou hast done 
 well and so must thou do henceforward. I see, since thou con- 
 fessest so often, that I shall be at little pains either of hearing 
 or questioning.' 'Sir,' answered Master Ciappelletto, 'say not 
 so; I have never confessed so much nor so often, but I would 
 stiU fain make a general confession of all my sins that I could 
 call to mind from the day of my birth to that of my confession ; 
 wherefore I pray you, good my father, question me as punctually 
 of everything, nay, everything, as if I had never confessed ; and 
 consider me not because I am sick, for that I had far liefer dis- 
 please this my flesh than, in consulting its ease, do aught that 
 might be the perdition of my soul, which my Saviour redeemed 
 with His precious blood.' 
 
 These words- much pleased the holy man and seemed to him 
 to argue a well-disposed mind; wherefore, after he had much 
 commended Master Ciappelletto for that his usance, he asked 
 him if he had ever sinned by way of lust with any woman. 
 
10 TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 
 
 'Father,' replied Master Ciappelletto, sighing, 'on this point I 
 am ashamed to tell you the truth, fearing to sin by way of vain- 
 glory.' Quoth the friar, 'Speak in all security, for never did 
 one sin by telling the truth, whether in confession or otherwise.' 
 'Then,' said Master Ciappelletto, 'since you certify me of this, 
 I will tell you; I am yet a virgin, even as I came forth of my 
 mother's body.' '0 blessed be thou of God!' cried the monk. 
 'How well hast thou done! And doing thus, thou hast the 
 more deserved, inasmuch as, an thou wouldst, thou hadst more 
 leisure to do the contrary than we and whatsover others are 
 Limited by any rule.' 
 
 After this he asked him if he had ever offended against God 
 in the sin of gluttony; whereto Master Ciappelletto answered, 
 sighing 'Ay had he, and that many a time ; for that, albeit, over 
 and above the Lenten fasts that are yearly observed of the de- 
 vout, he had been wont to fast on bread and water three days at 
 the least in every week, — ^he had oftentimes (and especially 
 whenas he had endured any fatigue, either praying or going a- 
 pUgrimage) drunken the water with as much appetite and as 
 keen a relish as great drinkers do wine. And many a time he 
 had longed to have such homely salads of potherbs as women 
 make when they go into the country; and whiles eating had 
 given him more pleasure than him seemed it should do to one 
 who fasteth for devotion, as did he. 'My son,' said the friar, 
 'these sins are natural and very slight and I would not there- 
 fore have thee burden thy conscience withal more than behoveth. 
 It happened to every man, how devout soever he be, that, after 
 long fasting, meat seemeth good to him, and after travail, 
 drink. ' 
 
 'Alack, father mine,' rejoined Ciappelletto, 'tell me not this 
 to comfort me ; you must know I know that things done for the 
 service of God should be done sincerely and with an ungrudging 
 mind ; and whoso doth otherwise sinneth. ' Quoth the friar, ex- 
 ceeding well pleased, 'I am content that thou shouldst thus ap- 
 
TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 11 
 
 pretend it and thy pure and good conscience therein pleaseth 
 me exceedingly. But, tell me, hast thou sinned by way of 
 avarice, desiring more than befitted or withholding that which 
 it behoved thee not to withhold?' 'Father mine,' replied 
 CiappeUetto, 'I would not have you look to my being in the 
 house of these usurers ; I have naught to do here ; nay, I came 
 hither to admonish and chasten them and turn them from this 
 their abominable way of gain; and methinketh I should have 
 made shift to do so, had not God thus visited me. But you 
 must know that I was left a rich man by my father, of whose 
 good, when he was dead, I bestowed the most part in alms, and 
 after, to sustain my life and that I might be able to succor 
 Christ's pobr, I have done my little traf&ekings, and in these I 
 have desired to gain; but still with God's poor have I shared 
 that which I gained, converting my own half to my occasions 
 and giving them the other, and in this so well hath my Creator 
 prospered me that my affairs have still gone from good to 
 better. ' 
 
 'Well hast thou done,' said the friar; 'but hast thou often 
 been angered?' 'Oh,' cried Master CiappeUetto, 'that I must 
 tell you I have very often been ! And who could keep himself 
 therefrom, seeing men do unseemingly things all day long, keep- 
 ing not the commandments of God neither fearing His judg- 
 ments? Many times a day I had liefer been dead than alive, 
 seeing young men follow after vanities and hearing them curse 
 and forswear themselves, haunting the taverns, visiting not the 
 churches and ensuing rather the ways of the world than that of 
 God.' 'My son,' said the friar, 'this is a righteous anger, nor 
 for my part might I enjoin thee any penance therefor. But 
 hath anger at any time availed to move thee to do any man- 
 slaughter or to bespeak any one unseemly or do any other un- 
 right?' 'Alack, sir,' answered the sick man, 'you, who seem 
 to me a man of God, how can you say such words ? Had I ever 
 had the least thought of doing any one of the things whereof 
 
12 TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 
 
 you speak, think you I believe that God would so long have for- 
 borne me ? These be the doings of outlaws and men of nought, 
 whereof I never saw but I said still, "Go, may God amend 
 thee!" ' 
 
 Then said the friar, 'Now teU me, my son (blessed be thou of 
 God!), hast thou never borne false witness against any or mis- 
 said of another or taken others' good, without leave of him to 
 whom it pertained?' 'Ay, indeed, sir,' replied Master Ciappel- 
 letto ; ' I have missaid of others ; for that I had a neighbor afore- 
 time, who, with the greatest unright in the world, did nought 
 but beat his wife, insomuch that I once spoke ill of him to her 
 kinsfolk, so great was the compassion that overcame me for the 
 poor woman, whom he used as God alone can tell, whenassoever 
 he had drunken overmuch.' Quoth the friar, 'Thou teUest me 
 thou hast been a merchant. Hast thou never cheated any one, 
 as merchants do whiles?' 'I' faith, yes, sir,' answered Master 
 Ciappelletto ; 'but I know not whom, except it were a certain 
 man, who once brought me monies which he owed me for cloth 
 I had sold him and which I threw into a chest, without coimt- 
 ing. A good month after, I foimd that they were four farthings 
 more than they should have been wherefore, not seeing him 
 again and having kept them by me a full year, that I might re- 
 store them to him, I gave them away in alms.' Quoth friar, 
 ' This was a small matter, and thou didst well to deal with it as 
 thou didst.' 
 
 Then he questioned him of many other thiags, all of which he 
 answered after the same fashion, and the holy father offering to 
 proceed to absolution, Master .Ciappelletto said, ' Sir, I have yet 
 sundry sins that I have not told you.' The friar asked him 
 what they were, and he answered, 'I mind me that one Satur- 
 day, afternone, I caused my servant sweep out the house and 
 had not that reverence for the Lord's holy day which it behoved 
 me have.' 'Oh,' said the friar, 'that is a light matter, my son.' 
 'Nay,' rejoined Master Ciappelletto, 'call it not a light matter, 
 
TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 13 
 
 for that the Lord's Day is greatly to be honored, seeing that on 
 such a day our Lord rose from the dead.' Then said the friar, 
 'Well, hast thou done aught else?' 'Ay, sir,' answered Master 
 Ciappelletto ; ' once, unthinking what I did, I spat ia the church 
 of God.' Thereupon the friar fell a-smiling and said, 'My son, 
 that is no thing to be reckoned of ; we who are of the clergy, we 
 spit there all day long.' 'And you do very iU,' rejoined Master 
 Ciappelletto; 'for that there is nought which it so straitly be- 
 hoveth to keep clean as the holy temple wherein is rendered 
 sacrifice to God.' 
 
 Brief, he told him great plenty of such like things and pres- 
 ently fell a-sighing and after weeping sore, as he knew full well 
 to do, whenas as he would. Quoth the holy friar, 'What aileth 
 thee, my son?' 'Alas, sir,' replied Master Ciappelletto, 'I have 
 one sin left, whereof I never yet confessed me, such shame have 
 I to teU it ; and every time I call it to mind, I weep, even as you 
 see, and meseemeth very certain that God will never pardon it 
 me.' 'Go to, son,' rejoined the friar; 'what is this thou sayest? 
 If all the sins that were ever wrought or are yet to be wrought 
 of all mankind, what while the world endureth, were all in one 
 man and he repented him thereof and were contrite therefor, as 
 I see thee, such is the mercy and loving-kindness of God that, 
 upon confession He would freely pardon them to him. Where- 
 fore do thou tell it in all assurance.' Quoth Master Ciappel- 
 letto, still weeping sore, 'Alack, father mine, mine is too great 
 a sin, and I can scarce believe that it will ever be forgiven me 
 of God, except your prayers strive for me. ' Then said the friar, 
 'Tell it me in all assurance, for I promise thee to pray God for 
 thee.' 
 
 Master Ciappelletto, however, still wept and said nought; but, 
 after he had thus held the friar a great while in suspense, he 
 heaved a deep sigh and said, 'Father mine, since you promise 
 me to pray God for me, I will e'en tell it you. Know, then, that, 
 when I was little, I once cursed my mother.' So saying, he fell 
 
14 TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 
 
 again to weeping sore. '0 my son,' quoth the friar, 'seemeth 
 this to thee so heinous a sin? Why, men blaspheme God all 
 day long and He freely pardoneth whoso repenteth him of hav- 
 ing blasphemed Him ; and deemest thou not He will pardon thee 
 this ? Weep not, but comfort thyself ; for, certes, wert thou one 
 of those who set Him on the cross. He would pardon thee, in 
 favor of such contrition as I see in thee.' 'Alack, father mine, 
 what say you!' replied Ciappelletto. 'My kind mother, who 
 bore me nine months in her body day and night, and carried me 
 on her neck an hundred times and more, I did passing iU to 
 curse her and it was an exceeding great sin; and except you 
 pray God for me, it will not be forgiven me.' 
 
 The friar, then, seeing that Master CiappeUetto had no more 
 to say, gave him absolution and bestowed on him his benison, 
 holding him a very holy man and devoutly believing all that he 
 had told him to be true. And who would not have believed it, 
 hearing a man at the point of death speak thus? Then, after 
 all this, he said to him, 'Master CiappeUetto, with God's help 
 you wiU speedily be whole ; but, should it come to pass that God 
 call your blessed and well-disposed soul to himself, would it 
 please you that your body be buried in our convent?' 'Ay, 
 would it, sir,' replied Master Ciappelletto. 'Nay, I would fain 
 not be buried otherwhere, since you have promised to pray God 
 for me ; more by token that I have ever had a special regard for 
 your order. Wherefore I pray you that, whenas you return to 
 your lodging, you cause bring me that most veritable body of 
 Christ, which you consecrate a-momings upon the altar, for 
 that, with your leave, I purpose (aU unworthy as I am) to take 
 it and after, holy and extreme unction, to the intent that if I 
 have lived as a sinner, I may at the least die like a Christian.' 
 The good friar replied that it pleased him much and that he said 
 well and promised to see it presently brought him ; and so was 
 it done. 
 
 Meanwhile, the two brothers misdoubting them sore lest 
 
TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 15 
 
 Master Ciappelletto should play them false, had posted them- 
 selves behind a wainscot, that divided the chambers where he lay 
 from another, and listening, easily heard and apprehended that 
 which he said to the friar and had whiles so great a mind to 
 laugh, hearing the things which he confessed to having done, 
 that they were like to burst and said, one to another, 'What man- 
 ner of man is this, whom neither old age nor sickness nor fear 
 of death, whereunto he seeth himself near, nor yet of God, be- 
 fore whose judgment-seat he looketh to be ere long, have availed 
 to turn from his wickedness nor hinder him from choosing to 
 die as he hath lived? However, seeing that he had so spoken 
 that he should be admitted to burial in a church, they recked 
 nought of the rest. 
 
 Master CiappeUetto presently took the sacrament and growing 
 rapidly worse, received extreme unction, and a little after even- 
 song of the day he had made his fine confession, he died ; where- 
 upon the two brothers, having, of his proper monies, taken 
 order for his honorable burial, sent to the convent to acquaint 
 the friars therewith, bidding them come thither that night to 
 hold vigil, according to usance, and fetch away the body in the 
 morning, and meanwhile made ready all that was needful there- 
 unto. 
 
 The holy friar, who had shriven him, hearing that he had de- 
 parted this life, betook himself to the prior of the convent and 
 letting ring to chapter, gave out to the brethren therein assem- 
 bled that Master Ciappelletto had been a holy man, according to 
 that which he had gathered from his confession, and persuaded 
 them to receive his body with the utmost reverence and devo- 
 tion, in the hope that God should show forth many miracles 
 through him. To this the prior and brethren credulously con- 
 sented and that same evening, coming all whereas Master Ciap- 
 pelletto lay dead, they held high and solemn vigil over him 
 and on the morrow, clad all in albs and copes, book in hand and 
 crosses before them, they went, chanting the while, for his body 
 
16 TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 
 
 and brought it with the utmost pomp and solemnity to their 
 church, followed by well nigh aU the people of the city, men 
 and women. 
 
 As soon as they had set the body down in the church, the holy 
 friar, who had confessed him, mounted the pulpit and fell 
 a-preaching marvellous things of the dead man and of his life, 
 his fasts, his virginity, his simplicity and innocence and sanc- 
 tity, recounting, amongst other things, that which he had con- 
 fessed to him as his greatest sin and how he had hardly availed 
 to persuade him that God would forgive it him; thence passing 
 on to reprove the folk who hearkened, 'And you, accursed that 
 you are,' quoth he, 'for every waif of straw that stirreth be- 
 tween your feet, you blaspheme God and the Virgin and aU the 
 host of heaven.' Moreover, he told them many other things of 
 his loyalty and purity of heart ; brief, with his speech, whereto 
 entire faith was yielded of the people of the city, he so estab- 
 lished the dead man in the reverent consideration of all who 
 were present that, no sooner was the service at an end, than 
 they aU with the utmost eagerness flocked to 'kiss his hands and 
 feet and the clothes were torn off his back, he holding himself 
 blessed who might avail to have never so little thereof; and 
 needs must they leave him thus all that day, so he might be 
 seen and visited of all. 
 
 The following night he was honorably buried in a marble 
 tomb in one of the chapels of the church and on the morrow the 
 folk began incontinent to come and burn candles and offer up 
 prayers and make vows to him and hang images of wax at his 
 shrine, according to the promise made. Nay, on such wise 
 waxed the fame of his sanctity and men's devotion to him that 
 there was scarce any who, being in adversity, would vow him- 
 self to another saint than him; and they styled and yet style 
 h im Saint CiappeHetto and avouch that God through him hath 
 wrought many miracles and yet worketh them every day for 
 whoso devoutly commendeth himself unto him. 
 
TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 17 
 
 Thus, then, lived and died Master Cepperello da Prato and 
 became a saint, as you have heard; nor would I deny it to be 
 possible that he is beatified in God's presence, for that, albeit 
 his life was wicked and perverse, he may at his last extremity 
 have shown such contrition that peradventure God had mercy 
 on him and received him into His kingdom ; but, for that this is 
 hidden from us, I reason according to that which is apparent 
 and say that he should rather be in the hands of the devil in 
 perdition than in Paradise. And if so it be, we may know from 
 this how great is God's loving-kindness towards us, which, 
 having regard not to our error, but to the purity of our faith, 
 whenas we thus make an enemy (deeming him a friend) of His 
 our intermediary, giveth ear unto us, even as if we had recourse 
 unto one truly holy, as intercessor for His favor. Wherefore, to 
 the end that by His grace we may be preserved safe and sound 
 in this present adversity and in this so joyous company, let us, 
 magnifying His name, in which we have begun our diversion, 
 and holding Him in reverence, commend ourselves to Him in 
 our necessities, well assured of being heard. ' ' And with this he 
 was silent. 
 
The Story of the Three Rings 
 
 NEIPILB having made an end of her story, which was 
 commended of all, Filomena, by the queen's good pleas- 
 ure, proceeded to speak thus : ' ' The story told by Neifile bring- 
 eth to my miad a parlous case that once betided a Jew; and for 
 that, it having already been excellent well spoken both of God 
 and of the verity of our faith, it should not henceforth be for- 
 bidden us to descend to the doings of mankind and the events 
 that have befallen them, I will now proceed to relate to you 
 the ease aforesaid, which having heard, you will peradventure 
 become more wary in answering the questions that may be put 
 to you. You must know, lovesome companions mine, that, 
 like as folly oft-times draweth folk forth of happy estate and 
 casteth them into the utmost misery, even so doth good sense 
 extricate the wise man from the greatest perils and place 
 him in assurance and tranquility. How true it is that folly 
 bringeth many an one from fair estate into misery is seen by a 
 multitude of examples, with the recounting wherof we have no 
 present concern, considering that a thousand instances thereof 
 do every day manifestly appear to us; but that good sense is 
 a cause of solacement I will, as I promised, briefly show you 
 by a little story. 
 
 Saladin, — whose valor was such that not only from a man 
 of little account it made him Soldan of Babylon, but gained 
 him many victories over kings Saracen and Christian, — having 
 in divers wars and in the exercise of his extraordinary muni- 
 ficences expended his whole treasurer and having an urgent 
 occasion for a good sum of money nor seeing whence he might 
 
 18 
 
TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 19 
 
 avail to have it as promptly as it behoved him, called to miad 
 a rich Jew, by name Melchizedek, who lent at usance in Alex- 
 andria, and bethought himself that this latter had the where- 
 withal to oblige him, and he would ; but he was so miserly that 
 he would never have done it of his free-will and Saladin was 
 loath to use force with him; wherefore, need constraining him, 
 he set his every wit awork to find a means how the Jew might 
 be brought to serve him in this and presently concluded to do 
 him a violence colored by some show of reason. 
 
 Accordingly he sent for Melchizdek and receiving him 
 familiarly, seated him by himself, then said to him: 'Honest 
 man, I have understood from divers persons that thou art a 
 very learned man and deeply versed in matters of divinity; 
 wherefore I would faia know of thee whether of the three 
 Laws thou reputest the true, the Jewish, the Saracen or the 
 Christian. ' The Jew, who was ia truth a man of learning and 
 understanding, perceived but too well that Saladin looked to 
 entrap him in words, so he might fasten a quarrel on him, 
 and bethought himself that he could not praise any of the 
 three more than the others without giving him the occasion he 
 sought. Accordingly, sharpening his wits, as became one 
 who felt himself in need of an answer by which he might not 
 be taken at a vantage, there speedily occured to him that 
 which it behoved him reply and he said, 'My lord, the ques- 
 tion that you propound to me is a nice one and to acquaint 
 you with that which I think of the matter, it behoveth me tell 
 you a little story, which you shall hear. 
 
 An I mistake not, I mind me to have many a time heard 
 tell that there was once a great man and a rich, who among 
 other very precious jewels in his treasury, had a very goodly 
 and costly ring, whereunto being minded, for its worth and 
 beauty, to do honor and wishing to leave it in perpetuity to 
 his descendants, he declared that whichsoever of his sons 
 should, at his death, be found in possession thereof, by his 
 
20 TALES FEOM BOCCACCIO 
 
 bequest unto him, should be recognized as his heir and be held 
 of all the others in honor and reverence as chief and head. 
 He to whom the ring was left by him held a like course with 
 his own descendants and did even as his father had done. In 
 brief, the ring passed from hand to hand, through many gener- 
 ations, and came at last into the possession of a man who had 
 three goodly and virtuous sons all very obedient to their 
 father, wherefor he loved them aU three alike. The young men, 
 knowing the usance of the ring, each for himself desiring to 
 be the most honored among his folk, as best he might, besought 
 his father, who was now an old man, to leave him the ring, 
 whenas he came to die. The worthy man, who loved them all 
 alike and knew not himself how to choose to which he had 
 liefer leave the ring, besought himself, having promised it to 
 each, to seek to satisfy all three and privily let make by a 
 good craftsman other two rings which were so like unto the first 
 that he himself scarce knew which was the true. When he came to 
 die, he secretly gave each one of his sons his ring, wherefore each 
 of them, seeking after their father's death, to occupy the inherit- 
 ance and the honor and denying it to the others, produced 
 his ring, in witness of his right, and the three rings being 
 found so like unto one another that the true might not be 
 known, the question which was the father's very heir abode 
 pending and yet pendeth. And so say I to you, my lord, of the 
 three Laws to the three peoples given of God the Father, 
 whereof you question me; each people deemeth itself to have 
 His inheritance. His true Law and His commandments ; but of 
 which in very deed hath them, even as of the rings, the 
 question yet pendeth." 
 
 Saladin perceived that the Jew had excellently well con- 
 trived to escape the snare which he had spread before his feet ; 
 wherefore he concluded to discover to him his need and see if 
 he were willing to serve him ; and so accordingly he did, confes- 
 sing to him that which he had it in mind to do, had he not 
 
TALES FEOM BOCCACCIO 21 
 
 answered him on such discreet wise. The Jew freely furnished 
 him with all that he required, and the Soldan after satisfied 
 him: in full; moreover, he gave him very great gifts and still 
 had him to friend and maintained him ah out his own person 
 in high and honorahle estate." 
 
The Tragedy of Illicit Love 
 
 You must know, then, that, according to that which the 
 Provengals relate, there were aforetime in Provence two 
 noble knights, each of whom had castles and vassals under him, 
 called the one Sir Guillaume de Roussillon and the other Sir 
 Guillaume de Guardestaing ; and for that they were both men of 
 great prowess in arms, they loved each other with an exceeding 
 love and were wont to go still together and clad in the same 
 colors to every tournament or jousting or other act of arms. 
 Although they abode each in his own castle and were distant, 
 one from other, a good half score miles, yet it came to pass 
 that Sir Guillame de Roussillon having a very fair and love- 
 some lady to wife, Sir Guillaume de Guardestaing, notwith- 
 standing the friendship and fellowship that was between them, 
 became beyond measure enamored of her and so wrought, now 
 with one means and now with another, that the lady became 
 aware of his passion and knowing him for a very valiant 
 knight, it' pleased her and she began to return his love, insomuch 
 that she desired and tendered nothing more than him nor 
 awaited otherwhat than to be solicited of him ; the which was 
 not long in coming to pass and they foregathered once and 
 again. 
 
 Loving each other amain and conversing together less dis- 
 creetly than behoved, it befell that the husband became aware 
 of their familiarity and was mightily incensed thereat, insomuch 
 that the great love he bore to Guardestaing was turned into 
 mortal hatred ; but this he knew better to keep hidden than the 
 two lovers had known to conceal their love and was fully 
 
 22 
 
TALES FEOM BOCCACCIO 23 
 
 resolved in himself to kill him. Roussillon being in this mind, 
 it befell that the great tourneying was proclaimed in France, 
 the which he forthright signified to Guardestaing and sent to 
 bid him come to him, an it pleased him, so they might take 
 counsel together if and how they should go thither; whereto 
 the other very joyously answered that he would without fail 
 come to sup with him on the ensuing day. Roussillon, hearing 
 this, thought the time come whenas he might avail to kill him 
 and accordingly on the morrow he armed himself and mounting 
 to horse with a servant of his, lay at ambush, maybe a mile 
 from his castle, in a wood whereas Guardestaing must pass. 
 
 There after he had awaited him a good while, he saw him 
 come, unarmed and followed by two servants in like case, as 
 one who apprehended nothing from him ; and when he saw him 
 come whereas he would have him, he rushed out upon him, 
 Lance in hand, full of rage and malice, crying, 'Traitor, thou 
 art dead!' And to say thus and to plunge the lance into his 
 breast were one and the same thing. Guardestaing, without 
 being able to make any defense or even to say a word, fell from 
 his horse, transfixed of the lance, and a little after died ; whilst 
 his servants, without waiting to learn who had done this, turned 
 their horses' heads and fled, as quickliest they might, towards 
 their lord's castle. Roussillon disraounted and opening the 
 dead man's breast with a knife, with his own hands tore out 
 his heart, which he let wrap in the pennon of a lance and gave 
 to one of his men to carry. Then, commanding that none 
 should dare make words of the matter, he remounted, it being 
 now night, and returned to his castle. 
 
 The lady, who had heard that Guardestaing was to be there 
 that evening to supper and looked for him with the utmost im- 
 patience, seeing him not come, marvelled sore and said to her 
 husband, 'How is it, sir, that Guardestaing is not come?* 
 'Wife,' answered he, 'I have had [word] from him that he can- 
 not be here till to-morrow ;.' whereat the lady abode somewhat 
 
24 TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 
 
 troubled. Roussillon then dismounted and calling the cook, 
 said to him, 'Take this wild boar's heart and look thou make a 
 dainty dish thereof, the best and most delectable to eat that 
 thou knowest, and when I am at table, send it to me in a silver 
 porringer.' The cook accordingly took the heart and putting 
 all his art thereto and all his diligence, minced it and season- 
 ing it with store of rich spices, made of it a very dainty 
 ragout. 
 
 When it was time, Sir Guillaume sat down to table with his 
 wife and the viands came ; but he ate little, being hindered in 
 thought for the ill deed he had committed. Presently the cook 
 sent him the ragout, which he caused set before the lady, feign- 
 ing himself disordered that evening and commending the dish 
 to her amain. The lady, who was nowise squeamish, tasted 
 thereof and finding it good, ate it all ; which when the knight 
 saw, he said to her, 'Wife, how deem you of this dish?' 'In 
 good sooth, my lord,' answered she, 'it liketh me exceedingly.' 
 Whereupon, 'So God be mine aid,' quoth Roussillon; I do in- 
 deed believe it you, nor do I marvel if that please you, dead, 
 which, alive, pleased you more than aught else.' The lady, 
 hearing this, hesitated awhile, then said, 'How? What have 
 you made me eat?' 'This that you have eaten,' answered the 
 knight, 'was in very truth the heart of Sir GuiUaume de 
 Guardestaing, whom you, disloyal wife as you are, so loved; 
 and know for certain that it is his very heart, for that I tore it 
 from his breast with these hands a little before my return.' 
 
 It needeth not to ask if the lady were woebegone, hearing 
 this of him whom she loved more than aught else; and after 
 awhile she said, 'You have done the deed of a disloyal and 
 base knight, as you are ; for, if I unenforced of him, made him 
 lord of my love and therein offended against you, not he, but I 
 should have borne the penalty thereof. But God forfend that 
 ever other victual should follow upon such noble meat as the 
 heart of so valiant and so courteous a gentleman as was Sir 
 
TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 25 
 
 Guillaume de Guardestaing ! ' Then, rising to her feet, without 
 any manner of hesitation, she let herself fall backward through 
 a window which was behind her and which was exceeding high 
 above the ground: whereof as she fell, she was not only 
 killed, but well nigh broken in pieces. 
 
 Sir Guillaxune, seeing this, was sore dismayed and him- 
 seemed he had done ill; whereof being adread of the country 
 people and of the Count of Provence, he let saddle his horses 
 and made off. On the morrow it was known all over the coun- 
 try how the thing had passed ; whereupon the two bodies were, 
 with the utmost grief and lamentation, taken up by Guard- 
 estaing 's people and those of the lady and laid in one same 
 sepulchre in the chapel of the latter 's own castle; and there- 
 over were verses written, signifying who these were that were 
 buried therewithin and the manner and occasion of their 
 death." 
 
Iphigenia, Mistress of Cimon 
 
 "l\ /TANY stories, delightsome ladies, apt to give beginning 
 IVi to so glad a day as this will be, offer themselves Tinto 
 me to be related ; whereof one is the most pleasing to my mind, 
 for that thereby, beside the happy issue which is to mark this 
 day's discourses, you may understand how holy, how puissant 
 and how full of all good is the power of Love, which many, 
 unknowing what they say, condemn and vilify with great un- 
 right ; and this, an I err not, must needs be exceeding pleasing 
 to you, for that I believe you all to be in love. 
 
 There was, then, in the island of Cyprus (as we have read 
 aforetime in the ancient histories of the Cypriots) , a very noble 
 gentleman, by name Aristippus, who was rich beyond any other 
 of the country in all temporal things and might have held him- 
 self the happiest man alive, had not fortune made him woeful 
 in only one thing, to wit, that amongst his other children he 
 had a son who overpassed all the other youths of his age in 
 stature and goodliness of body, but was a hopeless dullard and 
 well nigh an idiot. His true name was Galesus, but for that 
 neither by toil of teacher nor blandishment nor beating of his 
 father nor study nor endeavor of whatsoever other had it been 
 found possible to put into his head any inkling of letters of 
 good breeding and that he had a rough voice and an uncouth 
 and manners more befitting a beast than a man, he was of well 
 nigh all by way of mockery called Cimon, which in their tongue 
 signified as much as brute beast in ours. His father brooked 
 his wasted life with the most grievous concern and having pre- 
 sently given over all hope of him, he bade him begone to his 
 
 26 
 
TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 27 
 
 country house and there ahide with his husbandmen, so he 
 might not still have before him the cause of his chagrin; the 
 which was very agreeable to Cimon, for that the manners and 
 usages of clowns and churls were much more to his liking than 
 those of the townsfolk. 
 
 Cimon, then, betaking himself to the country and there 
 employing himself ia the things that pertained thereto, it 
 chanced one day, awhUe after none, as he passed from one farm 
 to another. With his staff on his shoulder, that he entered a 
 very fair coppice which was in those parts and which was then 
 all in leaf, for that it was the month of May. Passing there- 
 through, he happened (even as his fortune guided him thither) 
 upon a little mead compassed about with very high trees, in one 
 corner whereof was a very clear and cool spring, beside which 
 he saw a very fair damsel asleep upon the green grass, with so 
 thin a garment upon her body that it hid well nigh nothing of 
 her snowy flesh. She was covered only from the waist down 
 with a very white and light coverlet; and at her feet slept on 
 like wise two women and a man, her servants. When Cimon 
 espied the young lady, he halted and leaning upon his staff, 
 fell, without saying a word, to gazing most intently upon her 
 with the utmost admiration, no otherwise than as he had never 
 yet seen a woman's form, whilst in his rude breast, wherein for 
 a thousand lessenings no least impression of civil pleasance had 
 availed to penetrate, he felt a thought awaken which intimated 
 to his gross and material spirit that this maiden was the fairest 
 thing that had been ever seen of any living soul. Thence he 
 proceeded to consider her various parts, — commending her 
 hair, which he accounted of gold, her brow, her nose, her 
 mouth, her throat and her arms, and above all her breast, as 
 yet but little upraised, — and grown of a sudden from a churl a 
 judge of beauty, he ardently desired in himself to see the eyes, 
 which, weighed down with deep sleep, she kept closed. To 
 this end, he had it several times in mind to awaken her ; but, for 
 
28 TALES PROM BOCCACCIO 
 
 that she seemed to him beyond measure fairer than the other 
 women aforetime seen of him, he misdoubted him she must be 
 some goddess. Now he had wit enough to account things di- 
 vine worthy of more reverence than those mundane; where- 
 fore he forbore, waiting for her to awake of herself ; and albeit 
 the delay seemed overlong to him, yet, taken as he was with an 
 unwonted pleasure, he knew not how to tear himself away. 
 
 It befeU, then, that, after a long while, the damsel, whose 
 name was Iphigenia, came to herself, before any of her people, 
 and opening her eyes, saw Cimon (who, what for his fashion 
 and uncouthness and his father's wealth and noblity, was 
 known in a manner to every one in the country) standing before 
 her, leant on his staff, marvelled exceedingly and said, 'Cimon, 
 what goest thou seeking in this wood at this hour?' He made 
 her no answer, but seeing her eyes open, began to look stead- 
 fastly upon them, himseeming there proceeded thence a sweet- 
 ness which fulfilled him with a pleasure such as he had never 
 before felt. The young lady, seeing this, began to misdoubt 
 her lest his so fixed looking upon her should move his rusticity 
 to somewhat that might turn her to shame ; wherefore, calling 
 her women, she rose up, saying, 'Cimon, abide with God.' To 
 which he replied, 'I will begone with thee;' and albeit the 
 young lady, who was still in fear of him, would have declined 
 his company, she could not win to rid herself of him tiU he had 
 accompanied her to her own house. 
 
 Thence he repaired to his father's house (in the city), and 
 declared to him that he would on no wise consent to return to 
 the country ; the which was irksome enough to Aristippus and 
 his kinsfolk; nevertheless they let him be, awaiting to see what 
 might be the cause of his change of mind. Love 's arrow hav- 
 ing, then, through Iphigenia 's beauty, penetrated into Cimon 's 
 heart, whereinto no teaching had ever availed to win an en- 
 trance, in a very brief time, proceeding from one idea to 
 another, he made his father marvel and aU his kinsfolk and 
 
TALES FEOM BOCCACCIO 29 
 
 every other that knew him. In the first place he besought his 
 father that he would cause him to go bedecked with clothes and 
 every other thing, even as his brothers, the which Aristippus 
 right gladly did. Then, consorting with young men of condi- 
 tion and learning the fashions and carriage that behoved unto 
 gentlemen and especially unto lovers, he first, to the utmost 
 wonderment of every one, in a very brief space of time, not 
 only learned the first [elements of] letters, but became very 
 eminent among the students of philosophy, and after (the love 
 which he bore Iphigenia being the cause of all this) he not 
 only reduced his rude and rustical manner of speech to seem- 
 liness and civility, but became a past master of song and sound 
 and exceeding expert and doughty in riding and martial exer- 
 cises, both by land and by sea. In short, not to go recounting 
 every particular of his merits, the fourth year was not accom- 
 plished from the day of his first falling in love, ere he was 
 grown the sprightliest and most accomplished gentleman of all 
 the young men in the island of Cyprus, ay, and the best en- 
 dowed with every particular excellence. What, then, charming 
 ladies, shall we say of Cimon ? Certes, none other thing than that 
 lofty virtues implanted by heaven in his generous soul had 
 been bounden with exceeding strong bonds of jealous fortune 
 and shut in some straitest corner of his heart, all which bonds 
 Love, as a mightier than fortune, broke and burst in sunder 
 and in its quality of awakener and quickener of drowsed and 
 sluggish wits, urged forth into the broad daylight the virtues 
 aforesaid, which had till then been overdarkened with a bar- 
 barous obscurity, thus manifestly discovering from how mean 
 a room it can avail to uplift those souls that are subject unto 
 it and to what an eminence it can conduct them with its 
 beams. 
 
 Although Cimon, loving Iphigenia as he did, might exceed 
 in certain things, as young men in love very often do, never- 
 theless Aristippus, considering that Love had turned him from 
 
30 TALES PROM BOCCACCIO 
 
 a dunce into a man, not only patiently bore with the extrava- 
 gances into which it might whiles lead him, but encouraged 
 him to ensue its every pleasure. But Cimon (who refused to be 
 called Galesus, remembering that Iphigenia had called him by 
 the former name), seeking to put an honorable term to his 
 desire, once and again caused essay Cipseus, Iphigenia 's father, 
 so he should give him his daughter to wife; but Cipseus still 
 answered that he had promised her to Pasimondas, a young 
 nobleman of Rhodes, to whom he had no mind to fail of his 
 word. The time coming for the covenanted nuptials of Iphi- 
 genia and the bridegroom having sent for her, Cimon said ia 
 himself, 'Now, Iphigenia, is the time to prove how much 
 thOu art beloved of me. By thee am I become a man and so I 
 may but have thee, I doubt not to become more glorious than 
 any god ; and for certain I will have thee or die. ' 
 
 Accordingly, having secretly recruited certain young 
 noblemen who were his friends and let privily equip a ship 
 with everything apt for naval battle, he put out to sea and 
 awaited the vessel wherein Iphigenia was to be transported to 
 her husband in Rhodes. The bride, after much honor done of 
 her father to the bridegroom's friends, took ship with the 
 latter, who turned their prow towards Rhodes and departed. 
 On the following day, Cimon, who slept not, came out upon 
 them with his ship and cried out, in a loud voice, from- the 
 prow, to those who were on board Iphigenia 's vessel, saying, 
 'Stay, strike your sails or look to be beaten and sunken in the 
 sea.' Cimon 's adversaries had gotten up their arms on deck 
 and made ready to defend themselves; whereupon he, after 
 speaking the words aforesaid, took a grappling iron and cast- 
 ing it upon the poop of the Rhodians, who were making ofE 
 at the top of their speed, made it fast by main force to the prow 
 of his own ship. Then, bold as a lion, he leapt on board their 
 ship, without waiting for any to follow him, as if he held them 
 all for nought, and Love spurring him, he fell upon his enemies 
 
TALES PROM BOCCACCIO 31 
 
 with marvellous might, cutlass in hand, striking now this one 
 and now that and hewing them down like sheep. 
 
 The Rhodians, seeing this, east down their arms and all as 
 with one voice confessed themselves prisoners; whereupon 
 quoth Cimon to them. 'Young men, it was neither lust nor 
 rapine nor hate that I had against you made me depart Cyprus 
 to assail you, arms in hand, in mid sea. That which moved me 
 thereunto was the desire of a thing which to have gotten is a very 
 grave matter to me and to you a very light one to yield me in 
 peace ; it is, to wit, Iphigenia, who I love over all else and whom, 
 availing not to have of her father on friendly and peaceable wise. 
 Love hath constrained me to win from you as an enemy and by 
 force of arms. Wherefore I mean to be to her that which your 
 friend Pasimondas should have been. Give her to me then, and 
 begone and God's grace go with you.' 
 
 ' The Rhodians, more by force constrained than of free-will, 
 surrendered Iphigenia, weeping to Cimon, who seeing her in 
 tears, said to her, 'Noble lady, be not disconsolate; I am thy 
 Cimon, who by long love have far better deserved to have thee 
 than Pasimondas by plighted faith.' Thereupon he caused 
 carry her aboard his own ship and returning to his companions, 
 let the Rhodians go, without touching aught else of theirs. 
 Then, glad beyond any man alive to have gotten so dear a prey, 
 after devoting some time to comforting the weeping lady, he 
 took counsel with his comrades not to return to Cyprus at that 
 present; wherefore, of one accord they turned the ship's head 
 towards Crete, where well nigh every one, and especially 
 Cimon, had kinsfolk, old and new, and friends in plenty and 
 where they doubted not to be in safety with Iphigenia. But 
 fortune the unstable, which had cheerfully enough vouchsafed 
 unto Cimon the acquisition of the lady, suddenly changed the 
 inexpressable joyance of the enamored youth into sad and 
 bitter mourning; for it was not four full told hours since he 
 had left the Rhodians when the night (which Cimon looked to 
 
32 TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 
 
 be more delightsome than any he had ever known) came on and 
 with it a very troublous and tempestuous shift of weather, 
 which filled all the sky with clouds and the sea with ravening 
 winds, by reason whereof none could see what to do or whither 
 to steer, nor could any even keep the deck to do any office. 
 
 How sore concerned was Cimon for this needeth not to 
 ask ; himseemed the gods had vouchsafed him his desire but to 
 make death the more grievous to him, whereof, without that, 
 he had before reckoned little. His comrades lamented on like 
 wise, but Iphigenia bewailed herself over all, weeping sore 
 and fearing every stroke of the waves ; and in her chagrin she 
 bitterly cursed Cimon 's love and blamed his presumption, 
 avouching that the tempest had arisen for none other thing but 
 that the gods chose not that he, who would fain against their 
 will have her to wife, should avail to enjoy his presumptuous 
 desire, but, seeing her first die, should after himself perish 
 miserably. 
 
 Amidst such lamentations and others yet more grievous, 
 the wind waxing hourly fiercer and the seamen knowing not 
 what to do, they came, without witting whither they went or 
 availing to change their course near to the island of Rhodes, and 
 unknowing that it was Rhodes, they used their every endeavor to 
 get to land thereon, an it were possible, for the saving of their 
 lives. In this fortune was favorable to them and brought them 
 into a little bight of the sea, where the Rhodians whom Cimon 
 had let go had a little before arrived with their ship; nor did 
 they perceive that they had struck the island of Rhodes till the 
 dawn broke and made the sky somewhat clearer, when they 
 found themselves maybe a bowshot distant from the ship left of 
 them the day before. At this Cimon was beyond measure 
 chagrined and fearing lest that should betide them which did 
 in very deed ensue, bade use every endeavor to issue thence 
 and let fortune after carry them whither it should please her, 
 for that they could be nowhere in worse case than there. 
 
TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 33 
 
 Accordingly, they made the utmost efforts to put to sea, but in 
 vain ; for the wind blew so mightily against them that not only 
 could they not avail to issue from the little harbor, but, whether 
 they would or no, it drove them ashore. 
 
 No sooner were they come thither than they were recog- 
 nized by the Rhodian sailors, who had landed from their ship, 
 and one of them ran nimbly to a village hard by, whither the 
 young Rhodian gentlemen had betaken themselves, and told 
 the latter that, as luck would have it, Cimon and Iphigenia 
 were come thither aboard their ship, driven like themselves, 
 by stress of weather. They hearing this, were greatly rejoiced 
 and repairing in all haste to the sea-shore, with a number of the 
 villagers, took Cimon, together with Iphigenia and all his com- 
 pany, who had now landed and taken counsel together to flee 
 into some neighboring wood, and carried them to the village. 
 The news coming to Pasimondas, he made his complaint to the 
 senate of the island and according as he had ordered it with 
 them, Lysimachus, in whom the chief magistracy of the Rhod- 
 ians was for that year vested, coming thither from the city 
 with a great company of men-at-arms, haled Cimon and all 
 his men to prison. On such wise did the wretched and love- 
 lorn Cimon lose his Iphigenia, scantwhile before won of him, 
 without having taken of her more than a kiss or two; whilst 
 she herself was received by many noble ladies of Rhodes and 
 comforted as well for the chagrin had of her seizure as for the 
 fat igue suffered by reason of the troubled sea ; and with them 
 she abode against the day appointed for her nuptials. 
 
 As for Cimon and his companions, their lives were granted 
 them, in consideration of the liberty given by them to the 
 young Rhodians the day before, — albeit Pasimondas used his 
 utmost endeavor to procure them to be put to death, — and they 
 were condemned to perpetual prison, wherein, as may well be 
 believed, they abode woebegone and without hope of any re- 
 lief. However, whilst Pasimondas, as most he might, hastened 
 
34 TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 
 
 the preparations for his coining nuptials, fortune as if repent- 
 ing her of the sudden injury done to Cimon, brought about a 
 new circumstance for his deliverance, the which was on this 
 wise. Pasimondas had a brother called Ormisdas, less in years, 
 but not in merit, than himself, who had been long in treaty 
 for the hand of a fair and noble damsel of the city, hy name 
 Cassandra, whom Lysimachus ardently loved, and the match 
 had sundry times been broken off by divers untoward acci- 
 dents. Now Pasimondas, being about to celebrate his own 
 nuptials with the utmost splendor, bethought himself that it 
 were excellently well done if he could procure Ormisdas like- 
 wise to take wife on the same occasion, not to resort afresh 
 to expense and festival making. Accordingly, he took up 
 again the parleys with Cassandra's parents and brought them 
 to a successful issue, wherefore he and his brother agreed, in 
 concert with them, that Ormisdas should take Cassandra to 
 wife on the same day whenas himself took Iphigenia. 
 
 Lysimachus hearing this, it was beyond measure displeas- 
 ing to him, for that he saw himself bereaved of the hope which he 
 cherished, that, an Ormisdas took her not, he should certainly 
 have her. However, like a wise man, he kept his chagrin 
 hidden and fell to considering on what wise he might avail to 
 hinder this having effect, but could see no way possible save the 
 carrying her off. This seemed easy to him to compass for the 
 offlce which he held, but he accounted the deed far more dis- 
 honorable than if he had not held the office in question. Ulti- 
 mately, however, after long deliberation, honor gave place to 
 love and he determined, come what might of it, to carry off 
 Cassandra. Then, bethinking himself of the company he must 
 have and the course he must hold to do this, he remembered 
 him of Cimon, whom he had in prison with his comrades, and 
 concluded that he might have no better or trustier companion 
 than Cimon, in this affair. 
 
 Accordingly, that same night he had him privily into his 
 
TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 35 
 
 chamber and proceeded to bespeak him on this wise : ' Cimon, 
 like as the gods are very excellent and bountiful givers of 
 things to men, even so are they most sagacious provers of their 
 virtues, and those, whom they find resolute and constant under 
 all circumstances, they hold deserving, as the most worthy, of 
 the highest recompenses. They have been minded to have 
 more certain proof of thy worth than could be shown by thee 
 within the limits of thy father's house, whom I know to be 
 abundantly endowed with riches; wherefore, first, with the 
 poignant instigations of love they brought thee from a sense- 
 less animal to be a man, and after with foul fortune and at this 
 present with prison dour, they would fain try if thy spirit 
 change not from that which it was, whenas thou wast scant- 
 while glad of the gotten prize. If that be the same as it was 
 erst, they never yet vouchsafed thee aught so gladsome as that 
 which they are presently prepared to bestow on thee and 
 which, so thou mayest recover thy wonted powers and resume 
 thy whilom spirit, I purpose to discover to thee. 
 
 Pasimondas, rejoicing in thy misadventure and a diligent 
 promoter of thy death, bestirreth himself as most he may to 
 celebrate his nuptials with thine Iphigenia, so therein he may 
 epjoy the prize which fortune first blithely conceded thee and 
 after, growing troubled, took from thee of a sudden. How 
 much this must grieve thee, an thou love as I believe, I know 
 by myself, to whom Ormisdas his brother prepareth in one 
 same day to do a like injury in the person of Cassandra, whom 
 I love over all else. To escape so great an unright and annoy 
 of fortune, I see no way left open of her to us, save the valor 
 of our souls and the might of our right hands, wherein it be- 
 hoveth us take our swords and make us a way to the carrying 
 off of our two mistresses, thee for the second and me for the 
 first time. If, then, it be dear to thee to have again — I will not 
 say thy liberty, whereof methinketh thou reckest little without 
 
36 TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 
 
 thy lady, but — thy mistress, the gods have put her in thy 
 hands, an thou be willing to second me in my emprize.' 
 
 All Cimon's lost spirit was requickened in him by these 
 words and he replied, without overmuch consideration, 'Lysi- 
 machus, thou canst have no stouter or trustier comrade than 
 myself in such an enterprise, an that be to ensue thereof for me 
 which thou avouchest; wherefore do thou command me that 
 which thou deemest should be done of me, and thou shalt find 
 thyself wonder-puissantly seconded.' Then said Lysimachus, 
 'On the third day from this the new-married wives will for the 
 first time enter their husband's houses, whereinto thou with 
 thy companions armed and I with certain of my friends, in 
 whom I put great trust, will make our way towards nightfall 
 and snatching up our mistresses out of the middle of the 
 guests, will carry them! off to a ship, which I have caused 
 secretly equip, slaying whosoever shall presume to offer oppo- 
 sition.' The device pleased Cimon and he abode quiet in prison 
 until the appointed time. 
 
 The wedding-day being come, great and magnificent was 
 the pomp of the festival and every part of the two brothers' 
 house was full of mirth and merry-making; whereupon Lysima- 
 chus, having made ready everything needful, divided Cimon and 
 his companions, together with his own friends, all armed under 
 their clothes, into three parties and having first kindled them 
 to his purpose with many words, secretly despatched one party 
 to the harbor, so none might hinder their going aboard the 
 ship, whenas need should be. Then, coming with the other 
 twain, whenas it seemed to him time, to Pasimondas his house, 
 he left one party of them at the door, so as none might shut 
 them up therewithin or forbid them the issue, and with Cimon 
 and the rest went up by the stairs. Coming to the saloon where 
 the new-wedded brides were seated orderly at meat with many 
 other ladies, they rushed in upon them and overthrowing the 
 tables, took each mistress and putting them in the hands of 
 
TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 37 
 
 their comrades, bade straightway carry them to the ship that 
 was in waiting. The brides fell a-weeping and shrieking, as 
 did likewise other ladies and the servants, and the whole house 
 was of a sudden full of clamor and lamentation. 
 
 Cimon and Lysimaehus and their companions, drawing 
 their swords, made for the stairs, without any opposition, all 
 giving way to them, and as they descended, Pasimondas pre- 
 sented himself before them, with a great cudgel in his hand, 
 being drawn thither by the outcry; but Cimon dealt him a 
 swashing blow on the head and cleaving it sheer in sunder, 
 laid him dead at his feet. The wretched Ormisdas, running to 
 his brother's aid, was on like wise slain by one of Cimon 's 
 strokes, and divers others who sought to draw nigh them were 
 in like manner wounded and beaten off by the companions of 
 the latter and Lysimaehus, who, leaving the house full of blood 
 and clamor and weeping and woe, drew together and made 
 their way to the ship with their prizes, unhindered of any. 
 Here they embarked with their mistresses and all of their com- 
 panions, the shore being now full of armed folk come to- the 
 rescue of the ladies, and thrusting the oars into the water, 
 made off, rejoicing, about their business. Coming presently to 
 Crete, they were there joyfully received by many, both friends 
 and kinsfolk, and espousing their mistresses with great pomp, 
 gave themselves up to the glad enjoyment of their purchase. 
 Loud and long were the clamors and differences in Cyprus and 
 in Ehodes by reason of their doings; but, ultimately, their 
 friends and kinsfolk, interposing in one and the other place, 
 found means so to adjust matters that, after some exile, Cimon 
 joyfully returned to Cyprus with Iphigenia, whilst Lysimaehus 
 on like wise returned to Rhodes with Cassandra, and each lived 
 long and happily with his mistress in his own country." 
 
Calandrino's Story 
 
 **TN our city, then, which, hath ever aboundect in various 
 J_ fashions and strange folk, there was once, no great while 
 since, a painter called Calandrino, a simple-witted man and of 
 strange usances. He eompanied most of his time with other two 
 painters, called the one Bruno and the other Buffalmacco, both 
 very merry men, but otherwise well-advised and shrewd, who 
 consorted with Calandrino for that they ofttimes had great 
 diversion of his fashions and his simplicity. There was then 
 also in Florence a young man of a mighty pleasant humor and 
 marvellously adroit in all he had a mind to do, astute and 
 plausible, who was called Maso del Saggio, and who, hearing 
 certain traits of Calandrino's simplicity, determined to aniuse 
 himself at his expense by putting off some cheat on him or 
 causing him believe some strange thing. He chanced one day 
 to come upon him in the church of San Giovanni and seeing 
 him intent upon the carved work and paintings of the pyx, 
 which is upon the altar of the said church and which had then 
 not long been placed there, he judged the place and time oppor- 
 tune for carrying his intent into execution. Accordingly, 
 acquainting a friend of his with that which he purposed to do, 
 they both drew near unto the place where Calandrino sat alone 
 and feigning not to see him, fell a-discoursing together of the 
 virtues of divers stones, whereof Meso spoke as authoritatively 
 as if he had been a great and famous lapidary. 
 
 Calandrino gave ear to their talk and presently, seeing that it 
 was no secret, he rose to his feet and joined himself to them, to 
 the no small satisfaction of Maso, who, pursuing his discourse, 
 
 38 
 
TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 39 
 
 was asked by Calandrino where these wonder-working stones 
 were to be found. Maso replied that the most of them were 
 found in Berlinzone, a city of the Basques, in a country called 
 Bengodi, where the vines are tied up with sausages and a goose 
 is to be had for a farthing and a gosling into the bargain, and 
 that there was a mountain all of grated Parmesan cheese, 
 whereon abode folk who did nothing but make macearoni and 
 ravioli and cook them in capon-broth, after which they threw 
 them down thence and whoso got most thereof had most; and 
 that hard by ran a rivulet of vernage, the best ever was drunk, 
 without a drop of water therein. 'Marry,' cried Calandrino, 
 'that were a fine country; but tell me, what is done with the 
 capons that they boil for broth?' Quoth Maso, 'The Basques 
 eat them aU.' Then said Calandrino, 'Wast thou ever there?' 
 'Was I ever there, quotha!' replied Maso. 'If I have been 
 there once, I have been there a thousand times.' 'And how 
 many miles is it distant hence?' asked Calandrino; and Maso, 
 'How many? a million or mo; you might count them all night 
 and not know.' 'Then,' said Calandrino, 'it must be farther 
 off than the Abruzzi?' 'Ay, indeed,' answered Maso; 'it is a 
 trifle farther.' 
 
 Calandrino, like a simpleton as he was, hearing Maso teU all 
 this with an assured air and without laughing, gave such cre- 
 dence thereto as can be given to whatsoever verity is most 
 manifest and so, holding it for truth, said, ' That is overf ar for 
 my money ; though, were it nearer, I tell thee aright I would go 
 thither with thee once upon a time, if but to see the macearoni 
 come tumbling headlong down and take my fill thereof. But 
 tell me, God keep thee merry, is there none of those wonder- 
 working stones to be found in these parts?' 'Ay is there,' 
 answered Maso; 'there be two kinds of stones of very great 
 virtue found here; the first are the grits of Settignano and 
 Montisci, by virtue whereof, when they are wrought into mill- 
 stones, flour is made; wherefore it is said in those parts that 
 
40 TALES FKOM BOCCACCIO 
 
 grace eometh from God and millstones from Montisci ; but there 
 is such great plenty of these grits that they are as little prized 
 with us as emeralds with the folk over yonder, where they have 
 mountains of them bigger than Mount Morello, which shine in 
 the middle of the night, I warrant thee. And thou must know 
 that whoso should cause set fine and perfect millstones, before 
 they are pierced in rings and carry them to the Soldan might 
 have for them what he would. The other is what we lapidaries 
 call Heliotrope, a stone of exceeding great virtue, for that 
 whoso hath it about him is not seen of any other person 
 whereas he is not, what while he holdeth it.' Quoth Calan- 
 drino, ' These be indeed great virtues ; but where is this second 
 stone found?' To which Maso replied that it was commonly 
 found in the Mugnone. 'What bigness is this stone,' asked 
 Calandrino 'and what is its color?' Quoth Maso, 'It is of 
 various sizes, some more and some less; but all are well nigh 
 black of color.' 
 
 Calandrino noted aU this in himself and feigning to have 
 otherwhat to do, took leave of Maso, inwardly determined to go 
 seek the stone in question, but bethought himself not to do it 
 without the knowledge of Bruno and Buffalmacco, whom he 
 most particularly affected. Accordingly he addressed himself 
 to seek for them, so they might, without delay and before any 
 else, set about the search, and spent all the rest of the morning 
 seeking them. At last, when it was past none, he remembered 
 him that they were awork in the Ladies' Convent at Faenza 
 and leaving all his other business, he betook himself thither 
 well nigh at a run, notwithstanding the great heat. As soon as 
 he saw them, he called them and bespoke them thus: 'Com- 
 rades, an you will hearken to me, we may become the richest 
 men in all Florence, for that I have learned from a man worthy 
 of belief that in the Mugnone is to be found a stone, which 
 whoso carrieth about him is not seen of any; wherefore me- 
 seemeth we were best go thither in quest thereof without delay, 
 
TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 41 
 
 ere any forestall us. We shall certainly find it, for that I know 
 it well, and when we have gotten it, what have we to do but put 
 it in our poke and getting us to the moneychangers' tables, 
 which you know stand still laden with groats and florins, take 
 as much as we will thereof? None will see us, and so may we 
 grow rich of a sudden, without having to smear walls all day 
 long, snail-fashion.' 
 
 Bruno and Buffalmacco, hearing this, fell a-laughing in their 
 sleeves and eyeing each other askance, made a show of exceed- 
 ing wonderment and praised Calandrino's counsel, but Bruno 
 asked how the stone in question was called. Calandrino, who 
 was a clodpated fellow, had already forgotten the name, where- 
 fore quoth he, 'What have we to do with the name, since we 
 know the virtue of the stone? Meseemeth we were best go 
 about the quest without more ado.' 'Well, then,' said Bruno, 
 'how is it fashioned?' 'It is of all fashions,' replied Calandrino; 
 'but all are well nigh black; wherefore meseemeth that what we 
 have to do is to gather up all the black stones we see, till we 
 happen upon the right. So let us lose no time, but get us gone. ' 
 Quoth Bruno, 'Wait awhile,' and turning to his conifade, said, 
 'Methinketh Calandrino saith well; but meseemeth this is no 
 season for the search, for that the sun is high and shineth full 
 upon the Mugnone, where it hath dried all the stones, so that 
 certain of those that be there appear presently white, which of 
 a morning, ere the sun have dried them, show black; more by 
 token that, to-day being a working day, there be many folk, on 
 one occasion or another, abroad along the banks, who, seeing 
 us, may guess what we are about and maybe do likewise, 
 whereby the stone may come to their hands and we shall have 
 lost the trot for the amble. Meseemeth (an you be of the same 
 way of thinking) that this is a business to be undertaken of 
 a morning, whenas the black may be the better known from 
 the white, and of a holiday, when there will be none there to 
 see us.' 
 
42 TALES PROM BOCCACCIO 
 
 Buffalmacco commended Bruno's counsel and Calandrino fell 
 in therewith : wherefore they agreed to go seek for the stone aU 
 three on the following Sunday morning, and Calandrino be- 
 sought them over all else not to say a word of the matter to any 
 one alive, for that it had been imparted to him in confidence, 
 and after told them that which he had heard tell of the land of 
 Bengodi, aflSrming with an oath that it was as he said. As soon 
 as he had taken his leave, the two others agreed with each other 
 what they should do in the matter and Calandrino impatiently 
 awaited the Sunday morning, which being come, he arose at 
 break of day and called his friends, with whom he sallied forth 
 of the city by the San Gallo gate and descending into the bed 
 of the Mugnone, began to go searching down stream for the 
 stone. Calandrino, as the eagerest of the three, went on before, 
 skipping nimbly hither and thither, and whenever he espied 
 any black stone, he pounced upon it and picking it up, thrust 
 it into his bosom. His comrades followed after him, picking 
 up now one stone and now another; bnt Calandrino had not 
 gone far before he had his bosom full of stones; wherefore, 
 gathering up the skirts of his gown, which was not cut Flanders 
 fashion, he tucked them well into his surcingle all around and 
 made an, ample lap thereof. However, it was no great while ere 
 he had filled it and making a lap on like wise of his mantle, 
 soon filled this also with stones. Presently, the two others see- 
 ing that he had gotten his load and that dinner-time drew nigh, 
 quoth Bruno and Buffalmacco, in accordance with the plan con- 
 certed between them, 'Where is Calandrino?' Buffalmacco, who 
 saw him hard by, turned about and looking now here and now 
 there, answered, ' I know not ; but he was before us but now. ' ' But 
 now, quotha!' cried Bruno. 'I warrant you he is presently at 
 home at dinner and hath left us play the fool here, seeking black 
 stones down the Mugnone.' 'Egad,' rejoined Buffalmacco, 'he 
 hath done well to make mock of us and leave us here, since we 
 were fools enough to credit him. Marry, who but we had been 
 
TALES PROM BOCCACCIO 43 
 
 simple enough to believe that a stone of such virtue was to be 
 found in the Mugnone?' 
 
 Calandrino, hearing this, concluded that the heliothrope had 
 fallen into his hands and that by virtue thereof they saw him 
 not, albeit he was present with them, and rejoiced beyond mea- 
 sure at such a piece of good luck, answered them not a word, but 
 determined to return; wherefore, turning back, he set off home- 
 ward. Buffalmaeco, seeing this, said to Bruno, 'What shall we 
 do? Why do we not get us gone?' Whereto Bruno answered, 
 'Let us begone; but I vow to God that Calandrino shall never 
 again serve me thus, and were I presently near him as I have 
 been all the morning, I would give him such a clout on the shins 
 with this stone that he should have cause to remember this trick 
 for maybe a month to come.' To say this and to let fly at Cal- 
 andrino 's shins with the stone were one and the same thing; and 
 the latter, feeling the pain, lifted up his leg and began to puff 
 and blow, but yet held his peace and fared on. Presently Buffal- 
 maeco took one of the flints he had picked up and said to Bruno, 
 'Look at this fine flint; here should go for Calandrino 's loins!' 
 So saying, he let fly and dealt him a sore rap in the small of the 
 back with the stone. Brief, on this wise, now with one word and 
 now with another, they went pelting him up the Mugnone till 
 they came to the San Gallo gate, where they threw down the 
 stones they had gathered and halted awhile at the custom house. 
 
 The officers, forewarned by them, feigned not to see Calan- 
 drino and let him pass, laughing heartily at the jest, whilst he, 
 (vithout stopping, made straight for his house, which was near 
 the Canto alia Macina, and fortune so far favored the cheat that 
 none accosted him, as he came up the stream and after through 
 the city, as, indeed, he met with few, for that well nigh every 
 one was at dinner. Accordingly, he reached his house, thus 
 laden, and as chance would have it, his wife, a fair and virtuous 
 lady, by name Mistress Tessa, was at the stairhead. Seeing him 
 come and somewhat provoked at his long tarriance, she began 
 
44 TALES PROM BOCCACCIO 
 
 to rail at him, saying 'Devil take the man? Wilt thou never 
 think to come home betimes? All the folk have already dined 
 whenas thou comest back to dinner.' Calandrino, hearing this 
 and finding that he was seen, was overwhelmed with chagrin and 
 vexation and cried out, 'Alack, wicked woman that thou art, wast 
 thou there ? Thou hast undone me ; but, by God His faith, I will 
 pay thee therefor ! ' Therewithal he ran up to a little saloon he 
 had and there disburthened himself of the mass of stones he had 
 brought home ; then, running in a fury at his wife, he laid hold 
 of her by the hair throwing her down at his feet, cuffed and 
 kicked her in every part as long as he could wag his arms 
 and legs, without leaving her a hair on her head or a bone in her 
 body that was not beaten to a mash, nor did it avail her aught to 
 cry him mercy with clasped hands. 
 
 Meanwhile Bruno and Baffalmaeeo, after laughing awhile 
 with the keepers of the gate, proceeded with slow step to follow 
 Calandrino afar off and presently coming to the door of his 
 house, heard the cruel beating he was in act to give his wife; 
 whereupon, making a show of having but then come back, they 
 called Calandrino, who came to the window, all asweat and red 
 with anger and vexation, and prayed them come up to him. Ac- 
 cordingly, they went up, making believe to be somewhat vexed, 
 and seeing the room full of stones and the lady, all torn and dis- 
 hevelled and black and blue in the face for bruises, weeping pite- 
 ously in one corner of the room, whilst Calandrino sat in another, 
 untrussed and panting like one forspent, eyed them awhile, 
 then said, 'What is this, Calandrino? Art thou for bmlding, 
 that we see all these stones here? And Mistress Tessa, what 
 aileth her? It seemeth thou hast beaten her. What is all this 
 ado ? Calandrino, outwearied with the weight of the stones and 
 the fury with which he had beaten his wife, no less than with 
 chagrin for the luck which himseemed he had lost, could not 
 muster breath to given them aught but broken words in reply; 
 wherefore, as he delayed to answer, Baffalmaeeo went on, ' Hark- 
 
TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 45 
 
 ye, Calandrino, whatever other cause for anger thou mightest 
 have had, thou shouldst not have fooled us as thou hast done, 
 in that, after thou hadst carried us off to seek with thee for the 
 wonder-working stone, thou leftest us in the Mugnone, like a 
 couple of gulls, and madest off home, without saying so much as 
 God be with you or Devil ; the which we take exceeding ill ; but 
 assuredly this shall be the last trick thou shalt ever play us.' 
 
 Therewithal, Calandrino, enforcing himself, answered, 
 'Comrades, be not angered; the case standeth otherwise than as 
 you deemed. I (unlucky wretch that I am!) had found the 
 stone in question, and you shall hear if I teU truth. When first 
 you questioned one another of me, I was less than half a score 
 yards distant from you ; but, seeing that you made off and saw 
 me not, I went on before you and came back hither, still keeping 
 a little in front of you.' Then, beginning from the beginning, 
 he recounted to them all that they had said and done, first and 
 last, and showed them how the stones had served his back and 
 shins; after which, 'And I may tell you,' continued he, 'that, 
 whenas I entered in at the gate, with all these stones about me 
 which you see here, there was nothing said to me albeit you know 
 how vexatious and tiresome these gatekeepers use to be in want- 
 ing to see everything ; more by token that I met by the way sev- 
 eral of my friends and gossips, who are still wont to accost me 
 and invite me to drink ; but none of them said a word to me, no, 
 nor half a word, as those who saw me not. At last, being come 
 home hither, this accursed devil of a woman presented herself be- 
 fore me, for that, as you know, women cause everything lose its 
 virtue, wherefore I, who might else have called myself the lucki- 
 est man in Florence, am become the most unlucky. For this I have 
 beaten her as long as I could wag my fists and I know not what 
 hindereth me from slitting her weasand, accursed be the hour 
 when &cst I saw her and when she came to me in this house.' 
 Then, flaming out into fresh anger, he offered to rise and beat 
 her anew. 
 
46 TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 
 
 Bruno and Baffalmacco, hearing all this, made believe to 
 marvel exceedingly and often confirmed that which Calandrino 
 said, albeit they had the while so great a mind to laugh that they 
 were like to burst ,• but, seeing him start up in a rage to beat his 
 wife again, they rose upon him and withheld him, avouching 
 that the lady was nowise at fault, but that he had only himself 
 to blame for that which had happened, since he knew that 
 women caused things lose their virtue and had not bidden her 
 beware of appearing before him that day, and that God had be- 
 reft him of foresight to provide against this, either for that the 
 adventure was not to be his or because he had had it in mind to 
 cozen his comrades, to whom he should have discovered the mat- 
 ter, as soon as he perceived that he had found the stone. Brief, 
 after many words, they made peace, not without much ado, be- 
 tween him and the woebegone lady and went their ways, leaving 
 him disconsolate, with the house full of stones." 
 
Befriending His Enemy 
 
 'TT is a very certain thing (if credit may be given to the 
 I report of divers Genoese and others who have been in 
 those countries) that there was aforetime in the parts of Cattajo 
 a man of noble lineage and rich beyond compare, called 
 Nathan, who, having an estate adjoining a highway whereby 
 as of necessity passed all who sought to go from the Ponant 
 to the Levant or from the Levant to the Ponant, and being a 
 man of great and generous soul and desirous that it should be 
 known by its works, assembled a great multitude of artificers 
 and let build there, in a little space of time, one of the fairest 
 and greatest and richest palaces that had ever been seen, the 
 which he caused excellently well furnish with all that was apt 
 unto the reception and entertainment of gentleman. Then, 
 having a great and goodly household, he there received and 
 honorably entertained, with joyance and good cheer, whoso- 
 ever came and went; and in this praiseworthy usance he per- 
 severed insomuch that not only the Levant, but well nigh all 
 the Ponant, knew him by report. He was already full of years 
 nor was therefor grown weary of the practice of hospitality, 
 when it chanced that his fame reached the ears of a young 
 man of a country not far from his own, by name Mithridanes, 
 who, knowing himself no less rich than Nathan and waxing 
 envious of his renown and his virtues, bethought himself either 
 to eclipse or shadow them with greater liberality. According- 
 ly, letting build a palace like unto that of Nathan, he proceeded 
 to do the most unbounded courtesies that ever any did to 
 whosoever came or went about those parts, and in short time 
 he became without doubt very famous. 
 
 47 
 
48 TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 
 
 It chanced one day that, as he abode all alone in the mid- 
 court of his palace, there came in, by one of the gates, a poor 
 woman, who sought of him an alms and had it; then coming 
 in again to him by the second, she had of him another alms, 
 and so on for twelve times in succession; but, whenas she re- 
 turned for the thirteenth time, he said to her, 'Good woman, 
 thou art very diligent in this thiae asking,' and natheless gave 
 her an alms. The old crone, hearing these words, exclaimed, 
 '0 liberality of Nathan, how marvellous art thou! For that, 
 entering in by each of the two-and-thirty gates which his 
 palace hath, and asking of him an alms, never for all that he 
 showed, was I recognized of him, and still I had it ; whilst here, 
 having as yet come in but at thirteen gates, I have been both 
 recognized and chidden.' So saying, she went her ways and 
 returned thither no more. Mithridanes, hearing the old 
 woman's words, flamed up into a furious rage, as he who held 
 that which he heard of Nathan's fame a diminishment of his 
 own, and fell to saying, 'Alack, woe is me! When shall I 
 attain to Nathan's liberality in great things, let alone overpass 
 it, as I seek to do, seeing that I cannot approach him in the 
 smallest ? Verily, I weary myself in vain, an I remove him not 
 from the earth ; wherefore, since eld carrieth him not off, needs 
 must I with mine own hands do it without delay.' 
 
 Accordingly, rising upon that motion, he took horse with 
 a small company, without communicating his design to any 
 and came after three days whereas Nathan abode. He arrived 
 there at eventide and bidding his followers make a show of not 
 being with him and provide themselves with lodging, against 
 they should hear farther from him, abode alone at no great dis- 
 tance from the fair palace, where he found Nathan all unat- 
 tended, as he went walking for his diversion, without any 
 pomp of apparrel, and knowing him not, asked him if he 
 could inform him where Nathan dwelt. 'My son,' answered 
 the latter cheerfully, 'there is none in these parts who is better 
 
TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 49 
 
 able than I to show thee that; wherefore, whenas it pleaseth 
 thee, I will carry thee thither. ' Mithridanes rejoined that this 
 would be very acceptable to him, but that, an it might be, he 
 would fain be neither seen nor known of Nathan ; and the latter 
 said, 'That also will I do, since it pleaseth thee.' Mithridanes 
 accordingly dismounted and repaired to the goodly palace, in 
 company with Nathan, who quickly engaged him in most 
 pleasant discourse. There he caused one of his servants take 
 the young man's horse and putting his mouth to his ear, 
 charged him take order with all those of the house, so none 
 should tell the youth that he was Nathan; and so was it done. 
 Moreover, he lodged him in a very goodly chamber, where 
 none saw him, save those whom he had deputed to his service, 
 and let entertain him with the utmost honor, himself bearing 
 him company. 
 
 After Mithridanes had abidden with him awhile on this 
 wise, he asked him (albeit he held him in reverence as a father) 
 who he was; to which Nathan answered, 'I am an unworthy 
 servant of Nathan, who have grown old with him from my 
 childhood, nor hath he ever advanced me to otherwhat than 
 that which thou seest me; wherefore, albeit every one else is 
 mighty well pleased with him, I for my part have little cause 
 to thank him.' These words afforded Mithridanes some hope 
 of availing with more certitude and more safety to give effect 
 to his perverse design, and Nathan very courteously asking 
 him who he was and what occasion brought him into those 
 parts and proffering him his advice and assistance insomuch as 
 lay in his power, he hesitated awhile to reply, but, presently, 
 resolving to trust himself to him, he with a long circuit of 
 words required him first of secrecy and after of aid and counsel 
 and entirely discovered to him who he was and wherefore and 
 on what motion he came. Nathan, hearing his discourse and 
 his cruel design, was inwardly all disordered ; but nevertheless, 
 without much hesitation, he answered him with an imdaunted 
 
50 TALES PROM BOCCACCIO 
 
 mind and a firm countenance, saying, 'Mithridanes, thy father 
 was a noble man and thou showest thyself minded not to de- 
 generate from him, in having entered upon so high an emprise 
 as this thou hast undertaken, to wit, to be liberal unto aU; and 
 greatly do I commend the jealously thou bearest unto Nathan's 
 virtues, for that, were there many such, the world, that is most 
 wretched, would soon become good. The design that thou hast 
 discovered to me I will without fail keep secret ; but for the ac- 
 complishment thereof I can rather give thee useful counsel 
 than great help ; the which is this. Thou mayst from here see a 
 coppice, maybe half a mile hence, wherein Nathan well nigh 
 every morning walketh all alone, taking his pleasure there a 
 pretty long while ; and there it wUl be a light matter to thee to 
 find him and do thy will of him. If thou slay him, thou must, 
 so thou mayst return home without hindrance, get thee gone, 
 not by that way thou camest, but by that which thou wUt see 
 issue forth of the coppice on the left hand, for that, albeit it is 
 somewhat wilder, it is nearer to thy country and safer for thee.' 
 Mithridanes, having received this information and Nathan 
 having taken leave of him, privily let his companions, who had, 
 like himself, taken up their sojourn in the palace, know where 
 they should look for him on the morrow; and the new day 
 come, Nathan, whose intent was nowise at variance with the 
 counsel he had given Mithridanes nor was anywise changed, 
 betook himself alone to the coppice, there to die. Meanwhile, 
 Mithridanes arose and taking his bow and his sword, for other 
 arms he had not, mounted to horse and made for the coppice, 
 where he saw Nathan from afar go walking all alone. Being 
 resolved, ere he attacked him, to seek to see him and hear him 
 speak, he ran towards him and seizing him by the fillet he had 
 about his head, said, 'Old man, thou art dead.' "Whereto 
 Nathan answered no otherwhat than, 'Then have I merited it.' 
 Mithridanes, hearing his voice and looking him in the face, 
 knew him forthright for him who had so lovingly received him 
 
TALES FEOM BOCCACCIO 51 
 
 and familiarly companied with him and faithfully counselled 
 him; whereupon his fury incontinent subsided and his rage 
 was changed into shame. Accordingly, casting away the 
 sword, which he had already pulled out to smite him, and light- 
 ing down from his horse, he ran, weeping, to throw himself at 
 Nathan's feet and said to him, 'Now, dearest father, do I mani- 
 festly recognize your liberality, considering with what secrecy 
 you are come hither to give me your life, whereof, without any 
 reason, I showed myself desirous, and that to yourself; but 
 God, more careful of mine honor than I myself, hath, iu the ex- 
 tremest hour of need, opened the eyes of my understanding, 
 which vile envy had closed. Wherefore, the readier you have 
 been to comply with me, so much the more do I confess myself 
 beholden to do penance for my default. Take, then, of me the 
 vengeance which you deem conformable to my sin.' 
 
 Nathan raised Mithridanes to his feet and tenderly em- 
 braced and kissed him, saying, 'My son, it needeth not that 
 thou shouldst ask nor that I should grant forgiveness of thine 
 emprise, whatever thou choosest to style it, whether wicked or 
 otherwise ; for that thou pursuedst it, not of hatred, but to win 
 to be held better. Live, then, secure from me and be assured 
 that there is no man alive who loveth thee as I do, having 
 regard to the loftness of thy soul, which hath given itself, not 
 to the amassing of monies, as do the covetous, but to the ex- 
 penditure of those that have been amassed. Neither be thou 
 ashamed of having sought to slay me, so thou mightest become 
 famous, nor think that I marvel thereat. The greatest emper- 
 ors and the most illustrious kings have, with well nigh none 
 other art than that of slaying, not one man, as thou wouldst 
 have done, but an iafinite multitude of men, and burning coun- 
 tries and razing cities, enlarged their realms and consequently 
 their fame ; wherefore, an thou wouldst, to make thyself more 
 famous, have slain me only, thou diddest no new nor extra- 
 ordinary thing, but one much used.? 
 
52 TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 
 
 Mithridanes, without holding himself excused of his per- 
 verse design, commended the honorable excuse found by 
 Nathan and came, in course of converse with him, to say that 
 he marvelled beyond measure how he could have brought him- 
 self to meet his death and have gone so far as even to give him 
 means and counsel to that end; whereto quoth Nathan, 'Mithri- 
 danes, I would not have thee marvel at my resolution nor at the 
 counsel I gave thee, for that, since I have been mine own mas- 
 ter and have addressed myself to do that same thing which 
 thou hast undertaken to do, there came never any to my house 
 but I contented him, so far as in me lay, of that which was re- 
 quired of me by him. Thou camest hither, desirous of my life ; 
 wherefore, learning that thou soughtest it, I straightway deter- 
 mined to give it thee, so thou mightest not be the only one to 
 depart hence without his wish ; and in order that thou might- 
 est have thy desire, I gave thee such counsel as I thought apt 
 to enable thee to have my life and not lose thine ovim; and 
 therefore I tell thee once more and pray thee, an it please thee, 
 take it and satisfy thyself thereof. I know not how I may 
 better bestow it. These fourscore years have I occupied it and 
 used it about my pleasures and my diversions, and I know 
 that, in the course of nature, according as it fareth with other 
 men and with things iu general it can now be left me but a 
 little while longer; wherefore I hold it far better to bestow it 
 by way of gift, like as I have still given and expended my 
 [other] treasures, than to seek to keep it until such time as it 
 shaU be taken from me by nature against my will. To give 
 an hxmdred years is no great boon; how much less, then, is it 
 to give the six or eight I have yet to abide here? Take it, 
 then, an it like thee. Prithee, then, take it, an thou have a 
 mind thereto ; for that never yet, what while I have lived here, 
 have I found any who hath desired it, nor know I when I may 
 find any such, an thou, who demandest it, take it not. And 
 even should I chance to find any one, I know that, the longer I 
 
TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 53 
 
 keep it, the less worth will it be ; wherefore, ere it wax sorrier, 
 take it, I beseech thee.' 
 
 Mithridanes was sore abashed and replied, 'God forbid 1 
 should, let alone take and sever from you a thing of such price 
 as your life, but even desire to do so, as but late I did, — your 
 life, whose years far from seeking to lessen, I would willingly 
 add thereto of mine own!' "Whereto Nathan straightway re- 
 joined, 'And art thou indeed willing, it beiag in thy power to 
 do it, to add of thy years unto mine and in so doing, to cause 
 me do for thee that which I never yet did for any man, to wit, 
 take of thy good, I who never yet took aught of others?' 'Ay 
 am I,' answered Mithridanes in haste. 'Then,' said Nathan, 
 'thou must do as I shall bid thee. Thou shalt take up thine 
 abode, yoimg as thou art, here in my house and bear the name 
 of Nathan, whilst I will betake myself to thy house and let still 
 call myself Mithridanes.' Quoth Mithridanes, 'An I knew how 
 to do as well as you have done and do, I would, without hesi- 
 tation, take that which you proffer me; but, since meseemeth 
 very certain that my actions would be a diminishment of Na- 
 than's fame and as I purpose not to mar in another that which 
 I know not how to order in myself, I will not take it.' These 
 and many other courteous discourses having passed between 
 them, they returned, at Nathan's instance, to the latter 's pal- 
 ace, where he entertained Mithridanes with the utmost honor 
 sundry days, heartening him in his great and noble purpose 
 with all manner of wit and wisdom. Then, Mithridanes de- 
 siring to return to his own house with his company, he dis- 
 missed him, having throughly given him to know that he might 
 never avail to outdo him in liberality." 
 
The Story of Griselda 
 
 *XT is now a great while agone since the chief of the house 
 1 among the Marquesses of Saluzzo was a youth called Gual- 
 tieri, who, having neither wife nor children, spent his time ia 
 nought but hunting and hawking nor had any thought of tak- 
 ing a wife nor of having children; wherein he deserved to be 
 reputed very wise. The thing, however, not pleasing his vas- 
 sals, they besought him many times to take a wife, so he might 
 not abide without an heir nor they without a lord, and offered 
 themselves to find him one of such a fashion and born of such 
 parents that good hopes might be had of her and he be well 
 content with herj whereto he answered, 'My friends, you con- 
 strain me unto that which I was altogether resolved never to 
 do, considering how hard a thing it is to find a wife whose 
 fashions sort well with one's own humor and how great an 
 abundance there is of the contrary sort and how dour a life is 
 his who happeneth upon a woman not well suited unto him. 
 To say that you think, by the manners and fashions of the par- 
 ents, to know the daughters wherefrom you argue to give me a 
 wife such as will please me is a folly, since I know not whence 
 you may avail to know their fathers nor yet the secrets of 
 their mothers; and even did you know them, daughters are 
 often unlike their parents. However, siuce it e'en pleaseth 
 you to bind me in these chains, I am content to do your desire ; 
 but, that I may not have occasion to complain of other than 
 myself, if it prove ill done, I mean to find a wife for myself, 
 certifying you that, whomsoever I may take me, if she be not 
 honored of you as your lady and mistress, you shall prove, to 
 
 54 
 
TALES PROM BOCCACCIO 55 
 
 your cost, how much it irketh me to hove at your entreaty 
 taken a wife against mine own will.' 
 
 The good honest men replied that they were content, so he 
 would but bring himself to take a wife. Now the fashions of 
 a poor girl, who was of a village near to his house, had long 
 pleased Gualtieri, and himseeming she was fair enough, he 
 judged that he might lead a very comfortable life with her; 
 wherefore, without seeking farther, he determined to marry her 
 and sending for her father, who was a very poor man, agreed 
 with him to take her to wife. This done, he assembled all his 
 friends of the country round and said to them, 'My friends, it 
 hath pleased and pleaseth you that I should dispose me to take 
 a wife and I have resigned myself thereto, more to complease 
 you than of any desire I have for marriage. Tou know what 
 you promised me, to wit, that you would be content with and 
 honor as your lady and mistress her whom I should take, who- 
 soever she might be ; wherefore the time is come when I am to 
 keep my promise to you and when I would have you keep yours 
 to me. I have found a damsel after mine own heart and pur- 
 , pose within some few days hence to marry her and bring her 
 home to my house ; wherefore do you bethink yourselves how 
 the bridefeast may be a goodly one and how you may receive 
 her with honor, on such wise that I may avouch myself con- 
 tented of your promise, even as you will have cause to be of 
 mine.' The good folk all answered joyfully that this liked 
 them well and that, be she who he would, they would hold her 
 for lady and mistress and honor her as such in all things ; after 
 which they all addressed themselves to hold fair and high and 
 glad festival and on like wise did Gualtieri, who let make ready 
 very great and goodly nuptials and bade thereto many his 
 friends and kinsfolk and great gentlemen and others of the 
 neighborhood. Moreover, he let cut and fashion store of rich 
 and goodly apparel, after the measure of a damsel who seemed 
 to him like of her person to the young woman he was purposed 
 
56 TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 
 
 to marry, and provided also rings and girdles and a ricli and 
 goodly crown and all that behoveth unto a bride. 
 
 The day come that he had appointed for the nuptials, 
 Gualtieri towards half tierce mounted to horse, he and all those 
 who were come to do him honor, and having ordered every- 
 thing needful, 'Gentlemen,' quoth he, 'it is time to go fetch 
 the bride.' Then, setting out with all his company, he rode to 
 the village and betaking himself to the house of the girl's 
 father, found her returning in great haste with water from the 
 spring, so she might after go with other women to see Gual- 
 tieri 's bride come. When the marquess saw her, he called her 
 by name, to wit, Griselda, and asked her where her father was ; 
 to which she answered bashfully, 'My lord, he is within the 
 house. ' Thereupon Gualtieri dismounted and bidding all await 
 him, entered the poor house alone, where he found her father, 
 whose name was Giannucolo, and said to him, 'I am come to 
 marry Griselda, but first I would fain know of her somewhat in 
 thy presence. ' Accordingly, he asked her if, an he took her to 
 wife, she would still study to please him, nor take umbrage at 
 aught that he shoidd do or say, and if she would be obedient, 
 and many other like things, to all of which she answered ay; 
 whereupon Gualtieri, taking her by the hand, led her forth 
 and in the presence of all his company and of every one else, 
 let strip her naked. Then, sending for the garments which he 
 had let make, he caused forthright clothe and shoe her and 
 would have her set the crown on her hair, all tumbled as it was ; 
 after which, all marvelling at this, he said, 'Gentlemen, this is 
 she who I purpose shall be my wife, an she will have me to 
 husband.' Then, turning to her, where she stood, all shame- 
 fast and confounded, he said to her, 'Griselda, wilt thou have 
 me to thy husband?' To which she answered, 'Ay, my lord.' 
 Quoth he, 'And I wiU have thee to my wife;' and espoused her 
 in the presence of all. Then, mounting her on a palfrey, he car- 
 ried her, honorably accompanied, to his mansion, where the nup- 
 
TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 57 
 
 tials were celebrated witli the utmost splendor and rejoicing, no 
 otherwise than as he had taken to wife the king's daughter of 
 France. 
 
 The young wife seemed to have, together with her clothes, 
 changed her .jnind and her manners. She was, as we have al- 
 ready said, goodly of person and .countenance, and even as she 
 was fair, on like wise she became so engaging, so pleasant and so 
 well-mannered that she seemed rather to have been the child of 
 some noble gentleman than the daughter of Giannucolo and a 
 tender of sheep; whereof she made every one marvel who had 
 known her aforetime. Moreover, she was so obedient to her hus- 
 band and so dilligent in his service that he accounted himself 
 the happiest and best contented man in the world; and on like 
 wise she bore herself with such graciousness and such loving- 
 kindness towards her husband's subjects that there was none of 
 them but loved and honored her with his whole heart, praying all 
 for her welfare and prosperity and advancement; and whereas 
 they were used to say that Gualtieri had done as one of little wit 
 to take her to wife, they now with one accord declared that he 
 was the sagest and best-advised man alive, for that none other 
 than he might ever have availed to know her high worth, hidden 
 as it was under poor clothes and a rustic habit. Brief, it was no 
 great while ere she knew so to do that, not only her husband's 
 marquisate, but everywhere else, she made folk talk of her vir- 
 tues and her welldoing and turned to the contrary whatsoever 
 had been said against her husband on her account, whenas he 
 married her. 
 
 She had not long abidden with Gualtieri ere she conceived 
 with child and in due time bore a daughter, whereat he rejoiced 
 greatly. But, a little after, a new thought having entered his 
 mind, to wit, to seek, by dint of long tribulation and things un- 
 endurable, to make trial of her patience, he first goaded her with 
 words, feigning himself troubled and saying that his vassels were 
 exceeding ill content with her, by reason of her mean extraction, 
 
58 TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 
 
 especially since they saw that she bore children, and that they 
 did nothing but murnnir, being sore chagrined for the birth 
 of her daughter. The lady, hearing this, replied without any- 
 wise changing countenance or showing the least distemperature, 
 'My lord, do with me that which thou deemest will be most for 
 thine honor and solace, for that I shall be content with all, know- 
 ing, as I do, that I am of less account than they and that I was 
 unworthy of this dignity to which thou hast advanced me of thy 
 courtesy. ' This reply was mighty agreeable to Gualtieri, for that 
 he saw she was not uplifted into aught of pridefulness for any 
 honor that himself or others had done her ; but a little after, hav- 
 ing in general terms told her that his vassals could not brook this 
 girl that had been born of her, he sent to her a servingman of 
 his whom he had lessoned and who said to her with very woeful 
 countenance, 'Madam, an I would not die, needs must I do 
 that which my lord commandeth me. He hath bidden me take 
 this your daughter and . . . . ' And said no more. The lady, 
 hearing this and seeing the servant's aspect and remembering 
 her of her husband's words, concluded that he had enjoined him 
 put the child to death; whereupon, without changing counten- 
 ance, albeit she felt a sore anguish at heart, she straightway took 
 her from the cradle and having kissed and blessed her, laid her in 
 the servant's arms, saying, 'Take her and punctually do that 
 which thy lord hath enjoined thee; but leave her not to be de- 
 voured of the beasts and birds, except he command it thee. ' The 
 servant took the child and reported that which the lady had said 
 to Gualteiri, who marvelled at her constancy and despatched him 
 with the child to a kinswoman of his at Bologna, praying her to 
 bring her up and rear her diligently, without ever saying whose 
 daughter she was. 
 
 In course of time the lady again conceived and in due season 
 bore a male child, to her husband's great joy ; but, that which he 
 had already done sufBcing him not, he addressed himself to 
 probe her to the quick with a yet sorer stroke and accordingly 
 
TALES FROM BOGUACCIO 59 
 
 said to her one day -with a troubled air, 'Wife, since thou hast 
 borne this male child, I have nowise been able to live in peace 
 with these my people, so sore do they murmur that grandson of 
 Giannucolo should become their lord after me ; wherefore I mis- 
 doubt me, an I would not be driven forth of my domains, it will 
 behove me do in this case that which I did other when and ultim- 
 ately put thee away and take another wife. ' The lady gave ear to 
 him with a patient mind nor answered otherwhat than, 'My lord, 
 study to content thyself and to satisfy thy pleasure and have no 
 thought of me, for that nothing is dear to me save in so much as 
 I see it please thee.' Not many days after, Gualtieri sent for the 
 son even as he had sent for the daughter, and making a like show 
 of having put him to death, despatched him to Bologna, there 
 to be brought up, even as he had done with the girl; but the 
 lady made no other countenance nor other words thereof than she 
 had done of the girl; whereat Gualtieri marvelled sore and 
 affirmed in himself that no other woman could have availed to 
 do this that she did ; and had he not seen her tender her children 
 with the utmost fondness, what while it pleased him, he had be- 
 lieved that she did this because she recked no more of them; 
 whereas in effect he knew that she did it of her discretion. His 
 vassals, believing that he had caused put the children to death, 
 blamed him sore, accounting him a barbarous man, and had the 
 utmost compassion of his wife, who never answered otherwhat to 
 the ladies who condoled with her for her children thus slain, than 
 that which pleased him thereof who had begotten them pleased 
 her also. 
 
 At last, several years being passed since the birth of the 
 girl, Gualtieri, deeming it time to make the supreme trial of her 
 endurance, declared, in the presence of his people, that he could 
 no longer endure to have Griselda to wife and that he perceived 
 that he had done ill and boyishly in taking her, wherefore he 
 purposed, as far as in him lay, to make interest with the Pope to 
 grant him a dispensation, so he might put her away and take 
 another wife. For this he was roundly taken to task by many 
 
60 TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 
 
 men of worth, but answered them nothing save that needs must 
 it be so. The lady, hearing these things and herseeming she 
 must look to return to her father's house and maybe tend sheep 
 again as she had done aforetime, what while she saw another 
 woman in possession of him to whom she willed all her weal, 
 sorrowed sore in herself; but yet, even as she had borne the 
 other affronts of fortune, so with a firm countenance she ad- 
 dressed herself to bear this also. Gualtieri no great while after 
 let come to him from Rome counterfeit letters of dispensation 
 and gave his vassals to believe that the Pope had thereby licensed 
 him to take another wife and leave Griselda; then, sending for 
 the latter, he said to her, in presence of many, Wife, by conces- 
 sion made me of this Pope, I am free to take another wife and 
 put thee away, and accordingly, for that mine ancestors have 
 been great gentlemen and lords of this country, whilst thine have 
 still been husbandmen, I mean that thou be no more my wife, 
 but that thou return to Giannucolo his house with the dowry 
 which thou broughtest me, and I wiU after bring hither another 
 wife, for that I have found one more sorted to myself.' 
 
 The lady, hearing this, contained her tears, contrary to the 
 nature of woman, though not without great unease, and an- 
 swered. My lord, I ever knew my mean estate to be nowise sorta- 
 ble with your nobility, and for that which I have been with you 
 I have still confessed myself indebted to you and to God, nor 
 have I ever made nor held it mine, as given to me, but have 
 still accounted it but as a loan. It pleaseth you to require it 
 again and it must and doth please me to restore it to you. Here 
 is your ring wherewith you espoused me ; take it. You bid me 
 carry away with me that dowry which I brought hither, which 
 to do you wiU need no paymaster and I neither purse nor pack- 
 horse, for I have not forgotten that you had me naked, and if 
 you account it seemly that this my body, wherein I have carried 
 children begotten of you, be seen of aU, I will begone naked ; but 
 I pray you, in requital of my maidenhead, which I brought hither 
 and bear not hence with me, that it please you I may carry 
 
TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 61 
 
 away at the least one sole shift over and above my dowry.' Gual- 
 tieri, who had more mind to weep than to otherwhat, natheless 
 kept a stem countenance and said, 'So be it; carry away a shift.' 
 As many as stood around besought him to give her a gown, so 
 that she who had been thirteen years and more his wife should 
 not be seen go forth of his house on such mean and shameful wise 
 as it was to depart in her shift; but their prayers all went for 
 nothing; wherefore the lady, having commended them to God, 
 went forth his house in her shift, barefoot and nothing on her 
 head, and returned to her father, followed by the tears and 
 lamentations of all who saw her. Giannucolo, who had never 
 been able to believe it true that Gualtieri should entertain his 
 daughter to wife and went in daily expectation of this event, 
 had kept her the clothes which she had put off the morning that 
 Gualtieri had married her and now brought them to her ; where- 
 upon she donned them and addressed herself as she had been 
 wont to do, to the little offices of her father's house, enduring 
 the cruel onslaught of hostile fortune with a stout heart. 
 
 Gualtieri, having done this, gave out to his people that he 
 had chosen a daughter of one of the counts of Panago and letting 
 make great preparations for the nuptials, sent for Griselda to 
 come to him and said to her, ' I am about to bring home this lady, 
 whom I have newly taken to wife, and mean, at this her first 
 coming, to do her honor. Thou knowest I have no women about 
 me who know how to array me the rooms nor to do a multitude 
 of things that behove unto such a festival; wherefore do thou, 
 who art better versed than any else in these household matters, 
 order that which is to do here and let bid such ladies as it seemeth 
 good to thee and receive them as thou wert mistress here ; then, 
 when the nuptials are ended, thou mayest begone back to thy 
 house.' Albeit these words were all daggers to Griselda 's heart, 
 who had been unable to lay down the love she bore him as she had 
 laid down her fair fortune, she replied, 'My lord, I am ready and 
 willing. Then, in her coarse homespun clothes, entering the 
 house, whenas she had a little before departed in her shift, she 
 
62 TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 
 
 fell to sweeping and ordering the chambers and letting place 
 hangings and eovercloths about the saloons and make ready the 
 viands, putting her hand to everything, as she were some paltry 
 serving-wench of the house, nor ever gave over till she had ar- 
 rayed and ordered everything as it behoved. Thereafter, having 
 let invite all the ladies of the country on Gualtieri's part, she 
 awaited the day of the festival, which being come, with a cheerful 
 countenance and the spirit and bearing of a lady of high degree, 
 for all she had mean clothes on her back, she received all the 
 ladies who came thither. 
 
 Meanwhile, Gualtieri, who had caused the two children be 
 diligently reared in Bologna by his kinswoman (who was mar- 
 ried to a gentleman of the Panago family), the girl being now 
 twelve years old and the fairest creature that ever was seen and 
 the boy six, had sent to his kinsman at Bologna, praying him 
 be pleased to come to Saluzzo with his son and daughter and 
 take order to bring with him a goodly honorable company and 
 bidding him tell every one that he was carrying him the young 
 lady to his wife, without otherwise discovering to any aught of 
 who she was. The gentleman did as the marquess prayed him 
 and setting out, with the girl and boy and a goodly company of 
 gentlefolk, after some day's journey, arrived, about dinner-time, 
 at Saluzzo, where he found all the countryfolk and many others 
 of the neighborhood awaiting Gualtieri's new bride. The latter, 
 being received by the ladies and come into the saloon where the 
 tables were laid, Griselda came to meet her, clad as she was, and 
 accosted her blithely, sayingj 'Welcome and fair to my lady.' 
 Thereupon the ladies (who had urgently, but in vain, besought 
 Gualtieri to suffer Griselda to abide in a chamber or lend her 
 one of the gowns that had been hers, so that she might not go 
 thus before his guests) were seated at table and it was proceeded 
 to serve them. The girl was eyed by every one and all declared 
 that Gualtieri had made a good exchange; and among the rest 
 Griselda commended her amain, both her and her young brother. 
 Gualtieri perceiving that the strangeness of the case in no 
 
TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 63 
 
 wise changed her and being assured that this proceeded not 
 from lack of understanding, for that he knew her to be very 
 quick of wit, himseemed he had now seen fully as much as he 
 desired of his lady's patience and he judged it time to deliver 
 her from the bitterness which he doubted not she kept hidden 
 under her constant countenance ; wherefore, calling her to him- 
 self he said to her, smiling, in the presence of every one, 'How 
 deemest thou of our bride?' 'My lord,' answered she, 'I deem 
 exceeding well of her, and if, as I believe, she is as discreet as 
 she is fair, I doubt not a whit but you wUl live the happiest gen- 
 tleman in the world with her ; but I beseech you, as most I may, 
 that you inflict not on her those pangs which you inflicted whil- 
 ere on her who was sometime your; for methinketh she might 
 scarce avail to endure them, both because she is younger and be- 
 cause she hath been delicately reared, whereas the other had been 
 in. continual fatigues from a little child.' Thereupon Gualtieri, 
 seeing she finaly believed that the young lady was to be his wife 
 nor therefor spoke anywise less than well, seated her by his side 
 and said to her, 'Griselda, it is now time that thou reap the 
 fruits of thy long patience and that those who have reputed 
 me cruel and unjust and brutish should know that this which 
 I have done I wrought to an end aforeseen, willing to teach thee 
 to be a wife and to show them how to take and use one and at 
 the same time to beget myself perpetual quiet, what while I had 
 to live with thee; the which, whenas I came to take a wife, I 
 was sore afraid might not betide me, and therefore, to make 
 proof thereof, I probed and afflicted thee after such kind as thou 
 knowest. And meseeming, for that I have never perceived that 
 either in word or in deed hast thou departed from my pleasure, 
 that I have of thee that solace which I desired, I purpose presently 
 to restore thee, at one stroke, that which I took from thee at 
 many and to requite thee with a supreme delight the pangs I 
 have inflicted on thee. Wherefore with a joyful heart take this 
 whom thou deemest my bride and her brother for thy children 
 and mine; for these be they whom thou and many others have 
 
64 TALES FROM BOCCACCIO 
 
 long accounted me to have barbarously let put to death.; and I 
 am thy husband, who loveth thee over all else, believing I may 
 vaunt me that there is none else who can be content of his wife 
 as can I.' 
 
 So saying, he embraced her and kissed her ; then, rising up, 
 he betook himself with Griselda, who wept for joy, whereas the 
 daughter, hearing these things, sat aU stupefied, and tenderly 
 embracing her and her brother, undeceived her and many others 
 who were there. Thereupon the ladies arose from table, over- 
 joyed, and withdrew with Griselda into a chamber, where, with 
 happier augury, pulliag off her mean attire, they clad her anew 
 in a magnificent dress of her own and brought her again to the , 
 saloon, as a gentlewoman which indeed she appeared, even ia 
 rags. There she rejoiced in her children with wonder-great 
 joy, and all being overjoyed at this happy issue, they redoubled 
 in feasting and merrymaking and prolonged the festivities sev- 
 eral days, accounting Gualtieri a very wise man, albeit they held 
 the trials which he had made of his lady overharsh, nay, in- 
 tolerable ; but over all they held Griselda most sage. The Count 
 of Panago returned, after some days, to Bologna, and Gualtieri 
 taking Giannucolo from his labor, placed hitn in such estate as 
 befitted his father-in-law, so that he lived in honor and great 
 solace and so ended his days; whilst he himself, having nobly 
 married his daughter, lived long and happily with Griselda, hon- 
 oring her as most might be. What more can here be said save 
 that even in poor cottages there rain down divine spirits from 
 heaven, like as in princely palaces there be those who were 
 worthier to tend swine than to have lordship over men? Who 
 but Griselda could, with a countenance, not only dry, but cheer- 
 ful, have endured the barbarous and unheard proofs made by 
 Gualtieri? Which latter had not belike been ill requitted, had 
 he happened upon one who, when he turned her out of doors 
 in her shift, had let jumble her furbelows of another to such 
 purpose that a fine gown had come of it." 
 
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