Джованни Боккаччо
The Decameron (Day 1 to Day 5)
When Frederigo had heard the Ladies request, which was now quite out of his power to graunt, because it had bene her service at dinner: he stood like a man meerely dulled in his sences, the teares trickling amaine downe his cheekes: and he not able to utter one word. Which shee perceiving, began to conjecture immediately, that these teares and passions proceeded rather from greefe of minde, as being loather to part with his Faulcon, then any other kinde of matter: which made her readie to say, that she would not have it. Neverthelesse shee did not speake, but rather tarried to attend his answer. Which, after some small respite and pawse, he returned in this manner.
Madame, since the houre, when first mine affection became soly devoted to your service; Fortune hath bene crosse and contrary to mee, in many occasions, as justly, and in good reason I may complain of her. Yet all seemed light and easie to be indured, in comparison of her present malicious contradiction, to my utter overthrow, and perpetuall molestation. Considering, that you are come hither to my poore house, which (while I was rich and able) you would not so much as vouchsafe to look on. And now you have requested a small matter of mee, wherein shee hath also most crookedly thwarted me, because she hath disabled mee, in bestowing so meane a gift, as your selfe will confesse, when it shall be related to you in very few words.
So soone as I heard, that it was your gracious pleasure to dine with me, having regard to your excellency, and what (by merit) is justly due unto you: I thought it a part of my bounden dutie, to entertaine you with such exquisite viands, as my poore power could any way compas, and farre beyond respect or welcome, to other common and ordinarie persons. Whereupon, remembring my Faulcon, which nowe you aske for; and her goodnesse, excelling all other of her kinde; I supposed, that she would make a dainty dish for your dyet, and having drest hir, so well as I could devise to do: you have fed hartily on her, and I am proud that I have so well bestowne her. But perceiving now, that you would have her for your sicke Sonne; it is no meane affliction to mee, that I am disabled of yeelding you contentment, which all my lifetime I have desired to doe.
To approve his words, the feathers, feete, and beake were brought in, which when she saw, she greatly blamed him for killing so rare a Falcon, to content the appetite of any woman whatsoever. Yet she commended his height of spirit, which poverty had no power to abase. Lastly, her hopes being frustrate for enjoying the Faulcon, and fearing besides the health of her Sonne: she thanked Frederigo for his honourable kindnesse, returning home againe sad and melancholly. Shortly after, her sonne either greeving that he could not have the Faulcone, or by extreamity of his disease, chanced to dye, leaving his mother a most wofull Lady.
After so much time was expired, as conveniently might agree with sorrow and mourning; her Brethren made many motions to her, to joyne her selfe in marriage againe, because she was extraordinarily rich, and as yet but yong in yeares. Now, although she was well contented never to be married any more; yet being continually importuned by them, and remembring the honourable honesty of Frederigo, his last poore, yet magnificent dinner, in killing his Faulcone for her sake, shee saide to her Brethren. This kinde of widdowed estate doth like me so well, as willingly I would never leave it: but seeing you are so earnest for my second marriage, let me plainly tell you, that I will never accept of any other husband, but onely Frederigo di Alberino.
Her brethren in scornfull manner reprooved her, telling her, that hee was a begger, and had nothing left to keepe him in the world. I knowe it well (quoth she) and am heartily sorry for it. But give me a man that hath neede of wealth, rather then wealth that hath neede of a man. The Brethren hearing how shee stoode addicted, and knowing Frederigo to bee a worthy Gentleman, though poverty had disgraced him in the Worlde: consented thereto, so she bestowed her selfe and her riches on him. He on the other side, having so noble a Lady to his Wife, and the same whome he had so long and deerely loved: submitted all his fairest Fortunes unto her, became a better husband (for the world) then before, and they lived and loved together in equall joy and happinesse.
Pedro di Vinciolo went to sup at a friends House in the City. His Wife (in the meane while) had a young man (whom shee loved) at supper with her. Pedro returning whom upon a sudden, the young man was hidden under a Coope for Hennes. Pedro, in excuse of his so soone comming home, declareth, how in the House of Herculano (with whom he should have supt) a friend of his Wives was found, which was the reason of the Suppers breaking off. Pedroes Wife reproving the error of Herculanoes Wife; An Asse (by chance) treads on the young mans fingers, that lay hidden under the Hen-Coope. Uppon his crying out, Pedro steppeth thither, sees him, knowes him, and findeth the fallacy of his Wife: with whom (neverthelesse) he groweth to agreement, in regard of some imperfections in himselfe
The tenth Novell
Reprehending the cunning shifts, of light headed and immodest Women, who, by abusing themselves, doe throw evill aspersions on all the Sexe
The Queenes Novell being ended, and all the company applauding the happy fortune of Frederigo, as also the noble nature of Madam Giana: Dioneus, who never expected any command, prepairing to deliver his discourse, began in this manner. I know not, whether I should terme it a vice accidental, and ensuing through the badnesse of complexions uppon us mortals; or else an error in Nature, to joy and smile rather at lewd accidents, then at deeds that justly deserve commendation, especially, when they doe not any way concerne our selves. Now, in regard that all the paines I have hitherto taken, and am also to undergoe at this present, aymeth at no other end, but onely to purge your mindes of melancholly, and entertaine the time with mirthful matter: pardon me I pray you (faire Ladies) if my Tale trip in some part, and favour a little of immodesty; yet in hearing it, you may observe the same course, as you doe in pleasing and delightfull Gardens, plucke a sweete Rose, and yet preserve your fingers from pricking. Which very easily you may doe, wincking at the imperfections of a foolish man, and smiling at the amorous subtilties of his Wife, compassionating the misfortune of others, where urgent necessity doth require it.
There dwelt (not long since) in Perugia, a wealthy man, named Pedro di Vinciolo, who (perhaps) more to deceive some other, and restraine an evill opinion, which the Perugians had conceived of him, in matter no way beseeming a man, then any beauty or good feature remaining in the woman, entred into the estate of marriage. And Fortune was so conforme to him in his election, that the woman whom he had made his wife, had a young, lusty, and well enabled body, a red hairde wench, hot and fiery spirited, standing more in neede of three Husbands, then he, who could not any way well content one Wife, because his minde ran more on his money, then those offices and duties belonging to wed-lock, which time acquainting his Wife withall, contrary to her owne expectation, and those delights which the estate of marriage afforded, knowing her selfe also to be of a sprightly disposition, and not to be easily tamed by houshold cares and attendances; shee waxed weary of her Husbands unkind courses, upbraided him daily with harsh speeches, making his owne home meerely as a hell to him.
When shee saw that this domesticke disquietnesse returned her no benefit, but rather tended to her owne consumption, then any amendment in her miserable Husband; shee began thus to conferre with her private thoughts. This Husband of mine liveth with me, as if he were no Husband, or I his Wife; the marriage bed, which should be a comfort to us both, seemeth hatefull to him, and as little pleasing to me, because his minde is on his money, his head busied with worldly cogitations, and early and late in his counting-house, admitting no familiar conversation with me. Why should not I be as respectlesse of him, as he declares himselfe to be of me? I tooke him for an Husband, brought him a good and sufficient dowry, thinking him to be a man, and affected a woman as a man ought to doe, else he had never beene any Husband of mine. If he be a Woman hater, why did he make choyce of me to be his Wife? If I had not intended to be of the World, I could have coopt my selfe up in a Cloyster, and shorne my selfe a Nunne, but that I was not borne to such severity of life. My youth shall be blasted with age, before I can truly understand what youth is, and I shall be branded with the disgracefull word barrennesse, knowing my selfe meete and able to be a Mother, were my Husband but worthy the name of a Father, or expected issue and posterity, to leave our memoriall to after times in our race, as all our predecessours formerly have done, and for which mariage was chiefly instituted. Castles long besieged, doe yeeld at the last, and women wronged by their owne Husbands, can hardly warrant their owne frailty, especially living among so many temptations, which flesh and bloud are not alwayes able to resist. Well, I meane to be advised in this case, before I will hazard my honest reputation, either to suspition or scandall, then which, no woman can have two heavier enemies, and very few there are that can escape them.
Having thus a long while consulted with her selfe, and (perhaps) oftner then twice or thrice; shee became secretly acquainted with an aged woman, generally reputed to be more then halfe a Saint, walking alwayes very demurely in the streetes, counting (over and over) her Pater nosters, and all the Cities holy pardons hanging at her girdle, never talking of any thing, but the lives of the holy Fathers, or the wounds of Saint Frances, all the World admiring her sanctity of life, even as if shee were divinely inspired: this she Saint must be our distressed womans Councellour, and having found out a convenient season, at large she imparted all her mind to her, in some such manner as formerly you have heard, whereto shee returned this answere.
Now trust me Daughter, thy case is to be pittied, and so much the rather, because thou art in the floure and spring time of thy youth, when not a minute of time is to be left: for there is no greater an error in this life, then the losse of time, because it cannot be recovered againe; and when the fiends themselves affright us, yet if we keepe our embers still covered with warme ashes on the hearth, they have nor any power to hurt us. If any one can truly speake thereof, then I am able to deliver true testimony; for I know, but not without much perturbation of minde, and piercing afflictions in the spirit; how much time I lost without any profit. And yet I lost not all, for I would not have thee thinke me to be so foolish, that I did altogether neglect such an especiall benefit; which when I call to minde, and consider now in what condition I am, thou must imagine, it is no small hearts griefe to me, that age should make me utterly despised, and no fire afforded to light my tinder.
With men it is not so, they are borne apt for a thousand occasions, as well for the present purpose we talke of, as infinite other beside; yea, and many of them are more esteemed being aged, then when they were yong. But women serve onely for mens contentation, and to bring children, and therefore are they generally beloved, which if they faile of, either it is by unfortunate marriage, or some imperfection depending on nature, not through want of good will in themselves. We have nothing in this world but what is given us, in which regard, we are to make use of our time, and employ it the better while we have it. For, when we grow to be old, our Husbands, yea, our very dearest and nearest friends, will scarcely looke on us. We are then fit for nothing, but to sit by the fire in the Kitchin, telling tales to the Cat, or counting the pots and pannes on the shelves. Nay, which is worse, rimes and songs is made of us, even in meere contempt of our age, and commendation of such as are young, the daintiest morsels are fittest for them, and we referred to feed on the scrappes from their trenchers, or such reversion as they can spare us. I tell thee Daughter, thou couldst not make choyce of a meeter woman in all the City, to whom thou mightest safely open thy minde, and knowes better to advise thee then I doe. But remember withall, that I am poore, and it is your part not to suffer poverty to be unsupplyed. I will make thee partaker of all these blessed pardons, at every Altar I will say a Pater noster, and an Ave Maria, that thou maist prosper in thy hearts desires, and be defended from foule sinne and shame, and so shee ended her Motherly counsell.
Within a while after, it came to passe, that her Husband was invited foorth to Supper, with one named Herculano, a kind friend of his, but his Wife refused to goe, because shee had appointed a friend to supper with her, to whom the old woman was employed as her messenger, and was well recompenced for her labour. This friend was a gallant proper youth, as any all Perugia yeelded, and scarcely was he seated at the Table, but her Husband was returned backe, and called to be let in at the doore. Which when shee perceived, shee was almost halfe dead with feare, and coveting to hide the young man, that her Husband should not have any sight of him, shee had no other meanes, but in an entry, hard by the Parlour where they purposed to have supt, stood a Coope or Hen-pen, wherein she used to keepe her Pullen, under which he crept, and then shee covered it with an old empty sacke, and after ran to let her Husband come in. When he was entred into the House; as halfe offended at his so sudden returne, angerly she saide: It seemes Sir you are a shaver at your meate, that you have made so short a supper. In troth Wife (quoth he) I have not supt at all, no, not so much as eaten one bit. How hapned that? said the woman. Mary wife (quoth he) I will tell you, and then thus he began.
As Herculano, his wife, and I were sitting downe at the Table, very neere unto us we heard one sneeze, whereof at the first we made no reckoning, untill we heard it againe the second time, yea, a third, fourth, and fifth, and many more after, whereat we were not a little amazed. Now Wife I must tell you, before we entred the roome where we were to sup, Herculanoes wife kept the doore fast shut against us, and would not let us enter in an indifferent while; which made him then somewhat offended, but now much more, when he had heard one to sneeze so often. Demanding of her a reason for it, and who it was that thus sneezed in his House: he started from the Table, and stepping to a little doore neere the staires head, necessarily there made, to set such things in, as otherwise would be troublesome to the roome, (as in all Houses we commonly see the like) he perceived, that the party was hidden there, which wee had heard so often to sneeze before.
No sooner had he opened the doore, but such a smell of brimston came foorth (whereof we felt not the least savour before) as made us likewise to cough and sneeze, being no way able to refraine it. She seeing her Husband to be much moved, excused the matter thus, that (but a little while before) shee had whited certaine linnen with the smoake of brimstone, as it is an usuall thing to doe, and then set the pan into that spare place, because it should not be offensive to us. By this time, Herculano had espied him that sneezed, who being almost stifled with the smell, and closenesse of the small roome wherein he lay, had not any power to helpe himselfe, but still continued coughing and sneezing, even as if his heart would have split in twaine. Foorth he pluckt him by the heeles, and perceiving how matters had past, he saide to her. I thanke you Wife, now I see the reason, why you kept us so long from comming into this roome, let me die, if I beare this wrong at your hands. When his Wife heard these words, and saw the discovery of her shame; without returning either excuse or answere, foorth of doores she ran, but whither, we know not. Herculano drew his Dagger, and would have slaine him that still lay sneezing; but I disswaded him from it, as well in respect of his, as also mine owne danger, when the Law should censure on the deede. And after the young man was indifferently recovered; by the perswasion of some Neighbours comming in: he was closely conveyed out of the house, and all the noyse quietly pacified. Onely (by this meanes, and the flight of Herculanoes wife) we were disappointed of our Supper; and now you know the reason of my so soone returning.
When she had heard this whole discourse, then she perceived, that other Women were subject to the like infirmity, and as wise for themselves, as shee could be, though these and the like sinister accidents might sometimes crosse them, and gladly she wished, that Herculanoes Wifes excuse, might now serve to acquite her: but because in blaming others errors, our owne may sometime chance to escape discovery, and cleare us, albeit we are as guilty; in a sharpe reprehending manner, thus she began. See Husband, here is hansome behaviour, of an holy faire seeming, and Saint-like woman, to whom I durst have confest my sinnes, I conceived such a religious perswasion of her lives integrity, free from the least scruple of taxation. A woman, so farre stept into yeeres, as shee is, to give such an evill example to other younger women, is it not a sinne beyond all sufferance? Accursed be the houre, when she was borne into this World, and her selfe likewise, to be so lewdly and incontinently given; an universall shame and slaunder, to all the good women of our City.
Shall I terme her a woman, or rather some savage monster in a womans shape? Hath shee not made am open prostitution of her honesty, broken her plighted faith to her Husband, and all the womanly reputation shee had in this World? Her Husband, being an honourable Citizen, entreating her alwayes, as few men else in the City doe their wives; what an heart-breake must this needes be to him, good man? Neither I, nor any honest man else, ought to have any pity on her; but (with our owne hands) teare her in peeces, or dragge her along to a good fire in the market place, wherein she and her minion should be consumed together, and their base ashes dispersed abroade in the winde, least the pure Aire should be infected with them.
Then, remembring her owne case, and her poore affrighted friend, who lay in such distresse under the Hen-coope; shee began to advise her Husband, that he would be pleased to goe to bed, because the night passed on apace. But Pedro, having a better will to eate, then to sleepe, desired her to let him have some meate, else hee must goe to bed with an empty bellie; whereto shee answered. Why Husband (quoth shee) do I make any large provision, when I am debard of your company? I would I were the wife of Herculano, seeing you cannot content your selfe from one nights feeding, considering, it is now over-late to make any thing ready.
It fortuned, that certaine Husbandmen, which had the charge of Pedroes Farme house in the Countrey, and there followed his affaires of Husbandry, were returned home this instant night, having their Asses laden with such provision, as was to be used in his City-house. When the Asses were unladen, and set up in a small Stable, without watering; one of them being (belike) more thirsty then the rest, brake loose, and wandering all about smelling to seeke water, happened into the entry, where the young man lay hidden under the Hen-pen. Now, he being constrained (like a Carpe) to lie flat on his belly, because the Coope was over-weighty for him to carry, and one of his hands more extended forth, then was requisite for him in so urgent a shift: it was his hap (or ill fortune rather) that the Asse set his foote on the young mans fingers, treading so hard, and the paine being very irkesome to him, as he was enforced to cry out aloude, which Pedro hearing, he wondered thereat not a little.
Knowing that this cry was in his house, he tooke the candle in his hand, and going foorth of the Parlour, heard the cry to be louder and louder; because the Asse removed not his foote, but rather trod the more firmely on his hand. Comming to the Coope, driving thence the Asse, and taking off the old sacke, he espyed the young man, who, beside the painfull anguish he felt of his fingers, arose up trembling, as fearing some outrage beside to be offered him by Pedro, who knew the youth perfectly, and demanded of him, how he came thither. No answer did he make to that question, but humbly entreated (for charities sake) that he would not doe him any harme. Feare not (quoth Pedro) I will not offer thee any violence: onely tel me how thou camest hither, and for what occasion; wherein the youth fully resolved him.
Pedro being no lesse joyfull for thus finding him, then his wife was sorrowfull, tooke him by the hand, and brought him into the Parlour, where shee sate trembling and quaking, as not knowing what to say in this distresse. Seating himselfe directly before her, and holding the youth still fast by the hand, thus he began. Oh Wife! what bitter speeches did you use (even now) against the wife of Herculano, maintaining that shee had shamed all other women, and justly deserved to be burned? Why did you not say as much of your selfe? Or, if you had not the heart to speake it, how could you be so cruell against her, knowing your offence as great as hers? Questionlesse, nothing else urged you thereto, but that all women are of one and the same condition, covering their owne grosse faults by farre inferiour infirmities in others. You are a perverse generation, meerely false in your fairest shewes.
When she saw that he offered her no other violence, but gave her such vaunting and reproachfull speeches, holding still the young man before her face, meerely to vexe and despight her: shee began to take heart, and thus replied. Doest thou compare me with the wife of Herculano, who is an olde, dissembling hypocrite? yet she can have of him whatsoever she desireth, and he useth her as a woman ought to be, which favour I could never yet find at thy hands. Put the case, that thou keepest me in good garments, allowing me to goe neatly hosed and shod; yet well thou knowest, there are other meete matters belonging to a woman, and every way as necessarily required, both for the preservation of Houshold quietnesse, and those other rites betweene a Husband and Wife. Let me be worser garmented, courser dieted, yea, debarred of all pleasure and delights; so I might once be worthy the name of a Mother, and leave some remembrance of woman-hood behind me. I tell thee plainly Pedro, I am a woman as others are, and subject to the same desires, as (by nature) attendeth on flesh and bloud: look how thou failest in kindnesse towards me, thinke it not amisse, if I doe the like to thee, and endeavour thou to win the worthy title of a Father, because I was made to be a Mother.
When Pedro perceived, that his Wife had spoken nothing but reason, in regard of his over-much neglect towards her, and not using such houshold kindnesse, as ought to be between Man and Wife, he returned her this answer. Well Wife (quoth he) I confesse my fault, and hereafter will labour to amend it; conditionally, that this youth, nor any other, may no more visite my House in mine absence. Get me therefore something to eate, for doubtlesse, this young man and thy selfe fell short of your supper, by reason of my so soone returning home. In troth Husband, saide shee, we did not eate one bit of anything, and I will be a true and loyall Wife to thee, so thou wilt be the like to me. No more words then wife, replyed Pedro, all is forgotten and forgiven, let us to supper, and we are all friends. She seeing his anger was so well appeased, lovingly kissed him, and laying the cloth, set on the supper, which shee had provided for her selfe & the youth, and so they supt together merrily, not one unkind word passing betweene them. After supper, the youth was sent away in friendly manner, and Pedro was alwayes afterward more loving to his Wife, then formerly he had been, and no complaint passed on either side, but mutuall joy and houshold contentment, such as ought to be betweene man and wife.
Dioneus having ended his Tale, for which the Ladies returned him no thankes, but rather angerly frowned on him: the Queene, knowing that her government was now concluded, arose, and taking off her Crowne of Lawrell, placed it graciously on the head of Madam Eliza, saying. Now Madam, it is your turne to command. Eliza having received the honour, did (in all respects) as others formerly had done, and after she had enstructed the Master of the Houshold, concerning his charge during the time of her regiment, for contentation of all the company; thus she spake.
We have long since heard, that with witty words, ready answers, and sudden jests or taunts, many have checkt & reproved great folly in others, and to their owne no meane commendation. Now, because it is a pleasing kind of argument, ministring occasion of mirth and wit: my desire is, that all our discourse to morrow shall tend thereto. I meane of such persons, either Men or Women, who with some sudden witty answer, have encountred a scorner in his owne intention, and layed the blame where it justly belonged. Every one commended the Queenes appointment, because it savoured of good wit and judgement; and the Queene being risen, they were all discharged till supper time, falling to such severall exercises as themselves best fancyed.
When supper was ended, and the instruments layed before them; by the Queenes consent, Madam Æmillia undertooke the daunce, and the Song was appointed to Dioneus, who began many, but none that proved to any liking, they were so palpably obscene and idle, savouring altogether of his owne wanton disposition. At the length, the Queene looking stearnely on him, and commanding him to sing a good one, or none at all; thus he began.
The Song
Eyes, can ye not refraine your hourely weeping?
Eares, how are you deprivde of sweete attention?
Thoughts, have you lost your quiet silent sleeping?
Wit, who hath robde thee of thy rare invention?
The lacke of these, being life and motion giving:
Are sencelesse shapes, and no true signes of living.
Eyes, when you gazde upon her Angell beauty;
Eares, while you heard her sweete delicious straines,
Thoughts (sleeping then) did yet performe their duty,
Wit, then tooke sprightly pleasure in his paines.
While shee did live, then none of these were scanting,
But now (being dead) they all are gone and wanting.
After that Dioneus (by proceeding no further) declared the finishing of his Song; many more were sung beside, and that of Dioneus highly commended. Some part of the night being spent in other delightfull exercises, and a fitting houre for rest drawing on: they betooke themselves to their Chambers, where we will leave them till to morrow morning.
