The Decameron of Giovanni Boccaccio
whatsoever pleased him. The maid did her errand well and diligently,
which when the scholar heard, he was overjoyed and said in himself,
'Praised be Thou, my God! The time is come when with Thine aid I may
avail to make yonder wicked woman pay the penalty of the harm she did
me in requital of the great love I bore her.' Then to the maid, 'Tell
my lady,' quoth he, 'that she need be in no concern for this, for
that, were her lover in the Indies, I would speedily cause him come to
her and crave pardon of that which he hath done to displeasure her;
but the means she must take to this end I purpose to impart to
herself, when and where it shall most please her. So say to her and
hearten her on my part.'
The maid carried his answer to her mistress and it was agreed that
they should foregather at Santa Lucia del Prato, whither, accordingly,
the lady, and the scholar being come and speaking together alone, she,
remembering her not that she had aforetime brought him well nigh to
death's door, openly discovered to him her case and that which she
desired and besought him to succour her. 'Madam,' answered he, 'it is
true that amongst the other things I learned at Paris was necromancy,
whereof for certain I know that which is extant thereof; but for that
the thing is supremely displeasing unto God, I had sworn never to
practise it either for myself or for others. Nevertheless, the love I
bear you is of such potency that I know not how I may deny you aught
that you would have me do; wherefore, though it should behove me for
this alone go to the devil's stead, I am yet ready to do it, since it
is your pleasure. But I must forewarn you that the thing is more
uneath to do than you perchance imagine, especially whenas a woman
would recall a man to loving her or a man a woman, for that this
cannot be done save by the very person unto whom it pertaineth; and it
behoveth that whoso doth it be of an assured mind, seeing it must be
done anights and in solitary places without company; which things I
know not how you are disposed to do.' The lady, more enamoured than
discreet, replied, 'Love spurreth me on such wise that there is
nothing I would not do to have again him who hath wrongfully forsaken
me. Algates, an it please you, show me in what I must approve myself
assured of mind.' 'Madam,' replied the scholar, who had a patch of ill
hair to his tail,[385] 'I must make an image of pewter in his name
whom you desire to get again, which whenas I shall send you, it will
behove you seven times bathe yourself therewith, all naked, in a
running stream, at the hour of the first sleep, what time the moon is
far on the wane. Thereafter, naked as you are, you must get you up
into a tree or to the top of some uninhabited house and turning to the
north, with the image in your hand, seven times running say certain
words which I shall give you written; which when you shall have done,
there will come to you two of the fairest damsels you ever beheld, who
will salute you and ask you courteously what you would have done. Do
you well and throughly discover to them your desires and look it
betide you not to name one for another. As soon as you have told them,
they will depart and you may then come down to the place where you
shall have left your clothes and re-clothe yourself and return home;
and for certain, ere it be the middle of the ensuing night, your lover
will come, weeping, to crave you pardon and mercy; and know that from
that time forth he will never again leave you for any other.'
[Footnote 385: A proverbial way of saying that he bore malice and was
vindictive.]
The lady, hearing all this and lending entire faith thereto, was half
comforted, herseeming she already had her lover again in her arms, and
said, 'Never fear; I will very well do these things, and I have
therefor the finest commodity in the world; for I have, towards the
upper end of the Val d'Arno, a farm, which is very near the
river-bank, and it is now July, so that bathing will be pleasant; more
by token that I mind me there is, not far from the stream, a little
uninhabited tower, save that the shepherds climb up bytimes, by a
ladder of chestnut-wood that is there, to a sollar at the top, to look
for their strayed beasts: otherwise it is a very solitary
out-of-the-way[386] place. Thither will I betake myself and there I
hope to do that which you shall enjoin me the best in the world.' The
scholar, who very well knew both the place and the tower mentioned by
the lady, was rejoiced to be certified of her intent and said, 'Madam,
I was never in these part and therefore know neither the farm nor the
tower; but, an it be as you say, nothing in the world can be better.
Wherefore, whenas it shall be time, I will send you the image and the
conjuration; but I pray you instantly, whenas you shall have gotten
your desire and shall know I have served you well, that you be mindful
of me and remember to keep your promise to me.' She answered that she
would without fail do it and taking leave of him, returned to her
house; whilst the scholar, rejoiced for that himseemed his desire was
like to have effect, made an image with certain talismanic characters
of his own devising, and wrote a rigmarole of his fashion, by way of
conjuration; the which, whenas it seemed to him time, he despatched to
the lady and sent to tell her that she must that very night, without
more tarriance, do that which he had enjoined her; after which he
secretly betook himself, with a servant of his, to the house of one of
his friends who abode very near the tower, so he might give effect to
his design.
[Footnote 386: Lit. out of hand (_fuor di mano_).]
The lady, on her part, set out with her maid and repaired to her farm,
where, as soon as the night was come, she made a show of going to bed
and sent the maid away to sleep, but towards the hour of the first
sleep, she issued quietly forth of the house and betook herself to the
bank of the Arno hard by the tower, where, looking first well all
about and seeing nor hearing any, she put off her clothes and hiding
them under a bush, bathed seven times with the image; after which,
naked as she was, she made for the tower, image in hand. The scholar,
who had, at the coming on of the night, hidden himself with his
servant among the willows and other trees near the tower and had
witnessed all this, seeing her, as she passed thus naked close to
him, overcome the darkness of the night with the whiteness of her body
and after considering her breast and the other parts of her person and
seeing them fair, bethought himself what they should become in a
little while and felt some compassion of her; whilst, on the other
hand, the pricks of the flesh assailed him of a sudden and caused that
stand on end which erst lay prone, inciting him to issue forth of his
ambush and go take her and do his will of her. Between the one and the
other he was like to be overcome; but, calling to mind who he was and
what the injury he had suffered and wherefore and at whose hands and
he being thereby rekindled in despite and compassion and carnal
appetite banished, he abode firm in his purpose and let her go.
The lady, going up on to the tower and turning to the north, began to
repeat the words given her by the scholar, who, coming quietly into
the tower awhile after, little by little removed the ladder, which led
to the sollar where she was, and after awaited that which she should
do and say. Meanwhile, the lady, having seven times said her
conjuration, began to look for the two damsels and so long was her
waiting (more by token that she felt it cooler than she could have
wished) that she saw the dawn appear; whereupon, woeful that it had
not befallen as the scholar had told her, she said in herself, 'I fear
me yonder man hath had a mind to give me a night such as that which I
gave him; but, an that be his intent, he hath ill known to avenge
himself, for that this night hath not been as long by a third as was
his, forbye that the cold was of anothergates sort.' Then, so the day
might not surprise her there, she proceeded to seek to go down from
the tower, but found the ladder gone; whereupon her courage forsook
her, as it were the world had failed beneath her feet, and she fell
down aswoon upon the platform of the tower. As soon as her sense
returned to her, she fell to weeping piteously and bemoaning herself,
and perceiving but too well that this must have been the scholar's
doing, she went on to blame herself for having affronted others and
after for having overmuch trusted in him whom she had good reason to
believe her enemy; and on this wise she abode a great while. Then,
looking if there were no way of descending and seeing none, she fell
again to her lamentation and gave herself up to bitter thought, saying
in herself, 'Alas, unhappy woman! What will be said of thy brothers
and kinsfolk and neighbours and generally of all the people of
Florence, when it shall be known that thou has been found here naked?
Thy repute, that hath hitherto been so great, will be known to have
been false; and shouldst thou seek to frame lying excuses for thyself,
(if indeed there are any to be found) the accursed scholar, who
knoweth all thine affairs, will not suffer thee lie. Oh wretched
woman, that wilt at one stroke have lost the youth so ill-fatedly
beloved and thine own honour!'
Therewithal she fell into such a passion of woe that she was like to
cast herself down from the tower to the ground; but, the sun being now
risen and she drawing near to one side of the walls of the tower, to
look if any boy should pass with cattle, whom she might send for her
maid, it chanced that the scholar, who had slept awhile at the foot
of a bush, awaking, saw her and she him; whereupon quoth he to her,
'Good day, madam; are the damsels come yet?' The lady, seeing and
hearing him, began afresh to weep sore and besought him to come within
the tower, so she might speak with him. In this he was courteous
enough to comply with her and she laying herself prone on the platform
and showing only her head at the opening, said, weeping, 'Assuredly,
Rinieri, if I gave thee an ill night, thou hast well avenged thyself
of me, for that, albeit it is July, I have thought to freeze this
night, naked as I am, more by token that I have so sore bewept both
the trick I put upon thee and mine own folly in believing thee that it
is a wonder I have any eyes left in my head. Wherefore I entreat thee,
not for the love of me, whom thou hast no call to love, but for the
love of thyself, who are a gentleman, that thou be content, for
vengeance of the injury I did thee, with that which thou hast already
done and cause fetch me my clothes and suffer me come down hence, nor
seek to take from me that which thou couldst not after restore me, an
thou wouldst, to wit, my honour; for, if I took from thee the being
with me that night, I can render thee many nights for that one,
whenassoever it liketh thee. Let this, then, suffice and let it
content thee, as a man of honour, to have availed to avenge thyself
and to have caused me confess it. Seek not to use thy strength against
a woman; no glory is it for an eagle to have overcome a dove,
wherefore, for the love of God and thine own honour, have pity on me.'
The scholar, with stern mind revolving in himself the injury suffered
and seeing her weep and beseech, felt at once both pleasure and annoy;
pleasure in the revenge which he had desired more than aught else, and
annoy he felt, for that his humanity moved him to compassion of the
unhappy woman. However, humanity availing not to overcome the
fierceness of his appetite [for vengeance], 'Madam Elena,' answered
he, 'if my prayers (which, it is true, I knew not to bathe with tears
nor to make honeyed, as thou presently knowest to proffer thine,) had