The Decameron of Giovanni Boccaccio
great cry, fearing to be wounded; but, remembering where she was, she
abode still, all fear-stricken. Presently, the rogues, having dressed
the kids and other meat they had with them and eaten and drunken, went
off, some hither and some thither, about their affairs, and carried
with them the girl's hackney. When they had gone some distance, the
good man asked his wife, 'What befell of our young woman, who came
thither yestereve? I have seen nothing of her since we arose.' The
good wife replied that she knew not and went looking for her,
whereupon the girl, hearing that the rogues were gone, came forth of
the hay, to the no small contentment of her host, who, rejoiced to see
that she had not fallen into their hands, said to her, it now growing
day, 'Now that the day cometh, we will, an it please thee, accompany
thee to a castle five miles hence, where thou wilt be in safety; but
needs must thou go afoot, for yonder ill folk, that now departed
hence, have carried off thy rouncey.' The girl concerned herself
little about the nag, but besought them for God's sake to bring her to
the castle in question, whereupon they set out and came thither about
half tierce.
Now this castle belonged to one of the Orsini family, by name Lionello
di Campodifiore, and there by chance was his wife, a very pious and
good lady, who, seeing the girl, knew her forthright and received her
with joy and would fain know orderly how she came thither. Agnolella
told her all and the lady, who knew Pietro on like wise, as being a
friend of her husband's, was grieved for the ill chance that had
betided and hearing where he had been taken, doubted not but he was
dead; wherefore she said to Agnolella, 'Since thou knowest not what is
come of Pietro, thou shalt abide here till such time as I shall have a
commodity to send thee safe to Rome.'
Meanwhile Pietro abode, as woebegone as could be, in the oak, and
towards the season of the first sleep, he saw a good score of wolves
appear, which came all about his hackney, as soon as they saw him. The
horse, scenting them, tugged at his bridle, till he broke it, and
would have fled, but being surrounded and unable to escape, he
defended himself a great while with his teeth and his hoofs. At last,
however, he was brought down and strangled and quickly disembowelled
by the wolves, which took all their fill of his flesh and having
devoured him, made off, without leaving aught but the bones, whereat
Pietro, to whom it seemed he had in the rouncey a companion and a
support in his troubles, was sore dismayed and misdoubted he should
never avail to win forth of the wood. However, towards daybreak, being
perished with cold in the oak and looking still all about him, he
caught sight of a great fire before him, mayhap a mile off, wherefore,
as soon as it was grown broad day, he came down from the oak, not
without fear, and making for the fire, fared on till he came to the
place, where he found shepherds eating and making merry about it, by
whom he was received for compassion.
After he had eaten and warmed himself, he acquainted them with his
misadventure and telling them how he came thither alone, asked them if
there was in those parts a village or castle, to which he might betake
himself. The shepherds answered that some three miles thence there was
a castle belonging to Lionello di Campodifiore, whose lady was
presently there; whereat Pietro was much rejoiced and besought them
that one of them should accompany him to the castle, which two of them
readily did. There he found some who knew him and was in act to
enquire for a means of having search made about the forest for the
damsel, when he was bidden to the lady's presence and incontinent
repaired to her. Never was joy like unto his, when he saw Agnolella
with her, and he was all consumed with desire to embrace her, but
forbore of respect for the lady, and if he was glad, the girl's joy
was no less great. The gentle lady, having welcomed him and made much
of him and heard from him what had betided him, chid him amain of that
which he would have done against the will of his kinsfolk; but, seeing
that he was e'en resolved upon this and that it was agreeable to the
girl also, she said in herself, 'Why do I weary myself in vain? These
two love and know each other and both are friends of my husband. Their
desire is an honourable one and meseemeth it is pleasing to God, since
the one of them hath scaped the gibbet and the other the lance-thrust
and both the wild beasts of the wood; wherefore be it as they will.'
Then, turning to the lovers, she said to them, 'If you have it still
at heart to be man and wife, it is my pleasure also; be it so, and let
the nuptials be celebrated here at Lionello's expense. I will engage
after to make peace between you and your families.' Accordingly, they
were married then and there, to the great contentment of Pietro and
the yet greater satisfaction of Agnolella, and the gentle lady made
them honourable nuptials, in so far as might be in the mountains.
There, with the utmost delight, they enjoyed the first-fruits of their
love and a few days after, they took horse with the lady and returned,
under good escort, to Rome, where she found Pietro's kinsfolk sore
incensed at that which he had done, but contrived to make his peace
with them, and he lived with his Agnolella in all peace and pleasance
to a good old age."
THE FOURTH STORY
[Day the Fifth]
RICCIARDO MANARDI, BEING FOUND BY MESSER LIZIO DA VALBONA
WITH HIS DAUGHTER, ESPOUSETH HER AND ABIDETH IN PEACE WITH
HER FATHER
Elisa holding her peace and hearkening to the praises bestowed by the
ladies her companions upon her story, the Queen charged Filostrato
tell one of his own, whereupon he began, laughing, "I have been so
often rated by so many of you ladies for having imposed on you matter
for woeful discourse and such as tended to make you weep, that
methinketh I am beholden, an I would in some measure requite you that
annoy, to relate somewhat whereby I may make you laugh a little; and I
mean therefore to tell you, in a very short story, of a love that,
after no worse hindrance than sundry sighs and a brief fright, mingled
with shame, came to a happy issue.
It is, then, noble ladies, no great while ago since there lived in
Romagna a gentleman of great worth and good breeding, called Messer
Lizio da Valbona, to whom, well nigh in his old age, it chanced there
was born of his wife, Madam Giacomina by name, a daughter, who grew up
fair and agreeable beyond any other of the country; and for that she
was the only child that remained to her father and mother, they loved
and tendered her exceeding dear and guarded her with marvellous
diligence, looking to make some great alliance by her. Now there was
a young man of the Manardi of Brettinoro, comely and lusty of his
person, by name Ricciardo, who much frequented Messer Lizio's house
and conversed amain with him and of whom the latter and his lady took
no more account than they would have taken of a son of theirs. Now,
this Ricciardo, looking once and again upon the young lady and seeing
her very fair and sprightly and commendable of manners and fashions,
fell desperately in love with her, but was very careful to keep his
love secret. The damsel presently became aware thereof and without
anywise seeking to shun the stroke, began on like wise to love him;
whereat Ricciardo was mightily rejoiced. He had many a time a mind to
speak to her, but kept silence of misdoubtance; however, one day,
taking courage and opportunity, he said to her, 'I prithee, Caterina,
cause me not die of love.' To which she straightway made answer,
'Would God thou wouldst not cause _me_ die!'
This answer added much courage and pleasure to Ricciardo and he said
to her, 'Never shall aught that may be agreeable to thee miscarry[276]
for me; but it resteth with thee to find a means of saving thy life
and mine.' 'Ricciardo,' answered she, 'thou seest how straitly I am
guarded; wherefore, for my part, I cannot see how thou mayst avail to
come at me; but, if thou canst see aught that I may do without shame
to myself, tell it me and I will do it.' Ricciardo, having bethought
himself of sundry things, answered promptly, 'My sweet Caterina, I can
see no way, except that thou lie or make shift to come upon the
gallery that adjoineth thy father's garden, where an I knew that thou
wouldst be anights, I would without fail contrive to come to thee, how
high soever it may be.' 'If thou have the heart to come thither,'
rejoined Caterina, 'methinketh I can well enough win to be there.'
Ricciardo assented and they kissed each other once only in haste and
went their ways.
[Footnote 276: Lit. stand (_stare_), _i.e._ abide undone.]
Next day, it being then near the end of May, the girl began to
complain before her mother that she had not been able to sleep that
night for the excessive heat. Quoth the lady, 'Of what heat dost thou
speak, daughter? Nay, it was nowise hot.' 'Mother mine,' answered
Caterina, 'you should say "To my seeming," and belike you would say
sooth; but you should consider how much hotter are young girls than
ladies in years.' 'Daughter mine,' rejoined the lady, 'that is true;
but I cannot make it cold and hot at my pleasure, as belike thou
wouldst have me do. We must put up with the weather, such as the
seasons make it; maybe this next night will be cooler and thou wilt
sleep better.' 'God grant it may be so!' cried Caterina. 'But it is
not usual for the nights to go cooling, as it groweth towards summer.'
'Then what wouldst thou have done?' asked the mother; and she
answered, 'An it please my father and you, I would fain have a little
bed made in the gallery, that is beside his chamber and over his
garden, and there sleep. There I should hear the nightingale sing and
having a cooler place to lie in, I should fare much better than in
your chamber.' Quoth the mother, 'Daughter, comfort thyself; I will
tell thy father, and as he will, so will we do.'
Messer Lizio hearing all this from his wife, said, for that he was an
old man and maybe therefore somewhat cross-grained, 'What nightingale
is this to whose song she would sleep? I will yet make her sleep to
the chirp of the crickets.' Caterina, coming to know this, more of
despite than for the heat, not only slept not that night, but suffered
not her mother to sleep, still complaining of the great heat.
Accordingly, next morning, the latter repaired to her husband and said
to him, 'Sir, you have little tenderness for yonder girl; what
mattereth it to you if she lie in the gallery? She could get no rest
all night for the heat. Besides, can you wonder at her having a mind
to hear the nightingale sing, seeing she is but a child? Young folk
are curious of things like themselves. Messer Lizio, hearing this,
said, 'Go to, make her a bed there, such as you think fit, and bind it
about with some curtain or other, and there let her lie and hear the
nightingale sing to her heart's content.'
The girl, learning this, straightway let make a bed in the gallery and
meaning to lie there that same night, watched till she saw Ricciardo
and made him a signal appointed between them, by which he understood
what was to be done. Messer Lizio, hearing the girl gone to bed,
locked a door that led from his chamber into the gallery and betook
himself likewise to sleep. As for Ricciardo, as soon as he heard all
quiet on every hand, he mounted a wall, with the aid of a ladder, and
thence, laying hold of certain toothings of another wall, he made his
way, with great toil and danger, if he had fallen, up to the gallery,
where he was quietly received by the girl with the utmost joy. Then,
after many kisses, they went to bed together and took delight and