‘Nothing was ever so warmly revered, so greatly extolled, or so highly exalted as you were by him above all other women, whenever he could speak of you without giving rise to suspicion. To you alone he entrusted the whole of his well-being, the whole of his honour, the whole of his freedom. Was he not a noble youth? Was he not as handsome as any of his fellow citizens? Was he not outstanding in those activities and accomplishments that pertain to the young? Was he not loved, esteemed, and given a ready welcome by all who met him? This, too, you will be willing to concede.
‘What possible reason could you have had, then, for heeding the insane ravings of a stupid, envious little friar and deciding to treat him so cruelly? Why is it, I wonder, that certain women make the mistake of holding themselves aloof from men and looking down upon them? If they would only consider their own natures, and stop to think of how much more nobility God has conceded to man than to any of the other animals, they would undoubtedly be proud of a man’s love and hold him in the highest esteem, and do everything in their power to please him, so that he would never grow tired of loving them. Did you do all this? No, because you allowed yourself to be swayed by the words of a friar who must without a doubt have been some soup-guzzling pie-muncher, and who in all probability intended to install himself in the place from which he was intent on dislodging another.
‘This, then, was the sin which divine justice, all of whose dealings are perfectly balanced, would not allow to remain unpunished. You tried without good reason to remove yourself from Tedaldo; and likewise your husband’s life, without good reason, has been placed in jeopardy and remains in jeopardy on Tedaldo’s account, whilst you yourself have been cast into sorrow. If you want to release yourself from this affliction, here is what you must promise, or rather, what you must do: if it were ever to happen that Tedaldo returned here from his lengthy exile, you must restore to him your favour, your love, your goodwill and intimate friendship, and reinstate him in the position he occupied before you so foolishly heeded that lunatic friar.’
Here the pilgrim finished speaking, and meanwhile the lady had listened in rapt attention to every word he had uttered, for she felt his arguments to be very sound and was convinced, having heard him say so, that her affliction really stemmed from that one sin of hers.
‘Friend of God,’ she said, ‘I know full well that what you say is true, and you have taught me a great deal about friars, all of whom I have hitherto regarded as saints. I can see that I undoubtedly committed a serious error in behaving as I did towards Tedaldo, and if it lay within my power I would willingly make amends in the way you suggest. But how is this to be done? Tedaldo cannot ever return here again; he is dead. So what is the point of my giving you a pledge that I cannot keep?’
‘Madam,’ said the pilgrim, ‘God has revealed to me that Tedaldo is not dead at all, but alive and well, and if only he enjoyed your favour he would also be happy.’
‘But you must surely be mistaken,’ said the lady. ‘I saw him lying dead from a number of stab-wounds on my own doorstep, and held him in these arms and shed countless tears on his poor dead face, which possibly accounts for the malicious gossip that has been put about.’
‘No matter what you may say, madam,’ said the pilgrim, ‘I assure you that Tedaldo is alive. And provided that you give me the pledge and intend to keep it, there is every hope of your seeing him soon.’
‘I will do it, and willingly,’ said the lady. ‘Nothing would bring me greater joy than to see my husband released unharmed and Tedaldo alive.’
Tedaldo now decided that the time had come to make himself known to the lady and reassure her about her husband.
‘Madam,’ he said, ‘in order to set your mind at rest about your husband, I shall have to tell you an important secret, which you must take care never to reveal for as long as you live.’
Since they were alone in a very remote part of the house (the lady being quite disarmed by the pilgrim’s appearance of saintliness), Tedaldo drew forth a ring which he had religiously preserved and which the lady had given him on their last night together, and held it out for her to see, saying:
‘Do you know this ring, madam?’
The lady recognized it at once.
‘I do indeed, sir,’ she replied. ‘I gave it long ago to Tedaldo.’
The pilgrim thereupon stood up straight, and having thrown off his cloak and removed his hood, he addressed her in a Florentine accent, saying:
‘And do you know me, too?’
When the lady saw that it was Tedaldo, she was utterly astonished, and began to tremble with fright, as though she were seeing a ghost. Far from rushing forward to welcome a Tedaldo who had returned from Cyprus, she shrank back in terror from a Tedaldo who had seemingly risen from the grave.
‘Do not be afraid, my lady,’ he said. ‘I really am your Tedaldo. I am alive and well, and whatever you and my brothers may believe, I never died and was never murdered.’
Somewhat reassured by the sound of his voice, the lady looked at him more closely, and having convinced herself that he really was Tedaldo, she burst into tears, flung her arms about his neck, and kissed him, saying:
‘Tedaldo, my sweet Tedaldo, you are welcome!’
‘My lady,’ said Tedaldo, after embracing and kissing her, ‘there is no time now to exchange more intimate greetings. I must go and arrange for Aldobrandino to be restored to you safe and sound, and trust that you will hear good news of my endeavours before tomorrow evening. Indeed, I fully expect by tonight to hear that he is safe, in which case I should like to come and tell you all about it in a more leisurely way than I have time for at present.’
Donning once again his pilgrim’s cloak and hood, he kissed the lady a second time, assured her that everything would be all right, and left her. He then proceeded to the place where Aldobrandino, more preoccupied with the dread of his impending doom than with the hope of his future release, was being held prisoner. And having been admitted to Aldobrandino’s cell by the prison-warders, who assumed that he had come to minister to the condemned man, he sat down beside him, saying:
‘Aldobrandino, I am a friend, sent here to save you by God, who has been moved to pity by your innocence. If, therefore, out of reverence to Him you will grant me the trifling favour that I am about to ask of you, it is certain that by tomorrow evening, instead of languishing here under sentence of death, you will hear the news of your acquittal.’
‘Good sir,’ Aldobrandino replied, ‘I neither know you nor recall ever having seen you before, but since you show concern for my safety, you must indeed be a friend. It is perfectly true that I did not commit the crime for which it is said that I must be condemned to death, even though I have sinned in many other ways, which possibly explains my present predicament. In all reverence to God, however, I can tell you this: that if He were to have mercy on me now, there is nothing, whether great or small, that I would not do, and do willingly, let alone promise. Ask of me what you please, then, for you may be quite certain that if I should happen to be released I shall honour my word to the letter.’
‘All I want you to do,’ replied the pilgrim, ‘is to pardon Tedaldo’s four brothers for landing you in this plight in the mistaken belief that you murdered their brother, and, provided that they ask you to forgive them, to treat them as your own kith and kin.’
‘Only the person who has been wronged,’ replied Aldobrandino, ‘knows how sweet and how intense is the desire for revenge. But in order that God may take thought for my salvation, I shall willingly forgive them; indeed, I do forgive them, here and now. And if I ever emerge from this place with my life and liberty, I shall act in a way that will certainly meet with your approval.’
This reply satisfied the pilgrim, and without enlightening him any further he departed, strongly urging him to be of good cheer and assuring him that before the next day was over he would hear the news of his deliverance.
After leaving Aldobrandino, he made his way to the law-courts and obtained a private int
erview with the most senior official.
‘Sir,’ he began, ‘no man, especially in your position, should ever shrink from the task of uncovering the truth, so that, when a crime is committed, punishment may be inflicted on the guilty and not on the innocent. So as to ensure that this is done, thus bringing credit to yourself and retribution to those who have earned it, I have been prompted to call upon you. As you know, you have brought Aldobrandino Palermini to trial, you think you have discovered convincing proof that he is the man who murdered Tedaldo Elisei, and you are about to pronounce sentence upon him. But the evidence is false beyond any shadow of a doubt, and I believe I can prove it to you between now and midnight by handing over the young man’s real murderers.’
The worthy official was already feeling sorry for Aldobrandino, and gladly gave ear to the words of the pilgrim, who furnished him with such a wealth of corroborative detail that he had the two inn keeping brothers and their servant arrested, without a struggle, shortly after they had retired to bed. Being determined to get at the truth of the matter, he would have put them to the torture, but they broke down and made a full confession, individually at first and then all together, saying that they were the people who had murdered Tedaldo Elisei, who was a complete stranger to them. On being asked the reason, they said it was because he had been pestering one of their wives whilst they were away from the inn, and that he had tried to ravish her.
Having heard about their confession, the pilgrim took his leave of the official and made his way back to the house of Monna Ermellina, which he entered unobserved. All the servants had gone to bed, and he found her waiting up alone for him, equally desirous of hearing good news about her husband and of being fully reunited with Tedaldo. He went up to her, smiling happily, and said:
‘My darling mistress, be of good cheer, for it is certain that Aldobrandino will be restored to you here tomorrow, safe and sound.’ And in order to prove to her that it was so, he told her of all he had done.
Monna Ermellina was the happiest woman who ever lived, for twice in quick succession the impossible had happened: in the first place she had got Tedaldo back again, alive and well, after genuinely thinking she had mourned him as dead, and in the second she had seen Aldobrandino delivered from danger when she thought that within a few days she would be having to mourn his death also. And so, passionately hugging Tedaldo and smothering him with kisses, she retired with him to bed, where, to their mutual and delectable joy, they gladly and graciously made their peace with one another.
A little before daybreak, Tedaldo arose, having apprised the lady of his intentions and repeated his plea that she should keep everything secret, and putting on his pilgrim’s garb, he left the house, so as to be ready at a moment’s notice to act on Aldobrandino’s behalf.
As soon as dawn arrived, the magistrates, confident that all the relevant facts were now in their possession, set Aldobrandino at liberty; and a few days later they had the delinquents beheaded at the scene of the murder. Aldobrandino was overjoyed to find himself at liberty, and so too were his wife and all his friends and relatives. Knowing full well that the whole thing was due to the efforts of the pilgrim, they offered him their hospitality for as long as he chose to remain in the city. And having brought him to their house, they feted and feasted him without being able to stop, especially the lady, since she alone knew who it was she was honouring. But before very long, having learned that his brothers were being held up to ridicule on account of Aldobrandino’s release and that they had armed themselves in fear and trembling, he decided that the time had come to reconcile the two sides, and reminded Aldobrandino of his promise. Aldobrandino readily agreed to carry it out, and the pilgrim persuaded him to arrange a sumptuous banquet for the following day, to which he was to invite not only his own relatives and womenfolk but also the four brothers and their wives. Moreover, the pilgrim offered to call on the four brothers in person and invite them to the reunion and banquet on Aldobrandino’s behalf.
Aldobrandino gave his consent, whereupon the pilgrim immediately went to call upon the four brothers, and having told them as much as they needed to know, he eventually persuaded them without difficulty, using impeccable arguments, to ask Aldobrandino’s forgiveness and patch up their differences with him. He then invited them to take their wives along to Aldobrandino’s banquet on the following morning, and the brothers, being convinced of his good faith, gladly agreed to do so.
Next morning, therefore, at the hour of breakfast, Tedaldo’s four brothers, still dressed in black and accompanied by some friends of theirs, presented themselves at the house of Aldobrandino, who was waiting to greet them. And in the presence of all the people who had been invited by Aldobrandino to join them in the festivities, they laid their weapons on the ground and threw themselves on Aldobrandino’s mercy, asking him to forgive them for the way they had treated him. Aldobrandino received them with affection, his eyes full of tears, and having kissed each one of them on the mouth, he quickly said what he had to say and pardoned them for the wrongs he had suffered. They then made way for their wives and sisters, who were all dressed in mourning, and were given a gracious welcome by Monna Ermellina and the other ladies. Then all the guests, gentlemen and ladies alike, sat down to a splendid meal, excellent in every respect save for the general air of reticence engendered by the recent bereavement which Tedaldo’s kinsfolk had suffered, and which was made more apparent by the sombre clothes they were wearing. For this very reason, in fact, some people had condemned the pilgrim’s scheme for holding the banquet, and Tedaldo, who was well aware of their objections, felt that the time had now come to spring his surprise and disperse the mists of melancholy. He therefore rose to his feet while the others were still eating their dessert, and said:
‘All that this banquet requires to bring it to life is the presence of Tedaldo. He has been here all the time, as it happens, but since you have failed to notice him, I want to point him out.’
Then, throwing off his cloak and all his pilgrim’s clothing, he stood before them wearing a tunic of green taffeta, to be inspected and scrutinized at great length, and with no small display of astonishment, before anyone ventured to believe that he really was Tedaldo. Seeing how incredulous they looked, Tedaldo identified the families to which they belonged, told them about various things that had happened to them, and described his own adventures, whereupon his brothers and the other men rushed to embrace him, all weeping with joy, and the ladies followed their example, kinsfolk and others alike, with the sole exception of Monna Ermellina.
‘Ermellina!’ exclaimed Aldobrandino. ‘What is this that I see? Why are you not greeting Tedaldo, like the other ladies?’
‘I would greet him more willingly,’ she replied, in everyone’s hearing, ‘than any of the ladies who have done so already, because it was thanks to him that you have been restored to me, and thus my debt to him is greater than anyone’s. But I refrain because of the mischievous things that were said when we were mourning the man we mistook for Tedaldo.’
‘Away with you!’ said Aldobrandino. ‘Do you suppose I pay any attention to gossip-mongers? He has amply proved that the stories were untrue by securing my release, and I never believed them in the first place. Up you get, quickly; go and embrace him.’
The lady could desire nothing better, and was not slow to obey her husband’s instructions. Rising from her place, she threw her arms about his neck, as the other ladies had done, and gave him an ecstatic welcome.
Tedaldo’s brothers were delighted by Aldobrandino’s magnanimous gesture, as were all the other gentlemen and ladies who were present; and so it was that every trace of the doubts implanted in certain people’s minds by the rumours was expelled.
Now that everyone had given Tedaldo a handsome welcome, he himself stripped his brothers of their mourning, tore asunder the sombre dresses that their wives and sisters were wearing, and ordered different clothes to be brought. And when all were newly attired, they made merry with a number of songs, dance
s and other entertainments, so that in contrast to its subdued beginning the banquet had a noisy ending. Nor was this all, for they immediately made their way to Tedaldo’s house, singing and dancing as they went, and dined there that evening. And without varying the order of their festivities, they kept the party going for several days in succession.
For some time, the Florentines thought of Tedaldo as a man who had miraculously risen from the grave. Many people, including his own brothers, were left with a faint suspicion in their minds that he was not really Tedaldo at all. Even now, in fact, they were not entirely convinced, and they would possibly have remained unconvinced for a long time afterwards, but for the fact that some days later they accidentally discovered who the murdered man was.
It happened like this. One day, a group of soldiers from Lunigiana were passing the house, and when they caught sight of Tedaldo they rushed towards him, exclaiming:
‘Good old Faziuolo!’
Tedaldo informed them, in the presence of his brothers, that they were mistaking him for another, and as soon as they heard his voice they became embarrassed and gave him their apologies.
‘God’s truth!’ they said. ‘You are the living image of a mate of ours called Faziuolo da Pontremoli, who came here about a fortnight or so ago and has never been heard of since. It’s no wonder we were surprised by the clothes you’re wearing, because he was just a common soldier like ourselves.’
On hearing this, Tedaldo’s eldest brother interrupted to ask what sort of clothes this Faziuolo of theirs had been wearing. Their description fitted the facts so precisely, that what with this and other indications, it became quite obvious that the murdered man was not Tedaldo, but Faziuolo; and thenceforth, neither Tedaldo’s brothers nor anyone else harboured any further doubts about him.
The Decameron Page 46
