The Abbess, having no idea what she meant by this, said to her:
‘What bonnet, you little whore? Are you going to have the effrontery to stand there making witty remarks? Do you think it funny to have behaved in this disgraceful manner?’
And so, for the second time, the girl said:
‘I would ask you once again, Mother Abbess, to tie up your bonnet, and then you may address me in whatever way you please.’
Accordingly, several of the nuns looked up at the Abbess, and the Abbess likewise raised her hands to die sides of her head, so that they all saw what Isabetta was driving at. Whereupon the Abbess, recognizing that she was equally culpable and that there was no way of concealing the fact from all the nuns, who were gazing at her with their eyes popping out of their heads, changed her tune and began to take a completely different line, arguing that it was impossible to defend oneself against the goadings of the flesh. And she told them that provided the thing was discreetly arranged, as it had been in the past, they were all at liberty to enjoy themselves whenever they pleased.
Isabetta was then set at liberty, and she and the Abbess returned to their beds, the latter with the priest and the former with her lover. She thenceforth arranged for him to visit her at frequent intervals, undeterred by the envy of those of her fellow nuns, without lovers, who consoled themselves in secret as best they could.
THIRD STORY
Egged on by Bruno and Buffalmacco and Nello, Master Simone persuades Calandrino that he is pregnant. Calandrino then supplies the three men with capons and money for obtaining a certain medicine, and recovers from his pregnancy without giving birth.
When Elissa had completed her story, and all the ladies had given thanks to God for safely conducting the young nun to so sweet a haven after the buffeting she had received from her jealous companions, the queen called upon Filostrato to follow; and without waiting to be asked twice, he began:
Lovely ladies, that uncouth fellow from the Marches, the judge of whom I spoke to you yesterday, took from the tip of my tongue a story I was on the point of telling you concerning Calandrino. We have already heard a good deal about Calandrino and his companions, but since anything we may say about him is bound to enhance the gaiety of our proceedings, I shall now proceed to recount the tale I intended to tell you yesterday.
We all retain a vivid picture, from our earlier discussions, of Calandrino and the other people to whom I am obliged to refer in this story, so without any further ado I shall tell you that an aunt of Calandrino died, leaving him two hundred pounds in brass farthings. He accordingly started to talk of wanting to purchase a farm, and, acting as though he had ten thousand gold florins to spend, he approached every broker in Florence and entered into negotiations, all of which were abruptly broken off as soon as the price of the property was mentioned.
When Bruno and Buffalmacco came to hear of this, they told him again and again that he would do far better to spend the money with them, having a riotous time, than to go buying land, as if he needed it to make mud pies. But far from bringing Calandrino round to their own point of view, they were unable to wring so much as a solitary meal out of him.
One day, as they were grumbling to one another on the subject, they were joined by a fellow-painter of theirs, whose name was Nello,1 and the three of them decided they must find some way of stuffing themselves at Calandrino’s expense. So without dilly-dallying, having come to an agreement on the strategy to adopt, they lay in wait next morning as Calandrino was leaving his house, and before he had gone very far along the road, Nello came up to him and said:
‘Good morning, Calandrino.’
By way of answer, Calandrino said that he wished Nello a good morning and good year too, after which Nello, stepping back a little, began to look Calandrino intently in the face.
‘What are you staring at?’ said Calandrino.
‘Has anything happened to you overnight?’ said Nello. ‘You look odd, somehow.’
Calandrino was immediately thrown into a panic, and said:
‘Odd, you say? Lord! What do you think is the matter with me?’
‘Oh, I don’t say you’re ill or anything,’ said Nello. ‘You look quite different, that’s all. But perhaps it’s merely my imagination.’
Nello then took his leave, and Calandrino, feeling very worried, but otherwise perfectly fit and well, proceeded on his way. However, Buffalmacco was lurking a little further along the road, and on seeing him leave Nello, he walked up to him, bade him good morning, and asked him whether he was feeling all right.
‘I’m not exactly sure,’ Calandrino replied. ‘I was talking to Nello just now, and he said I looked quite different. I wonder if there’s anything wrong with me?’
‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ said Buffalmacco. ‘You just look half dead, that’s all.’
Calandrino was beginning to feel decidedly feverish, when all of a sudden Bruno appeared on the scene, and the first thing he said was:
‘What on earth’s the matter, Calandrino? You look just like a corpse. Are you feeling all right?’
When he heard both of them saying the same thing, Calandrino was quite certain he was ill, and asked them in tones of deep alarm:
‘What am I to do?’
So Bruno said:
‘I reckon you ought to return home, go straight to bed, keep yourself well covered up, and send a specimen of your water to Master Simone,2 who as you know is a close friend of ours. He’ll soon tell you what you have to do. We shall come with you, and if anything needs to be done, we’ll attend to it.’
So together with Nello, who now came up and joined them, they returned with Calandrino to his house, where he made his way to his bedroom, feeling as though he were on his last legs, and said to his wife:
‘Come and cover me up well; I’m feeling very poorly.’
He accordingly got into bed, and dispatched a servant-girl with a specimen of his water to Master Simone, whose surgery at that time was situated in the Mercato Vecchio, at the sign of the pumpkin.
Turning to his companions, Bruno said:
‘You stay here with him, whilst I go and see what the doctor has to say, and fetch him back here if necessary.’
‘Ah, yes, there’s a good fellow!’ said Calandrino. ‘Go to him and find out for me how matters stand. Goodness knows what’s going on inside my poor stomach. I feel awful.’
Bruno therefore set off for the doctor’s, arriving there ahead of the girl carrying the specimen, and explained to Master Simone what they were up to. So that when the girl turned up with the specimen, Master Simone examined it and said to her:
‘Go and tell Calandrino that he is to keep himself nice and warm. I shall be coming round straightway to tell him what’s wrong with him, and explain what he has to do.’
The girl delivered the message, and shortly afterwards the Master arrived with Bruno, sat down at Calandrino’s bedside, and proceeded to take his pulse. Then after a while, in the hearing of Calandrino’s wife, who was present in the room, he said:
‘Look here, Calandrino, speaking now as your friend, I’d say that the only thing wrong with you is that you are pregnant.’
When Calandrino heard this, he began to howl with dismay, and turning to his wife, he exclaimed:
‘Ah, Tessa, this is your doing! You will insist on lying on top. I told you all along what would happen.’
When she heard him say this, Calandrino’s wife, who was a very demure sort of person, turned crimson with embarrassment, and lowering her gaze, left the room without uttering a word.
Meanwhile Calandrino continued to wail and moan, saying:
‘Ah, what a terrible fate! What am I to do? How am I to produce this infant? Where will it come out? This woman’s going to be the death of me now, with her insatiable lust, I can see that. May God make her as miserable as I desire to be happy. I swear that if I were fit and strong, which is far from being the case, I should get up from this bed and break every bone in her body. It serves me right,
though; I should never have allowed her to lie on top: but if I ever get out of this alive, she certainly won’t do it again, even if she’s dying of frustration.’
Bruno and Buffalmacco and Nello were so vastly amused by Calandrino’s outburst that it was all they could do to keep a straight face, although Master Simone guffawed so heartily that all his teeth could have been pulled out one after another. At length, however, on being urged and entreated by Calandrino for advice and assistance, the doctor said:
‘Now there’s no cause for alarm, Calandrino. By the grace of God we’ve diagnosed the trouble early enough for me to cure you quite easily in a matter of a few days. But it’s going to cost you a pretty penny.’
‘Get on with it then, doctor, for the love of God,’ said Calandrino. ‘I have two hundred pounds here with which I was going to buy a farm, but you can take the whole lot if necessary, provided I don’t have to bear this child. I simply don’t know how I could manage it, when I think of the great hullabaloo women make when they are having babies, even though they have plenty of room for the purpose. If I had all that pain to contend with, I honestly think I should die before I ever produced any child.’
‘Just leave everything to me,’ said the doctor. ‘I shall prescribe a certain medicine for you, a distilled liquid that is most effective in cases of this sort, and highly agreeable to the palate, which will clear everything up in three days and leave you feeling fit as a fiddle. But in future you must be more sensible and desist from these foolish antics. Now in order to prepare this medicine, we shall need three brace of good fat capons, and you must give five pounds in small change to Bruno and die others, so that they can purchase the remaining ingredients we require. See that everything is brought round to my surgery, and tomorrow morning I shall send you the distilled beverage, which you are to start drinking at once, a good big glassful at a time.’
‘Whatever you say, doctor,’ said Calandrino. And handing over five pounds to Bruno, together with the money for the three brace of capons, he asked him to purchase the things he needed, apologizing for putting him to so much trouble.
The doctor then went away, and concocted a harmless medicinal draught, which he duly sent round to Calandrino. As for Bruno, having purchased the capons and various other essential delicacies, he made a hearty meal of them in company with the doctor and his two companions.
Calandrino took the medicine for three mornings running, then the doctor called to see him along with his three friends, and having taken Calandrino’s pulse, he said:
‘You’re cured, Calandrino, without a shadow of a doubt; so there’s no need for you to stay at home any longer. It’s quite safe now for you to get up and do whatever you have to.’
So Calandrino got up and went happily about his business, and whenever he fell into conversation with anyone he bestowed high praise on Master Simone for his miraculous cure, which in only three days had effected a painless miscarriage. Bruno, Buffalmacco, and Nello were delighted with themselves for getting round Calandrino’s avarice so cleverly, but they had not deceived Monna Tessa, who muttered and moaned to her husband about it for a long time afterwards.
FOURTH STORY
Cecco Fortarrigo gambles away everything he possesses at Buonconvento, together with the money of Cecco Angiulieri. He then pursues Ceceo Angiulieri in his shirt claiming that he has been robbed, causes him to be seized by peasants, dons his clothes, mounts his palfrey, and rides away leaving Angiulieri standing there in his shirt.
All the members of the company roared with laughter on hearing what Calandrino had said about his wife; but when Filostrato had finished speaking, Neifile began, at the queen’s behest, as follows:
Worthy ladies, but for the fact that it is more difficult for people to display their wisdom and their virtues than it is to show their folly and their vices, it would be so much wasted effort for them to reflect carefully before opening their mouths to speak; all of which has been amply demonstrated by the stupidity of Calandrino, who was under no obligation whatever, in order to recover from the malady from which in his simplicity he believed himself to be suffering, to hold forth about the secret pleasures of his wife in public. But the story of Calandrino brings to mind a tale of a totally different sort, wherein one man’s cunning defeats the wisdom of another, to the latter’s extreme distress and embarrassment; and I should now like to tell you about it.
In Siena, not many years ago, there lived two young men, who had both come of age and were both called Cecco, the one being the son of Messer Angiulieri1 and the other of Messer Fortarrigo.2 And whilst they failed to see eye-to-eye with each other on several matters, there was one respect at least – namely, their hatred of their respective fathers3 – in which they were in such total agreement that they became good friends and were often to be found in one another’s company.
But Angiulieri, who was as handsome a man as he was courteous, feeling that he was leading a poor sort of life in Siena on the meagre allowance he was given by his father, and hearing that the new papal ambassador in the March of Ancona was a certain cardinal who was very well disposed towards him, resolved to make his way there in the belief that by doing this he would better his lot. And having spoken to his father on the subject, he came to an arrangement with him whereby he would receive six months’ allowance in advance, so that he could purchase new clothes and a good horse, and go there looking reasonably respectable.
No sooner did he begin to look round for someone to take with him as his servant than his plans reached the ears of Fortarrigo, who immediately called on Angiulieri and begged him with all the eloquence at his command to take him with him, saying that he would be willing to act as his servant, his valet, and his general factotum without requiring any other payment than his food and lodging. But Angiulieri refused his offer, not because he had the slightest doubt of his ability to perform these duties, but because Fortarrigo was an inveterate gambler and furthermore he occasionally got very drunk. Fortarrigo assured him that he would guard against both these weaknesses and swore repeatedly that he would keep his promise, to which he added such a torrent of entreaties that Angiulieri finally yielded and agreed to take him.
So early one morning they set forth together, reaching Buonconvento4 in time for breakfast. Since it was a very warm day, after breakfast Angiulieri asked the innkeeper to prepare a bed for him, and with Fortarrigo’s assistance he got undressed and lay down to rest, telling Fortarrigo to call him at the hour of nones.5
As soon as Angiulieri was asleep, Fortarrigo went straight to the tavern, where after a few drinks he started to gamble with one or two other people there, and within a short space of time he had lost every penny he possessed, along with every stitch of clothing he was wearing. Being anxious to recoup his losses, he made his way back in nothing but his shirt to the room where Angiulieri was resting, and, perceiving that he was fast asleep, took all the money from his purse and returned to the gaming-table, where he lost Angiulieri’s money as well.
On waking up, Angiulieri stepped out of bed, put on his clothes, and made inquiries about Fortarrigo. But as he was nowhere to be found, he assumed that he had lapsed into his former habits and fallen asleep somewhere or other in a drunken stupor. He therefore resolved to abandon him, and having caused his palfrey to be saddled and laden with his luggage, his intention being to procure another servant at Corsignano,6 he prepared to set off. But when he came to pay his bill, only to discover that he hadn’t a single penny in his purse, he made a terrible scene about it and the whole of the innkeeper’s household was thrown into turmoil, with Angiulieri claiming that he had been robbed on the premises and threatening to have them all arrested and taken to Siena under escort. At that very moment, however, Fortarrigo appeared on the scene in his shirt, having come to take away Angiulieri’s clothes as he had taken his money. And when he saw that Angiulieri was about to take to the road, he said:
‘What’s all this, Angiulieri? Do we have to go away already? Please stay a little longer.
I pawned my doublet for thirty-eight shillings, and the man who has it will be bringing it back here any moment. I’m certain he’ll let us have it for thirty-five if we pay him right away.’
A heated discussion then ensued, which was still in full spate when someone interrupted them and made it clear to Angiulieri that Fortarrigo was the person who had taken his money, by informing him exactly how much he had lost, whereupon Angiulieri very nearly threw a fit and would have killed Fortarrigo there and then but for the fact that his fear of the law was greater than his fear of God. So he showered him with abuse, and, threatening to have him hanged by the neck or to see that he was forbidden on pain of death to return to Siena, he mounted his horse.
Fortarrigo’s response to this torrent of vituperation was to behave as though it was being directed, not at himself, but at somebody else. And he said:
‘Come now, Angiulieri! We shan’t get anywhere by throwing these little tantrums. Let’s approach the matter sensibly: the fact is that we can have the doublet back for thirty-five shillings if we redeem it now, whereas if we wait for as much as a single day, he’ll insist on being paid the full thirty-eight, which is what he gave me for it. His only reason for making me this concession is that I wagered the money on his advice. Come on, now! Why should we turn down an opportunity to save three shillings?’
Angiulieri was now growing positively distraught, especially when he saw that he was being stared at suspiciously by all the people around him, who seemed to be under the impression, not that Fortarrigo had gambled away Angiulieri’s money, but that Angiulieri was still holding on to some of Fortarrigo’s.
‘What the hell do I care about your doublet?’ he yelled. ‘May you be hanged by the neck. Not only do you rob me and gamble away all my money, but you prevent me from leaving as well. And now you stand there making fun of me.’
The Decameron Page 93
