THE SEVENTH STORY
[Day the Third]
TEDALDO ELISEI, HAVING FALLEN OUT WITH HIS MISTRESS, DEPARTETH FLORENCE AND RETURNING THITHER, AFTER AWHILE, IN A PILGRIM'S FAVOUR, SPEAKETH WITH THE LADY AND MAKETH HER COGNISANT OF HER ERROR; AFTER WHICH HE DELIVERETH HER HUSBAND, WHO HAD BEEN CONVICTED OF MURDERING HIM, FROM DEATH AND RECONCILING HIM WITH HIS BRETHREN, THENCEFORWARD DISCREETLY ENJOYETH HIMSELF WITH HIS MISTRESS
Fiammetta being now silent, commended of all, the queen, to lose notime, forthright committed the burden of discourse to Emilia, whobegan thus: "It pleaseth me to return to our city, whence it pleasedthe last two speakers to depart, and to show you how a townsman ofours regained his lost mistress.
There was, then, in Florence a noble youth, whose name was TedaldoElisei and who, being beyond measure enamoured of a lady called MadamErmellina, the wife of one Aldobrandino Palermini, deserved for hispraiseworthy fashions, to enjoy his desire. However, Fortune, theenemy of the happy, denied him this solace, for that, whatever mighthave been the cause, the lady, after complying awhile with Tedaldo'swishes, suddenly altogether withdrew her good graces from him and notonly refused to hearken to any message of his, but would on no wisesee him; wherefore he fell into a dire and cruel melancholy; but hislove for her had been so hidden that none guessed it to be the causeof his chagrin. After he had in divers ways studied amain to recoverthe love himseemed he had lost without his fault and finding all hislabour vain, he resolved to withdraw from the world, that he might notafford her who was the cause of his ill the pleasure of seeing himpine away; wherefore, without saying aught to friend or kinsman, saveto a comrade of his, who knew all, he took such monies as he mightavail to have and departing secretly, came to Ancona, where, under thename of Filippo di Sanlodeccio, he made acquaintance with a richmerchant and taking service with him, accompanied him to Cyprus onboard a ship of his.
His manners and behaviour so pleased the merchant that he not onlyassigned him a good wage, but made him in part his associate and putinto his hands a great part of his affairs, which he ordered so welland so diligently that in a few years he himself became a rich andfamous and considerable merchant; and albeit, in the midst of thesehis dealings, he oft remembered him of his cruel mistress and wasgrievously tormented of love and yearned sore to look on her again,such was his constancy that seven years long he got the better of thebattle. But, chancing one day to hear sing in Cyprus a song thathimself had made aforetime and wherein was recounted the love he borehis mistress and she him and the pleasure he had of her, and thinkingit could not be she had forgotten him, he flamed up into such apassion of desire to see her again that, unable to endure longer, heresolved to return to Florence.
Accordingly, having set all his affairs in order, he betook himselfwith one only servant to Ancona and transporting all his good thither,despatched it to Florence to a friend of the Anconese his partner,whilst he himself, in the disguise of a pilgrim returning from theHoly Sepulchre, followed secretly after with his servant and coming toFlorence, put up at a little hostelry kept by two brothers, in theneighbourhood of his mistress's house, whereto he repaired first ofall, to see her, an he might. However, he found the windows and doorsand all else closed, wherefore his heart misgave him she was dead orhad removed thence and he betook himself, in great concern, to thehouse of his brethren, before which he saw four of the latter clad allin black. At this he marvelled exceedingly and knowing himself sochanged both in habit and person from that which he was used to be,whenas he departed thence, that he might not lightly be recognized, heboldly accosted a cordwainer hard by and asked him why they were cladin black; whereto he answered, 'Yonder men are clad in black for thatit is not yet a fortnight since a brother of theirs, who had not beenhere this great while, was murdered, and I understand they haveproved to the court that one Aldobrandino Palermini, who is in prison,slew him, for that he was a well-wisher of his wife and had returnedhither unknown to be with her.'
Tedaldo marvelled exceedingly that any one should so resemble him asto be taken for him and was grieved for Aldobrandino's ill fortune.Then, having learned that the lady was alive and well and it being nownight, he returned, full of various thoughts, to the inn and havingsupped with his servant, was put to sleep well nigh at the top of thehouse. There, what with the many thoughts that stirred him and thebadness of the bed and peradventure also by reason of the supper,which had been meagre, half the night passed whilst he had not yetbeen able to fall asleep; wherefore, being awake, himseemed aboutmidnight he heard folk come down into the house from the roof, andafter through the chinks of the chamber-door he saw a light come upthither. Thereupon he stole softly to the door and putting his eye tothe chink, fell a-spying what this might mean and saw a comely enoughlass who held the light, whilst three men, who had come down from theroof, made towards her; and after some greetings had passed betweenthem, one of them said to the girl, 'Henceforth, praised be God, wemay abide secure, since we know now for certain that the death ofTedaldo Elisei hath been proved by his brethren against AldobrandinoPalermini, who hath confessed thereto, and judgment is now recorded;nevertheless, it behoveth to keep strict silence, for that, should itever become known that it was we [who slew him], we shall be in thesame danger as is Aldobrandino.' Having thus bespoken the woman, whoshowed herself much rejoiced thereat, they left her and going below,betook themselves to bed.
Tedaldo, hearing this, fell a-considering how many and how great arethe errors which may befall the minds of men, bethinking him first ofhis brothers who had bewept and buried a stranger in his stead andafter of the innocent man accused on false suspicion and brought byuntrue witness to the point of death, no less than of the blindseverity of laws and rulers, who ofttimes, under cover of diligentinvestigation of the truth, cause, by their cruelties, prove thatwhich is false and style themselves ministers of justice and of God,whereas indeed they are executors of iniquity and of the devil; afterwhich he turned his thought to the deliverance of Aldobrandino anddetermined in himself what he should do. Accordingly, arising in themorning, he left his servant at the inn and betook himself alone,whenas it seemed to him time, to the house of his mistress, where,chancing to find the door open, he entered in and saw the lady seated,all full of tears and bitterness of soul, in a little ground floorroom that was there.
At this sight he was like to weep for compassion of her and drawingnear to her, said, 'Madam, afflict not yourself; your peace is athand.' The lady, hearing this, lifted her eyes and said, weeping,'Good man, thou seemest to me a stranger pilgrim; what knowest thou ofmy peace or of my affliction?' 'Madam,' answered Tedaldo, 'I am ofConstantinople and am but now come hither, being sent of God to turnyour tears into laughter and to deliver your husband from death.'Quoth she, 'An thou be of Constantinople and newly come hither, howknowest thou who I am or who is my husband?' Thereupon, the pilgrimbeginning from the beginning, recounted to her the whole history ofAldobrandino's troubles and told her who she was and how long she hadbeen married and other things which he very well knew of her affairs;whereat she marvelled exceedingly and holding him for a prophet, fellon her knees at his feet, beseeching him for God's sake, an he werecome for Aldobrandino's salvation, to despatch, for that the time wasshort.
The pilgrim, feigning himself a very holy man, said, 'Madam, arise andweep not, but hearken well to that which I shall say to you and takegood care never to tell it to any. According to that which God hathrevealed unto me, the tribulation wherein you now are hath betided youbecause of a sin committed by you aforetime, which God the Lord hathchosen in part to purge with this present annoy and will havealtogether amended of you; else will you fall into far greateraffliction.' 'Sir,' answered the lady, 'I have many sins and know notwhich one, more than another, God the Lord would have me amend;wherefore, an you know it, tell me and I will do what I may to amendit.' 'Madam,' rejoined the pilgrim, 'I know well enough what it is,nor do I question you thereof the better to know it, but to the intentthat, telling it yourself, you may
have the more remorse thereof. Butlet us come to the fact; tell me, do you remember, ever to have had alover?'
The lady, hearing this, heaved a deep sigh and marvelled sore,supposing none had ever known it, albeit, in the days when he wasslain who had been buried for Tedaldo, there had been some whisperingthereof, for certain words not very discreetly used by Tedaldo'sconfidant, who knew it; then answered, 'I see that God discoverethunto you all men's secrets, wherefore I am resolved not to hide mineown from you. True it is that in my youth I loved over all theill-fortuned youth whose death is laid to my husband's charge, whichdeath I have bewept as sore as it was grievous to me, for that, albeitI showed myself harsh and cruel to him before his departure, yetneither his long absence nor his unhappy death hath availed to tearhim from my heart.' Quoth the pilgrim, 'The hapless youth who is deadyou never loved, but Tedaldo Elisei ay.[176] But tell me, what was theoccasion of your falling out with him? Did he ever give you anyoffence?' 'Certes, no,' replied she; 'he never offended against me;the cause of the breach was the prate of an accursed friar, to whom Ionce confessed me and who, when I told him of the love I bore Tedaldoand the privacy I had with him, made such a racket about my ears thatI tremble yet to think of it, telling me that, an I desisted nottherefrom, I should go in the devil's mouth to the deepest deep ofhell and there be cast into everlasting fire; whereupon there enteredinto me such a fear that I altogether determined to forswear allfurther converse with him, and that I might have no occasiontherefor, I would no longer receive his letters or messages; albeit Ibelieve, had he persevered awhile, instead of getting him gone (as Ipresume) in despair, that, seeing him, as I did, waste away like snowin the sun, my harsh resolve would have yielded, for that I had nogreater desire in the world.'
[Footnote 176: _i.e._ It was not the dead man, but Tedaldo Elisei whomyou loved. (_Lo sventurato giovane che fu morto non amasti voi mai, maTedaldo Elisei si._)]
'Madam,' rejoined the pilgrim, 'it is this sin alone that nowafflicteth you. I know for certain that Tedaldo did you no manner ofviolence; whenas you fell in love with him, you did it of your ownfree will, for that he pleased you; and as you yourself would have it,he came to you and enjoyed your privacy, wherein both with words anddeeds you showed him such complaisance that, if he loved you before,you caused his love redouble a thousandfold. And this being so (as Iknow it was) what cause should have availed to move you so harshly towithdraw yourself from him? These things should be pondered awhilebeforehand and if you think you may presently have cause to repentthereof, as of ill doing, you ought not to do them. You might, at yourpleasure, have ordained of him, as of that which belonged to you, thathe should no longer be yours; but to go about to deprive him ofyourself, you who were his, was a theft and an unseemly thing, whenasit was not his will. Now you must know that I am a friar and amtherefore well acquainted with all their usances; and if I speaksomewhat at large of them for your profit, it is not forbidden me, asit were to another; nay, and it pleaseth me to speak of them, so youmay henceforward know them better than you appear to have done in thepast.
Friars of old were very pious and worthy men, but those who nowadaysstyle themselves friars and would be held such have nothing of themonk but the gown; nor is this latter even that of a true friar, forthat,--whereas of the founders of the monastic orders they[177] wereordained strait and poor and of coarse stuff and demonstrative[178] ofthe spirit of the wearers, who testified that they held thingstemporal in contempt whenas they wrapped their bodies in so mean ahabit,--those of our time have them made full and double and glossyand of the finest cloth and have brought them to a quaint pontificalcut, insomuch that they think it no shame to flaunt it withalpeacock-wise, in the churches and public places, even as do the laitywith their apparel; and like as with the sweep-net the fisher goethabout to take many fishes in the river at one cast, even so these,wrapping themselves about with the amplest of skirts, study toentangle therein great store of prudish maids and widows and manyother silly women and men, and this is their chief concern over anyother exercise; wherefore, to speak more plainly, they have not thefriar's gown, but only the colours thereof.
[Footnote 177: _i.e._ friars' gowns. Boccaccio constantly uses thisirregular form of enallage, especially in dialogue.]
[Footnote 178: Or, as we should nowadays say, "typical."]
Moreover, whereas the ancients[179] desired the salvation of mankind,those of our day covet women and riches and turn their every thoughtto terrifying the minds of the foolish with clamours anddepicturements[180] and to making believe that sins may be purged withalmsdeeds and masses, to the intent that unto themselves (who, ofpoltroonery, not of devoutness, and that they may not sufferfatigue,[181] have, as a last resort, turned friars) one may bringbread, another send wine and a third give them a dole of money for thesouls of their departed friends. Certes, it is true that almsdeeds andprayers purge away sins; but, if those who give alms knew on whatmanner folks they bestow them, they would or keep them for themselvesor cast them before as many hogs. And for that these[182] know that,the fewer the possessors of a great treasure, the more they live atease, every one of them studieth with clamours and bugbears to detachothers from that whereof he would fain abide sole possessor. Theydecry lust in men, in order that, they who are chidden desisting fromwomen, the latter may be left to the chiders; they condemn usury andunjust gains, to the intent that, it being entrusted to them to makerestitution thereof, they may, with that which they declare must bringto perdition him who hath it, make wide their gowns and purchasebishopricks and other great benefices.
[Footnote 179: _i.e._ the founders of the monastic orders.]
[Footnote 180: Lit. pictures, paintings (_dipinture_), but evidentlyhere used in a tropical sense, Boccaccio's apparent meaning being thatthe hypocritical friars used to terrify their devotees by picturing tothem, in vivid colours, the horrors of the punishment reserved forsinners.]
[Footnote 181: _i.e._ may not have to labour for their living.]
[Footnote 182: _i.e._ the false friars.]
And when they are taken to task of these and many other unseemlythings that they do, they think that to answer, "Do as we say and notas we do," is a sufficient discharge of every grave burden, as if itwere possible for the sheep to be more constant and stouter to resisttemptation[183] than the shepherds. And how many there be of those towhom they make such a reply who apprehend it not after thefashion[184] in which they say it, the most part of them know. Themonks of our day would have you do as they say, to wit, fill theirpurses with money, trust your secrets to them, observe chastity,practise patience and forgiveness of injuries and keep yourselves fromevil speaking,--all things good, seemly and righteous; but why wouldthey have this? So they may do that, which if the laity did,themselves could not do. Who knoweth not that without money idlenessmay not endure? An thou expend thy monies in thy pleasures, the friarwill not be able to idle it in the monastery; an thou follow afterwomen, there will be no room for him, and except thou be patient or aforgiver of injuries, he will not dare to come to thy house to corruptthy family. But why should I hark back after every particular? Theycondemn themselves in the eyes of the understanding as often as theymake this excuse. An they believe not themselves able to abstain andlead a devout life, why do they not rather abide at home? Or, if theywill e'en give themselves unto this,[185] why do they not ensue thatother holy saying of the Gospel, "Christ began to do and toteach?"[186] Let them first do and after teach others. I have in mytime seen a thousand of them wooers, lovers and haunters, not of laywomen alone, but of nuns; ay, and of those that make the greatestoutcry in the pulpit. Shall we, then, follow after these who are thusfashioned? Whoso doth it doth that which he will, but God knoweth ifhe do wisely.
[Footnote 183: Lit. more of iron (_piu di ferro_).]
[Footnote 184: Sic (_per lo modo_); but _quaere_ not rather "in thesense."]
[Footnote 185: _i.e._ if they must enter upon this way of life, towit, that of the friar.]
[Footnote 186: The reference is apparent
ly to the opening verse of theActs of the Apostles, where Luke says, "The former treatise have Imade, O Theophilus, of all that Jesus began to do and to teach." Itneed hardly be remarked that the passage in question does not bear theinterpretation Boccaccio would put upon it.]
But, granted even we are to allow that which the friar who chid yousaid to you, to wit, that it is a grievous sin to break the marriagevow, is it not a far greater sin to rob a man and a greater yet toslay him or drive him into exile, to wander miserably about the world?Every one must allow this. For a woman to have converse with a man isa sin of nature; but to rob him or slay him or drive him into exileproceedeth from malignity of mind. That you robbed Tedaldo I havealready shown you, in despoiling him of yourself, who had become hisof your spontaneous will, and I say also that, so far as in you lay,you slew him, for that it was none of your fault,--showing yourself,as you did, hourly more cruel,--that he slew not himself with his ownhand; and the law willeth that whoso is the cause of the ill that isdone be held alike guilty with him who doth it. And that you were thecause of his exile and of his going wandering seven years about theworld cannot be denied. So that in whichever one of these three thingsaforesaid you have committed a far greater sin than in your conversewith him.
But, let us see; maybe Tedaldo deserved this usage? Certes, he didnot; you yourself have already confessed it, more by token that I knowhe loveth[187] you more than himself. No woman was ever so honoured,so exalted, so magnified over every other of her sex as were you byhim, whenas he found himself where he might fairly speak of you,without engendering suspicion. His every good, his every honour, hisevery liberty were all committed by him into your hands. Was he notnoble and young? Was he not handsome among all his townsmen? Was henot accomplished in such things as pertain unto young men? Was he notloved, cherished and well seen of every one? You will not say nay tothis either. Then how, at the bidding of a scurvy, envious numskull ofa friar, could you take such a cruel resolve against him? I know notwhat error is that of women who eschew men and hold them in littleesteem, whenas, considering what themselves are and what and how greatis the nobility, beyond every other animal, given of God to man, theyshould rather glory whenas they are loved of any and prize him overall and study with all diligence to please him, so he may never desistfrom loving them. This how you did, moved by the prate of a friar,who must for certain have been some broth-swilling pasty-gorger, youyourself know; and most like he had a mind to put himself in the placewhence he studied to expel others.
[Footnote 187: _Sic_; but the past tense "loved" is probably intended,as the pretended pilgrim had not yet discovered Tedaldo to be alive.]
This, then, is the sin that Divine justice, the which with a justbalance bringeth all its operations to effect, hath willed not toleave unpunished; and even as you without reason studied to withdrawyourself from Tedaldo, so on like wise hath your husband been and isyet, without reason, in peril for Tedaldo, and you in tribulation.Wherefrom an you would be delivered, that which it behoveth you topromise, and yet more to do, is this; that, should it ever chance thatTedaldo return hither from his long banishment, you will render himagain your favour, your love, your goodwill and your privacy andreinstate him in that condition wherein he was, ere you foolishlyhearkened to yonder crack-brained friar.'
The pilgrim having thus made an end of his discourse, the lady, whohad hearkened thereto with the utmost attention, for that hisarguments appeared to her most true and that, hearing him say, sheaccounted herself of a certainty afflicted for the sin of which hespoke, said, 'Friend of God, I know full well that the things youallege are true, and in great part by your showing do I perceive whatmanner of folk are these friars, whom till now I have held all saints.Moreover, I acknowledge my default without doubt to have been great inthat which I wrought against Tedaldo; and an I might, I would gladlyamend it on such wise as you have said; but how may this be done?Tedaldo can never more return hither; he is dead; wherefore I know notwhy it should behove me promise that which may not be performed.''Madam,' replied the pilgrim, 'according to that which God hathrevealed unto me, Tedaldo is nowise dead, but alive and well and ingood case, so but he had your favour.' Quoth the lady, 'Look what yousay; I saw him dead before my door of several knife-thrusts and hadhim in these arms and bathed his dead face with many tears, the whichit may be gave occasion for that which hath been spoken thereofunseemly.' 'Madam,' replied the pilgrim, 'whatever you may say, Icertify you that Tedaldo is alive, and if you will e'en promise methat [which I ask,] with intent to fulfil your promise, I hope youshall soon see him.' Quoth she, 'That do I promise and will gladlyperform; nor could aught betide that would afford me such content asto see my husband free and unharmed and Tedaldo alive.'
Thereupon it seemed to Tedaldo time to discover himself and to comfortthe lady with more certain hope of her husband, and accordingly hesaid, 'Madam, in order that I may comfort you for your husband, itbehoveth me reveal to you a secret, which look you discover not untoany, as you value your life.' Now they were in a very retired placeand alone, the lady having conceived the utmost confidence of thesanctity which herseemed was in the pilgrim; wherefore Tedaldo,pulling out a ring, which she had given him the last night he had beenwith her and which he had kept with the utmost diligence, and showingit to her, said, 'Madam, know you this?' As soon as she saw it, sherecognized it and answered, 'Ay, sir; I gave it to Tedaldo aforetime.'Whereupon the pilgrim, rising to his feet, hastily cast off hispalmer's gown and hat and speaking Florence-fashion, said, 'And knowyou me?'
When the lady saw this, she knew him to be Tedaldo and was all aghast,fearing him as one feareth the dead, an they be seen after death to goas if alive; wherefore she made not towards him to welcome him asTedaldo returned from Cyprus, but would have fled from him inaffright, as he were Tedaldo come back from the tomb. Whereupon,'Madam,' quoth he, 'fear not; I am your Tedaldo, alive and well, andhave never died nor been slain, whatsoever you and my brothers maybelieve.' The lady, somewhat reassured and knowing his voice,considered him awhile longer and avouched in herself that he wascertainly Tedaldo; wherefore she threw herself, weeping, on his neckand kissed him, saying, 'Welcome back, sweet my Tedaldo.'
Tedaldo, having kissed and embraced her, said, 'Madam, it is no timenow for closer greetings; I must e'en go take order that Aldobrandinomay be restored to you safe and sound; whereof I hope that, ereto-morrow come eventide, you shall hear news that will please you;nay, if, as I expect, I have good news of his safety, I trust thisnight to be able to come to you and report them to you at more leisurethan I can at this present.' Then, donning his gown and hat again, hekissed the lady once more and bidding her be of good hope, took leaveof her and repaired whereas Aldobrandino lay in prison, occupied morewith fear of imminent death than with hopes of deliverance to come.Tedaldo, with the gaoler's consent, went in to him, in the guise of aghostly comforter, and seating himself by his side, said to him,'Aldobrandino, I am a friend of thine, sent thee for thy deliveranceby God, who hath taken pity on thee because of thine innocence;wherefore, if, in reverence to Him, thou wilt grant me a little boonthat I shall ask of thee, thou shalt without fail, ere to-morrow benight, whereas thou lookest for sentence of death, hear that of thineacquittance.'
'Honest man,' replied the prisoner, 'since thou art solicitous of mydeliverance, albeit I know thee not nor mind me ever to have seenthee, needs must thou be a friend, as thou sayst. In truth, the sin,for which they say I am to be doomed to death, I never committed;though others enough have I committed aforetime, which, it may be,have brought me to this pass. But this I say to thee, of reverence toGod; an He presently have compassion on me, I will not only promise,but gladly do any thing, however great, to say nothing of a littleone; wherefore ask that which pleaseth thee, for without fail, if itcome to pass that I escape with life, I will punctually perform it.'Then said the pilgrim, 'What I would have of thee is that thou pardonTedaldo's four brothers the having brought thee to this pass,believing thee guilty of their brother's death, and have them againfor br
ethren and for friends, whenas they crave thee pardon thereof.'Whereto quoth Aldobrandino, 'None knoweth but he who hath suffered theaffront how sweet a thing is vengeance and with what ardour it isdesired; nevertheless, so God may apply Himself to my deliverance, Iwill freely pardon them; nay, I pardon them now, and if I come offhence alive and escape, I will in this hold such course as shall beto thy liking.'
This pleased the pilgrim and without concerning himself to say more tohim, he exhorted him to be of good heart, for that, ere the ensuingday came to an end, he should without fail hear very certain news ofhis safety. Then, taking leave of him, he repaired to the Seignory andsaid privily to a gentleman who was in session there, 'My lord, everyone should gladly labour to bring to light the truth of things, andespecially those who hold such a room as this of yours, to the endthat those may not suffer the penalty who have not committed the crimeand that the guilty may be punished; that which may be brought about,to your honour and the bane of those who have merited it, I am comehither to you. As you know, you have rigorously proceeded againstAldobrandino Palermini and thinking you have found for truth that itwas he who slew Tedaldo Elisei, are minded to condemn him; but this ismost certainly false, as I doubt not to show you, ere midnight betide,by giving into your hands the murderers of the young man in question.'
The worthy gentleman, who was in concern for Aldobrandino, willinglygave ear to the pilgrim's words and having conferred at large with himupon the matter, on his information, took the two innkeeper brothersand their servant, without resistance, in their first sleep. He wouldhave put them to the question, to discover how the case stood; butthey brooked it not and each first for himself, and after alltogether, openly confessed that it was they who had slain TedaldoElisei, knowing him not. Being questioned of the case, they said [thatit was] for that he had given the wife of one of them sore annoy, whatwhile they were abroad, and would fain have enforced her to do hiswill.
The pilgrim, having heard this, with the magistrate's consent took hisleave and repairing privily to the house of Madam Ermellina, found heralone and awaiting him, (all else in the house being gone to sleep,)alike desirous of having good news of her husband and of fullyreconciling herself with her Tedaldo. He accosted her with a joyfulcountenance and said, 'Dearest lady mine, be of good cheer, forto-morrow thou shalt certainly have thine Aldobrandino here again safeand sound'; and to give her more entire assurance thereof, he fullyrecounted to her that which he had done. Whereupon she, glad as everwoman was of two so sudden and so happy chances, to wit, the havingher lover alive again, whom she verily believed to have bewept dead,and the seeing Aldobrandino free from peril, whose death she lookedere many days to have to mourn, affectionately embraced and kissedTedaldo; then, getting them to bed together, with one accord they madea glad and gracious peace, taking delight and joyance one of theother. Whenas the day drew near, Tedaldo arose, after showing the ladythat which he purposed to do and praying her anew to keep it a closesecret, and went forth, even in his pilgrim's habit, to attend, whenasit should be time, to Aldobrandino's affairs. The day come, itappearing to the Seignory that they had full information of thematter, they straightway discharged Aldobrandino and a few days afterlet strike off the murderers' heads whereas they had committed thecrime.
Aldobrandino being now, to the great joy of himself and his wife andof all his friends and kinsfolk, free and manifestly acknowledgingthat he owed his deliverance to the good offices of the pilgrim,carried the latter to his house for such time as it pleased him tosojourn in the city; and there they could not sate themselves of doinghim honour and worship, especially the lady, who knew with whom shehad to do. After awhile, deeming it time to bring his brothers to anaccord with Aldobrandino and knowing that they were not only put toshame by the latter's acquittance, but went armed for fear [of hisresentment,] he demanded of his host the fulfilment of his promise.Aldobrandino freely answered that he was ready, whereupon the pilgrimcaused him prepare against the morrow a goodly banquet, whereat hetold him he would have him and his kinsmen and kinswomen entertain thefour brothers and their ladies, adding that he himself would goincontinent and bid the latter on his part to peace and his banquet.Aldobrandino consenting to all that liked the pilgrim, the latterforthright betook himself to the four brothers and plying them withstore of such words as behoved unto the matter, in fine, withirrepugnable arguments, brought them easily enough to consent toregain Aldobrandino's friendship by asking pardon; which done, heinvited them and their ladies to dinner with Aldobrandino nextmorning, and they, being certified of his good faith, frankly acceptedthe invitation.
Accordingly, on the morrow, towards dinner-time, Tedaldo's fourbrothers, clad all in black as they were, came, with sundry of theirfriends, to the house of Aldobrandino, who stayed for them, and there,in the presence of all who had been bidden of him to bear themcompany, cast down their arms and committed themselves to his mercy,craving forgiveness of that which they had wrought against him.Aldobrandino, weeping, received them affectionately, and kissing themall on the mouth, despatched the matter in a few words, remitting untothem every injury received. After them came their wives and sisters,clad all in sad-coloured raiment, and were graciously received byMadam Ermellina and the other ladies. Then were all, ladies and menalike, magnificently entertained at the banquet, nor was there aughtin the entertainment other than commendable, except it were thetaciturnity occasioned by the yet fresh sorrow expressed in the sombreraiment of Tedaldo's kinsfolk. Now on this account the pilgrim'sdevice of the banquet had been blamed of some and he had observed it;wherefore, the time being come to do away with the constraintaforesaid, he rose to his feet, according as he had foreordained inhimself, what while the rest still ate of the fruits, and said,'Nothing hath lacked to this entertainment that should make it joyful,save only Tedaldo himself; whom (since having had him continually withyou, you have not known him) I will e'en discover to you.'
So saying, he cast off his palmer's gown and all other his pilgrim'sweeds and abiding in a jerkin of green sendal, was with no littleamazement, long eyed and considered of all, ere any would venture tobelieve it was indeed he. Tedaldo, seeing this, recounted manyparticulars of the relations and things betided between them, as wellas of his own adventures; whereupon his brethren and the othergentlemen present ran all to embrace him, with eyes full of joyfultears, as after did the ladies on like wise, as well strangers askinswomen, except only Madam Ermellina. Which Aldobrandino seeing,'What is this, Ermellina?' quoth he. 'Why dost thou not welcomeTedaldo, as do the other ladies?' Whereto she answered, in the hearingof all, 'There is none who had more gladly welcomed and would yetwelcome him than myself, who am more beholden to him than any otherwoman, seeing that by his means I have gotten thee again; but theunseemly words spoken in the days when we mourned him whom we deemedTedaldo made me refrain therefrom.' Quoth her husband, 'Go to;thinkest thou I believe in the howlers?[188] He hath right well showntheir prate to be false by procuring my deliverance; more by tokenthat I never believed it. Quick, rise and go and embrace him.'
[Footnote 188: Lit. barkers (_abbajatori_), _i.e._ slanderers.]
The lady, who desired nothing better, was not slow to obey her husbandin this and accordingly, arising, embraced Tedaldo, as the otherladies had done, and gave him joyous welcome. This liberality ofAldobrandino was mighty pleasing to Tedaldo's brothers and to everyman and woman there, and thereby all suspect[189] that had beenaroused in the minds of some by the words aforesaid was done away.Then, every one having given Tedaldo joy, he with his own hands rentthe black clothes on his brothers' backs and the sad-coloured on thoseof his sisters and kinswomen and would have them send after otherapparel, which whenas they had donned, they gave themselves to singingand dancing and other diversions galore; wherefore the banquet, whichhad had a silent beginning had a loud-resounding ending. Thereafter,with the utmost mirth, they one and all repaired, even as they were,to Tedaldo's house, where they supped that night, and on this wisethey continued to feast several days longer.
; [Footnote 189: Lit. despite, rancour (_rugginuzza_), but the phraseappears to refer to the suspicions excited by the whispers that hadbeen current, as above mentioned, of the connection between Ermellinaand Tedaldo.]
The Florentines awhile regarded Tedaldo with amazement, as a man risenfrom the dead; nay, in many an one's mind, and even in that of hisbrethren, there abode a certain faint doubt an he were indeed himselfand they did not yet thoroughly believe it, nor belike had theybelieved it for a long time to come but for a chance which made themclear who the murdered man was which was on this wise. There passedone day before their house certain footmen[190] of Lunigiana, who,seeing Tedaldo, made towards him and said, 'Give you good day,Faziuolo.' Whereto Tedaldo in his brothers' presence answered, 'Youmistake me.' The others, hearing him speak, were abashed and cried himpardon, saying, 'Forsooth you resemble, more than ever we saw one manfavour another, a comrade of ours called Faziuolo of Pontremoli, whocame hither some fortnight or more agone, nor could we ever sincelearn what is come of him. Indeed, we marvelled at the dress, for thathe was a soldier, even as we are.' Tedaldo's elder brother, hearingthis, came forward and enquired how this Faziuolo had been clad. Theytold him and it was found to have been punctually as they said;wherefore, what with these and what with other tokens, it was knownfor certain that he who had been slain was Faziuolo and not Tedaldo,and all doubt of the latter[191] accordingly departed [the minds of]his brothers and of every other. Tedaldo, then, being returned veryrich, persevered in his love and the lady falling out with him nomore, they long, discreetly dealing, had enjoyment of their love. Godgrant us to enjoy ours!"
[Footnote 190: _i.e._ foot-soldiers.]
[Footnote 191: _i.e._ of his identity.]
The Decameron of Giovanni Boccaccio Page 32
