No More Learning

"
But the ecstatic dancer paused not nor rested in her incredi-
ble exertions; the excited girls alternately told their beads and
then joined in the dance again, while the gray-haired mother,
kneeling on the marble pediment of what might have been the
fragment of a temple of Bacchus, lifted her hands in prayer to
a little shrine of the Madonna, placed there, strangely enough,
amidst the relics of paganism.
All of a sudden, however, a horrific blaze, emitted from a
huge focus of intolerable light, set the whole heavens aflame.
As from a fresh-created baleful sun, blue and livid and golden-
colored lightnings were shivered from it on all sides; dull, how-
ever, in comparison to the central ball, which, bursting instan-
taneously, bathed the sky, earth, and air in one insufferable glare
of phosphorescent light. The deadly blue flame lit up every-
thing with a livid brightness unknown to day.
Walls and faded wall-paintings, limbs of decapitated god-
desses gleaming white through the grass and rioting weeds, tot-
tering columns, arches, and vaults, and deserted galleries receding
in endless perspective, leaped out lifelike on a background of
night and storm.
With piercing shrieks the horrified maidens scattered and fled
to the remotest corner of the ruin, where they fell prone on their
faces, quivering in a heap. In a voice strangled by fear, the
kneeling mother called for protection on the Virgin and all the
saints! The violin dropped from my nerveless grasp, and at
the self-same moment the beautiful dancer, like one struck by a
bullet, tottered and dropped to the ground, where she lay with-
out sense or motion.
At that instant a clap of thunder so awful, so heaven-rend-
ing, rattled overhead, so roared and banged and clattered among
the clouds, that I thought the shadowy ruin, tottering and rock-
ing with the shock, would come crashing about us and bury us
under its remains.
But as the thunder rolled on farther and farther, seemingly
rebounding from cloud to cloud, I recovered my self-possession,
and in mortal fear rushed to the side of the prostrate girl. I
was trembling all over like a coward as I bent down to examine
her. Had the lightning struck her when she fell so abruptly to
the ground? Had life forever forsaken that magnificent form,


## p. 2086 (#280) ###########################################

2086
MATHILDE BLIND
those divinest limbs? Would those heavy eyelashes never again
be raised from those dazzling eyes? Breathlessly I moved aside
the dusky hair covering her like a pall. Breathlessly I placed
my hand on her heart; a strange shiver and spark quivered
through it to my heart. Yet she was chill as ice and motionless
as a stone. "She is dead, she is dead! " I moaned; and the
pang for one I had never known exceeded everything I had felt
in my life.
"You mistake, signor," some one said close beside me; and
on looking up I saw the mother intently gazing down on her
senseless child. "My Tolla is not hurt," she cried: "she only fell
when you left off playing the tarantella; she will arise as soon as
you go on. ”
Pointing to the lightning still flickering and darting overhead,
I cried, "But you are risking your lives for some fantastic whim,
some wild superstition of yours. You are mad to brave such a
storm! You expose your child to undoubted peril that you may
ward off some illusory evil. Let me bear her to the inn, and
follow me thither. " And I was going to lift the senseless form
in my arms when the woman sternly prevented me.
In vain I argued, pleaded, reasoned with her. She only shook
her head and cried piteously, "Give her music, for the love of
the dear Madonna! " And the girls, who by this time had
plucked up courage and gathered round us, echoed as with one.
voice, "Musica! Musica! "
What was I to do? I could not drag them away by force,
and certainly, for aught I knew, she might have been in equal
danger from the poison or the storm, wherever we were.
As for
peril to myself, I cared not. I was in a devil of a mood, and all
the pent-up bitter passion of my soul seemed to find a vent and
safety-valve in that stupendous commotion of the elements.
So I searched for my instrument on the ground, and now
noticed, to my astonishment, that although the storm had swept
away from us, the whole ruin was nevertheless brightly illu
minated. On looking up I saw the topmost branches of a solitary
stone-pine one dazzle of flames. Rising straight on high from a
gap in the wall which its roots had shattered, it looked a colos-
sal chandelier on which the lightning had kindled a thousand
tapers. There was not a breath of air, not a drop of rain, so
that the flames burned clear and steady as under cover of a
mighty dome.


## p. 2087 (#281) ###########################################

MATHILDE BLIND
2087
•
By this brilliant light, by which every object, from a human
form to a marble acanthus leaf, cast sharp-edged shadows, I soon
discovered my violin on a tangle of flowering clematis, and began
tuning its strings.
No sooner had I struck into the same lively tune, than the
strange being rose again as by magic, and, slowly opening her
intoxicating eyes, began swaying herself to and fro with the
same graceful gestures and movements that I had already
observed.
Thus I played all through the night, long after the rear-guard
of the thunder-storm had disappeared below the opposite horizon
whence it first arose― played indefatigably on and on like a man
possessed, and still, by the torch of the burning pine, I saw the
beautiful mænad-like figure whirling to and fro with miraculous
endurance. Now and then, through the deep silence, I heard a
scarred pine-bough come crackling to the earth; now and then I
heard the lowing of the stabled cattle in some distant part of
the ruin; once and again, smiting like a cry, I heard one string
snapping after another under my pitiless hands.
Still I played on, though a misty quiver of sparks was dan-
cing about my eyes, till the fallow-tinted dawn gleamed faintly
in the east.
At last, at last, a change stole over the form and features
of the indefatigable dancer. Her companions, overcome with
fatigue, had long ago sunk to the ground, where, with their little
ruffled heads resting on any bit of marble, they lay sleeping
calmly like little children. Only the mother still watched and
prayed for her child, the unnatural tension of whose nerves and
muscles now seemed visibly to relax; for the mad light of ex-
altation in her eyes veiled itself in softness, her feet moved
more and more slowly, and her arms, which had heretofore been
in constant motion, dropped languidly to her side. I too relaxed
in my tempo, and the thrilling, vivacious tune melted away in a
dying strain.
At the expiring notes, when I had but one string left, her
tired eyes closed as in gentlest sleep, a smile hovered about her
lips, her head sank heavily forward on her bosom, and she would
have fallen had not her mother received the swooning form into
her outstretched arms.
At the same moment my last string snapped, a swarming
darkness clouded my sight, the violin fell from my wet, burning


## p. 2088 (#282) ###########################################

2088
MATHILDE BLIND
hands, and I reeled back, faint and dizzy, when I felt soft arms
embracing me, and somebody sobbed and laughed, "You have
saved her, Maestro; praise be to God and all His saints in
heaven! May the Madonna bless you forever and ever—»
I heard no more, but fell into a death-like swoon.
"O MOON, LARGE GOLDEN SUMMER MOON! »
MOON, large golden summer moon,
O
Hanging between the linden trees,
Which in the intermittent breeze
Beat with the rhythmic pulse of June!
O night-air, scented through and through
With honey-colored flower of lime,
Sweet now as in that other time
When all my heart was sweet as you!
The sorcery of this breathing bloom
Works like enchantment in my brain,
Till, shuddering back to life again,
My dead self rises from its tomb.
And lovely with the love of yore,
Its white ghost haunts the moon-white ways;
But when it meets me face to face,
Flies trembling to the grave once more.
GREEN LEAVES AND SERE
THR
HREE tall poplars beside the pool
Shiver and moan in the gusty blast;
The carded clouds are blown like wool,
And the yellowing leaves fly thick and fast.
The leaves, now driven before the blast,
Now flung by fits on the curdling pool,
Are tossed heaven-high and dropped at last
As if at the whim of a jabbering fool.
O leaves, once rustling green and cool!
Two met here where one moans aghast
With wild heart heaving towards the past:
Three tall poplars beside the pool.


## p. 2088 (#283) ###########################################



## p. 2088 (#284) ###########################################


BOCCACCIO.


## p. 2088 (#285) ###########################################

2680
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common speech by any parafiel of fokoty
And Boccaccio tou wrote poetry of no
bly because he was part of an age when verse had best
wal form of culture, and all who could write caught
versification. --a babit easier to fal into 'n It. Han than 1.
Jung wge.
But while the consecration of time nas bern
(6 minerte
and the Convito passes into the shadow and r
of lesser things, so the many verses of Boccaccio are overlook.
his greatest pse work, the Decameror,' is that
fane is mostly bound up.
with whitt
Born in 1313, at seven years of age he showed signs of a literary
fully, and his father, a merchant of Florence, put bin to school


## p. 2088 (#286) ###########################################

BOCCACS 9.
"


## p. 2089 (#287) ###########################################

2089
GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO
(1313-1375)
BY W. J. STILLMAN
T HAS been justly observed, and confirmed by all that we
know of the early history of literature, that the first forms
of it were in verse. This is in accordance with a principle
which is stated by Herbert Spencer on a different but related theme,
that "Ornament was before dress," the artistic instincts underlying
and preceding the utilitarian preoccupations. History indeed was first
poetry, as we had Homer before Thucydides, and as in all countries
the traditions of the past take the form of metrical, and generally
musical, recitation. An excellent and polished school of prose writers
is the product of a tendency in national life of later origin than that
which calls out the bards and ballad-singers, and is proof of a more
advanced culture. The Renaissance in Italy was but the resumption
of a life long suspended, and the succession of the phenomena in
which was therefore far more rapid than was possible in a nation
which had to trace the path without any survivals of a prior awaken-
ing; and while centuries necessarily intervened between Homer and
the "Father of History," a generation sufficed between Dante and
Boccaccio, for Italian literature had only to throw off the leaden garb
of Latin form to find its new dress in the vernacular. Dante cer-
tainly wrote Italian prose, but he was more at ease in verse; and
while the latter provoked in him an abundance of those happy phrases
which seem to have been born with the thought they express, and
which pass into the familiar stock of imagery of all later time, the
prose of the 'Convito' and the Vita Nuova' hardly ever recalls itself
in common speech by any parallel of felicity.
And Boccaccio too wrote poetry of no ignoble type, but proba-
bly because he was part of an age when verse had become the habit-
ual form of culture, and all who could write caught the habit of
versification,— —a habit easier to fall into in Italian than in any other
language. But while the consecration of time has been given to the
'Commedia,' and the 'Convito' passes into the shadow and perspective
of lesser things, so the many verses of Boccaccio are overlooked, and
his greatest prose work, the 'Decameron,' is that with which his
fame is mostly bound up.
Born in 1313, at seven years of age he showed signs of a literary
facility, and his father, a merchant of Florence, put him to school


## p. 2090 (#288) ###########################################

GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO
2090
with a reputable grammarian; but afterward, deciding to devote him.
to merchandise, sent him to study arithmetic,- restive and profitless
in which, he was sent to study canon law, and finding his level no
better there, went back to traffic and to Naples in his father's busi-
ness when he was about twenty. The story runs that the sight of
the tomb of Virgil turned his thoughts to poetry; but this confusion
of the post hoc with the propter hoc is too common in remote and
romantic legend to value much. The presence of Petrarch in the
court of Robert, King of Naples, is far more likely to have been the
kindling of his genius to its subsequent activity: and the passion he
acquired while there for the illegitimate daughter of the King, Maria,—
the Fiammetta of his later life,-furnished the fuel for its burning;
his first work, the 'Filocopo,' being written as an offering to her.
It is a prose love story, mixed with mythological allusions,— after
the fashion of the day, which thought more of the classics than of
nature; and like all his earlier works, prolix and pedantic.
The Theseide,' a purely classic theme, the war of Theseus with
the Amazons, is in verse; and was followed by the 'Ameto,' or
'Florentine Nymphs,' a story of the loves of Ameto, a rustic swain,
with one of the nymphs of the valley of the Affrico, a stream which
flows into the Arno not far from where the poet was born, or where
at least he passed his youth; and to which valley he seems always
greatly attached, putting there the scene of most of his work, in-
cluding the 'Decameron. ' 'Ameto' is a mythological fiction, in
which the characters mingle recitations of verse with the prose nar-
ration, and in which the gods of Greece and Rome masque in the
familiar scenes. Following these came the Amorosa Visione,' and
'Filostrato,' in verse; Fiammetta,' in prose, being the imaginary
complaint of his beloved at their separation; 'Nimfale Fiesolano,' in
verse, the scene also laid on the Affrico; and then the 'Decameron,'
begun in 1348 and finished in 1353, after which he seems to have
gradually acquired a disgust for the world he had lived in as he had
known it, and turned to more serious studies. He wrote a life of
Dante, 'Il Corbaccio,' a piece of satirical savagery, the 'Genealogy
of the Gods,' and various minor works; and spent much of his
time in intercourse with Petrarch, whose conversation and influence
were of a different character from that of his earlier life.
Boccaccio died at Certaldo in the Val d'Elsa, December 2d, 1375.
Of the numerous works he left, that by which his fame as a writer
is established is beyond any question the 'Decameron,' or Ten Days'
Entertainment; in which a merry company of gentlemen and ladies,
appalled by the plague raging in their Florence, take refuge in the
villas near the city, and pass their time in story-telling and rambles
in the beautiful country around, only returning when the plague


## p. 2091 (#289) ###########################################

GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO
2091
has to a great extent abated. The superiority of the 'Decameron'
is not only in the polish and grace of its style, the first complete
departure from the stilted classicism of contemporary narrative, the
happy naturalness of good story-telling,—but in the conception of
the work as a whole, and the marvelous imagination of the filling-in
between the framework of the story of the plague by the hundred
tales from all lands and times, with the fine thread of the narrative
of the day-by-day doings of the merry and gracious company, their
wanderings, the exquisite painting of the Tuscan landscape (in which
one recognizes the Val d'Arno even to-day), and the delicate drawing
of their various characters. It is only when all these elements have
been taken into consideration, and the unity wrought through such
a maze of interest and mass of material without ever becoming dull
or being driven to repetition, that we understand the power of Boc-
caccio as an artist.
-
We must take the ten days' holiday as it is painted: a gay and
entrancing record of a fortunate and brilliant summer vacation, every
one of its hundred pictures united with the rest by a delicate tracery
of flowers and landscape, with bird-songs and laughter, bits of tender
and chaste by-play- for there were recognized lovers in the com-
pany; and when this is conceived in its entirety, we must set it in
the massive frame of terrible gloom of the great plague, through
which Boccaccio makes us look at his picture. And then the frame
itself becomes a picture; and its ghastly horror-the apparent fidelity
of the descriptions, which makes one feel as if he had before him
the evidence of an eye-witness-gives a measure of the power of
the artist and the range of his imagination, from an earthly inferno
to an earthly paradise, such as even the Commedia does not give
us. In this stupendous ensemble, the individual tales become mere
details, filling in of the space or time; and, taken out of it, the whole
falls into a mere story-book, in which the only charm is the polish
of the parts, the shine of the fragments that made the mosaic. The
tales came from all quarters, and only needed to be amusing or
interesting enough to make one suppose that they had been listened
to with pleasure: stories from the 'Gesta Romanorum,' the mediæval
chronicles, or any gossip of the past or present, just to make a
whole; the criticism one might pass on them, I imagine, never gave
Boccaccio a thought, only the way they were placed being important.
The elaborate preparation for the story-telling; the grouping of them
as a whole, in contrast with the greater story he put as their con-
trast and foil; the solemn gloom, the deep chiaroscuro of this framing,
painted like a miniature; the artful way in which he prepares for his
lieta brigata the way out of the charnel-house: these are the real
'Decameron. ' The author presents it in a prelude which has for its


## p. 2092 (#290) ###########################################

GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO
2092
scope only to give the air of reality to the whole, as if not only the
plague, but the 'Decameron,' had been history; and the proof of his
perfect success is in the fact that for centuries the world has been
trying to identify the villas where the merry men and maidens met,
as if they really had met.
"Whenever, most gracious ladies, I reflect how pitiful you all are by
nature, I recognize that this work will in your opinion have a sad and
repulsive beginning, as the painful memory of the pestilence gone by, fraught
with loss to all who saw or knew of it, and which memory the work will bear
on its front. But I would not that for this you read no further, through
fear that your reading should be always through sighs and tears.
This
frightful beginning I prepare for you as for travelers a rough and steep
mountain, beyond which lies a most beautiful and delightful plain, by so
much the more pleasurable as the difficulty of the ascent and passage of
the mountain had been great. And as the extreme of pleasure touches pain,
so suffering is effaced by a joy succeeding. To this brief vexation (I call it
brief, as contained in few words) follow closely the sweets and pleasures I
have promised, and which would not be hoped for from such a beginning if
it were not foretold. And to tell the truth, if I had been able frankly to
bring you where I wished by other way han this rough one, I had willingly
done so; but because I could not, without these recollections, show what was
the occasion of the incidents of which you will read, I was obliged to write
of them. »
The elaborate description of the plague which follows, shows not
only Boccaccio's inventive power,-as being, like that of Defoe of
the plague of London (which is a curious parallel to this) altogether
imaginary, since the writer was at Naples during the whole period
of the pestilence,- but also that it was a part indispensable of the
entire scheme, and described with all its ghastly minuteness simply
to enhance the value of his sunshine and merriment. He was in
Naples from 1345 until 1350, without any other indication of a visit
to Florence than a chronological table of his life, in which occurs
this item:"1348, departs in the direction of Tuscany with Louis of
Taranto:" as if either a prince on his travels would take the plague
in the course of them, or a man so closely interested in the events
of the time at Naples, and in the height of his passion for Fiam-
metta, the separation from whom he had hardly endured when
earlier (1345) he was separated from her by his duty to his aged
father, would have chosen the year of the pestilence, when every
one who could, fled Florence, to return there; and we find him in
May, 1349, in Naples, in the full sunshine of Fiammetta's favor, and
remaining there until his father's death in 1350.
There is indeed in Boccaccio's description of the plague that which
convicts it of pure invention, quickened by details gathered from


## p. 2093 (#291) ###########################################

GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO
2093
eye-witnesses, the very minuteness of the description in certain
points not in accord with the character of the disease, as when he nar-
rates that the hogs rooting in the garments of the dead thrown out
into the streets "presently, as if they had taken poison, after a few
dizzy turns, fell dead"; and this, which he says he saw with his own
eyes, is the only incident of which he makes this declaration (the
incident on which the unity of his work hinges, the meeting of the
merry troupe in the church of S. Maria Novella, being recorded on
the information of a person "worthy of belief"). Nor does he in his
own person intrude anywhere in the story; so that this bit of intense
realization thrown into the near foreground of his picture, as it were
by chance, and without meaning, yet certified by his own signature,
is the point at which he gets touch of his reader and convinces him
of actuality throughout the romance.
And to my mind this opening chapter, with all its horrors and
charnel-house realization, its slight and suggestive delineation of
character, all grace and beauty springing out of the chaos and social
dissolution, is not only the best part of the work, but the best of
Boccaccio's. The well-spun golden cord on which the "Novelle » are
strung is ornamented, as it were, at the divisions of the days by little
cameos of crafty design; but the opening, the portico of this hundred-
chambered palace of art, has its own proportions and design, and
may be taken and studied alone. Nothing can, it seems to me,
better convey the idea of the death-stricken city, "the surpassing
city of Florence, beyond every other in Italy most beautiful," a
touch to enhance the depth of his shade, than the way he brings
out in broad traits the greatness of the doom: setting in the heavens
that consuming sun; the paralysis of the panic; the avarice of men
not daunted by death; the helplessness of all flesh before-
―
"the just wrath of God for our correction sent upon men; for healing of
such maladies neither counsel of physician nor virtue of any medicine what-
ever seemed to avail or have any effect-even as if nature could not endure
this suffering or the ignorance of the medical attendants (of whom, besides
regular physicians, there was a very great number, both men and women,
who had never had any medical education whatever), who could discover no
cause for the malady and therefore no appropriate remedy, so that not only
very few recovered, but almost every one attacked died by the third day
after the appearance of the above-noted signs, some sooner and some later,
and mostly without any fever or violent symptoms. And this pestilence
was of so much greater extent that by merely communicating with the sick
the well were attacked, just as fire spreads to dry or oiled matter which
approaches it. .
Of the common people, and perhaps in great part
of the middle classes, the situation was far more miserable, as they, either
through hope of escaping the contagion or poverty, mostly kept to their
houses and sickened by thousands a day, and not being aided or attended


## p. 2094 (#292) ###########################################

2094
GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO
in any respect, almost without exception died. And many there were who
ended their lives in the public streets by day or night, and many who,
dying in their houses, were only discovered by the stench of their dead bod-
ies; and of these and others that died everywhere the city was full. These
were mainly disposed of in the same way by their neighbors, moved more
by the fear that the corruption of the dead bodies should harm them than
by any charity for the deceased. They by themselves or with the aid of
bearers, when they could find any, dragged out of their houses the bodies
of those who had died, and laid them before the doors, where, especially in
the morning, whoever went about the streets could have seen them without
number,- even to that point had matters come that no more was thought of
men dying than we think of goats; more than a hundred thousand human
beings are believed to have been taken from life within the walls of Florence,
which before the mortal pestilence were not believed to have contained so
many souls. Oh! how many great palaces, how many beautiful houses, how
many noble dwellings, once full of domestics, of gentlemen and ladies,
became empty even to the last servant! How many historical families, how
many immense estates, what prodigious riches remained without heirs! How
many brave men, how many beautiful women, how many gay youths whom
not only we, but Galen, Hippocrates, or Esculapius would have pronounced
in excellent health, in the morning dined with their relatives, companions
and friends, and the coming night supped with those who had passed away. ”
The ten companions, meeting in the church of S. Maria Novella,
seven ladies and three gentlemen, agree to escape this doom, and,
repairing to one of the deserted villas in the neighborhood, to pass
the time of affliction in merry doings and sayings; and with four
maids and three men-servants, move eastward out of the gloomy
city. Their first habitation is clearly indicated as what is known
to-day as the Poggio Gherardi, under Maiano. After the second day
they return towards the city a short distance and establish them-
selves in what seems a more commodious abode, and which I con-
sider incontrovertibly identified as the Villa Pasolini, or Rasponi, and
which was in their day the property of the Memmi family, the
famous pupils of Giotto. The site of this villa overlooks the Valley
of the Ladies, which figures in the framework of the "Novelle," and
in which then there was a lake to which Boccaccio alludes, now
filled up by the alluvium of the Affrico, the author's beloved river,
and which runs through the valley and under the villa. The valley
now forms part of the estate of Professor Willard Fiske. As the entire
adventure is imaginary, and the "merry company» had no existence
except in the dreams of Boccaccio, it is useless to seek any evidence
of actual occupation; but the care he put in the description of the
localities and surroundings, distances, etc. , shows that he must have
had in his mind, as the framework of the story, these two localities.
The modern tradition ascribing to the Villa Palmieri the honor of
the second habitation has no confirmation of any kind.


## p. 2095 (#293) ###########################################

GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO
2095
The house-flitting is thus told:-
"The dawn had already, under the near approach of the sun, from rosy
become golden: when on Sunday, the Queen* arising and arousing all her
company, and the chamberlain - having long before sent in advance to the
locality where they were to go, enough of the articles required so that he
might prepare what was necessary-seeing the Queen on the way, quickly
loading all other things as if it were the moving of the camp, went off with
the baggage, leaving the servants with the Ladies and the Gentlemen. The
Queen, then, with slow steps, accompanied and followed by her Ladies and
the three Gentlemen, with the escort of perhaps twenty nightingales and other
birds, by a little path not too frequented, but full of green plants and flowers
which by the rising sun began to open, took the road towards the west; and
gossiping, laughing, and exchanging witticisms with her brigade, arrived before
having gone two thousand steps at a most beautiful and rich palace, which,
somewhat raised above the plain, was posted on a hill. »
---
As the description of the surroundings of the villa into which the
gay assembly now entered is one of the most vivid and one of the
gayest pieces of description in the brilliant counterfoil which the
author has contrived, to set off the gloom of the city, it is worth
giving entire; being as well a noble example of the prose of the
'Decameron':—
"Near to which [the balcony on which they had reposed after their walk]
having ordered to open a garden which was annexed to the palace, being all
inclosed in a wall, they entered in; and as it appeared to them on entering
to be of a marvelous beauty altogether, they set themselves to examine it in
detail. It had within, and in many directions through it, broad paths, straight
as arrows and covered with arbors of vine which gave indications of having
that year an excellent vintage, and they all giving out such odors to the gar-
den, that, mingled with those of many other things which perfumed it, they
seemed to be in the midst of all the perfumeries that the Orient ever knew;
the sides of the paths being closed in by red and white roses and jasmine, so
that not only in the morning, but even when the sun was high, they could
wander at pleasure under fragrant and odoriferous shade, without entangle-
ment. How many, of what kind, and how planted were the plants in that
place, it were long to, tell; but there is nothing desirable which suits our
climate which was not there in abundance. In the midst of which (which is
not less delightful than other things that were there, but even more so) was
a meadow of the most minute herbs, and so green that it seemed almost
black, colored by a thousand varieties of flowers, and closed around by green
and living orange and lemon trees, which, having the ripe and the young fruit
and the flowers together, gave not only grateful shade for the eyes, but added
the pleasures of their odors. In the midst of that meadow was a fountain of
the whitest marble with marvelous sculptures. From within this, I know not
* Each day a Queen or King was chosen to rule over the doings of the
company and determine all questions.


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GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO
whether by a natural vein or artificial, through a figure which stood on a
column in the midst of it, sprang so much water, and so high, falling also into
the fountain with delightful sound, that it would at least have driven a mill.
This, then (I mean the water which ran over from the fountain), through
hidden channels went out of the meadow, and by little canals beautiful and
artfully made becoming visible outside of it, ran all around it; and then by
similar canals into every part of the garden, gathering together finally in that
part of it where from the beautiful garden it escaped, and thence descending
limpid to the plain, and before reaching it, with great force and not a little
advantage to the master, turned two mills. To see this garden, its beautiful
orderliness, the plants and the fountain with the brooks running from it, was
so pleasing to the ladies and the three youths that all commenced to declare
that if Paradise could be found on earth, they could not conceive what other
form than that of this garden could be given to it, nor what beauty could
be added to it. Wandering happily about it, twining from the branches
of various trees beautiful garlands, hearing everywhere the songs of maybe
twenty kinds of birds as it were in contest with each other, they became
aware of another charm of which, to the others being added, they had not
taken note: they saw the garden full of a hundred varieties of beautiful ani-
mals, and pointing them out one to the other, on one side ran out rabbits, on
another hares, here lying roe-deer and there feeding stags, and besides these
many other kinds of harmless beasts, each one going for his pleasure as if
domesticated, wandering at ease; all which, beyond the other pleasures, added
a greater pleasure. And when, seeing this or that, they had gone about
enough, the tables being set around the beautiful fountain, first singing six
songs and dancing six dances, as it pleased the Queen, they went to eat, and
being with great and well-ordered service attended, and with delicate and
good dishes, becoming gayer they arose and renewed music and song and
dance, until the Queen on account of the increasing heat judged that whoever
liked should go to sleep. Of whom some went, but others, conquered by the
beauty of the place, would not go, but remained, some to read romances,
some to play at chess and at tables, while the others slept. But when passed
the ninth hour, they arose, and refreshing their faces with the fresh water,
they came to the fountain, and in their customary manner taking their seats,
waited for the beginning of the story-telling on the subject proposed by the
Queen. »
Of the character of the Novelle I have need to say little: they
were the shaping of the time, and made consonant with its tastes,
and nobody was then disturbed by their tone. Some are indelicate
to modern taste, and some have passed into the classics of all time.
The story of 'Griselda'; that of The Stone of Invisibility,' put into
shape by Irving; Frederick of the Alberighi and his Falcon'; 'The
Pot of Basil'; and The Jew Abraham, Converted to Christianity by
the Immorality of the Clergy,' are stories which belong to all subse-
quent times, as they may have belonged to the ages before. Those
who know what Italian society was then, and in some places still is,
will be not too censorious, judging lightness of tongue and love of a


## p. 2097 (#295) ###########################################

GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO
2097
good story as necessarily involving impurity. And Boccaccio has
anticipated his critics in this vein, putting his apology in the mouth.
of Filomena, who replies to Neifile, when the latter speaks of scan-
dal growing out of their holiday, "This amounts to nothing where
I live virtuously and my conscience in no wise reproaches me- let
them who will, speak against me: I take God and the truth for my
defense. "
повитам
FREDERICK OF THE ALBERIGHI AND HIS FALCON
You
must know that Coppo di Borghese Domenichi — who was
in our city, and perhaps still is, a man of reverence and
of great authority amongst us, both for his opinions and for
his virtues, and much more for the nobility of his family, being
distinguished and wealthy and of enduring reputation, being full
of years and experience. was often delighted to talk with his
neighbors and others of the things of the past, which he, better
than anybody else, could do with excellent order and with un-
clouded memory. Amongst the pleasant stories which he used
to tell was this:-
In Florence there was a young man called Frederick, son of
Master Philip Alberighi, who for military ability and for court-
eous manners was reputed above all other gentlemen of Tuscany,
He, as often happens with gentlemen, became enamored of a
gentle lady called Madonna Giovanni, in her time considered the
most beautiful and most graceful woman in Florence. In order
that he might win her love he tilted and exercised in arms,
made feasts and donations, and spent all his substance without
restraint. But Madonna Giovanni, no less honest than beautiful,
cared for none of these things which he did for her, nor for
him. Frederick then spent more than his means admitted, and
gaining nothing, as easily happens, his money disappeared, and
he remained poor and without any other property than a poor
little farm, by the income of which he was barely able to live;
besides this, he had his falcon, one of the best in the world. On
this account, and because unable to remain in the city as he
desired, though more than ever devoted, he remained at Campi,
-
IV-132


## p. 2098 (#296) ###########################################

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GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO
where his little farm was; and there, as he might hunt, he en-
dured his poverty patiently.
Now it happened one day when Frederick had come to ex-
treme poverty, that the husband of Madonna Giovanni became
ill, and seeing death at hand, made his will; and being very
rich, in this will left as his heir his son, a well-grown boy; and
next to him, as he had greatly loved Madonna Giovanni, he
made her his heir if his son should die without legitimate heirs,
and then died. Remaining then a widow, as the custom is
amongst our women, Madonna Giovanni went that summer with
her son into the country on an estate of hers near to that of
Frederick, so that it happened that this boy, beginning to be-
come friendly with Frederick and to cultivate a liking for books
and birds, and having seen many times the falcon of Frederick
fly, took an extreme pleasure in it and desired very greatly to
have it, but did not dare to ask it, seeing that it was so dear to
Frederick.
In this state of things it happened that the boy became ill,
and on this account the mother sorrowing greatly, he being that
which she loved most of everything which she had, tended him
constantly and never ceased comforting him; and begged him
that if there was anything that he wanted, to tell her, so that
she certainly, if it were possible to get it, would obtain it for
him. The young man, hearing many times this proposal, said:
"Mother, if you can manage that I should have the falcon of
Frederick, I believe that I should get well at once. " The mother,
hearing this, reflected with herself and began to study what she
might do. She knew that Frederick had long loved her, and that
he had never received from her even a look; on this account
she said, How can I send to him or go to him, to ask for this
falcon, which is, by what I hear, the thing that he most loves,
and which besides keeps him in the world; and how can I be so
ungrateful as to take from a gentleman what I desire, when it is
the only thing that he has to give him pleasure? Embarrassed
by such thoughts, and feeling that she was certain to have it if
she asked it of him, and not knowing what to say, she did not
reply to her son, but was silent. Finally, the love of her son
overcoming her, she decided to satisfy him, whatever might
happen, not sending but going herself for the falcon; and she
replied, "My son, be comforted and try to get well, for I prom-
ise you that the first thing that I do to-morrow will be to go


## p. 2099 (#297) ###########################################

GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO
2099
and bring to you the falcon;" on which account the son in his
joy showed the same day an improvement. The lady the next
day took as companion another lady, and as if for pleasure went
to the house of Frederick and asked for him. It being early, he
had not been hawking, and was in his garden attending to cer-
tain little operations; and hearing that Madonna Giovanni asked.
for him at the door, wondering greatly, joyfully went. She,
seeing him coming, with a ladylike pleasure went to meet him,
and Frederick having saluted her with reverence, she said,
hope you are well, Frederick," and then went on, "I have come
to recompense you for the losses which you have already had on
my account, loving me more than you need; and the reparation.
is, then, that I intend with this my companion to dine with you
familiarly to-day. " To this Frederick humbly replied, "Madonna,
I do not remember ever to have suffered any loss on your
account, but so much good that if I ever was worth anything, it
is due to your worth, and to the love which I have borne you;
and certainly your frank visit is dearer to me than would have
been the being able to spend as much more as I have already
spent, for you have come to a very poor house.
So saying, he
received them into his house in humility and conducted them
into his garden; and then, not having any person to keep her
company he said, "Madonna, since there is no one else, this
good woman, the wife of my gardener, will keep you company
while I go to arrange the table. "
He, although his poverty was so great, had not yet realized
how he had, without method or pleasure, spent his fortune; but
this morning, finding nothing with which he could do honor to
the lady for whose love he had already entertained so many men,
made him think and suffer extremely; he cursed his fortune, and
as a man beside himself ran hither and thither, finding neither
money nor anything to pawn. It being late, and his desire to
honor the gentle lady in some manner, and not wishing to call
on anybody else, but rather to do all himself, his eyes fell upon
his beloved falcon, which was in his cage above the table. He
therefore took it, and finding it fat, and not having any other
resource, he considered it to be a proper food for such a woman;
and without thinking any further, he wrung its neck and ordered
his servant that, it being plucked and prepared, it should be put
on the spit and roasted immediately. And setting the table with
the whitest of linen, of which he had still a little left, with a


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GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO
delighted countenance he returned to the lady and told her that
such dinner as he was able to prepare for her was ready. There-
upon, the lady with her companion, rising, went to dinner, and
without knowing what she ate or what Frederick served, ate the
good falcon.
Then leaving the table, and after pleasant conversation with
him, it appeared to the lady that it was time to say what she
had come for, and so she began amiably to say to Frederick:-
"Frederick, recalling your past life and my honesty, which perhaps
you considered cruelty and severity, I do not doubt in the least
that you will be astonished at my presumption, hearing what I
have come for; but if you had ever had children, through whom
you might know how great is the love which one bears them,
it seems to me certain that in part you would excuse me. But as
you have not, I, who have one, cannot escape the law common
to all mothers; obeying which, I am obliged, apart from my own
pleasure and all other convention and duty, to ask of you a gift
which I know is extremely dear, and reasonably so, because no
other delight and no other amusement and no other consolation
has your exhausted fortune left you; this gift is your falcon,
which my boy has become so strongly enamored of, that if I do
not take it to him I fear that his illness will become so much
aggravated that I may lose him in consequence; therefore I pray
you, not on account of the love which you bear me, but because
of your nobility, which has shown greater courtesy than that of
any other man, that you would be so kind, so good, as to give
it to me, in order that by this gift the life of my son may be
preserved, and I be forever under obligation to you. "
Frederick, hearing what the lady demanded, and knowing that
he could not serve her, because he had already given it to her to
eat, commenced in her presence to weep so that he could not
speak a word in reply; which weeping the lady first believed to
be for sorrow at having to give up his good falcon more than
anything else, and was about to tell him that she did not want
it, but, hesitating, waited the reply of Frederick until the weep-
ing ceased, when he spoke thus:-"Madonna, since it pleased
God that I bestowed my love upon you, money, influence, and
fortune have been contrary to me, and have given me great
trouble; but all these things are trivial in respect to what fortune
makes me at present suffer, from which I shall never have peace,
thinking that you have come here to my poor house-to which


## p. 2101 (#299) ###########################################

GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO
2101
-
while I was rich you never deigned to come - and asked of me a
little gift, and that fortune has so decreed that I shall not be
able to give it to you; and why I cannot do so I will tell you
in a few words. When I heard that you in your kindness wished
to dine with me, having regard for your excellence and your
worth, I considered it worthy and proper to give you the dearest
food in my power, and therefore the falcon for which you now
ask me was this morning prepared for you, and you have had it
roasted on your plate and I had prépared it with delight; but
now, seeing that you desire it in another manner, the sorrow
that I cannot so please you is so great that never again shall I
have peace;" and saying this, the feathers and the feet and the
beak were brought before them in evidence; which thing the
lady seeing and hearing, first blamed him for having entertained
a woman with such a falcon, and then praised the greatness of
his mind, which his poverty had not been able to diminish.
Then, there being no hope of having the falcon on account of
which the health of her son was in question, in melancholy she
departed and returned to her son; who either for grief at not
being able to have the falcon, or for the illness which might have
brought him to this state, did not survive for many days, and
to the great sorrow of his mother passed from this life.
She, full of tears and of sorrow, and remaining rich and still
young, was urged many times by her brothers to remarry, which
thing she had never wished; but being continually urged, and
remembering the worth of Frederick and his last munificence,
and that he had killed his beloved falcon to honor her, said to
her brothers:-"I would willingly, if it please you, remain as
I am; but if it please you more that I should take a husband,
certainly I will never take any other if I do not take Frederick
degli Alberighi. " At this her brothers, making fun of her, said,
"Silly creature, what do you say? Why do you choose him?
He has nothing in the world. " To this she replied, "My broth-
ers, I know well that it is as you say; but I prefer rather a man
who has need of riches, than riches that have need of a man. "
The brothers, hearing her mind, and knowing Frederick for a
worthy man, although poor, as she wished, gave her with all
her wealth to him; who, seeing this excellent woman whom he
had so much loved become his wife, and besides that, being most
rich, becoming economical, lived in happiness with her to the
end of his days.


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2102
GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO
THE JEW CONVERTED TO CHRISTIANITY BY GOING TO ROME
A
s I, gracious ladies, have heard said, there was in Paris a
great merchant, a very good man, who was called Gianotto
di Chevigné, a man most loyal and just, who had a great
business in stuffs, and who had a singular friendship with a rich
Jew named Abraham, who also was a merchant and also an
honest and loyal man. Gianotto, seeing his justice and loyalty,
began to feel great sorrow that the soul of so worthy and good
a man should go to perdition through want of religion, and on
that account he began to beg in a friendly way that he would
abandon the errors of the Jewish faith and become converted to
Christian truth, in which he could see, being holy and good,
that he would always prosper and enrich himself; while in his
own faith, on the contrary, he might see that he would diminish
and come to nothing. The Jew replied that he did not believe
anything either holy or good outside of Judaism; that he in that
was born and intended therein to live, and that nothing would
ever move him out of it.
coarse manner,
Gianotto did not cease on this account to repeat after a few
days similar exhortations, showing him in
which merchants know how to employ, for what reasons our
faith was better than the Jewish; and though the Jew was a
great master in the Jewish law, nevertheless either the great
friendship which he had with Gianotto moved him, or perhaps
the words which the Holy Spirit put on the tongue of the foolish
man accomplished it, and the Jew began finally to consider
earnestly the arguments of Gianotto; but still, tenacious in his
own faith, he was unwilling to change. As he remained obsti-
nate, so Gianotto never ceased urging him, so that finally the
Jew by this continual persistence was conquered, and said:-
"Since, Gianotto, it would please you that I should become a
Christian and I am disposed to do so, I will first go to Rome
and there see him whom you call the vicar of God on earth, and
consider his manners and his customs, and similarly those of
his brother cardinals; and if they seem to me such that I can,
between your words and them, understand that your religion is
better than mine, as you have undertaken to prove to me, I will
do what I have said; but if this should not be so, I will remain
a Jew as I am. ” When Gianotto heard this he was very sor-
rowful, saying to himself: I have lost all my trouble which it


## p. 2103 (#301) ###########################################

GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO
2103
seemed to me I had very well employed, believing that I had
converted this man; because if he goes to the court at Rome
and sees the wicked and dirty life of the priests, he not only,
being a Jew, will not become a Christian, but if he had become
a Christian he would infallibly return to Judaism.
Therefore Gianotto said to Abraham:-"Alas, my friend, why
do you desire to take this great trouble and expense of going
from here to Rome? By land and by sea, even to a rich man
as you are, it is full of trouble. Do you not believe that here
we can find one who will baptize you? and if perchance you
have still some doubts as to the religion which I show you, where
are there better teachers and wiser men in this faith than there
are here, to immediately tell you what you want to know or may
ask? On which account my opinion is that this voyage is super-
fluous: the prelates whom you would see there are such as you
can see here, and besides they are much better, as they are near
to the chief Shepherd; and therefore this fatigue you will, by my
counsel, save for another time,- for some indulgence in which I
may perhaps be your companion. " To this the Jew replied:-
"I believe, Gianotto, that it is as you say to me; but summing
up the many words in one, I am altogether, if you wish that I
should do what you have been constantly begging me to do, dis-
posed to go there; otherwise I will do nothing. " Gianotto see-
ing his determination said, "Go, and good luck go with you;
but he thought to himself that Abraham never would become a
Christian if he had once seen the court of Rome, but as he
would lose nothing he said no more.
་
The Jew mounted his horse, and as quickly as possible
went to the court of Rome, where arriving, he was by his fellow
Jews honorably received; and living there without saying to
anybody why he came, began cautiously to study the manners
of the Pope and the cardinals and the prelates and all the other
courtesans; and he learned, being the honest man that he was,
and being informed by other people, that from the greatest to
the lowest they sinned most dishonestly, not only in natural but
in unnatural ways, without any restraint or remorse to shame
them; so much so that for the poor and the dissolute of both
sexes to take part in any affair was no small thing. Besides
this he saw that they were universally gluttons, wine-drinkers,
and drunkards, and much devoted to their stomachs after the
manner of brute animals; given up to luxury more than to


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2104
GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO
anything else. And looking further, he saw that they were in
the same manner all avaricious and desirous of money, so that
human blood, even that of Christians, and sacred interests, what-
ever they might be, even pertaining to the ceremonies or to the
benefices, were sold and bought with money; making a greater
merchandise out of these things and having more shops for them
than at Paris of stuffs or any other things, and to the most open
simony giving the name and support of procuration, and to glut-
tony that of sustentation: as if God, apart from the signification
of epithets, could not know the intentions of these wretched
souls, but after the manner of men must permit himself to be
deceived by the names of things. Which, together with many
other things of which we will say nothing, so greatly displeased
the Jew, that as he was a sober and modest man it appeared to
him that he had seen enough, and proposed to return to Paris.
Accordingly he did so; upon which Gianotto, seeing that he
had returned, and hoping nothing less than that he should have
become a Christian, came and rejoiced greatly at his return, and
after some days of rest asked him what he thought of the Holy
Father, the cardinals, and the other courtesans; to which the Jew
promptly replied: "It seems to me evil that God should have
given anything to all those people, and I say to you that if I
know how to draw conclusions, there was no holiness, no devo-
tion, no good work or good example of life in any other way, in
anybody who was a priest; but luxury, avarice, and gluttony,-
such things and worse, if there could be worse things in any-
body; and I saw rather liberty in devilish operations than in
divine: on which account I conclude that with all possible study,
with all their talent and with all their art, your Shepherd, and
consequently all the rest, are working to reduce to nothing and
to drive out of the world the Christian religion, there where they
ought to be its foundation and support. But from what I see,
what they are driving at does not happen, but your religion con-
tinually increases; and therefore it becomes clearer and more
evident that the Holy Spirit must be its foundation and support,
as a religion more true and holy than any other. On which
account, where I was obstinate and immovable to your reasoning
and did not care to become a Christian, now I say to you dis-
tinctly that on no account would I fail to become a Christian.
Therefore let us go to church, and there according to the custom
of your holy religion let me be baptized. "


## p. 2105 (#303) ###########################################

GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO
2105
Gianotto, who had expected exactly the opposite conclusion to
this, when he heard these things was more satisfied than ever a
man was before, and with him he went to Notre Dame of Paris
and requested the priest there to give Abraham baptism: who,
hearing what he asked, immediately did so; and Gianotto was his
sponsor and named him Giovanni, and immediately caused him
by competent men to be completely instructed in our religion,
which he at once learned and became a good and worthy man
and of a holy life.
THE STORY OF SALADIN AND THE JEW USURER
SALA
ALADIN, whose valor was so great that he not only became
from an insignificant man Sultan of Babylon, but also
gained many victories over the Saracen and Christian kings,
having in many wars and in his great magnificence spent all his
treasure, and on account of some trouble having need of a great
quantity of money, nor seeing where he should get it quickly as
he had need to, was reminded of a rich Jew whose name was
Melchisedech, who loaned at interest at Alexandria; and thinking
to make use of him if he could, though he was so avaricious that
of his own good-will he would do nothing, the Sultan, not wish-
ing to compel him, but driven by necessity, set himself to devise.
means by which the Jew should satisfy him, and to find some
manner of compelling him to do so with a good pretext. Thus
thinking, he called him, and receiving him familiarly, said to him:
"My good man, I hear from many here that you are the wisest
and in divine affairs the most profound of men, and on that
account I would like to know from you which of the three good
religions you consider the true one: the Jewish, the Saracenic, or
the Christian ? » The Jew, who really was a wise man, saw too
clearly that the Sultan desired to catch him in his words in
order to raise against him some question, and decided not to
praise any one of the religions more than the other, so that the
Sultan should not accomplish his purpose; on account of which,
as one who seemed to have need of a reply as to which there
could not be any reasoning, and his wits being sharpened, there
quickly came to him what he ought to say, and he said:-
"My lord, the question which you have put to me is import-
ant, and in order to explain to you what I think, it is necessary
to tell you a fable which you will hear. If I do not mistake, I


## p. 2106 (#304) ###########################################

2106
GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO
have heard tell many times of a great and rich man who lived
once, and who amongst other jewels had a beautiful and valuable
ring, the most precious in his treasury, which on account of its
value and its beauty he desired to honor and to leave in perpetu-
ity to his descendants; and he ordered that that one of his sons
to whom this ring should be left, as it had been to him, should
be considered his heir and be by all the others honored and rev-
erenced. The one to whom this ring should be left should give
a similar order to his descendants, and do as had done his prede-
cessor. In short, this ring went from hand to hand to many
successors, and finally came to the hands of one who had three
sons, honest men, virtuous and all obedient to their father, on
which account he loved all three equally; and the young men,
who knew the custom of the ring, as each one desired to be the
most honored amongst them, each one to the utmost of his
power urged the father to leave the ring to him when death.
should take him. The worthy man, who loved them all alike,
not knowing himself how to choose to whom he should leave it,
decided, having promised each one, to satisfy all three: and
secretly ordered from a good workman two others, which were
so similar to the first that he himself who had made them could
scarcely tell which was the true one; and death approaching, he
secretly gave to each one of his sons his ring. After the death
of the father, each one wishing to enjoy the heritage and deny-
ing it to the others, each produced a ring in evidence of his
rights, and finding them so similar that no one could tell which
was the true one, the question which was the real heir of the
father remained undecided, and it is still undecided. And so I
say to you, my lord, of the three religions given to the three
people by God the Father, concerning which you put me this
question, that each one believes that he has as his heritage the
true law; but as it is with the three rings, the question is
still quite undecided. "
Saladin, recognizing how this man had most cleverly escaped
from the trap which had been set before his feet, decided on
that account to expose to him his necessities and see if he was
willing to help him; and so he did, saying that which he had
intended to say if the Jew had not replied so wisely as he had
done. The Jew freely accorded to Saladin whatever he asked,
and Saladin gave him entire security, and besides that he gave
him great gifts and retained him always as his friend, and kept
him in excellent and honorable condition always near to himself.


## p. 2107 (#305) ###########################################

GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO
2107
THE STORY OF GRISELDA
A
LONG time ago, in the family of the Marquis Saluzzo, the
head of the house was a young man called Walter, who,
having neither wife nor children, spent his time entirely
in hunting and hawking, and never troubled himself to marry or
to have a family, -on account of which he was considered very
wise. This thing not being pleasing to his retainers, they many
times begged of him that he should take a wife, in order that he
should not be without an heir and they without a master, offering
to find him one descended from such a father and mother that he
might hope to have successors and they be satisfied. To which
Walter replied:-"My friends, you urge me to what I have
never been disposed to do, considering how grave a matter it is
to find a woman who adapts herself to one's ways, and on the
contrary how great are the burdens and how hard the lives of
those who happen on wives who do not suit them. And to say
that you know daughters from the fathers and mothers, and
from that argue that you can give me what will satisfy me, is a
foolishness; since I do not know how you can learn the fathers
or know the secrets of the mothers of these girls, since even
knowing them oft-times we find the daughters very different
from the fathers and mothers: but since you desire to entangle
me in these chains, I wish to be satisfied; and in order that I
should not have to suffer through others than myself if any mis-
take should be made, I wish myself to be the finder, assuring
you that if I do not take this responsibility and the woman
should not be honorable, you would find out to your very great
loss how much opposed to my desire it was to have taken a wife
at your supplication. "
The good men were satisfied, so long as he would take a wife.
For a long time the ways of a poor young woman who belonged
to a little house near his own had attracted Walter, and as she
was sufficiently beautiful, he considered that with her he might
have a life peaceful enough; and on that account, without going
any further, he proposed to marry this one, and calling upon her
father, who was very poor, arranged with him to marry her.
This being arranged, he convoked his friends and said to them:
"My friends! it has pleased and pleases you that I should dis-
pose myself to marry, and I am so disposed more to please you


## p. 2108 (#306) ###########################################

2108
GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO
than for the desire that I should have a wife. You know what
you promised me,- that is, to be satisfied with and to honor as
your lady whoever I should select; and, for that the time has
come that I should keep my promise to you, and I wish you to
keep yours to me, I have found very near here a young woman
according to my heart, whom I intend to take for my wife and to
bring her in a few days to my house; and for this you must think
how the entertainment of the day shall be attractive and how you
will honorably receive her, in order that I may show myself satis
fied with the fulfillment of your promise as you may consider
yourselves with mine. "
The good men, joyful, all replied that that gave them pleas
ure, and whoever it might be, they would accept her for lady
and would honor her in everything as their lady. This being
arranged, all set themselves to making a magnificent, joyful, and
splendid festa, which also did Walter. He prepared for the
wedding festivities very abundantly and magnificently, and invited
many of his friends, great gentlemen, his relatives and others
from all around. And beyond this he had dresses cut and made
up by the figure of a young woman who, he thought, had the
same figure as the woman he proposed to marry. And besides
this, he arranged girdles and rings and a rich and beautiful coro-
net, and everything that a newly married bride should demand.
On the day settled for the wedding, Walter, about the third
hour, mounted his horse, as did all those who had come to honor
him, and having arranged everything conveniently, said, "Gen-
tlemen, it is time to go to take the bride;" and starting with
his company he arrived at the little villa, and going to the house
of the father of the girl, and finding her returning in great
haste with water from the spring, in order to go with the other
women to see the bride of Walter, he called her by name,- that
is, Griselda,- and asked her where her father was, to which she
modestly replied, "My lord, he is in the house. " Then Walter,
dismounting and commanding his men that they should wait for
them, went along into the little house, where he found her father,
whose name was Giannucoli, and said to him, "I have come to
marry Griselda, but I wish to learn certain things in your pres-
ence. »
He then asked her if, should he take her for his wife,
she would do her best to please him, and at nothing that he
should do or say would she trouble herself, and if she would
be obedient, and many such-like questions, to all of which she
-


## p. 2109 (#307) ###########################################

GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO
2109
replied "yes. »
Then Walter took her by the hand, and in the
presence of all his company and all the other persons had her
stripped naked, and calling for the dresses which he had had
made, immediately had her dressed and shod, and on her hair,
disheveled as it was, had the crown put; and all this being done
while everybody marveled, Walter said: "Gentlemen, this is
she whom I intend shall be my wife if she wishes me for hus-
band;" and then, turning to her, who stood by herself abashed
and confused, said to her, "Griselda, will you take me for your
husband? " To which Griselda replied, "Yes, my lord;" and he
said, "I desire her for my wife, and in the presence of the
assembly to marry her;" and mounting her on a palfrey he led
her, honorably accompanied, to his house. There the marriage
ceremonies were fine and great, and the festivities were not less
than if he had married the daughter of the king of France.
It seemed as if the young bride, in changing her vestments,
changed her mind and her manners. She was, as we have said,
in figure and face beautiful; and as she was beautiful she became
so attractive, so delightful, and so accomplished, that she did not
seem to be the daughter of Giannucoli the keeper of sheep, but
of some noble lord, which made every man who had known her
astonished; and besides this, she was so obedient to her husband
and so ready in service that he was most contented and de-
lighted; and similarly, toward the subjects of her husband she was
so gracious and so kind that there was no one who did not love
her more than himself; and gentlemen honored her with the
best good-will, and all prayed for her welfare and her health and
advancement. Whereupon they who had been accustomed to say
that Walter had done a foolish thing in marrying her, now said
that he was the wisest and the most far-seeing man in the world,
because no other than he would have been able to see her great
virtue hidden under the poor rags of a peasant's costume.
In
a short time, not only in his own dominions but everywhere, she
knew so well how to comport herself that she made the people
talk of his worth and of his good conduct, and to turn to the
contrary anything that was said against her husband on account
of his having married her.
She had not long dwelt with Walter when she bore a daugh-
ter, for which Walter made great festivities; but a little after-
wards, a new idea coming into his mind, he wished with long
experience and with intolerable proofs to try her patience. First


## p. 2110 (#308) ###########################################

2110
GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO
he began to annoy her with words, pretending to be disturbed,
and saying that his men were very discontented with her low
condition, and especially when they saw that she had children;
and of the daughter, that she was born most unfortunately; and
he did nothing but grumble. But the lady, hearing these words,
without changing countenance or her demeanor in any way, said,
"My lord, do with me what you think your honor and your
comfort demand, and I shall be satisfied with everything, as I
know that I am less than they, and that I was not worthy of this
honor to which you in your courtesy called me. "
This reply
pleased Walter much, knowing that she was not in any arrogance
raised on account of the honor which he or others had done her.
A little while afterwards, having often repeated to his wife
that his subjects could not endure this daughter born of her, he
instructed one of his servants and sent him to her, to whom
with sorrowful face he said, "My lady, if I do not wish to die,
I am obliged to do what my lord commands me; he has com-
manded that I should take your daughter and that I—” and
here he stopped. The lady, seeing the face of the servant and
hearing the words that he said, and the words said by her
husband, bethinking herself, understood that this man had been.
ordered to kill the child; upon which, immediately taking her
from the cradle, kissing her, and placing her as if in great sor-
row to her heart, without changing countenance she placed her
in the arms of the servant and said, "Take her and do exactly
what your and my lord has imposed on you to do, but do not
leave her so that the beasts and the birds shall devour her,
unless he should have commanded you that. " The servant hav-
ing taken the child and having repeated to Walter what his
wife had said, he, marveling at her constancy, sent him with
her to Bologna to one of his relatives, beseeching him that with-
out ever saying whose daughter she might be, he should care-
fully rear her and teach her good manners. It happened that
the lady again in due time bore a son, who was very dear to
Walter. But not being satisfied with what he had done, with
greater wounds he pierced his wife, and with a countenance of
feigned vexation one day he said to her, "My lady, since you
have borne this male child I have in no way been able to live
with my people, so bitterly do they regret that a grandchild of
Giannucoli should after me remain their lord; and I make no
question that if I do not wish to be deposed, it will be necessary


## p. 2111 (#309) ###########################################

GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO
2III
to do what I did before, and in the end leave you and take
another wife. " The lady with patience heard him, and only
replied, "My lord! think of your own content, and do your own
pleasure, and have no thought of me; because nothing is so
agreeable to me as to see you satisfied. " A little after, Walter,
in the same manner as he had sent for the daughter, sent for
the son, and in the same way feigned to have ordered it to
be killed, and sent him to nurse in Bologna as he had sent the
daughter. On account of which thing the lady behaved no
otherwise and said no other word than she had done for the
daughter. At this Walter marveled greatly, and declared to
himself that no other woman could have done what she did;
and had it not been that he found her most affectionate to her
children, as he saw her to be, he would have believed that she
could only do so because she did not care for them, although he
knew her to be very prudent. His subjects, believing that he
had had the child killed, blamed him greatly and considered him
a most cruel man, and had great compassion for the lady, who,
with the women who came to condole with her on the death of
her children, never said other thing than that that pleased her
which pleased her lord who had begotten them.
But many years having passed since the birth of the daugh-
ter, it seemed time to Walter to make the last proof of her
patience; and so he said to many of his people that in no way
could he endure any longer to have Griselda for his wife, and
that he recognized that he had done badly and like a boy when
he took her for wife, and that on that account he intended to
apply to the Pope for a dispensation that he might take another
wife and leave Griselda. On which account he was much re-
proved by very good men, to which he replied in no other wise
than that it was convenient that he should do so. The lady,
hearing these things, and seeing that it was necessary for her to
look forward to returning to her father's house, and perhaps to
watch the sheep as she had in other times done, and to see that
another should have him to whom she wished nothing but good,
suffered greatly in her own mind; but also, as with the other
injuries which she had endured from fortune, so with a firm
countenance she disposed herself to support even this. Not long
afterwards, Walter had caused to be sent to him counterfeit letters
from Rome, which he showed to all his subjects to inform them
that the Pope had given him the dispensation to take another


## p. 2112 (#310) ###########################################

2112
GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO
wife and leave Griselda.
After which, having called her to him,
in the presence of many people he said: "Lady, by the dispen-
sation made to me by the Pope I may take another wife and
leave you; and because my ancestors were great gentlemen and
lords in this country, whereas yours have always been workmen,
I mean that you shall not longer be my wife, but that you shall
return to the house of your father with the dowry which you
brought me, and that I shall take another wife whom I have
found more fitting for me. " The lady, hearing these words, not
without great difficulty and contrary to the nature of women kept
back her tears, and replied: "I knew always my low condi-
tion not to suit in any way your nobility, and what I have done,
by you and by God will be recognized: nor have I ever acted or
held it as given to me, but simply always had it as a loan; it
pleases you to take it back, and to me it ought to give pleasure
to return it to you. Here is your ring with which you married
me; take it.
You command me to take back the dowry which I
brought you; to do which neither of you to pay it nor of me to
receive it will demand either a purse or a beast of burden,
because it has escaped your mind that you took me naked: and
if you consider it honest that this body by which I have borne
the children begotten by you shall be seen by everybody, I will
go away naked; but I pray you in consideration of my virginity,
which I brought to you and which I cannot take away, that at
least a single shirt more than my dowry it will please you that
I shall take. " Walter, who had more desire to weep than any-
thing else, remained with a hard face and said, "You may take
with you a shirt. " He was prayed by all who were about him
that one garment more he should give, that it should not be
seen that she who had been his wife for thirteen years or more
should leave his house so poorly and shamefully as to go away in
her shirt; but in vain were the prayers made. On which account
the lady in her shirt, and barefoot, and without anything on her
head, went out of the house and returned to the house of her
father with the tears and lamentations of all who saw her.
Giannucoli, who had never been able to consider it a reality.
that Walter should have taken his daughter for a wife, and
expected every day this end, had kept the clothes which had
been taken from her that morning that Walter married her; so
that bringing them to her, she dressed herself in them and
returned to the little service of her father's house as she had


## p. 2113 (#311) ###########################################

GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO
2113
been accustomed, supporting with a strong mind these savage
attacks of fortune. When Walter had done this, he gave his
people to understand that he had taken the daughter of one of
the Counts of Panago for a wife, and having great preparations
made for the marriage, sent for Griselda that she should come; to
whom, having come, he said: "I bring this lady whom I have
now taken, and intend on her arrival to honor her, and you know
that I have not in the house women who know how to arrange
the chambers and to do many things that pertain to such festivi-
ties; on which account you, who better than anybody else know
the things in this house, shall put in order whatever there is to
be done, and cause to be invited the ladies whom you see fit, as
if you were mistress here; then, after the marriage ceremony,
you can go back to your house. " Although these words were
like so many knives in the heart of Griselda, as she had not
been able to divest herself of the love which she bore him as
she had of her good fortune,- she replied, "My lord, I am
ready and prepared;" and so entered with her coarse peasant's
clothing in the house from which she had shortly before gone in
her shirt, and began to sweep and put in order the rooms, the
hangings and carpets for the halls, and to put the kitchen in
order, and in every respect as if she had been a little servant in
the house, did she put her hand. Nor did she pause until she
had put everything in order and arranged it as it was most con-
venient. And having done this, and Walter at her indications
having invited all the ladies of the country, she began to arrange
the festivities; and when the day of the marriage came, with the
apparel which she had on her back, but with the mind and man-
ner of a lady, received with a cheerful countenance all the ladies
who came. Walter, who had had his children educated care-
fully by a relative in Bologna who had married into the house
of the Counts of Panago,-the girl being already of the age
of twelve years and the most beautiful creature that ever was
seen, and the boy being of six,- had written to his relative at
Bologna, praying him that he would be kind enough to come with
this his daughter to Saluzzo, and to arrange to bring with him a
fine and honorable company, and to say to all that these things
were brought for his wife, without telling anything to anybody
that it was otherwise. Having done what the Marquis asked of
him, the Count started on his way after several days with the
girl and her brother and with a noble company, and arrived at
―――――
--
IV-133


## p. 2114 (#312) ###########################################

2114
GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO
Saluzzo at the hour of dinner, when all the peasants and many
neighbors were present waiting for the new bride of Walter; who
being received by the ladies and going into the hall where the
tables were set, Griselda came forward joyfully to meet her, say-
ing, "Welcome, my lady. " The ladies (who had much, but in
vain, prayed Walter that he would arrange that Griselda should
remain in the chamber, or that he would give her some one of
the dresses which had been hers, in order that she should not
appear in this way before his strangers) were set at the table
and had begun to be served. The girl was looked at by every
man, and everybody said that Walter had made a good exchange:
but amongst the others Griselda praised her most; both her and
her little brother.
Walter, who seemed to have finally learned as much as he
desired of the patience of his lady, and seeing that the enduring
of these things produced no change in her, and being certain
that this did not happen from hypocrisy, because he knew that
she was very wise, considered it time to lighten her of the bit-
terness which he felt that she held hidden in her heart under
her strong self-control. Therefore, calling her in presence of all
the company, and smiling, he said, "What do you think of our
bride ? » "My lord," replied Griselda, "she seems to me very
good, and if she is as wise as she is beautiful, as I believe, I do
not doubt in the least that you will live with her the most com-
fortable gentleman in the world. But I pray you as much as I
can that these cruelties which you bestowed on the other which
was yours you will not give to this one, because I believe that
she could not support them; partly because she is young, and
again because she has been brought up delicately, while the
other has been always accustomed to hardships from a child. "
Walter, seeing that she firmly believed that this one was his wife,
nor on that account spoke otherwise than well, made her sit
down at his side and said: "Griselda, it is time now that you
should feel the rewards of your long patience, and that those
who have considered me a cruel, wicked, and brutal man should
know that that which I have done was done for a purpose,
wishing to teach you to be a wife, and them to know how to
take and to keep one, and for myself for the establishment of
unbroken quiet while I live with you. Because when I came
to take a wife I had great fear that this could not be the case,
and on that account, and to assure myself in all the ways which


## p. 2115 (#313) ###########################################

GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO
2115
you know, I have tried to pain you. And yet I have never per-
ceived that either in thought or deed have you ever contradicted
my pleasure: convinced that I shall have from you that comfort
which I desire, I now intend to return to you all at once what I
took from you on several occasions; and with the greatest ten-
derness to heal the wounds which I have given you; and so with
a happy soul know this one whom you believed to be my bride,
and this one her brother, as your and my children; they are
those whom you and many others have long believed that I had
cruelly caused to be killed; and I am your husband who above
all things loves you, believing that I may boast that there is no
other man who may be as well satisfied with his wife as I am. "
And so saying he embraced her and kissed her, and with her,
who wept for joy, rising, went where the daughter sat stupe-
fied, hearing these things; and, embracing her tenderly and her
brother as well, undeceived her and as many as were there. The
ladies, joyfully rising, went with Griselda to her chamber, and
with the most joyful wishes dressed her as a lady, which even
in her rags she had seemed, and then brought her back to the
hall; and there, making with the children a wonderful festivity,
every person being most joyful over these things, the rejoicings.
and the festivities were kept up for many days, and they all con-
sidered Walter the wisest of men, as they had considered bitter
and intolerable the proofs which he had imposed on his wife;
and especially they considered Griselda most discreet.
The Count of Panago returned after a few days to Bologna,
and Walter, having taken Giannucoli from his work, settled him
in the condition of his father-in-law, so that he lived with great
honor and with great comfort and so finished his old age. And
Walter afterwards, having married his daughter excellently, long
and happily lived with Griselda, honoring her always as much as
he could. And here we may say that as in royal houses come
those who are much more worthy to keep the hogs than to have
government over men, so even into poor houses there sometimes
come from Heaven divine spirits besides Griselda, who could
have been able to suffer with a countenance not merely tearless
but cheerful the severe, unheard-of proofs imposed on her by
Walter; to whom it would perhaps not have been unjust that
he should have happened on one who, when he turned her out
of his house in her shirt, should have become unfaithful with
another, as his actions would have made fitting.
-


## p. 2116 (#314) ###########################################

2116
FRIEDRICH MARTIN VON BODENSTEDT
(1819-1892)
B
ODENSTEDT was born at Peine, Hanover, April 22d, 1819. From
his earliest years his poetic nature broke through the
barriers of his prosaic surroundings; but in spite of these
significant manifestations, the young poet was educated to be a mer-
chant. He was sent to a commercial school in Brunswick, and then
put to serve an apprenticeship in business. His inclinations, how-
ever, were not to be repressed; and he devoted all of his holidays
and many hours of the night to study and writing. At last he con-
quered his adverse fate, and at the age of
twenty-one entered the University. He
studied at Göttingen, Munich, and Berlin,
and then through a fortunate chance went
to Moscow as tutor in the family of Prince
Galitzin. Here he remained three years,
during which time he diligently studied
the Slavonic languages and literature.
The first fruits of these studies were
translations from the poems of Kaslow,
Pushkin, and Lermontoff (1843); which
were considered equal to the originals in
poetic merit. In Stuttgart, two years later,
appeared his 'Poetische Ukraine (Poeti-
cal Ukraine). He went to Tiflis in 1842 as instructor in Latin
and French in the Gymnasium. Here he studied the Tartar and
Persian languages, under the direction of the "wise man » Mirza-
Schaffy (Scribe Schaffy), and began to translate Persian poems. "It
was inevitable," he afterwards said, "that with such occupations and
influences many Persian strains crept into my own poetry. " Here he
wrote his first poems in praise of wine. Later he became an exten-
sive traveler, and made long tours through the Caucasus and the
East. The fruit of these journeys was the book Die Völker des
Caucasus und ihre Freiheitskämpfe gegen die Russen (The People
of the Caucasus and their Struggle for Freedom against the Rus-
sians), published in 1848. After his return to Germany he settled in
Münich to study political economy in the University.

BODENSTEDT
Two years later, in 1850, appeared his delightful book in prose
and poetry, Tausend und ein Tag im Orient' (Thousand and One


## p. 2117 (#315) ###########################################

FRIEDRICH MARTIN VON BODENSTEDT
2117
Days in the East), a reminiscence of his Eastern wanderings and
his sojourn at Tiflis. The central figure is his Oriental friend Mirza-
Schaffy. "It occurred to me," he says, "to portray with poetic free-
dom the Caucasian philosopher as he lived in my memory, with all
his idiosyncrasies, and at the same time have him stand as the type
of an Eastern scholar and poet; in other words, to have him appear
more important than he really was, for he never was a true poet,
and of all the songs which he read to me as being his own, I could
use only a single one, the little rollicking song, 'Mullah, pure is the
wine, and it's sin to despise it. ' For his other verse I substituted
poems of my own, which were in keeping with his character and the
situations in which he appeared. " The poems by themselves, to-
gether with others written at different times and places, Bodenstedt
published in 1856 under the title 'Lieder des Mirza-Schaffy' (Songs
of Mirza-Schaffy). Quite unintentionally they have occasioned one of
the most amusing of literary mystifications. For a long time they
were supposed to be real translations; and even to-day, despite the
poet's own words, the "Sage of Tiflis" is considered by some a very
great oet. A Tartar by birth, who had absorbed Persian culture,
he was a skillful versifier, and could with facility translate simple
songs from the Persian into the Tartar language. Bodenstedt put
into Mirza-Schaffy's mouth the songs which were written during his
intercourse with the Eastern sage, to give vividness to the picture
of an Eastern divan of wisdom.
They portray Oriental life on its more sensuous, alluring side. In
most musical, caressing verse they sing of wine and love, of the
charms of Zuleika and Hafisa, of earthly bliss and the delights of
living. Yet with all their warm Eastern imagery and rich foreign
dress they are essentially German in spirit, and their prevailing note
of joyousness is now and again tempered by more serious strains.
The book was received with universal applause, and on it Boden-
stedt's fame as poet rests. It has been translated into all the
European languages, even into Hebrew and Tartar, and is now in its
one hundred and forty-third German edition. Twenty-four years later
Bodenstedt followed it with a similar collection, Aus dem Nachlass
des Mirza-Schaffy' (From the Posthumous Works of Mirza-Schaffy:
1874), where he shows the more serious, philosophic aspect of Eastern
life. Bodenstedt's poems and his translations of Persian poetry are
the culmination of the movement, begun by the Romantic School, to
bring Eastern thought and imagery home to the Western world.
Other well-known examples are Goethe's 'West-Eastern Divan,' and
the poems and paraphrases of Rückert and others; but the 'Songs of
Mirza-Schaffy' are the only poems produced under exotic influences
which have been thoroughly acclimatized on German soil.


## p. 2118 (#316) ###########################################

2118
FRIEDRICH MARTIN VON BODENSTEDT
Bodenstedt was for a time director of the court theatre at Mei-
ningen; and though he held this difficult position for only a short
time, he did much to lay the foundation of the success which the
Meininger, as the best German stock company of actors, achieved
later on their starring tours through the country. He was ennobled
in 1867, while in this position. He spent the last year of his life at
Wiesbaden, where he died in 1892.
Bodenstedt was a voluminous writer; his work includes poems,
romances, novels, and dramas. 'Vom Atlantischen zum Stillen
Ocean' (From the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean: 1882) is a descrip-
tion of his lecturing tour to the United States the year before. His
autobiography, Erinnerungen aus Meinem Leben' (Recollections of
my Life), gives interesting glimpses into his eventful career. His
mind was more receptive than creative, and this, combined with his
great technical skill and his quick intuition, fitted him peculiarly to
be a translator and adapter. His translation of Shakespeare's works,
in conjunction with Paul Heyse, Kurz, and others (fifth edition, Leip-
zig, 1890), is especially noteworthy, as also his rendering of Shake-
speare's sonnets. But he will live in German literature as the poet
Mirza-Schaffy.
T
TWO
ONE exalted aim we both are tending,
I and thou!
To one captivity we both are bending.
I and thou!
In my heart thee I close-thou me in thine;
In twofold life, yet one, we both are blending,
I and thou!
Thee my wit draws-and me thine eye of beauty;
Two fishes, from one bait we are depending,
I and thou!
Yet unlike fishes-through the air of Heaven,
Like two brave eagles, we are both ascending,
I and thou!


## p. 2119 (#317) ###########################################

FRIEDRICH MARTIN VON BODENSTEDT
WINE
IN
IN THE goblet's magic measure,
In the wine's all-powerful spirit,
Lieth poison and delight:
Lieth purest, basest pleasure,
E'en according to the merit
Of the drinker ye invite.
Lo, the fool in baseness sunken,
Having drunk till he is tired,
When he drinks, behold him drunken;
When we drink, we are inspired.
SONG
OWN on the vast deep ocean
The sun his beams doth throw,
Till every wavelet trembles
Beneath their ruddy glow.
D
How like thou to those sunbeams
Upon my song's wild sea;
They tremble all and glitter,
Reflecting only thee.
UNCHANGING
IN EARLY days methought that all must last;
I
Then I beheld all changing, dying, fleeting;
But though my soul now grieves for much that's past,
And changeful fortunes set my heart oft beating,
I yet believe in mind that all will last,
Because the old in new I still am meeting.
2119


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2120
FRIEDRICH MARTIN VON BODENSTEDT
THE POETRY OF MIRZA-SCHAFFY
From the Thousand and One Days in the East'
Α
BBAS KULI KHAN was one of those gifted ambiguous natures
who, without inspiring confidence, always know how to
work an imposing effect, inasmuch as they hold to the
principle of displeasing no one, as a first rule of prudence.