Joy

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From The Decameron (1353)

  So he wrapped them up as carefully as he could in some old rags, told the woman that if she liked, she could keep the chest, since he no longer had any use for it, and asked her to let him have a sack in exchange. The good woman gladly complied with his request, and after he had thanked her profusely for the assistance she had rendered, he slung his sack over his shoulder and went on his way, first taking a boat to Brindisi and then making his way gradually up the coast as far as Trani, where he met some cloth-merchants who hailed from his native town. Without mentioning the chest, he gave them an account of all his adventures, and they felt so sorry for him that they fitted him out with new clothes, lent him a horse, and sent him back with company to Ravello, whither he was intent on returning at all costs. Secure at last in Ravello, he gave thanks to God for leading him safely home, untied his little sack, and made what was virtually his first real inspection of its contents. The stones he possessed were, he discovered, so valuable and numerous, that even if he sold them at less than their market value, he would be twice as rich as when he had set out. So that, having taken steps to dispose of his gems, he sent, by way of payment for services received, a tidy sum of money to the good woman of Corfu who had fished him out of the sea. And likewise, he sent a further sum to the people at Trani who had given him the new clothes. He was no longer interested in commerce, so he kept the remainder of the money and lived in splendour for the rest of his days.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  I have been teased so many times, and by so many of you, for obliging you to tell cruel stories and making you weep, that I feel obliged to make some slight amends for the sorrow I caused, and tell you something that will make you laugh a little. Hence I propose to tell you a very brief tale about a love which, apart from one or two sighs and a moment of fear not unmixed with embarrassment, ran a smooth course to its happy conclusion. Not long ago then, excellent ladies, there lived in Romagna a most reputable and virtuous gentleman called Messer Lizio da Valbona,1 who, on the threshold of old age, had the good fortune to be presented by his wife, Madonna Giacomina, with a baby daughter. When she grew up, she outshone all the other girls in those parts for her charm and beauty, and since she was the only daughter left to her father and mother, they loved and cherished her with all their heart, and guarded her with extraordinary care, for they had high hopes of bestowing her in marriage on the son of some great nobleman. Now, to the house of Messer Lizio there regularly came a handsome and sprightly youth called Ricciardo de’ Manardi da Brettinoro, with whom Messer Lizio spent a good deal of his time; and he and his wife would no more have thought of keeping him under surveillance than if he were their own son. Whenever he set eyes on the girl, Ricciardo was struck by her great beauty, her graceful bearing, her charming ways and impeccable manners, and, seeing that she was of marriageable age, he fell passionately in love with her. He took great pains to conceal his feelings, but the girl divined that he was in love with her, and far from being offended, to Ricciardo’s great delight she began to love him with equal fervour. Though frequently seized with the longing to speak to her, he was always too timid to do so until one day, having chosen a suitable moment, he plucked up courage and said to her: ‘Caterina, I implore you not to let me die of love for you.’ ‘Heaven grant,’ she promptly replied, ‘that you do not allow me to die first for love of you.’ Ricciardo was overjoyed by the girl’s answer, and, feeling greatly encouraged, he said to her: ‘Demand of me anything you please, and I shall do it. But you alone can devise the means of saving us both.’ Whereupon the girl said: ‘Ricciardo, as you see, I am watched very closely, and for this reason I cannot think how you are to come to me. But if you are able to suggest anything I might do without bringing shame upon myself, tell me what it is, and I shall do it.’ Ricciardo turned over various schemes in his mind, then suddenly he said:

• From The Decameron (1353)

  When, therefore, he had recited a hundred of his paternosters, he came to a stop, and without leaving his post, he called out to his wife and demanded to know what she was doing. His wife, who had a talent for repartee, and who at that moment was possibly riding bareback astride the nag of Saint Benedict or Saint John Gualbert, 4 replied: ‘Heaven help me, dear husband, I am shaking like mad.’ ‘Shaking?’ said Friar Puccio. ‘What is the meaning of all this shaking?’ His wife shrieked with laughter, for she was a lively, energetic sort of woman, and besides, she was probably laughing for a good reason. ‘What?’ she replied. ‘You don’t know its meaning? Haven’t I heard you saying, hundreds of times: “He that supper doth not take, in his bed all night will shake”?’ Since she had already given him the impression that she was fasting, Friar Puccio readily assumed this to be the cause of her sleeplessness, which in turn accounted for the way she was tossing and turning in bed. ‘Wife,’ he replied, in all innocence, ‘I told you not to fast, but you would insist. Try not to think about it. Try and go to sleep. You’re tossing about so violently in the bed that you’re shaking the whole building.’ ‘Don’t worry about me,’ said his wife. ‘I know what I’m doing. Just you keep up the good work, and I’ll try and do the same.’ So Friar Puccio said no more, but turned his attention once again to his paternosters. From that night onward, Master Monk and the lady made up a bed in another part of the house, in which they cavorted to their hearts’ content until the time came for the monk to leave, when the lady would return to her usual bed, being joined there shortly afterwards by Friar Puccio as he staggered in from his penance. Thus, while the Friar carried on with his penance, his wife carried on with the monk, pausing now and then to deliver the same merry quip: ‘You make Friar Puccio do penance, but we are the ones who go to Paradise.’ The lady was of the opinion that she had never felt better in her life, and having been compelled to diet by her husband for so long, she acquired such a taste for the monk’s victuals that when Friar Puccio reached the end of his long penance, she found a way of banqueting with the monk elsewhere. And for a long time thereafter, she continued discreetly to enjoy such repasts. To return to my opening remarks then, this was how it came about that Friar Puccio did penance with the intention of reaching Paradise, to which on the contrary he sent both the monk, who had shown him how to get there quickly, and his wife, who shared his house but lived in dire need of something which Master Monk, being a charitable soul, supplied her with in great abundance.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  SEVENTH DAY Here begins the Seventh Day, wherein, under the rule of Dioneo, are discussed the tricks which, either in the cause of love or for motives of self-preservation, women have played upon their husbands, irrespective of whether or not they were found out . Every star had vanished from the eastern heavens, excepting that alone which we call Lucifer, 1 which was still glowing in the whitening dawn, when the steward arose and made his way with a large baggage-train to the Valley of the Ladies, there to arrange everything in accordance with his master’s orders and instructions. And after his departure it was not long before the king also arose, having been awakened by the noise of the servants loading the animals, and caused all the ladies and the other young men to be roused. Nor were the sun’s rays shining as yet in all their glory, when the whole company set forth; and it seemed to them that they had never heard the nightingales and other birds sing so gaily as they appeared to sing that morning. Their songs accompanied them all the way to the Valley of the Ladies, where they were greeted by a good many more, so that all the birds seemed to be rejoicing at their coming. On roaming through the valley and surveying it for a second time, they thought it even more beautiful than on the day before, inasmuch as the hour showed off its loveliness to better advantage. And when they had broken their fast with good wine and delicate sweetmeats, so as not to be outdone by the birds they too burst into song, whereupon the valley joined forces with them, repeating every note that was uttered; and to these songs of theirs, sweet new notes were added by all the birds, as though they were determined not to be out-matched. When it was time to eat, they took their places at the tables, which in deference to the king’s wishes had been set beneath the leafy bay-trees and the other fine trees fringing the delectable pool, and as they ate they could see the fishes swimming about the lake in enormous shoals, which attracted not only their attention but also an occasional comment. At the end of the meal, the tables were cleared and taken away, and they began to sing even more merrily than before, then played upon their instruments and danced one or two caroles . Their discreet steward had meanwhile made up several beds in different parts of the little valley, surrounding them with drapes of French cretonne and bedecking them with canopies, and the king gave leave to those who so desired to retire for their siesta; and those who had no desire to sleep were free to amuse themselves to their hearts’ content in the various ways to which they were accustomed. In due course, when the time came for them to address themselves once more to their story telling, they all got up and proceeded to seat themselves on rugs which, in accordance with the king’s instructions, had been laid upon the grass beside the lake, in a spot not far away from where they had breakfasted. Then the king ordered Emilia to open the proceedings, and with a broad smile, she gaily began to speak, as follows:

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Gostanza described to him all that had happened to her, and told him of the honour paid to her by the noble lady with whom she had been staying. Martuccio spent some time conversing with her, after which he left her and went to the King, his master, to whom he gave a full account, not only of his own vicissitudes but also those of the girl, adding that he intended, by the King’s leave, to marry her according to the Christian rite. The King, who was filled with amazement, summoned the girl to his presence; and having heard her confirm Martuccio’s story with her own lips, he said: ‘Then you have certainly earned the right to marry him.’ He then called for sumptuous and splendid gifts to be brought, and divided them between Gostanza and Martuccio, granting them leave to arrange matters between themselves in whatever way they pleased. The gentlewoman with whom Gostanza had been staying was nobly entertained by Martuccio, who thanked her for all she had done to assist Gostanza, gave her such presents as were suitable to a person of her rank, and commended her to God, after which she and Gostanza took their leave of one another, shedding many tears. By the King’s leave, they then embarked on a small sailing-ship, taking Carapresa with them, and with the aid of a prosperous wind they came once more to Lipari, where there was such great rejoicing that no words could ever describe it. There, Martuccio and Gostanza were married, celebrating their nuptials in great pomp and splendour; and they spent the rest of their lives in the tranquil and restful enjoyment of the love they bore one another.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The doctor then went away, and concocted a harmless medicinal draught, which he duly sent round to Calandrino. As for Bruno, having purchased the capons and various other essential delicacies, he made a hearty meal of them in company with the doctor and his two companions. Calandrino took the medicine for three mornings running, then the doctor called to see him along with his three friends, and having taken Calandrino’s pulse, he said: ‘You’re cured, Calandrino, without a shadow of a doubt; so there’s no need for you to stay at home any longer. It’s quite safe now for you to get up and do whatever you have to.’ So Calandrino got up and went happily about his business, and whenever he fell into conversation with anyone he bestowed high praise on Master Simone for his miraculous cure, which in only three days had effected a painless miscarriage. Bruno, Buffalmacco, and Nello were delighted with themselves for getting round Calandrino’s avarice so cleverly, but they had not deceived Monna Tessa, who muttered and moaned to her husband about it for a long time afterwards. FOURTH STORYCecco Fortarrigo gambles away everything he possesses at Buonconvento, together with the money of Cecco Angiulieri. He then pursues Ceceo Angiulieri in his shirt claiming that he has been robbed, causes him to be seized by peasants, dons his clothes, mounts his palfrey, and rides away leaving Angiulieri standing there in his shirt. All the members of the company roared with laughter on hearing what Calandrino had said about his wife; but when Filostrato had finished speaking, Neifile began, at the queen’s behest, as follows: Worthy ladies, but for the fact that it is more difficult for people to display their wisdom and their virtues than it is to show their folly and their vices, it would be so much wasted effort for them to reflect carefully before opening their mouths to speak; all of which has been amply demonstrated by the stupidity of Calandrino, who was under no obligation whatever, in order to recover from the malady from which in his simplicity he believed himself to be suffering, to hold forth about the secret pleasures of his wife in public. But the story of Calandrino brings to mind a tale of a totally different sort, wherein one man’s cunning defeats the wisdom of another, to the latter’s extreme distress and embarrassment; and I should now like to tell you about it. In Siena, not many years ago, there lived two young men, who had both come of age and were both called Cecco, the one being the son of Messer Angiulieri1 and the other of Messer Fortarrigo.2 And whilst they failed to see eye-to-eye with each other on several matters, there was one respect at least – namely, their hatred of their respective fathers3 – in which they were in such total agreement that they became good friends and were often to be found in one another’s company.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  SIXTH STORY Michele Scalza proves to certain young men that the Baronci are the most noble family in the whole wide world, and wins a supper . The ladies were still laughing over Giotto’s swift and splendid retort when the queen called for the next story from Fiammetta, who began as follows: Young ladies, Panfilo’s mention of the Baronci, with whom, possibly, you are less well acquainted than he is, has reminded me of a story demonstrating their great nobility, and since it falls within the scope of our agreed topic, I should like to relate it to you. In our city, not so very long ago, there was a young man called Michele Scalza, who was the most entertaining and agreeable fellow you could ever wish to meet, and he was always coming out with some new-fangled notion or other, so that the young men of Florence loved to have him with them when they were out on the spree together. Now, one day, he was with some friends of his at Montughi, 1 and they happened to start an argument over which was the most ancient and noble family in Florence. Some maintained it was the Uberti, some the Lamberti, 2 and various other names were tossed into the discussion, more or less at random. Scalza listened to them for a while, then he started grinning, and said: ‘Get along with you, you ignorant fools, you don’t know what you’re talking about. The most ancient and noble family, not only in Florence but in the whole wide world, is the Baronci. 3 All the philosophers are agreed on this point, and anyone who knows the Baronci as well as I do will say the same thing. But in case you think I’m talking about some other family of that name, I mean the Baronci who live in our own parish of Santa Maria Maggiore.’ His companions, who had been expecting him to say something quite different, poured scorn on this idea, and said: ‘You must be joking. We know the Baronci just as well as you do.’ ‘I’m not joking,’ said Scalza. ‘On the contrary I’m telling you the gospel truth. And if there’s anyone present who would care to wager a supper to be given to the winner and six of his chosen companions, I’ll gladly take him up on it. And just to make it easier for you, I’ll abide by the decision of any judge you choose to nominate.’ Whereupon one of the young men, who was called Neri Mannini, said: ‘I am ready to win this supper.’ And having mutually agreed to appoint Piero di Fiorentino, in whose house they were spending the day, as the judge, they went off to find him, being followed by all the others, who were eager to see Scalza lose the wager so that they could pull his leg about it.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Having chosen Crete as the place to which they should go, they sold certain properties of theirs under the pretext of using the proceeds for a trading expedition, converted everything else they possessed into hard cash, purchased a brigantine, which they provisioned in secret on a lavish scale, and waited for the appointed day to come. For her part, Ninetta, who had a very clear notion of the wishes of her two sisters, described the scheme to them in such glowing colours and fired them with so much enthusiasm that they thought they would never live long enough to see it carried out. When the night finally arrived for them to go aboard the brigantine, the three sisters opened up a huge chest belonging to their father and took a large amount of money and jewellery from it, which they carried quietly away from the house according to plan. Their three lovers were waiting for them, and all six hurried aboard the brigantine, which immediately weighed anchor and put out to sea. After an unbroken voyage, they arrived next evening in Genoa, where the new lovers enjoyed the first delectable fruits of their love. Having taken on all the fresh provisions they needed, they put to sea again, making their way unimpeded from one port to the next until, a week later, they arrived in Crete. There, not far from Candia, 1 they purchased vast and magnificent estates, upon which they built houses of great beauty and splendour. And what with their large retinue of servants, their dogs, their birds, and their horses, they began to live like lords, banqueting and merrymaking and rejoicing in the company of their ladies, the most contented men on God’s earth. This, then, was their way of life. But as we all know from experience, a surfeit of good things often leads to sorrow, and now that Restagnone, who had once been very much in love with Ninetta, was able to possess her whenever he liked without fear of discovery, he began to have second thoughts about her, with the result that his love began to wane. Furthermore, he was powerfully attracted to a beautiful and gently bred young woman of the neighbourhood whom he had glimpsed at a banquet, and he began to court her with the maximum of zeal, paying her extravagant compliments and putting on entertainments for her benefit. When Ninetta perceived what was happening, she was so distraught with jealousy that he was unable to make a move without her getting wind of it and pelting him with so much abuse and hostility that she made Restagnone’s life a misery as well as her own. In the same way, however, that a surfeit of good things generates distaste, so the withholding of a desired object sharpens the appetite, and Ninetta’s resentment merely served to fan the flames of Restagnone’s new-born love. Whether or not he eventually succeeded in possessing his beloved, we shall never know.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  To Rupert Pole, she wrote in her slanted handwriting. Looking forward to getting to know you better at Coral Sands. That was as much of an invitation as she was going to offer him. If he wanted to see her, he would figure it out. [image file=image_rsrc3R3.jpg] When Rupert left the Coral Sands Motel at 3 a.m., she was completely satiated. Don’t forget again, she told herself. Men want you most when you are most elusive. She would take one more night of pleasure with Rupert and then she would be gone—the bird who swoops and flies away. But where could she fly? She had no more book signings and she was not ready to be cooped up again with Hugo. Something new had emerged in her over the three weeks of her book tour: the satisfaction of true independence. She still had some of the advance money for her next novel in her purse, and she needed an adventure. She watched the white window curtain flutter as she lay in her motel room and imagined what her life could be like if Children of the Albatross somehow sold enough copies that Dutton would publish another of her novels. She would get another advance, and another, so that she would be financially independent. Then she really could be like the bird she imagined, circling her lover and flying off to freedom, a bird that did not have to migrate dutifully home to Hugo’s nest. CHAPTER 9 Acapulco, Mexico, 1947-1948 ANAÏS ANAÏS BOUGHT HERSELF A FLIGHT to Acapulco and, with the pleasure of Rupert’s embraces still on her skin, flew there alone. When she checked herself into the El Mirador Hotel, the setting sun tinted everything gold: the beach, the patio of her cabana, the skin of her bare arms and legs. At night she lay in a hammock, a warm breeze caressing her. Above, instead of pinpricks of stars, she saw huge, glowing orbs. Nature was so present that it annihilated her anxiety. It embraced her so powerfully that the sensuality of her surroundings was the only lover she needed. She was a woman drugged by beauty, and as the days and nights passed, she felt she never wanted to leave. She was at last free from guilt, from worry, from ambition, from memory, from Sabina’s hunger, from Lillian’s anxiety, from Stella’s fear. She was Djuna, her essential self, for once a woman alone experiencing joy.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  Renate nodded in approval. “Ordinarily, as Anaïs’s best friend, I would not give such an important responsibility to anyone else. I would continue to do it myself. But there are complications since I married Ronnie and my son moved home.” Renate eyed my plate. “You’ve hardly eaten anything. Don’t you like it?” “It’s good.” I fibbed to be polite. “I ate too big a breakfast.” Renate gave me a stern, all-knowing look, but also a nod to credit my manners. With her aristocratic bearing, she carried her empty plate and my full one into the kitchen. “There’s a photo of my husband Ronnie on the shelf behind you,” she called out. I located the framed black and white picture of a kneeling football player holding his helmet and smiling at the camera. Renate and Anaïs were marvels, I thought, both of them married to gorgeous, younger men. “Where is Ronnie? Will I meet him?” “No, he’s at the apartment he still keeps in Santa Monica so his father won’t suspect he’s living with me.” She returned with mints from the restaurant for us. “Ronnie goes there to try to write. He wants to be an author, too, but he keeps rewriting the same page over and over. His perfectionism is driving him crazy.” “I do that,” I admitted. Renate put out a palm for the cellophane from my mint just as a car screeched to a halt outside. Through the living room window overlooking the carport, I watched Anaïs emerge from a powder blue Thunderbird. She removed the kerchief tied under her chin and tousled her permed bob. “You invited Anaïs!” I cried, delighted as a six-year-old at seeing Snow White coming up the steps. “Your enthusiasm is charming.” Renate smiled. Anaïs swept through the door, her black cape flapping behind her like the wings of a great crow. I recalled her statement about always dressing the part for an occasion and wondered if she’d conceived this as some sort of clandestine, cloak-and-dagger meeting. “I had the most terrible drive here,” she announced. “I got so entranced by the sight of the ocean that I went through a red light. The other cars honked and an awful man in a pickup truck followed me to the turn-off, yelling at me.” “Here’s pure water to relax you.” Renate poured a glass from the tap and handed it to Anaïs. “Sip it slowly.” Anaïs perched herself on a stack of large pillows. She released the clasp on her cape and it fell in graceful folds so she appeared to be sitting on a draped pedestal. As Anaïs dutifully followed Renate’s instructions to take five little sips of water, Renate said, “Tristine told me that she would be thrilled to help you with some phone and mail issues. My intuition tells me she’s trustworthy, but you need to talk with her yourself to see how you feel.” I grinned at Renate. She was trying to help me get the apprentice position.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  When the three of them had finished telling one another about their adventures, weeping and laughing endlessly together, Perrot and Jacques offered to supply the Count with new clothes, but he could in no way be persuaded to accept them. On the contrary, he was determined that Jacques, once he had claimed the promised reward, should present him exactly as he was, in his groom’s clothing, so that the King would feel all the more ashamed for what had happened. Jacques therefore presented himself to the King along with the Count and Perrot, and offered to produce the Count and his children if and when, in accordance with the terms of the edict, the reward was forthcoming. The King promptly ordered all three portions to be displayed, making Jacques’ eyes pop out with astonishment, and told him he could take away the reward whenever he had made good his offer to show him the Count and his children. Jacques then turned and made way for his groom and Perrot. ‘My lord,’ he said. ‘Here are the father and son. The daughter, who is my wife, is not here at present, but God willing you will see her soon.’ On hearing this, the King stared at the Count, and although his features were greatly altered, after surveying him at length he none the less knew him again. Restraining his tears with an effort, he raised the Count from his knees to his feet, and kissed and embraced him. And after having warmly greeted Perrot, he ordered that the Count should instantly be provided with all the clothes, servants, horses and accoutrements that were proper to his noble rank. This was no sooner said than done, and moreover the King did much honour also to Perrot and insisted on hearing a full account of his past adventures. When Jacques accepted the three enormous rewards for locating the Count and his children, the Count said to him: ‘Take away these gifts so generously endowed by His Royal Highness, and remember to tell your father that your children, who are his grandchildren as well as mine, are not descended from a vagrant on their mother’s side.’ Jacques took away the treasure, and arranged for his wife and his mother to come to Paris. Perrot’s wife came too, and they all stayed with the Count, who entertained them on a truly lavish scale, having been reinstated in all his lands and property, and granted higher rank than he had ever had before. Then they all obtained the Count’s leave to return to their respective homes, whilst he remained to the end of his days in Paris, covering himself with ever greater glory.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  SEVENTH DAY Here begins the Seventh Day, wherein, under the rule of Dioneo, are discussed the tricks which, either in the cause of love or for motives of self- preservation, women have played upon their husbands, irrespective of whether or not they were found out. Every star had vanished from the eastern heavens, excepting that alone which we call Lucifer, 1 which was still glowing in the whitening dawn, when the steward arose and made his way with a large baggage-train to the Valley of the Ladies, there to arrange everything in accordance with his master’s orders and instructions. And after his departure it was not long before the king also arose, having been awakened by the noise of the servants loading the animals, and caused all the ladies and the other young men to be roused. Nor were the sun’s rays shining as yet in all their glory, when the whole company set forth; and it seemed to them that they had never heard the nightingales and other birds sing so gaily as they appeared to sing that morning. Their songs accompanied them all the way to the Valley of the Ladies, where they were greeted by a good many more, so that all the birds seemed to be rejoicing at their coming. On roaming through the valley and surveying it for a second time, they thought it even more beautiful than on the day before, inasmuch as the hour showed off its loveliness to better advantage. And when they had broken their fast with good wine and delicate sweetmeats, so as not to be outdone by the birds they too burst into song, whereupon the valley joined forces with them, repeating every note that was uttered; and to these songs of theirs, sweet new notes were added by all the birds, as though they were determined not to be out-matched. When it was time to eat, they took their places at the tables, which in deference to the king’s wishes had been set beneath the leafy bay-trees and the other fine trees fringing the delectable pool, and as they ate they could see the fishes swimming about the lake in enormous shoals, which attracted not only their attention but also an occasional comment. At the end of the meal, the tables were cleared and taken away, and they began to sing even more merrily than before, then played upon their instruments and danced one or two caroles. Their discreet steward had meanwhile made up several beds in different parts of the little valley, surrounding them with drapes of French cretonne and bedecking them with canopies, and the king gave leave to those who so desired to retire for their siesta; and those who had no desire to sleep were free to amuse themselves to their hearts’ content in the various ways to which they were accustomed. In due course, when the time came for them to address themselves once more to their story telling, they all got up and proceeded to seat themselves on rugs which, in accordance with the king’s instructions, had been laid upon the grass beside the lake, in a spot not far away from where they had breakfasted. Then the king ordered Emilia to open the proceedings, and with a broad smile, she gaily began to speak, as follows:

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Now that he knew for certain that she was his daughter, he burst into tears and enfolded her in a tender embrace, albeit the girl attempted to hold him at a distance; and turning to Giacomino he said: ‘Brother, this is my daughter; it was my house that was plundered by Guidotto, and in the heat of the moment my wife, the child’s mother, left her behind. Later that day, my house was set on fire, and we had always supposed until now that the child was burned to death.’ On hearing this the girl, having taken account of his age and the fact that his words rang true, was prompted by some mysterious impulse to relax in his arms and tenderly mingle her tears with his. Bernabuccio instantly sent for her mother and for other women relatives, as well as for her brothers and sisters, and having presented her to each of them in turn and told them the story, he took her back to his house amid great rejoicing and the exchange of a thousand embraces, Giacomino being well content that he should have her. Tidings of these events were brought to the podestà, an excellent fellow, who, knowing that Giannole, whom he was holding prisoner, was the son of Bernabuccio and the girl’s blood-brother, decided to deal with him leniently and overlook the offence he had committed. What was more, he took a personal interest in the affair, and in consultation with Bernabuccio and Giacomino he induced Giannole and Minghino to make peace with one another. Then, to the enormous satisfaction of Minghino’s kinsfolk, he announced that the girl, whose name was Agnesa, was to be married to Minghino; and having set the two young men at liberty, he also released Crivello and the others who had been implicated in the matter. Shortly afterwards Minghino, overjoyed, celebrated his nuptials in truly magnificent style and conveyed his bride to his house, thereafter living many years with her in peace and prosperity.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  So, changing the subject, he said: ‘Tell me, Christian, in what part of the West do you live?’ ‘My lord,’ replied Messer Torello, ‘I am a Lombard, from a city called Pavia, and I am a poor man of low estate.’ When Saladin heard this, he was virtually certain that his surmise was correct, and gleefully thought to himself: ‘God has now given me the chance to show this man how greatly I valued his kindness towards me.’ However, he said no more on the subject, but gave orders for all his robes to be laid out on display in one of the rooms of the palace, into which he took Messer Torello, and said to him: ‘Take a look at these clothes, Christian, and tell me whether you ever saw any of them before.’ Messer Torello began to inspect them, and albeit he caught sight of the garments his wife had presented to Saladin, it never entered his head that they could be the ones in question. However, he replied: ‘My lord, I recognize none of them, though it’s true that these two resemble certain robes which I myself once wore, and were also worn by three merchants who came to stay with me.’ Whereupon Saladin, unable to restrain himself any longer, threw his arms affectionately round Messer Torello’s neck, saying: ‘You are Messer Torello of Strà; I am one of the three merchants to whom your good lady presented these garments, and the time has now come to persuade you of the quality of my merchandise, as I promised you I would, God willing, on the day I departed.’ On hearing this, Messer Torello was delighted and ashamed at one and the same time, for on the one hand he was delighted to have had so eminent a guest beneath his roof, whilst on the other he was ashamed at the thought of having entertained him so frugally. But Saladin continued: ‘Messer Torello, now that God has sent you here to me, you must no longer think of me as your master, but rather as your servant.’ After much rejoicing in each other’s company, Saladin caused him to be dressed in regal robes, and having presented him to a gathering of the leading peers of his realm, and spoken at length of Messer Torello’s excellence, he commanded that those of them who set any store by his favour should honour the person of Messer Torello as they would his own. And this was precisely what each of them did from that day forth, especially the two gentlemen who had stayed with Saladin in Messer Torello’s house. Messer Torello’s sudden elevation to the pinnacle of renown took his mind away for a while from his affairs in Lombardy, the more so because he had every reason to believe that his letter had been safely delivered into the hands of his uncle.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  ‘How are we to do that?’ ‘I know exactly how to exorcize it,’ said his wife, ‘because the day before yesterday, when I went to the pardoning at Fiesole, I came across a hermitess, who as God is my witness, Gianni dear, is the most saintly woman you ever met, and when she saw how terrified I was of the werewolf, she taught me a fine and godly prayer, telling me that she had tried it many a time before becoming a recluse, and that it had always worked for her. Heaven knows that I would never have sufficient courage to try it out by myself, but now that you are here, I want us to go and exorcize it.’ Gianni thought this an excellent idea, and so they both got up out of bed and tiptoed over to the door, on the other side of which Federigo, his suspicions already aroused, was still waiting. On reaching the door, Gianni’s wife said to him: ‘As soon as I give you the word, have a good spit.’ 11 ‘Right you are,’ said Gianni. Then the lady began the exorcism, saying: ‘Werewolf, werewolf, black as any crow, you came here with your tail erect, keep it up and go; go into the garden, and look beneath the peach, and there you’ll find roast capons, and a score of eggs with each; raise the flask up to your lips, and take a swig of wine; then get you gone and hurt me not, nor even Gianni mine.’ And so saying she turned to her husband, and said: ‘Spit, Gianni.’ And Gianni spat. Federigo, who was standing outside and heard every syllable, had stopped feeling jealous, and despite all his frustration he had to hold his sides to prevent himself from bursting out laughing. And in a low murmur, as Gianni was doing his spitting, he groaned: ‘The teeth!’ When Monna Tessa had exorcized the werewolf three times in this same fashion, she and her husband returned to bed. Federigo had come with an empty stomach, for he had been expecting to sup with his mistress. But having clearly grasped the meaning of the words of the prayer, he made his way into the garden, where at the foot of the large peach-tree he found the two capons and the wine and the eggs, which he took back with him to his house, there to make a splendid and leisurely meal of it all. And on many a later occasion, when he was with his mistress, they had a good laugh together over this incantation of hers. It is true that some people maintain that the lady had in fact turned the skull of the ass towards Fiesole, and that a farmhand, passing through the vineyard, had poked his stick inside it and given it a good twirl, so that it ended up facing towards Florence, hence causing Federigo to think that she wanted him to come.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  ‘She’ll be sleeping to the song of the cicadas if I hear any more of her nonsense.’ Having heard what he had said, on the following night, more to spite her father than because she was feeling hot, Caterina not only stayed awake herself but, by complaining incessantly of the heat, also prevented her mother from sleeping. So next morning, her mother went straight to Messer Lizio, and said: ‘Sir, you cannot be very fond of this daughter of yours. What difference does it make to you whether she sleeps on the balcony or not? She didn’t get a moment’s rest all night because of the heat. Besides, what do you find so surprising about a young girl taking pleasure in the song of the nightingale? Young people are naturally drawn towards those things that reflect their own natures.’ ‘Oh, very well,’ said Messer Lizio. ‘Take whichever bed you please, and set it up for her on the balcony with some curtains round it. Then let her sleep there and hear the nightingale singing to her heart’s content.’ On hearing that her father had given his permission, the girl promptly had a bed made up for herself on the balcony; and since it was her intention to sleep there that same night, she waited for Ricciardo to come to the house, and gave him a signal, already agreed between them, by which he understood what was expected of him. As soon as he had heard his daughter getting into bed, Messer Lizio locked the door leading from his own room to the balcony, and then he too retired for the night. When there was no longer any sound to be heard, Ricciardo climbed over a wall with the aid of a ladder, then climbed up the side of the house by clinging with great difficulty to a series of stones projecting from the wall. At every moment of the ascent, he was in serious danger of falling, but in the end he reached the balcony unscathed, where he was silently received by the girl with very great rejoicing. After exchanging many kisses, they lay down together and for virtually the entire night they had delight and joy of one another, causing the nightingale to sing at frequent intervals. Their pleasure was long, the night was brief, and though they were unaware of the fact, it was almost dawn when they eventually fell asleep without a stitch to cover them, exhausted as much by their merry sport as by the nocturnal heat. Caterina had tucked her right arm beneath Ricciardo’s neck, whilst with her left hand she was holding that part of his person which in mixed company you ladies are too embarrassed to mention. Dawn came, but failed to wake them, and they were still asleep in the same posture when Messer Lizio got up out of bed.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  I am certain you will find that she is your daughter.’ Having pondered for a while, Bernabuccio remembered that she ought to have a small scar above her left ear in the shape of a cross – the remains of an abscess which he had had removed shortly before his house was looted. So without further ado he went up to Giacomino, who was still standing on his doorstep, and asked him to take him into the house and let him see the girl. Giacomino readily took him inside, and introduced him to the girl. As soon as Bernabuccio set eyes on her, he could see that she was the living image of the child’s mother, who was still a good-looking woman. Not content with this, however, he asked Giacomino if he would kindly allow him to lift the hair above the girl’s left ear, and Giacomino told him to go ahead. Bernabuccio went up to the girl, who was feeling rather embarrassed by all this, and having raised her hair with his right hand, he caught sight of the cross-shaped scar. Now that he knew for certain that she was his daughter, he burst into tears and enfolded her in a tender embrace, albeit the girl attempted to hold him at a distance; and turning to Giacomino he said: ‘Brother, this is my daughter; it was my house that was plundered by Guidotto, and in the heat of the moment my wife, the child’s mother, left her behind. Later that day, my house was set on fire, and we had always supposed until now that the child was burned to death.’ On hearing this the girl, having taken account of his age and the fact that his words rang true, was prompted by some mysterious impulse to relax in his arms and tenderly mingle her tears with his. Bernabuccio instantly sent for her mother and for other women relatives, as well as for her brothers and sisters, and having presented her to each of them in turn and told them the story, he took her back to his house amid great rejoicing and the exchange of a thousand embraces, Giacomino being well content that he should have her. Tidings of these events were brought to the podestà , an excellent fellow, who, knowing that Giannole, whom he was holding prisoner, was the son of Bernabuccio and the girl’s blood-brother, decided to deal with him leniently and overlook the offence he had committed. What was more, he took a personal interest in the affair, and in consultation with Bernabuccio and Giacomino he induced Giannole and Minghino to make peace with one another. Then, to the enormous satisfaction of Minghino’s kinsfolk, he announced that the girl, whose name was Agnesa, was to be married to Minghino; and having set the two young men at liberty, he also released Crivello and the others who had been implicated in the matter.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  This provided her with the chance to fulfil the second of Pyrrhus’ demands, and she promptly took hold of a small tuft of his beard, and, laughing the whole time, jerked it with so much violence that it came away entirely from his chin. When Nicostratos began to protest, she interrupted him, saying: ‘What’s the matter? Why do you pull such a face just because I’ve plucked some half-dozen hairs from your beard? I can’t possibly have hurt you as much as you hurt me, when you were tugging at my hair just now.’ And so they continued jesting and sporting with one another, and the lady, having carefully preserved the tuft she had removed from his beard, sent it that same day to her beloved. The third demand presented a rather more difficult problem, but Love had greatly sharpened the lady’s wits, and since she was no dullard in the first place, she had already thought of a way of fulfilling it. Now, Nicostratos had two young boys in his household, who, since they came of noble stock, had been entrusted to his care by their fathers so that they might learn good manners, and when Nicostratos was at table, one of them carved his meat whilst the other poured out his drink. Having sent for these two boys, the lady gave them to understand that they suffered from bad breath, and instructed them that, whenever they were waiting upon Nicostratos, they should hold their heads as far to one side as possible; but they were not to mention this matter to anyone. The boys believed her, and began to do as the lady had told them, so that eventually she took Nicostratos aside, and said to him: ‘Have you noticed what these boys do when they are waiting upon you?’ ‘I have indeed,’ said Nicostratos, ‘and in fact, I’ve been meaning to ask them why they do it.’ Whereupon the lady said: ‘There’s no need: I can tell you the reason. I’ve been keeping it to myself for ages as I didn’t want to upset you, but now that others have begun to notice, it’s time that you were told. All that’s wrong is that you suffer from appallingly bad breath, and I’ve no idea why this should be, because you never used to have it. However, it is quite repulsive, and seeing that you have to consort with people of quality, we shall have to find some way of curing it.’ ‘What could be causing it, I wonder?’ said Nicostratos. ‘Can it be that one of my teeth is rotten?’ ‘That’s quite possible,’ said Lydia. Whereupon, having taken him over to a window, she got him to open his mouth, and after carefully inspecting both sides of his jaw, she exclaimed: ‘Oh, Nicostratos, how can you have endured it for so long?

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Federigo had come with an empty stomach, for he had been expecting to sup with his mistress. But having clearly grasped the meaning of the words of the prayer, he made his way into the garden, where at the foot of the large peach-tree he found the two capons and the wine and the eggs, which he took back with him to his house, there to make a splendid and leisurely meal of it all. And on many a later occasion, when he was with his mistress, they had a good laugh together over this incantation of hers. It is true that some people maintain that the lady had in fact turned the skull of the ass towards Fiesole, and that a farmhand, passing through the vineyard, had poked his stick inside it and given it a good twirl, so that it ended up facing towards Florence, hence causing Federigo to think that she wanted him to come. According to this second account, 12 the words of the lady’s prayer went like this: ‘Werewolf, werewolf, leave us be; the ass’s head was turned, but not by me; I curse the one who did it, and I think you will agree; for I’m here with my dear Gianni, as anyone can see.’ And so Federigo beat a hasty retreat, and lost his supper that evening as well as his lodging. However, there is a neighbour of mine, a very old woman, who tells me that both accounts are correct if there is any truth in a story which she was told when she was still a child, and that the second version refers, not to Gianni Lotteringhi, but to a man from Porta San Piero called Gianni di Nello, who was just as great a dunderhead as Gianni Lotteringhi. I therefore leave it to you, dear ladies, to choose the version you prefer, or perhaps you would like to accept both, for as you have heard, they are extremely effective in situations like the one I have described. Commit them to memory, then, for they may well stand you in good stead in times to come.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Feeling greatly relieved, Messer Amerigo made his way to the place where Phineas was staying, and, choking back his tears, he apologized as best he could for what had happened, declaring that if Theodor wished to marry his daughter, he would be delighted to let him have her. Phineas gladly accepted his apologies, and replied: ‘I intend that my son should marry your daughter. And if he should raise any objection to doing so, let the sentence passed upon him be carried out.’ Being thus in agreement, Phineas and Messer Amerigo went to Pietro, who, though delighted at having found his father again, was still in great fear of being put to death, and they inquired into his own wishes on the subject. On hearing that Violante would marry him if he so wished, Theodor was filled with such transports of joy that he had the sensation of passing from Hell into Heaven at a single bound; and he said that if this was what the two fathers were proposing, he could only regard it as the greatest of favours. They therefore sent someone to ascertain the wishes of the girl herself, who after some time, having learned what had happened to Theodor and what was being proposed, ceased to be the saddest woman alive, awaiting only death to put an end to her misery. Giving some credence to the messenger’s words, she began to take a slightly rosier view of her circumstances, and replied that if she were to follow her own inclinations in the matter, nothing would make her happier than to marry Theodor; but at all events she would do whatever her father ordered. By mutual consent, therefore, the girl’s betrothal was announced and a very great feast was held, to the immense pleasure of all the townspeople. Putting her infant son out to nurse, the girl recovered her strength, and before very long she appeared more lovely than ever. On rising from her confinement, she presented herself to Phineas, whose return from Rome everyone had meanwhile been awaiting, and greeted him with all the reverence due to a father. Phineas, delighted to have acquired so beautiful a daughter-in-law, saw to it that their nuptials were celebrated in the grand manner, with much feasting and merrymaking, and from then on he always looked upon Violante as his daughter. A few days after the nuptials, he took ship with her, his son, and his infant grandson, and sailed away with them to Lajazzo, where the two lovers lived in comfort and happiness for the rest of their days.