Broadway Translations
Il Novellino
The Hundred Old Tales
Translated from the Italian by
EDWARD STORER
To this day the author of this famous collection of tales remains unknown. But he probably was a minstrel of the Middle Ages who went from castle to castle entertaining his listeners with his stories—Bible stories, stories from French, Provençal, and Arthurian sources, stories from the Classics, and stories of Oriental origin. Some were moralistic, some humorous, some witty, some spicy.
As a collection they have never ceased to interest because of their humanness. Written in a quaint simple style, they are full of action, wit, and wisdom, and represent practically the oldest prose work in the Italian language.
E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
681 Fifth Avenue New York City
Broadway Translations
“Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety.”
IL NOVELLINO
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY HEADLEY BROTHERS.
ASHFORD, KENT; AND 18, DEVONSHIRE STREET, E.C.2.
Broadway Translations
IL NOVELLINO
THE HUNDRED OLD TALES
Translated from the Italian by
EDWARD STORER
With an Introduction
LONDON
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS LTD.
NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON & CO.
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN [[v]]
CONTENTS
PAGE
Il Novellino
[[1]]
INTRODUCTION
One day about the end of the thirteenth century or the beginning of the fourteenth, when the Middle Ages still darkly curtained the Renaissance from view, a “man of the Court”, or minstrel, of some Italian lord had one of those inventive flashes which go to the making of literatures. This “man of the Court” who was perhaps a minstrel or giullare in little more than name—for his talent would be especially literary—knew by heart the little archaic tales which make up the slender corpus of the Cento Novelle Antiche, or Novellino. Often he told them or heard them told in baronial halls, and in lordly places, in rough huts after days of hunting, and in the encampments of battlefields. Before audiences of seigneurs and knights, in the company of stately prelates, and in the rollicking gatherings of dashing young donzelli, he had narrated or heard narrated by humbler men of his craft these simple [[2]]stories, some of them redolent of the wisdom of ages, others piquant with the flavour of his own times. Well he knew their effect, and could choose one to suit his company and occasion. Thus for the entertainment of graver and elderly lords he would select those of monkish or ascetic origin, while when in the company of gay young cavalieri, he would not hesitate to tell over some of the more libertine tales of his oral anthology. And the beginnings of the new Italian tongue, liberating itself from the secular thrall of its parent Latin, and having taken shape in its Tuscan and Sicilian matrixes, sought an early literary expression and found it in the work of our perhaps slightly pedantic giullare who will in all probability remain for ever unknown to us. That some such person existed is obvious, even if we cannot discover his name, nor his place of birth, nor estate. He may indeed have been a worldly type of monk rather than a “man of the court”, but the choice of the novelle, included in the collection, would certainly seem rather to point to the compiler being a man of the world rather than an ascetic. As does the fact that the tales [[3]]were not written in Latin, for the tenacious Latin clung to the cloisters after it had died on the tongues and pens of the lay world of those times. Our anthologist, who was in fact a great deal more than an anthologist, had coadjutors and rivals, successors and improvers, as the different manuscripts of the Novellino prove, but the original compiler of the Cento Novelle Antiche, as the work was previously called, was, one likes to believe, a single individual rather than a group of giullari or ex-giullari at the dependence of some medieval Medici. So the idea came to him of grouping together in one manuscript, which maybe he gave for copying to some Florentine monk, a selection of the knightly, moral, Biblical, classical, and popular tales which were most in vogue in his epoch. They were stories which had stood the test of time—some of them the test of successive civilizations—and had met the full-throated approval of numerous courts from Provence to Sicily, from Parma to Rome. Hitherto they had lived only on the lips of the Court story-tellers and wandering minstrels who narrated them. The tales which make up the Novellino [[4]]were, for the most part, “taught”, as we learn from our text by one giullare or story-teller to another. And each man added or altered them according to his wit and company. That the professional story-tellers played tricks with the tales in vogue and added details and colour of their own on occasion, we may well presume from Novella LXXXIX, where a “man of the Court” is reminded that he is spinning out his story at too great a length by one of the yawning company. The collection here printed under the title of Il Novellino, most of which tales appear in the original edition of the Cento Novelle Antiche, by Gualteruzzi, formed part of a vast repertory of similar stories, legends and anecdotes which were bandied about from province to province, from country even to country, and closed full lived medieval days of hunting and of battle.
Perhaps it was after some especially successful night when our unknown compiler had won the approval of a generous signore for his tales, and carried off a purse filled with a few gold coins to his lonely room, that the idea came to him of [[5]]framing the oral stories in a literary form. He had probably no notion that he was making literature, or founding one of the purest early classics of the young Italian tongue which the wit of the people had shaped out of the mother Latin. For him it was a matter of convenience and utility, though the urge to give a literary shape to the spreading idiom was in the air, deriving as an impellent necessity from the propagation of the spoken word which was widespread in Tuscany and vigorous elsewhere though in dialect forms. The first literary stirrings of the Italian conscience were in the air, and writers brought up on Latin chronicles and used to the mixed French and Italian of works like the Entrée en Espagne of Nicola da Padua were anxious to try their hands on the wonderful virgin material within their reach. We may reflect in passing what a marvellous opportunity it was for poets and story-tellers, although they did not recognize it as such—to find themselves in the privileged position of having a virgin language at their command, not debased by the ready-made phrase, the trite mechanical expression. With a new language coming into [[6]]being, nothing or almost nothing is conventionalized. The idea runs straight from the dynamic thought to the natural phrase. There are no ready-made channels to absorb the spontaneity, convenient and inevitable as such moulds afterwards become.
So our “man of the Court” dreamed upon his great idea, developed it, thought it over, took counsel maybe of some tale-loving signore and set to work. We may, I think, fairly argue that it was some professional teller of tales, some giullare of more than average education rather than any monk or ascetic who wrote the first manuscript of the Hundred Old Tales, and this for the extremely free, not to say bawdy character of three or four of them. (These latter have not been translated.) Moreover, the curious and often ridiculous errors in geography, history, chronology and physics which we find in the Novellino is surely proof that the person who compiled it was no great scholar or man of learning. The mistakes which appear in it could hardly have been perpetrated by a learned monk well read in history and the classics. Again, Latin was still [[7]]the language of science and such scholarship as existed then. The times were rude in a certain sense, though perhaps less rude than is generally imagined, but some of the errors to be found in the tales are so gross and absurd that they could not have been committed to a manuscript by anyone of real learning. Which gives us ground for believing that the original anthologist was of the minstrel class, a giullare of degree and some education, with literary yearnings, stimulated perhaps by the exercises of his French and Provençal colleagues in the arts of story-telling and song.
Italian critics and writers generally on the subject of early Italian literature are by no means agreed as to the origins of the tales which make up the Cento Novelle. It was during the latter half of the thirteenth century, however, that the new tongue began to make headway against the obstinacy of the Latin, but it is only towards the end of the thirteenth century that original works in Italian prose appeared. Before the thirteenth century practically no Italian literature existed. Italian writers had written in Latin, [[8]]in French, and in a kind of mixed French and Italian. We have the Latin chronicles of the IXth, Xth, XIth, and XIIth centuries which contain classical and mythological allusions. Guido delle Colonne wrote his Trojan poem in Latin. In the Bovo d’Antona, the Venetian dialect makes itself clearly felt. It was from about the year 1250 that the national literature developed. In the North of Italy, the poems of Giacomino da Verona and Bonvecino da Riva, which were religious in character, showed traces of the movement which prepared the way for the instrument that was to serve Dante and Boccaccio. In the South of Italy, and in Sicily especially, at the Sicilian court, there arose a school of poets who specialised in love songs which were largely imitations of Provençal rhymers. To this Siculo-Provençal school belonged Pier delle Vigne, Inghilfredi, Jacopo d’Aquino and Rugieri Pugliese. The south of the Italian continent with the exception of Naples and some monasteries like Salerno, was steeped in ignorance, and rough dialects grew out of the Greco-Latin soil with nothing literary about them. Frederick II [[9]]himself, who ruled his Sicilian court, was a poet of sorts himself, though his productions were imitative and unoriginal like most of the members of the Sicilian school. As to what is exactly the oldest prose writing in the Italian language opinions differ, but certainly the Composizione del Mondo by Ristoro d’Arezzo (a Tuscan) who lived about the middle of the thirteenth century, is one of the oldest, if not the oldest. Matteo Spinelli da Giovenazzo, too, may lay claim to be one of the very earliest writers in the Tuscan dialect, which afterwards, and with great rapidity, developed into the Italian language. Another name that may be mentioned is that of Ricordano Malespina.
The French fabliaux, and the works of the French and Provençal singers and makers of contes certainly inspired writings like the Novellino and the few other contemporary works of a similar character. The former reached a far higher degree of art than they ever attained to in Italy. To the extensive works in thousands of lines which the other romance languages can show, Italy can only put forward the bare skeleton tales of the Novellino, the Conti dei Antichi Cavalieri, [[10]]the Conti Morali del Anonimo Senese. Earlier works there were in Latin, such as the famous Gesta Romanorum and the Disciplina Clericalis. Several of the tales which appear in the Novellino also figure in Disciplina Clericalis and in the Gesta, as we shall see.
To all the poetry of the French and Provençal bards of the Middle Ages Italy has nothing to oppose. Cantastorie or minstrels there were, but the Italian giullare was considerably lower in the hierarchy of song than his French or Provençal brothers. In Italy such poems or songs lacked the profound impress of the people’s spirit. No memory of these Italian songs has remained, though they must have existed, and perhaps in plenty, but the versifiers of the period were plebian and lowly. They lacked the protection of important courts. While France, Spain and Germany can show a rich epic popular poetry, Italy can only boast a few hundred novelle in prose.
The tale or novella was a literary product especially pleasing to the Middle Ages, which was, in the matter of culture, an infantile age. The period seems to have almost a childish [[11]]affection for the marvellous tale. Learning and intellectual sophistication of any kind was in the hands of a few, was almost a kind of vested interest in which not only the common people, but even the lords and knights themselves had no interest or claim. This was especially the case in Italy, where no vehicle existed for its propagation until the end of the thirteenth century. Therefore to simple minds, unused to the mysteries of literature, save those written in a hermetic and pompous tongue fast disappearing from common use, the tale was a spiritual refreshment aptly suited to the time. In England, too, we see examples of Latin tales as in the De Naturis Rerum of Neckham.
But if Italian culture was backward at this time, or non-existent save in Latin forms, it grew very quickly, and from its plebian sources there came into being the new art of Boccaccio. For though the language was new, the Italians were by no means a new people. They had behind them a long uninterrupted literary tradition from which they could with difficulty withdraw themselves. There was even a similarity of [[12]]spirit between those who clung to the old traditions and wrote in Latin, and the people seeking to express themselves in their young language. The two literatures had a great deal of the same spirit and character. The early Italian prose developed to a great extent along the lines of the earlier chroniclers who wrote in medieval Latin. Nor could it very well be otherwise, for even a new literature of a new tongue requires models, and where should the new nationalist scribes turn for models save to the Latin writings of their own countrymen? It is not too much to say that Italian grew quickly because of its Latin traditions. It is astonishing to think how quickly it did grow, from the simple beginnings of the Cento Novelle to Boccaccio. In less than one hundred years Dante is reached. This rapid growth evidently depended on the fact that Italian was a continuation of Middle-Age Latin. In its spoken form, it had been in use for some time, and it merely required a certain amount of independence and belief in the popular idiom to turn it to literary uses.
In the tales which make up the Novellino, [[13]]we can see how near the form is to the spoken language, especially in those tales which are of contemporary and local origin. The compiler did little more than put into simple Tuscan prose tales that for the most part were well known in oral tradition. When I come to examine the tales individually, we shall see which came from the classics, which from Oriental sources, which from Provence and which were the product of local wit.
It is alleged in some quarters that the Novellino or the Cento Novelle Antiche was not the work of a single compiler. This thesis is supported by arguments which point out the diversity of style and colour in the tales. It seems to me that it may also be argued from this that, as indisputably the stories derive from many stories, such as Provence, the Bible, the Greek and Latin classics, and the tales of the moral and ascetic writers, such a variety of style and colour is only to be expected. If one prefers the theory of single authorship—an authorship of course which is limited as the subject matter of the tales was common property—one can find just as many arguments for it as the [[14]]upholders of the plural authorship theory can lay against it. There are those who deny the authorship of the Iliad and Odyssey to one poet. One cannot pretend to settle a question which still perplexes Italian critics of their own early literature. One may, however, refer briefly to some of the best accredited opinion on the subject.
Francesco Costerò, who believes the tales to be written by several hands, writes in his preface to a popular edition of the Novellino: “Nobody has yet, in spite of all the efforts of the learned, arrived at determining for certain the time or authorship of the Novellino. This is very natural, in the case of a work which was obviously written by several people and gathered in volume with time. In the Novellino, Saladin is spoken of, and we know that he died in 1193, during a war with the Christians of the Third Crusade. The book also makes reference to the Cavaliere Alardo di Valleri, who contributed to the victory of Charles d’Anjou at the battle of Tagliacozzo in 1268. From one date to the other there pass some seventy-five years, whence we should have to admit that the author was more than a hundred [[15]]years old if he were one and the same person. Further, we must take account of the style of the book”. This argument of Costerò does not seem very difficult to answer.
Some people are of the opinion that Brunetto Latini was the author of some of the tales and Professor Carbone writes that: “Latini added some of the finest flowers of the collection and the two narratives of Papirius and the Emperor Trajan are to be found with slight differences in the Cento Novelle and in Fiore di Filosofi e di molti Savi”.
To give an idea of the close similarity that exists between the two versions of the Trajan tale, I give a translation of both versions and place them side by side. The Trajan story is No. LXIX of the present collection. The version to be found in the Fiore di Filosofi runs:
Trajan was a very just emperor. Having one day mounted his horse to enter into battle with his cavalry, a widow woman came before him, and taking hold of his foot, begged him very earnestly and asked him that he should do justice on those who had wrongfully killed her son, a most upright [[16]]lad. The Emperor spoke to her and said: I will give you satisfaction on my return.…
The version in the Novellino runs:
The Emperor Trajan was a most just lord. Going one day with his host of cavalry against his enemies, a widow woman came before him, and taking hold of his stirrup, said: Sire, render me justice against those who have wrongfully killed my son. And the Emperor answered: I will give you satisfaction when I return.
As we see, the versions are almost identical, and the similarity continues in about the same degree throughout the two versions of the same tale.
The opinion has been put forward that Francesco da Barberino had a hand in the shaping of the final collection of tales. This theory was advanced by Federigo Ubaldini in 1640. Adolfo Ancona, certainly one of the weightiest authorities on early Italian literature, is of the opinion that the Novellino was the work of one man. The matter is complicated by the existence of more than one manuscript. [[17]]
The first edition of the tales was printed in Bologna in 1525 by Carlo Gualteruzzi of Fano under the title Le Ciento Novelle antike. In 1572, there appeared in Florence the Libro di Novelle et di bel Parlar Gentile, under the editorship of Monsignor Vicenzo Borghini. This latter edition differs considerably from the Gualteruzzian version, contains tales which do not appear in the earlier version and omits others contained therein. The discussions concerning the two versions soon began. But the authenticity of the Gualteruzzian version is now generally accepted, though the matter can by no means be considered as finally settled. Borghini in his edition seems to have sought to remove from the text all the moral and ascetic tales or those deriving from monkish or ecclesiastical sources. According to D’Ancona, the version of Borghini is an altered and much edited one, while the original edition of Gualteruzzi corresponds with the different codexes of the work, except in the case of the Codex Panciatichianus Palatinus, which has recently come in for accurate examination at the hands of Professor Sicardi, who has written [[18]]a long essay prefacing his edition of the Novellino. Sicardi, it may be mentioned, holds by the theory of the plural authorship of the tales. A curious fact in connection with the early editions of the Hundred Old Tales is that it has been alleged that an earlier edition than that of Gualteruzzi published in Bologna in 1525 exists in England. It is supposed to have been offered for sale by a London dealer in first editions, and to have passed into private hands. I have not been able to verify the truth of the existence or not of this alleged early edition.
The manuscripts of the Cento Novelle Antiche are eight in number, and seven of them correspond with the editio princeps of Gualteruzzi. Only one, the Codex Panciatichianus, discovered by Wesselofsky, and published by Biagi in 1880, differs materially, and contains some thirty tales and proverbs which do not appear in either of the two principal editions of Gualteruzzi or Borghini.
The eight codexes are: the Codex Marciana, which is in Venice; the Vatican manuscript; while the other six are in Florence. Of these, [[19]]one is in the Laurentian library, three are in the Palatine section of the National Library, while the remaining manuscripts are to be found in the Magliabechiana section of the same institute.
The tales contained in the Novellino divide themselves into sections. We have the Biblical stories founded on occurrences related in the Old Testament, and generally containing inaccuracies and alterations in the names and places of the characters referred to. This in itself, as may also be argued in the case of some of the tales deriving from the Greco-Roman sources, would seem to prove the popular origin of the collection. The unknown compiler took the oral story as he found it, even if it contained facts chronologically or historically at variance with the Biblical narrative. We have an instance of this in story number IV of the present collection, where, instead of the prophet Gad giving David the choice of punishments, an angel is made to appear and tell David that he has sinned. Again, in Novella XII, the compiler has mixed up the names of Joab and Aminadab, while in Novella XXXVI, [[20]]the account of the second half of the tale is not according to the Biblical narration.
Another portion of the stories derive from French and Provençal sources and the Arthurian cycle is drawn on more than once. The story of how “The Lady of Shalot died for love of Lancelot of the Lake”, which is one of the most beautiful of the entire collection, is an instance in point. The Novelle telling of the Lady Iseult and Tristan of Lyonesse, and the short one numbered XLV are also from the Arthurian romance. Of probable Provençal origin are the tales concerning the Young King and William of Borganda, the tale of Messer Imberal del Balzo, and perhaps the two tales regarding Richard Cœur de Lion, as well as the story on the Doctor of Toulouse, that about Charles D’Anjou and “What happened at the Court of Puys in Provence”. Many of the tales are taken from French originals, such as those dealing with the Astrologers of France, with Messer Roberto di Ariminimonte (LXII), while it is possible that the stories dealing with the young King and Richard Cœur de Lion came from the French and not the [[21]]Provençal. The novelle deriving from the knightly romances may also very well be of French origin.
Another section of the tales would appear to have their origins in the classics, and among these are the stories dealing with Trajan, Cato, Seneca, Socrates, Hector and Troy, Narcissus, Hercules, Aristotle and others.
A number are of oriental origin. Among these may be mentioned the novella treating of Prester John, of “the Greek kept in prison”, “How a jongleur lamented before Alexander”, “God and the Minstrel” and the last one in the book about the Old Man of the Mountain.
As the reader will see, the stories in this collection, which represent what is the oldest or almost the oldest work in prose in the Italian language, and the first book of stories in that tongue, have a very special and characteristic style of their own. Their language is the language of the beginnings of a culture, simple to the point of bareness, full of action, wisdom and wit. The narratives are the narratives of a man unused to [[22]]word-spinning and still a mediæval person of action, a trifle afraid of the mystery of the written word, though probably almost a pedant in comparison with the illiterate world of his time. The language of the tales calls to mind very obviously the style of the Bible, or of the early Hellenic poems, though it is ruder than either. The very simplicity which is one of the charms of the narrative has its drawbacks or rather surprises, especially to modern minds accustomed to a more flexible and more elastic syntax. The personal pronouns have a curious way of getting mixed up in the Novellino. One feels that the story-teller has a perfect, even childish confidence in the reader’s interest, and as a matter of fact, the tales are so short and easily grasped that the doubt as to who is the particular “he” or “she” or “they” referred to is little more than a pedantic one. I have only altered these peculiarities of the prose where it has seemed necessary in order to allow the meaning to come through clearly, for certainly a great deal of the quality and charm of the book lies in its quaint style. To smooth this out overmuch, would certainly destroy the vigour of the [[23]]original. Many of the tales, as I have said elsewhere, are common to many nations, and it is largely due to the strong if abrupt style of the narratives that they give us such a sharp sense of the period to which they belong.
To read the tales in the present collection provides a remarkable contrast with modern prose, which can never seem to say enough. The compiler or author, if so we may call him, of the Hundred Old Tales, eschews all psychology the meaning of which word he was ignorant of, and abstains from comment unless it be in the nature of moral comment. This latter, of course, comes from the older tradition of Latin tales to which books like the Gesta Romanorum and Disciplina Clericalis belong. But in this case, the moral is pointed out out of respect to the older tradition, from which the author could not quite shake himself free, writing, though he was, in a new idiom. These moralisings which conclude some of the tales, or are allowed to be understood, are more a tribute to the moral than the literary traditions of the times.
The beauty and dramatic effect of some of the [[24]]tales is extraordinary. The version given of the Lady of Shalot and how she died for love of Lancelot is exquisite in its purity and tenderness. It is quite a little masterpiece of literature.
“The sail-less vessel was put into the sea with the woman, and the sea took it to Camelot, and drifted it to the shore. A cry passed through the court. The knights and barons came down from the palaces, and noble King Arthur came too, and marvelled mightily that the boat was there with no guide. The king stepped on to it and saw the damsel and the furnishings. He had the satchel opened and the letter was found. He ordered that it should be read, and it ran: ‘To all the Knights of the Round Table this lady of Shalott sends greetings as to the gentlest folk in the world. And if you would know why I have come to this end, it is for the finest knight in the world and the most villainous, that is my Lord Sir Lancelot of the Lake, whom I did not know how to beg that he should have pity on me. So I died for loving well as you can see’.”
It would be hard to surpass the pure simplicity [[25]]of this even in verse. The language moves directly from fact to the written word. There is no hint of conscious colouring, no attempt to heighten the effect by a single adjective. Adjectives indeed are extremely rare in the Novellino, as in all good simple prose for the matter of that. The writer rarely departs from “very beautiful” or “most gentle” or “very rich”. As a rule, the tales are almost adjectiveless, and never are adjectives used to round out an effect or disguise an impoverished period. The rhythm of the tales, almost monotonous perhaps, yet wonderfully strong, moves surely from subject to predicate with the least possible adornment. Adornment, in fact, is not the word to use in this connection, for as such it does not exist. Such adjectival or adverbial phrases as are used are such as are only strictly demanded by the accompanying nouns or verbs. This, of course, is one of the characteristics of good literature in all ages, and especially is to be found in early classic prose.
A typical story of the Middle Ages is the dramatic, macabre tale of the knight who was charged with the custody of a hanged man, and [[26]]found a substitute for the body which had been taken away by the dead man’s friends in the corpse of the husband of a woman to whom the knight makes love. The love scene which takes place at night by the grave-side of the woman’s husband whom she is desperately mourning is grim and picturesque indeed. We have to go to our own Border and Scotch Ballads to find anything similar. Though the tale is of ancient origin, and is to be found in Petronius, it has all the characteristics of awe, swift passion, gloom and mockery which we associate with the so-called dark ages. The little story outlines a drama of great gloom and power in a few rapid touches. The whole thing is told in some three or four hundred words, but the content is packed with action, and not a word is wasted in ornament or comment. If we take two or three of the lines of the tale individually, we see how rich in action and picturesqueness they are, though a chaster and more ascetic prose could hardly be used.
“Do as I say,” says the knight at the graveside; “Take me to husband, for I have no wife, and save my life, for I am in danger.… [[27]]Show me how I may escape if you can, and I will be your husband and maintain you honourably. Then the woman, hearing this, fell in love with the knight.… She ceased her plaint, and helped him to draw her husband from his grave.…” We may note how in the next sentence the writer passes quickly over what has happened on the journey to the scaffold, discarding it as undramatic, for the same sentence goes on at once “… and assisted him to hang him by the neck, dead as he was”.
A modern story-teller would have filled several pages describing the lugubrious procession in the heart of the night from grave-yard to scaffold, and have described at length the feelings of the knight and the woman, with ample reflections on feminine nature; while the stars, the countryside, black cypresses, notes of melancholy owls, the sentinels at the city gates would all have been usefully dragged in to impress the reader.
The Middle Ages was childish perhaps in its love of the marvellous and marvellous stories, but the audiences of the old giullari and jongleurs certainly did not lack imagination. In this they [[28]]were like children who are rich in it, and to whom a bare swift tale with sharply outlined facts is dearer than all the considerations and artifices with which a clever tale-teller may embellish it.
If it is not correct to state that people to-day have less imagination than folk in the Middle Ages, it is very likely true that as they have so many more calls on it, it easily becomes tired and loses in elasticity. Those with lively imaginations like to add a good deal themselves to a story that is told them, and such was the case with the listeners to the stories given in this collection. They would probably have resented the guillare overloading his narratives with subsidiary facts, descriptions and artificial holding of the interest. They could do that kind of thing very well themselves. In fact, we have internal evidence from the Novellino itself that lengthy stories were not to the taste of the listeners of those times. In Novella No. LXXXIX, we read of a giullare “who began a story that never ended”. One of the hearers interrupts the story-teller, and assures him that the person “who taught him the tale did not teach him all of it”. The giullare [[29]]ask why and is answered: “Because he did not teach you the end”.
Some writers have put forward the theory that the stories contained in the Cento Novelle Antiche were only the synopses of longer stories, the index, so to speak of a much larger book that has been lost. But it seems to me that for the considerations before mentioned this is not the case. The novella in its infancy was always a brief narration, and even when we come to Boccaccio and his wider manipulation of material, the tales even then are not long as we judge the length of stories nowadays.
Certainly the modern man who lives a much less physical existence than his forbears, and has perforce to use his imagination and other intellectual faculties to a far greater extent than did the elder folk, requires his stories completely filled in so that they leave him little work to do. The Tired Business Man who takes the place of the bold baron and the fat bourgeois of the old days exacts from his modern jongleurs that they give him the least possible intellectual fatigue. [[30]]
A number of the tales seem to belong especially to the period, and differentiate themselves from the older ones in the collection where the monkish and Latin flavour clings still through the freer prose of the new idiom. Many of them have quite a Boccaccio touch, and already we seem to hear the round jovial laugh, the sensual yet humanistic mockery of the great Florentine. Among these we may mention the story of the Woman and the Pear-tree, which is not to be found in the original Gualteruzzi edition of 1525, but comes from the Panciatichiano MS. The picture of the two lovers up in the branches of the pear-tree, while the blind husband clasps the trunk of the tree below is worthy of the author of the Decameron. The ending of the story, however, seems to be more in keeping with the period.
The curious dialogue between God and Saint Peter, blasphemous almost at first sight and yet innocent in its curious naivete and simplicity, is the kind of thing we find in our period. It is on a par with that other extraordinary story of God and the minstrel who went partners together, which is obviously an old and favourite tale and [[31]]much in the style of the duecento. Borghini left it out of his edition, perhaps thinking it was offensive to religious sentiment.
Boccaccian is Novella No. XLIX, the story of the Physician of Toulouse, though the tale would appear to come from the French. So too is the story about the parish priest Porcellino, whose name is certainly chosen to give further point to the tale. In the same category comes Novella LXII, the tale of Messer Robert of Burgundy. The story in fact appears in the Decameron.
Many of the narratives have quite a different character to this rich mirthful mockery. Tales like that relating to Prester John, to the wise Greek whom a king kept in prison, the “Argument and Sentence that were given in Alexandria”, Antigonus and Alexander, the Land Steward who plucked out his own eye, belong to another epoch altogether and form part of the monkish and ascetic heredity of the Novellino.
A few (four or five) of the stories are frankly indecent, and are always expurgated from popular editions of the work in Italy, a course [[32]]which I have followed here. Two or three of the present collection are also a trifle free, but I have decided to leave them in their place, with a few unimportant excisions and alterations.
Another outstanding feature of the stories is the number of them which tell of smart sayings, clever retorts and elegant ripostes. Evidently a great deal was thought of such kind of quick-wittedness in the days of the duecento. The compiler in the Proem to the book lists his “fair courtesies and fine replies, valiant actions and noble gifts”, though there are a number of tales dealing with snubbing or sarcastic replies, which do not seem to be included in the category outlined in the Proem.
There is a certain curious childishness in the almost awed admiration which the compiler seems to feel for anyone who makes a witty retort, or snubs an opponent neatly. It is part of the intellectual simplicity of the time. Thus we have the answer of the pilgrim to the Emperor in Tale LXXXVI, the answer of the man who went to confess himself to the priest, the clever trick of the man who lent money to the student in the [[33]]“Man of the Marches who went to study at Bologna”.
Great importance, too, is laid on the knightly virtues of kindliness, courtesy and generosity; Knights were expected to be brave, but also gentle, in the sense which the word has taken on when allied with the noun and transformed into our modern gentleman. This common vocable of our daily life is a direct inheritance from the times of chivalry, and retains in its best meaning a great deal of the old significance.
In the language of the stories there is a good deal of Latin grace, order and sense of measure due to the old tradition. For the tales in this collection passed in many cases from their original Latin forms to the mouths of the people, taking on in the process a new originality, character and colour before they were written again in the virgin prose of Tuscany.
That these little tales can please modern readers there is good reason to believe, for they have been tested by time and worn smooth by repetition of all useless angles or unnecessary [[34]]detail. There is in them as their especial merit great humanity, passion, drama, and often a wisdom so old and mysterious that it seems to reach back through half a dozen civilizations to the very heart and mind of early man.
And so I close this note of introduction and open the way for the tales themselves “for the use and delight of such as know them not and fain would know” as the compiler says. [[35]]
IL NOVELLINO
This book treats of flowers of speech, of fine courtesies and replies, of valiant actions and gifts, such as in time gone by have been made by noble men.
I
Proem
When Our Lord Jesus Christ spoke with us in human form, he said among other things, that the tongue speaks from the fulness of the heart.
You who have gentle and noble hearts above other men, shape your minds and your words to the pleasure of God, speaking of honouring and fearing Our Lord who loved us even before He created us, and before we ourselves loved Him. And if in certain ways we may, without giving Him displeasure, speak for the gladdening of our bodies, and to give ourselves aid and support, let [[36]]it be done with all the grace and courtesy that may be.
And since the noble and the gentle in their words and deeds are as a mirror for the lower folks, for that their speech is more gracious, coming from a more delicate instrument, let us call back to memory some flowers of speech, such fair courtesies and fine replies, valiant actions and noble gifts as have in time gone by been compassed by many.
So whosoever has a noble heart and fine intelligence may imitate in time to come, and tell and make argument about them, when just occasion offers, for the use and delight of such as know them not and fain would know.
If the flowers of speech we offer you be mixed with other words, be not displeased, for black is an ornament to gold, and a fair and delicate fruit may sometimes adorn a whole orchard; a few lovely flowers an entire garden.
Nor should the many readers who have lived long without scarcely uttering a fine phrase or contributing anything of merit by their speech take offence herein. [[37]]
II
Of the rich embassy which Prester John sent to the noble Emperor Frederick
Prester John,[1] most noble Indian lord, sent a rich and honourable embassy to the noble and powerful Emperor Frederick, he who was in truth a mirror to the world in matters of speech and manners, who delighted generally in fair speech and sought ever to return wise answers. The substance and intention of that embassy lay in two things alone, to prove at all hazards, if the Emperor were wise both in word and in act.
So Prester John sent him by his ambassadors three most precious stones, and said to the ambassadors: question the Emperor and ask him on my behalf to tell you what is the best thing in the world. And take good notice of his answers and speech, and study well his court and its customs, and of what you shall learn bring me word, omitting nothing at all. [[38]]
And when they came to the Emperor to whom they had been sent by their master, they greeted him in a manner suitable to his majesty, and on behalf of their master, whom we have named, they gave him the precious stones. The Emperor took them, asking nothing of their worth. He ordered them to be taken charge of, and praised their exceeding beauty. The ambassadors asked their questions, and beheld the court and its customs.
Then after a few days, they asked permission to return. The Emperor gave them his answer and said: tell your master that the best thing in this world is moderation.
The ambassadors went away and related to their master what they had seen and heard, praising mightily the Emperor’s court with its fine customs and the manners of its knights.
Prester John, hearing the account of his ambassadors, praised the Emperor and said that he was very wise in speech but not in deed, since he had not asked the value of the precious stones. He sent back his ambassadors with the offer that if it should please the Emperor they should become [[39]]seneschals[2] of his court. And he made them count his riches and the number and quality of his subjects and the manners of his country.
After some time, Prester John, thinking that the gems he had given the Emperor had lost their value, since the Emperor was ignorant of their worth, called a favourite lapidary of his and sent him in secret to the Emperor’s court; saying to him: seek you in every way to bring me back those stones, whatever it may cost.
The lapidary set out, bearing with him many stones of rare beauty, and began to show them at the court. The barons and the knights came to admire his arts. And the man proved himself very clever. When he saw that one of his visitors had an office at the court, he did not sell, but gave away, and so many rings did he give away that his fame reached the Emperor. The latter sent for him, and showed him his own stones. The lapidary praised them, but temperately. He asked the Emperor if he possessed still more precious stones. Then the Emperor brought forth the three fine gems which the lapidary was [[40]]anxious to see. Then the lapidary grew exultant, and taking one of the stones, held it in his hand and said: this gem, Sire, is worth the finest city in your land. Then he took up another and said: this gem, Sire, is worth the finest of your provinces. Then he took up the third gem and said: Sire, this stone is worth more than all your empire. He closed his hand on the gems, and the virtue in one of them rendered him invisible,[3] so that none could see him, and down the steps of the palace he went, and returned to his lord, Prester John, and presented him with the stones with great joy.
[1] Presto Giovanni in orig. This Prester John or Prester Kan is the hero of many stories and fables. See Marco Polo. [↑]
[2] Administrators, sometimes treasurers of a court. [↑]
[3] The ancients believed that certain stones and one especially called the heliotrope, had the power of rendering a person invisible. [↑]
III
Of a wise Greek whom a King kept in prison, and how he judged of a courser
In the parts of Greece there was a nobleman who wore a king’s crown and had a mighty realm. His name was Philip, and he held in prison a [[41]]learned Greek for some misdeed of the latter. So learned was this Greek that his intellect saw beyond the stars.
It happened one day that the king received from Spain the gift of a noble courser of great strength and perfect form. And the king called for his shoeing-smith that he might learn of the worth of the steed, and it was answered him that the wisest counsellor in all things lay in his majesty’s prison.
The horse was ordered to be brought to the exercising ground, while the Greek was set free from the prison. Look over this horse for me, said the king, for I have heard that you are instructed in many things. The Greek examined the courser and said: Sire, the horse is indeed a fine one, but I must tell you that it has been reared on asses’ milk. The king sent into Spain to learn how the horse had been reared, and heard that its dam having died, the foal had been reared on asses’ milk. This caused the king great surprise, and he ordered that half a loaf of bread should be given to the Greek every day at the expense of the court. [[42]]
Then it happened one day that the king gathered all his precious gems together, and calling the Greek out of prison, said to him: master, you are a wise fellow and understand all things. Tell me, if you know aught of precious stones, which is the rarest of all these?
The Greek looked and said: which, Sire, is dearest to you? The king took up a stone, beautiful above the others, and said: master, this seems to me the loveliest and of the greatest value.
The Greek took it up and laid it in his hand and closed his fingers on it, and laid it to his ear and said: Sire, there is a worm here. The king sent for his master jeweller and had the stone broken open, and found a live worm in it. Then he praised the marvellous science of the Greek, and ordered that a whole loaf of bread be given him each day at the expense of the court.
Then after many days, the king bethought himself that he was not the legitimate king. He sent for the Greek, and took him into a secret place and began to speak and said: I believe you are a master of great learning, as I have clearly seen you prove yourself in matters whereof I [[43]]have questioned you. I want you to tell me now whose son I am.
The Greek replied: you know well, Sire, you are the son of such a father. And the king said: do not answer me as you think merely to please me. Answer me truly, for if you do not I will send you to an evil death. Then the Greek spoke and said: Sire, I tell you you are the son of a baker. Then the king cried: I will learn this of my mother, and he sent for her, and with ferocious threats constrained her to speak. His mother confessed the truth.
Then the king closeted himself in a room with the Greek and said: my master, I have seen great proof of your wisdom. Tell me, I beg of you, how you knew these things. Then the Greek made answer. Sire, I will tell you. I knew that the courser was raised on asses’ milk from common mother wit, since I saw that its ears drooped, which is not the nature of horses. I knew of the worm in the stone, for stones are naturally cold, and this one was warm. Warm it could not be naturally, were it not for some animal possessing life. And how did you know I was a baker’s son, asked the king. [[44]]
The Greek made answer: Sire, when I told you about the courser which was a marvellous thing, you ordered me the gift of half a loaf of bread a day, and when I spoke to you of the stone you gave me a whole loaf. Then it was I perceived whose son you were, for had you been the son of a king, it would have seemed a slight matter to you to give me a noble city, whereas it seemed a great thing to you to recompense me with bread as your father used to do.
Then the king perceived his meanness, and taking the Greek out of prison, made him noble gifts.
IV
How a jongleur lamented before Alexander the conduct of a knight, to whom he had made a gift on condition that the knight should give him whatsoever Alexander might present him with[1]
When Alexander was before the city of Gaza, with a vast besieging train, a noble knight escaped [[45]]from prison. And being poorly provided in raiment and accoutrement, he set forth to see Alexander who lavished his gifts more prodigally than other lords.
As the knight walked along his way, he fell in with a gentleman of the court[2] who asked him whither he was going. The knight replied: I am going to Alexander to request some gifts from him, so that I may return with honour to my country. Then the man of the court said, what is it that you want, for I will give it to you, provided that you give me what Alexander may present you with. The knight made answer: give me a horse to ride and a beast of burden and such things and money as will suffice for me to make return to my own country. The jongleur gave him these, and they went on in company together to Alexander, who having fought a desperate action before the city of Gaza, had left the battlefield and was being relieved of his armour in a tent. [[46]]
The knight and the jongleur came forward. The knight made his request to Alexander humbly and graciously. Alexander made no sign, nor did he give any reply. The knight left the man of the court and set out on the road to return to his own country.
He had not gone very far, however, when the citizens of Gaza brought the keys of the city to Alexander, submitting themselves entirely to him as their lord.
Alexander then turned to his barons and said: where is he who asked a gift of me? Then they sent for the knight who had asked the king for a gift. The knight came before the king, who said to him: take, noble knight, the keys of the city of Gaza which most willingly I give you. The knight replied: Sire, do not give me a city. I beg you rather to give me gold or silver or other things as it may please you.
Then Alexander smiled, and ordered that the knight should be given two thousand silver marks.[3] And this was set down for the smallest gift which Alexander ever made. The knight took the marks [[47]]and handed them to the jongleur. The latter came before Alexander, and with great insistence asked that he should be heard, and so much he argued that he had the knight arrested.
And he shaped his argument before Alexander in this wise: Sire, I found this man on the road and asked him whither he was going and why, and he told me he was going to Alexander to ask a gift. I made a pact with him, giving him what he desired on condition that he should give me whatsoever Alexander should make him a present of. Therefore he has broken the pact, for he refused the noble city of Gaza, and took the marks. Therefore, before your excellency, I ask that you heed my request and order him to make up the difference between the value of the city and the marks.
The knight spoke, and first of all he confessed that the pact had been so, and then he said: just Sire, he who asks me this is a jongleur, and a jongleur’s heart may not aspire to the lordship of a city. He was thinking of silver and of gold, and such was his desire. I have fully satisfied his intention. Therefore, I beg your lordship [[48]]to see to my deliverance as may please your wise counsel.
Alexander and his barons set free the knight, and complimented him on his wisdom.[4]
[1] This story is of Oriental origin. It occurs in some versions of The Thousand and One Nights. [↑]
[2] Guillare: court minstrel, story-teller, buffoon. As these men frequented the courts of kings and nobles, they were called men of the court. [↑]
[3] A mark had the value of four-and-a-half florins. [↑]
[4] The story appears in the French poem of Lambert Le Tort and Alexander de Bernay, with a slight variation. [↑]
V
How a king committed a reply to a young son of his who had to bear it to the ambassadors of Greece
There was a king in the parts of Egypt who had a first-born son who would wear the crown after him. The father began from the son’s very earliest years to give him instruction at the hands of wise men of mature age, and never had it happened to the boy to know the games and follies of childhood.
It chanced one day that his father committed to him an answer for the ambassadors of Greece.
The youth stood in the place of discourse to make answer to the ambassadors, and the weather [[49]]was unsettled and rainy. The boy turned his eyes to one of the palace windows, and perceived some lads gathering the rain water into little troughs and making mud pies.
The youth, on seeing this, left the platform, and running quickly down the palace stairs, went and joined the other lads who were gathering up the water, and took part in the game. The barons and knights followed him quickly, and brought him back to the palace. They closed the window, and the youth gave an answer such as was satisfactory to the ambassadors.[1]
After the council, the people went away. The father summoned philosophers and men of learning, and laid the point before them.
Some of the sages reputed it to be a matter of the lad’s nature; others suggested it portended a weakness of spirit; some went so far as to hint it betokened an infirmity of the mind.
Thus one gave one opinion, and another another, according to their art and science.
But one philosopher said: tell me how the youth has been brought up. And they told him [[50]]the lad had been brought up with sages and men of ripe age, with nothing of childishness in them.
Then the wise man answered: do not marvel if nature asks for what she has lost, for it is right for childhood to play, as it is right for age to reflect.
[1] lit.: “gave a sufficient reply”. [↑]
VI
How it came into the mind of King David to learn the number of his subjects
King David, being king by the grace of God, who had raised him from a shepherd to be a noble, wished one day to learn at all hazards the number of his subjects: which was an act of vain-glory most displeasing to the Lord, who sent an angel who spoke thus: David, you have sinned. So your Lord sends me to tell you. Will you remain three years in hell[1] or three months in the hands of His enemies which are yours, or will you leave yourself to the judgment of your Lord?
David answered: I put myself in the hands of my Lord. Let Him do with me what He will. Now what did God do? He punished him [[51]]according to his sin, taking away by death the greater part of his people in whose great number he had vain-gloried. And thus he reduced and belittled their number.
One day it came to pass that while David was riding he saw the angel of the Lord going about slaying with the naked sword, and just as the angel was about to strike a man,[2] David got off his horse and said: Highness, praise be to God, do not kill the innocent, but kill me; for the fault is all mine. Then for this good word, God pardoned the people and stayed the slaughter.[3]
[1] Biagi reads: Infermo—ill. [↑]
[2] This reading follows Biagi. Others give “striking as he willed”. [↑]
[3] The origin of this novella is, of course, Kings ii, chap. 24. It is curious to notice the variations. [↑]
VII
Here it is told how the angel spoke to Solomon, and said that the Lord God would take away the kingdom from his son for his sins
We read of Solomon that he made another offence to God, for which he was condemned to the loss of his kingdom. The angel spoke to him [[52]]and said: Solomon, on account of your sins, it is meet that you should lose your realm. But our Lord sends to tell you that for the good merits of your father, He will not take it away from you in your life, but for your wrong-doing He will take it away from your son. Whereby we see the father’s merits enjoyed by the son, and a father’s sins punished in his child.
Be it known that Solomon laboured studiously on this earth, and with his learning and talent had a great and noble reign.
And he took provision that foreign heirs should not succeed him, that is, heirs such as were outside his lineage.
So he took many wives and many concubines that he might have many heirs, but God who is the supreme dispenser willed it that by all his wives and concubines, who were many, he had but one son.
Then Solomon made provision so as to dispose and order his kingdom under this son of his, whose name was Roboam, that for certain he should reign after him.
So from his youth upwards he ordered his [[53]]son’s life with many precepts and schoolings. And more he did, so that a great treasure should be amassed and laid in a safe place.
And further he took urgent care that there was concord and peace with all the lords whose lands were near to his own, and his own vassals he held in peace and without contentions. And further he taught his son the courses of the stars and how to have mastery over demons.
And all these things he did that Roboam should reign after him.
When Solomon was dead, Roboam took counsel of wise old men, and asked their advice as to how he should manage his people.
The old men counselled him: call your people together and with sweet words say you love them as yourself, that they are as your crown, that if your father was harsh to them, you will be gentle and benign, and whereas he oppressed them, you will let them live in ease and content. If they were oppressed in the making of the temple, you will assist them.
Such was the advice the wise old men of the kingdom gave him. [[54]]
Roboam went away, and called together a counsel of young men, and asked them similarly their advice. And these asked him: how did they from whom you first sought advice counsel you? And he told them word for word.
Then the young men said: they deceive you, since kingdoms are not held by words but by prowess and courage. Whence, if you speak soft words to the people, it will seem to them you are afraid of them, and so they will cast you down, and will not take you for their lord nor obey you. Listen to our counsel who are all your servants, and a master may do with his servants as he will. Tell the people with vigour and courage that they are your servants, and that whosoever disobeys you, you will punish according to your harsh law. If Solomon oppressed them for the building of the temple, you too will oppress them if it shall please you. Thus the people will not hold you for a child, but all will fear you, and so you will keep your kingdom and your crown.
Foolish Roboam followed the young men’s advice. He called together his people, and spoke [[55]]harsh words to them. The people grew angry, and the chiefs became disturbed. They made secret pacts and leagues. Certain barons[1] plotted together, so that in thirty-four days after the death of Solomon, his son lost ten of the twelve parts of his kingdom through the foolish counsel of the young men.[2]
[1] The original calls them “barons,” though the word sounds strange in a Biblical connection. [↑]
[2] Kings III, chap, xi.–xii. [↑]
VIII
Of the gift of a king’s son to a king of Syria who had been driven from his throne
A lord of Greece who possessed a mighty kingdom and whose name was Aulix had a young son whom he had taught the seven liberal arts.[1] And he instructed him in the moral life, that is the life of fine manners.
One day this king took much gold and gave it to his son and said: spend it as you like. And he [[56]]told his barons not to instruct him how to spend it, but only to observe his behaviour and his habits.
The barons, following the young man, were with him one day at the palace windows.
The youth was pensive. He saw passing along the road folk who from their dress and person seemed very noble. The road ran at the foot of the palace.
The young man ordered that all these folk should be brought before him. His will was obeyed in this, and all the passers-by came before him.
And one of them who was bolder in heart and more cheerful in look than the others, came forward and asked: Sire, what do you want of me? I would know whence you come, and what is your state.
And the man replied: Sire, I come from Italy, and a rich merchant I am, and my wealth which I have gained I did not have as patrimony, but I earned it with my labour.
The king’s son asked the next man whose features were noble and who stood with timid face further off than the other, and did not dare advance so boldly. [[57]]
And this man said: what do you ask of me, Sire? The youth replied: I ask you whence you come, and what is your state.
The man answered: I am from Syria and am a king, and I have acted so that my subjects have driven me out of my kingdom.
Then the youth took all the gold and silver and gave it to him who had been driven out.
The news spread through the palace.
The barons and the knights met in conclave, and at the court nothing else was spoken of but this gift of the gold.
All was related to the father, questions and answers, word for word. The king began to speak to his son, many barons being present, and said: how did you come to distribute the money in this manner? What idea was it that moved you? What reason can you offer us for not giving to him who had enriched himself through his ability, while to him who had lost through his own fault you gave all? The wise young man made answer: Sire, I gave nothing to him who taught me nothing, nor indeed did I make a gift to anyone, for what I gave was a recompense, [[58]]not a present. The merchant taught me nothing, and nothing was due to him. But he who was of my own state, son of a king who wore a king’s crown, and out of his folly did so act that his subjects drove him away, taught me so much that my subjects will not drive me out. Therefore, I made a small recompense to him who taught me so much.
On hearing the judgment of the youth, the father and his barons praised his great wisdom, saying that his youth gave good promise for the years when he should be ripe to deal with matters of state.
Tidings of the happenings were spread far and wide among lords and barons, and the wise men made great disputations about it.
[1] These were: grammar, dialectic, rhetoric, arithmetic, music, geometry, and algebra. [↑]
IX
Here it is treated of an argument and a judgment that took place in Alexandria
In Alexandria, which is in the parts of Roumania—for there are twelve Alexandrias which [[59]]Alexander founded in the March before he died[1]—in this Alexandria there are streets where the Saracens live, who make foods for sale, and the people seek out the street where the finest and most delicate foodstuffs are to be found, just as among us one goes in search of cloths.
On a certain Monday, a Saracen cook whose name was Fabrae was standing by his kitchen door, when a poor Saracen entered the kitchen with a loaf in his hand. Money to purchase viands he had none, so he held his loaf over the pot, and let the savoury steam soak into it, and ate it.
The Saracen Fabrae, who was doing a poor trade that morning, was annoyed at the action, and seized the poor Saracen, and said to him: pay me for what you have taken of mine.
The poor man answered: I have taken nothing from your kitchen save steam.[2] Pay me for what you have taken of mine, Fabrae continued to exclaim. [[60]]
The dispute over this new and difficult question which had never arisen before, continued to such an extent that news of it reached the Sultan.
Owing to the great novelty of the argument, the Sultan called together a number of wise men. He laid the question before them.
The Saracen wise men began to dispute, and there were those who held that the steam did not belong to the cook, for which they adduced many good reasons. Steam cannot be appropriated, for it dissolves in the air, and has no useful substance or property. Therefore the poor man ought not to pay. Others argued that the steam was still part of the viand cooking, in fact that it belonged to it and emanated from its property, that a man sells the products of his trade, and that it is the custom for him who takes thereof to pay.
Many were the opinions given, and finally came the judgment: since this man sells his foodstuffs and you and others buy them, you must pay his viands according to their value. If for the food he sells and of which he gives the useful [[61]]properties he is accustomed to take useful money, then since he has sold steam which is the vaporous part of his cooking, you, sir, must ring a piece of money, and it shall be understood that payment is satisfied by the sound that comes therefrom.
And the Sultan ordered that this judgment be observed.[3]
[1] Apart from Alexandria in Egypt, there were of course A. Troas on the sea-coast near Troy and Issum, seaport on the Syrian coast. Many of the cities so-called soon lost their names. [↑]
[3] The story appears in slightly different forms in many languages. See Lelli, Favole; Pappanti, Passano ed i novellieri in prosa. [↑]
X
Here it is told of a fine judgment given by the slave of Bari in a dispute between a townsman and a pilgrim
A townsman of Bari went on a pilgrimage, and left three hundred byzantines[1] to a friend on these conditions: I shall make my journey as God wills, and should I not return you will give this money for the salvation of my soul, but if I return [[62]]within a certain time, you shall return me the money, keeping back what you will. The pilgrim went on his pilgrimage, came back at the established time and demanded his byzantines back.
His friend said: tell me over the pact again. The wanderer told it over again. You say well, quoth the friend: ten byzantines I give back to you, and two hundred and ninety I keep for myself.
The pilgrim began to get angry. What kind of faith is this? You take away from me wrongfully what is mine.
The friend replied calmly: I do you no wrong, but if you think I do, let us go before the governors of the city. A law-suit ensued.
The Slave of Bari was the judge,[2] and heard both sides. He formulated the argument, and to him who held the money he said: give back the two hundred and ninety byzantines to the pilgrim, and the pilgrim must give you back the ten you [[63]]handed him. For the pact was so; what you want you will give to me. Therefore the two hundred and ninety which you want, give them to him, and the ten you do not want, take them.
[1] Ancient gold money of the Eastern Empire of about the same value as a ducat. It changed naturally in the course of the centuries. [↑]
[2] According to Malaspina, the Slave of the Bari was “an idiot or almost one, unlettered and unread, but of great natural talent, wit and wisdom”. Ambrosoli, on the contrary, asserts that he was a certain Michele Schiavo who was a Greek governor of Bari in the tenth century. [↑]
XI
Here it is told how Master Giordano was deceived by a false disciple of his
There was once a doctor whose name was Giordano, and he had a disciple. A son of the king fell ill. Master Giordano went to him, and saw that the illness could be cured. The disciple, in order to injure his master’s reputation, said to the father: I see that he will certainly die.
And so disputing with his master, he made the sick youth open his mouth, and with his little finger inserted poison therein, making a great show to understand the nature of the illness from the state of the tongue.
The son died.
The master went away, and lost his reputation, while the disciple increased his. [[64]]
Then the master swore that in future he would only doctor asses, and so he made physic for beasts and the lower animals.[1]
[1] The source of the tale is Liber Ipocratis de infirmitibus equorum. [↑]
XII
Here it is told of the honour that Aminadab did to King David, his rightful lord
Aminadab, general and marshall of King David, went with a vast army of men by order of King David to a city of the Philistines.[1]
Aminadab hearing that the city would not resist long, and would soon be his, sent to King David, asking if it were his pleasure to come to the field of battle with many men, for he feared the issue of the battle.
King David started out hurriedly and went to the battlefield, and asked his marshall Aminadab: why have you made me come here?
Aminadab answered: Sire, since the city [[65]]cannot resist longer, I wished that the glory of the victory should come to your person rather than that I should have it.
He stormed the city, and conquered it, and the glory and honour were David’s.[2]
[1] The city was Rabba and belonged to the Ammonites. [↑]
[2] See Kings II, chap xii. The compilator has mixed up the names, confounding Aminadab with Joab. The errors or variations occuring in the Biblical themes treated in the Novellino have given rise to the conjecture that the stories were taken from a book of Jewish legends, the Midras Rabbolh written not later than the VIIIth century. [↑]
XIII
Here it is told how Antigonus reproved Alexander for having a cythera played for his delight
Antigonus, the teacher of Alexander, when one day the latter was having a cythera played for his delight, took hold of the instrument and cast it into the mud[1] and said these words: at your age it behoves you to reign and not to play the cythera. For it may be said that luxury debases the body and the country, as the sound of the cythera [[66]]enfeebles the soul.[2] Let him then be ashamed who should reign in virtue, and instead delights in luxury.
King Porrus[3] who fought with Alexander ordered during a banquet that the strings of a player’s cythera should be cut, saying: it is better to cut than to play, for virtue departs with sweet sounds.
[1] Other readings have “fire”. [↑]
[2] The passage is obscure, but the above would seem to be the meaning. [↑]
[3] An Indian king conquered by Alexander and afterwards turned into a friend and ally. [↑]
XIV
How a king had a son of his brought up in a dark place, and then showed him everything, and how women pleased him most
To a king a son was born.
The wise astrologers counselled that he should be kept for ten years without ever seeing the sun. So he was brought up and taken care of in a darksome cavern.
After the time had gone by, they brought him [[67]]forth, and they set before him many fine jewels and many lovely girls, calling each thing by its name, and saying of the maidens that they were demons. Then they asked him which thing pleased him the most of all. And he answered: the demons.
At this the king marvelled mightily, saying: what a terrible thing is the tyranny and beauty of women![1]
[1] The story appears in slightly different form in several authors. See the Decameron; Cavalca’s Lives of the Fathers of the Desert. [↑]
XV
How a land steward plucked out his own eye and that of his son to the end that justice might be observed
Valerius Maximus in his sixth book narrates that Calognus[1] being steward of some land, ordered that whoever should commit a certain crime, should lose his eyes.
When a little time had passed, his own son fell into this very crime. All the people cried out for [[68]]pity, and he remembering that mercy is a good and useful thing, and reflecting that no injury must be done to justice, and the love of his fellow citizens urging him, he provided that both justice and mercy should be observed.
He gave judgment and sentence that one eye be taken from his son, and one from himself.[2]
[1] Other readings have Seleucus. [↑]
[2] Appears also in Cicero, De Legg. II, 6. [↑]
XVI
Here it is told of the great mercy wrought by Saint Paulinus the bishop
Blessed Bishop Paulinus was so full of charity that when a poor woman asked a charity for her son who was in prison Blessed Paulinus replied: I have nothing to give to you, but do this. Lead me to the prison where your son is.
The woman led him there.
And he put himself in the hands of the prison-keepers[1] saying to them: give back her son to this good woman, and keep me in his stead.[2] [[69]]
[1] The word in the original is tortori, literally torturers, though it means, of course, the keepers of the prison. [↑]
[2] Also in Saint Gregory, Dialogues, III, 1. [↑]
XVII
Of the great act of charity which a banker did for the love of God
Peter[1] the banker was a man of great wealth, and was so charitable that he distributed all his possessions to the poor.
Then when he had given everything away, he sold himself and gave the whole price to the poor.[2]