of your wits, if ye have not understood him; for meetly
and in few words he has given us never so shrewd a
reprimand; seeing that, if you consider it well, these
tombs are the houses of the dead, that are laid and
tarry therein; which he calls our house, to shew us
that we, and all other simple, unlettered men, are,
in comparison of him and the rest of the learned, in
sorrier case than dead men, and so being here, we are
in our own house.” Then none was there
but understood Guido’s meaning and was abashed,
insomuch that they flouted him no more, and thenceforth
reputed Messer Betto a gentleman of a subtle and discerning
wit.
— Fra Cipolla promises to shew certain
country-folk a feather of the Angel Gabriel, in lieu
of which he finds coals, which he avers to be of those
with which St. Lawrence was roasted. —
All the company save Dioneo being delivered of their
several stories, he wist that ’twas his turn
to speak. Wherefore, without awaiting any very
express command, he enjoined silence on those that
were commending Guido’s pithy quip, and thus
began:—Sweet my ladies, albeit ’tis
my privilege to speak of what likes me most, I purpose
not to-day to deviate from that theme whereon you
have all discoursed most appositely; but, following
in your footsteps, I am minded to shew you with what
adroitness and readiness of resource one of the Friars
of St. Antony avoided a pickle that two young men
had in readiness for him. Nor, if, in order to
do the story full justice, I be somewhat prolix of
speech, should it be burdensome to you, if you will
but glance at the sun, which is yet in mid-heaven.
Certaldo, as perchance you may have heard, is a town
of Val d’Elsa within our country-side, which,
small though it is, had in it aforetime people of
rank and wealth. Thither, for that there he found
good pasture, ’twas long the wont of one of
the Friars of St. Antony to resort once every year,
to collect the alms that fools gave them. Fra
Cipolla(1)—so hight the friar—met
with a hearty welcome, no less, perchance, by reason
of his name than for other cause, the onions produced
in that district being famous throughout Tuscany.
He was little of person, red-haired, jolly-visaged,
and the very best of good fellows; and therewithal,
though learning he had none, he was so excellent and
ready a speaker that whoso knew him not would not
only have esteemed him a great rhetorician, but would
have pronounced him Tully himself or, perchance, Quintilian;
and in all the country-side there was scarce a soul
to whom he was not either gossip or friend or lover.
Being thus wont from time to time to visit Certaldo,
the friar came there once upon a time in the month
of August, and on a Sunday morning, all the good folk
of the neighbouring farms being come to mass in the
parish church, he took occasion to come forward and
say:—“Ladies and gentlemen, you wot
’tis your custom to send year by year to the
