Part 12

It was about the year 1660 that he had, according to all probability, the first edition of the _Aloisia_ secretly printed in Lyons. The work was supposed to have been written in Spanish, in the 16th century, by an erudite young girl, Luisa Sigea, whose father, Jacques Sigée, a native of France, had quitted his country to settle down at Toledo. (Luisa Sigea, who was born at Toledo about the year 1530 and died in 1560, says the English translator in a note, knew Latin, Greek, Hebrew, Syriac and Arabic. She was styled the Minerva of her time.) The Spanish work was lost; but there remained a Latin manuscript translation of it, which Chorier, in order to secure himself, attributed to the learned Dutchman Joannes Meursius, dead twenty years before.... Chorier died in 1692; he left several manuscript works behind him, some of which have since been printed.

THE NIGHTINGALE.[94]

[94] _The Decameron_ of Giovanni Boccaccio: Englished by John Payne: Villon Society, 1886. This is the fourth story of the fifth day, the actual title being: “_Ricciardo Manardi, being found by Messer Lizio da Valbona with his daughter, espouseth her and abideth with her father in peace._”

There lived in Romagna a gentleman of great worth and good breeding, called Messer Lizio da Valbona, to whom, well-nigh in his old age, it chanced there was born of his wife, Madame Giacomina by name, a daughter, who grew up fair and agreeable beyond any other of the country; and for that she was the only child that remained to her father and mother, they loved and tended her exceeding dear and guarded her with marvellous diligence, looking to make some great alliance by her.

Now there was a young man of the Manardi of Brettinoro, comely and lusty of his person, by name Ricciardo, who much frequented Messer Lizio’s house and conversed amain with him and of whom the latter and his lady took no more account than they would have taken of a son of theirs. Now, this Ricciardo, looking once and again upon the young lady and seeing her very fair and sprightly and commendable of manners and fashions, fell desperately in love with her, but was very careful to keep his love secret.

The damsel presently became aware thereof and without anywise seeking to shun the stroke, began on like wise to love him; whereat Ricciardo was mightily rejoiced. He had many a time a mind to speak to her, but kept silence for misdoubtance; however, one day taking courage and opportunity, he said to her:

“I prithee, Caterina, cause me not to die of love.”

To which she straightway made answer: “Would God thou wouldst not cause _me_ die!”

This answer added much courage and pleasure to Ricciardo and he said to her:

“Never shall aught that may be agreeable to thee miscarry for me; but it resteth with thee to find a means of saving thy life and mine.”

“Ricciardo,” answered she, “thou seest how straitly I am guarded; wherefore, for my part, I cannot see how thou mayst avail to come at me; but, if thou canst see aught that I may do without shame to myself, tell it me and I will do it.”

Ricciardo, having bethought himself of sundry things, answered promptly:

“My sweet Caterina, I can see no way, except that thou lie or make shift to come upon the gallery that adjoineth thy father’s garden, where an I knew that thou wouldst be anights, I would without fail contrive to come to thee, how high soever it may be.”

“If thou have the heart to come thither,” rejoined Caterina, “methinketh I can well enough win to be there.”

Ricciardo assented and they kissed each other once only in haste and went their ways.

Next day, it being then near the end of May, the girl began to complain before her mother that she had not been able to sleep that night for the excessive heat Quoth the lady:

“Of what heat dost thou speak, daughter? Nay, it was nowise hot.”

“Mother mine,” answered Caterina, “you should say ‘to my seeming’ and belike you would say sooth; but you should consider how much hotter are young girls than ladies in years.”

“Daughter mine,” rejoined the lady, “that is true; but I cannot make it cold and hot at my pleasure, as belike thou wouldst have me do. We must put up with the weather, such as the seasons make it; maybe this next night will be cooler and thou wilt sleep better.”

“God grant it may be so!” cried Caterina. “But it is not usual for the nights to go cooling, as it groweth towards summer.”

“Then what wouldst thou have done?” asked the mother; and she answered:

“An it please my father and you, I would fain have a little bed made in the gallery, that is beside his chamber and over his garden, and there sleep. There I should hear the nightingale sing and having a cooler place to lie in, I should fare much better than in your chamber.”

Quoth the mother: “Daughter, comfort thyself; I will tell thy father, and as he will, so will we do.”

Messer Lizio, hearing all this from his wife, said; for that he was an old man and maybe therefore somewhat cross-grained:

“What nightingale is this to whose song she would sleep? I will yet make her sleep to the chirp of the crickets.”

Caterina, coming to know this, more of despite than for the heat, not only slept not that night, but suffered not her mother to sleep, still complaining of the great heat. Accordingly, next morning, the latter repaired to her husband and said to him:

“Sir, you have little tenderness for yonder girl; what mattereth it to you if she lie in the gallery? She could get no rest all night for the heat. Besides, can you wonder at her having a mind to hear the nightingale sing, seeing she is but a child? Young folk are curious of things like themselves.”

Messer Lizio, hearing this, said:

“Go to, make her a bed there, such as you think fit, and bind it about with some curtain or other, and there let her lie and hear the nightingale sing to her heart’s content.”

The girl, learning this, straightway let make a bed in the gallery and meaning to lie there that same night, watched till she saw Ricciardo and made him a signal appointed between them, by which he understood what was to be done.

Messer Lizio, hearing the girl gone to bed, locked a door that led from his chamber into the gallery, and betook himself likewise to sleep.

As for Ricciardo, as soon as he heard quiet on every hand, he mounted a wall, with the aid of a ladder, and thence, laying hold of certain toothings of another wall, he made his way, with great toil and danger, if he had fallen, up to the gallery, where he was quietly received by the girl with the utmost joy. Then, after many kisses, they went to bed together and took delight and pleasure one of another well nigh all that night, making the nightingale sing many a time.

The nights being short and the delight great and it being now, though they thought it not, near day, they fell asleep without any covering, so overheated were they what with the weather and what with their sport, Caterina having her right arm entwined about Ricciardo’s neck and holding him with the left hand by that thing which you ladies think most shame to name among men.

As they slept on this wise, without awaking, the day came on and Messer Lizio arose and remembering him that his daughter lay in the gallery, opened the door softly, saying in himself:

“Let us see how the nightingale hath made Caterina sleep this night.”

Then, going in, he softly lifted up the serge wherewith the bed was curtained about, and saw his daughter and Ricciardo lying asleep, naked and uncovered, embraced as it hath before been set out; whereupon, having recognised Ricciardo, he went out again and repairing to his wife’s chamber, called to her, saying:

“Quick, wife, get thee up and come see, for that thy daughter hath been so curious of the nightingale that she hath e’en taken it and hath it in hand.”

“How can that be?” quoth she; and he answered:

“Thou shalt see it, an thou come quickly.”

Accordingly, she made haste to dress herself and quietly followed her husband to the bed where, the curtain being drawn, Madam Giacomina might plainly see how her daughter had taken and held the nightingale, which she had so longed to hear sing; whereat the lady, holding herself sore deceived of Ricciardo, would have cried out and railed at him; but Messer Lizio said to her:

“Wife, as thou holdest my love dear, look thou say not a word, for, verily, since she hath gotten it, it shall be hers. Ricciardo is young and rich and gently born; he cannot make us other than a good son-in-law. An he would part from thee on good terms, needs must he first marry her, so it will be found that he hath put the nightingale in his own cage and not in that of another.”

The lady was comforted to see that her husband was not angered at the matter and considering that her daughter had passed a good night and rested well and had caught the nightingale, to boot, she held her tongue. Nor had they abidden long after these words when Ricciardo awoke and seeing that it was broad day, gave himself over for lost and called Caterina, saying:

“Alack, my soul, how shall we do, for the day is come and hath caught me here?”

Whereupon Messer Lizio came forward and lifting the curtain, answered:

“We shall do well.”

When Ricciardo saw him, himseemed the heart was torn out of his body and sitting up in bed, he said:

“My lord, I crave your pardon for God’s sake. I acknowledge to have deserved death, as a disloyal and wicked man; wherefore do you with me as best pleaseth you; but, I prithee, an it may be, have mercy on my life and let me not die.”

“Ricciardo,” answered Messer Lizio, “the love that I bore thee and the faith I had in thee merited not this return; yet, since thus it is and youth hath carried thee away into such a fault, do thou, to save thyself from death and me from shame, take Caterina to thy lawful wife, so that, like as this night she hath been thine, she may e’en be thine so long as she shall live. On this wise thou mayst gain my pardon and thine own safety; but, an thou choose not to do this, commend thy soul to God.”

Whilst these words were saying, Caterina let go the nightingale and covering herself, fell to weeping sore and beseeching her father to pardon Ricciardo, whilst on the other hand she entreated her lover to do as Messer Lizio wished, so they might long pass such nights in security.

But there needed not overmany prayers, for that, on the one hand, shame of the fault committed and desire to make amends for it, and on the other, the fear of death and the wish to escape,--to say nothing of his ardent love and longing to possess the thing beloved,--made Ricciardo freely and without hesitation avouch himself ready to do that which pleased Messer Lizio; whereupon the latter borrowed of Giacomina one of her rings and there, without budging, Ricciardo in their presence took Caterina to his wife. This done, Messer Lizio and his lady departed, saying:

“Now rest yourselves, for belike you have more need thereof than of rising.”

They being gone, the young folk clipped each other anew and not having run more than half a dozen courses overnight, they ran other twain ere they arose and so made an end of the first day’s tilting.

Then they arose and Ricciardo having had more orderly conference with Lizio a few days after, as it beseemed, he married the damsel over again, in the presence of their friends and kinsfolk, and brought her with great pomp to his own house. There he held goodly and honourable nuptials and after went long nightingale-fowling with her to his heart’s content, in peace and solace, both by night and by day.

THE PIKE’S HEAD.[95]

[95] _Kruptadia_: Heilbronn: Henninger Frères, 1883: vol. 1: _Secret Stories from the Russian_.

Once there lived a peasant and his wife who had a daughter, a young virgin. The girl went forth to harrow the garden; she harrowed and she harrowed; anon they called her to the house to eat pancakes. She ran and left the horse with the harrow, saying unto the beast:

“Wait there until I return.”

There was in the house of a neighbour a son, a foolish lad. For long he had desired to futter the maid; but by what means he could not conceive. Observing the horse with the harrow, he slipped through the hedge, unharnessed the horse, and led it into his garden. Leaving the harrow in its place, he passed the beam through the hedge, and harnessed the horse afresh from his side.

The young girl returned and stood astonished. What meant this? The harrow on one side of the hedge, the horse on the other? She fell to beating the horse with her whip, saying:

“Devil! How camest thou there? Thou didst know how to get there. Thou wilt know how to return. Come! Come! Out of it!”

The lad stood near; he looked and laughed.

“I will aid thee an thou wilt,” said he, “but only if thou dost permit me....”

The maid was cunning.

“Willingly,” said she.

And she armed herself with the head of an old pike, which lay about the garden, its jaws open. Picking it up, she thrust it in her sleeve and said to the lad:

“I do not wish to come to thy side of the hedge, nor do I wish thee to come to mine, lest any see thee. Do it through the hedge. Pass me thy yard and I will put it in.”

The youth drew out his yard and passed it through the hedge. The girl took the pike’s head, opened it, and put it ‘twixt her thighs. When the youth rubbed, he scratched his yard so that it bled. Taking it in his hands, he ran to the house, sat down in a corner, and was very silent.

“Ah! woe is me!” thought he to himself. “How her coynte biteth! If only my yard will heal, for the rest of my life I will never address another girl!”

Came the time for the youth to settle down; he was affianced to the daughter of the neighbour, and they were wedded. They dwelt together for a day, then two, then three; they dwelt together for a week, then a second, then a third; but the youth feared to touch his wife.

Constrained one day to go to the house of the young man’s mother-in-law, they set out on their way. On the road the wife said to her husband:

“Listen, now, my dear little Danilka. Why hast thou married since thou dost naught with me? If thou canst do naught, why spoilest the life of another in this useless fashion?”

And Danilka replied:

“Nay, thou wilt not trap me again. It biteth, thy coynte. My yard hath long been ill. ‘Tis scarce cured yet.”

“Thou ravest!” answered she. “At that time I did but play with thee. Have no fear now. Make trial of this dear little thing[96] of mine. Thou wilt be enchanted with it.”

[96] The text says: _ce cher petit_, which may be interpreted as referring to the wife’s _pudendum_. _C.f._ _Le petit je ne sais quoi_ (”My~little~what’s~its~name.”), a common erotic term for the parts concerned. (Farmer: _Slang and its Analogues_; Landes: _Glossaire Érotique_; and _Le petit Citateur: Notes Érotiques et Pornographiques_.) The last authority considers that the word _trou_ (hole) would be understood in the text. _Trou_, of course, is a common French erotic term for the feminine _pudendum_. On the other hand, the word _jeu_ (game) may be understood, which would be equally applicable. _C.f._ Farmer (_Slang_, etc., vol. 3, p. 110): “The first game ever played,” _i.e._, copulation. Also Landes (_Gloss. Érot._): “Game: employed in an obscene sense to denote the sexual act.”

And desire took the youth, and he tucked up his robe, saying:

“Wait--I am about to bind thy legs, and if thy coynte biteth, I shall be able to leap to earth and save myself.”

He let go of the reins and bound the two naked thighs of his young wife. His instrument was now of sufficient magnitude. When he rammed the girl, she cried with a loud voice; the horse, which was young, took fright and began to run away; the sleigh was thrown from side to side; the peasant fell out; and his young wife, her thighs naked, was dragged into the courtyard of the mother-in-law.

The mother-in-law gazed through the window; she perceived the horse of her son-in-law, and was assured that he brought her some viands for the feast; she went to meet him and found--her daughter!

“Ah! little mother!” cried the latter. “Unbind me swiftly ere any see me.”

The old woman unbound her and asked what it signified.

“And thy husband, where is he?” she demanded.

“The horse threw him into the road.”

These two entered the house and gazed through the window. Danilka arrived, approached some small boys who were playing at knuckle-bones, stopped, and looked about him. The mother-in-law dispatched her eldest daughter to him. She drew near, saying:

“Good day, Danilka Ivanitch.”

“Good-day.”

“Come into the house. The feast lacketh but thee.”

“Is my wife within?”

“Yea.”

“And hath the blood ceased to flow?”

But the young girl spat and ran away from him.

Then the mother-in-law dispatched her daughter-in-law, who would appease him.

“Come, come, little Danilka. The blood hath ceased to flow this long time.”

She led him within the house, and the mother-in-law came to meet him, saying:

“Welcome, my dear little son-in-law.”

“Varvara--is she within?”

“Yea.”

“And hath the blood ceased to flow?”

“It hath ceased this long time.”

Then he drew forth his yard and showed it to his mother-in-law, saying:

“See, little mother, this awl[97] was entirely inside her body.”

[97] _Alène_ is the word in the text. Not an erotic term for _penis_ in French and English slang, though we have the verb “to bore.” _C.f._ Farmer: _Slang and its Analogues_, for his amazing list of synonyms denoting the sexual act under the heading “Ride.” Blondeau, in his _Dictionnaire Érotique_ (Isidore Liseux: Paris, 1885), gives no word in his collection of Latin terms for _penis_ which approximates exactly to the sense of awl. Landes, Delvau (_Dictionnaire Érotique_), and _Le petit Citateur_ (_op. cit. supra_) make no mention of the word. In our story Danilka, in his very primitive fashion, has used an expression which explains in the simplest way his actions in the sleigh.

“Come, come,” said the mother-in-law. “Sit thyself down. ‘Tis time to eat.”

They sat down, drank, and ate.

THE LOVELY NUN AND HER YOUNG BOARDER.[98]

[98] _Memoirs of Jacques Casanova_: Privately Printed, 1894. Also _Mémoires de J. Casanova de Seingalt_: Garnier Frères: Paris, n.d. Our text is a blend of the two versions.

_Casanova again meets the beautiful nun M--M--, with whom he was on intimate terms some years previously at Venice. The nun is now in a convent at Chamberi, where Casanova visits her and her young boarder, a lovely girl aged twelve or thirteen, who readily succumbs to the adventurer’s amorous advances. The text continues_:--

I went to the convent, and M--M--came down alone to the grating. She thanked me for coming to see her, adding that I had come to disturb her peace of mind.

“I am all ready, my heart, to climb the garden wall,” I answered, “and I shall do it more dextrously than thy wretched humpback.”

“Alas! ‘tis not possible, for, believe me, thou art already spied upon.... Let us forget all, my dear friend, that we may be spared the torment of vain desires.”

“Give me thy hand.”

“Nay. All is over. I love thee still; probably I shall love thee always; but I long for thee to go, and by so doing, thou wilt give me proof of thy love.”

“This is dreadful; thou amazest me. Thou dost seem in perfect health; thou art grown even more beautiful; art made for the worship of the sweetest of gods; ‘tis beyond my powers of comprehension how, with a temperament like thine, thou canst live in continual abstinence.”

“Alas! lacking the reality we console ourselves with make-belief.[99] I will not conceal from thee that I love my young boarder. ‘Tis an innocent passion, and keepeth my mind calm. Her caresses quench the flame which would otherwise kill me.”[100]

[99] _Badinage_ in the French text; _i.e._, _playfulness_, _frolic_, _sport_, etc., which is hardly in keeping with the context.

[100] Literally, according to French text: “Her caresses quench a fire which would kill me did I not weaken its force by this make-belief.”

“And doth not thy conscience suffer?”

“I feel no distress in the matter.”

“But thou dost know ‘tis a sin?”

“I confess it.”

“And what sayeth the confessor?”

“Naught. He absolveth me, and I am happy.”

“And doth thy pretty boarder confess also?”

“Assuredly; but she telleth not the father of a matter which she doth not believe a sin.”

“I wonder that the confessor hath not taught her, for that species of instruction is a great pleasure.”

“Our confessor is a wise old man.”

“I shall leave thee, then, without a single kiss?”

“Not one.”

“May I return on the morrow? I go hence on the following day.”

“Come; but I shall not descend alone,[101] for others might have suspicions. I will bring my little one with me, to save appearances. Come after dining, but to the other parlour.”

[101] _i.e._, to the grating.

Had I not known M--M--at Aix, her religious ideas would have astonished me; but such was her character. She loved God, and did not believe that the kind Father who made us with passions would be too severe because we had not the strength to subdue them. I returned to the inn, annoyed that the lovely nun would have no more to do with me....

_After the interval of a night, Casanova returns to the convent, and, announcing his presence, enters the parlour which M--M--has indicated. The text continues_:--

... She soon descended with her pretty young boarder, who ... had not yet completed her twelfth year, but was very tall, strong and well-developed for her age. Gentleness, liveliness, candour, and wit were united in her features, and gave her an expression of exquisite charm. She wore a well-made corset which disclosed a white throat, to which fancy easily added the two spheres which would soon appear there. Her shapely head, whence hung two superb raven tresses, and her ivory throat indicated what might be concealed, and my vagrant imagination formed her into a budding Venus.