[002]
Dearest ladies, as well from what I heard in converse with the
wise, as from matters that not seldom fell within my own observation
and reading, I formed the opinion that the vehement and
scorching blast of envy was apt to vent itself only upon lofty towers
or the highest tree-tops: but therein I find that I misjudged;
[003]
for,
whereas I ever sought and studied how best to elude the buffetings
of that furious hurricane, and to that end kept a course not merely
on the plain, but, by preference, in the depth of the valley; as
should be abundantly clear to whoso looks at these little stories,
written as they are not only in the vulgar Florentine, and in prose,
and without dedicatory flourish, but also in as homely and simple a
style as may be; [004]nevertheless all this has not stood me in such stead
but that I have been shrewdly shaken, nay, all but uprooted by the
blast, and altogether lacerated by the bite of this same envy.
Whereby I may very well understand that 'tis true, what the sages
aver, that only misery is exempt from envy in the present life.
[005]
Know then, discreet my ladies, that some there are, who, reading
these little stories, have alleged that I am too fond of you, and that
'tis not a seemly thing that I should take so much pleasure in
ministering to your gratification and solace; and some have found
more fault with me for praising you as I do.
[006]
Others, affecting to
deliver a more considered judgment, have said that it ill befits my
time of life to ensue such matters, to wit, the discoursing of women,
or endeavouring to pleasure them. And not a few, feigning a mighty
tender regard to my fame, aver that I should do more wisely to keep
ever with the Muses on Parnassus, than to forgather with you in such
vain dalliance.
[007]
Those again there are, who, evincing less wisdom
than despite, have told me that I should shew sounder sense if I
bethought me how to get my daily bread, than, going after these idle
toys, to nourish myself upon the wind; while certain others, in
disparagement of my work, strive might and main to make it appear
that the matters which I relate fell out otherwise than as I set them
forth.
[008]
Such then, noble ladies, are the blasts, such the sharp and
cruel fangs, by which, while I champion your cause, I am assailed,
harassed and well-nigh pierced through and through.
[009]
Which
censures I hear and mark, God knows, with equal mind: and,
though to you belongs all my defence, yet I mean not to be niggard
of my own powers, but rather, without dealing out to them the
castigation they deserve, to give them such slight answer as may
secure my ears some respite of their clamour; and that without
delay;
[010]
seeing that, if already, though I have not completed the
third part of my work, they are not a few and very presumptuous, I
deem it possible, that before I have reached the end, should they
receive no check, they may have grown so numerous, that 'twould
scarce tax their powers to sink me; and that your forces, great though
they be, would not suffice to withstand them.
[011]
However I am
minded to answer none of them, until I have related in my behoof,
not indeed an entire story, for I would not seem to foist my stories in
among those of so honourable a company as that with which I have
made you acquainted, but a part of one, that its very incompleteness
may shew that it is not one of them: wherefore, addressing my
assailants, I say:
[012]
That in our city there was in old time a citizen
named Filippo Balducci, a man of quite low origin, but of good
substance and well versed and expert in matters belonging to his
condition, who had a wife that he most dearly loved, as did she him,
so that their life passed in peace and concord, nor there was aught
they studied so much as how to please each other perfectly.
[013]
Now it
came to pass, as it does to every one, that the good lady departed this
life, leaving Filippo nought of hers but an only son, that she had had
by him, and who was then about two years old.
[014]
His wife's death left
Filippo as disconsolate as ever was any man for the loss of a loved
one: and sorely missing the companionship that was most dear to
him, he resolved to have done with the world, and devote himself
and his little son to the service of God.
[015]
Wherefore, having dedicated
all his goods to charitable uses, he forthwith betook him to the summit
of Monte Asinaio, where he installed himself with his son in a little
cell, and living on alms, passed his days in fasting and prayer, being
careful above all things to say nothing to the boy of any temporal
matters, nor to let him see aught of the kind, lest they should
distract his mind from his religious exercises, but discoursing with
him continually of the glory of the life eternal and of God and the
saints, and teaching him nought else but holy orisons: in which way
of life he kept him not a few years, never suffering him to quit the
cell or see aught but himself.
[016]
From time to time the worthy man
would go Florence, where divers of the faithful would afford him
relief according to his needs, and so he would return to his cell.
[017]
And thus it fell out that one day Filippo, now an aged man, being
asked by the boy, who was about eighteen years old, whither he went,
told him. Whereupon: "Father," said the boy, "you are now old,
and scarce able to support fatigue; why take you me not with you
for once to Florence, and give me to know devout friends of God
and you, so that I, who am young and fitter for such exertion than
you, may thereafter go to Florence for our supplies at your pleasure,
and you remain here?"
