GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO

  The Eaten Heart:

  Unlikely Tales of Love

  Translated by G. H. McWILLIAM

  To Vittore Branca

  Primus studiorum dux

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

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  This translation first published 1972

  Revised translation published 1995

  This selection published in Penguin Books 2007

  Copyright © G. H. McWilliam, 1972,1995

  All rights reserved

  Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

  ISBN: 978-0-14-196496-6

  Contents

  1. Sowing the Seeds of Love

  2. Love Wanders in the Night

  3. Animal Passions

  4. All Cats are Grey in the Dark

  5. To Catch a Nightingale

  6. Oh, to be a Virgin

  7. Thorns of Desire

  8. Head in the Herbs

  9. Poor Man’s Poison

  10. The Loving Corpse

  11. The Eaten Heart

  Giovanni Boccaccio (1313–1375), a Florentine by birth, was a friend and correspondent of Petrarch and an important Renaissance humanist. Although he was initially apprenticed to the banking trade, and then to the study of canon law, Boccaccio later gave up his studies and devoted his time instead to literature. He moved to Naples in 1327, where he fathered two illegitimate children and also wrote his Filostrato, (the source for Chaucer’s Troilus and Criseyde), Teseida and Filocolo. Boccaccio began work on the Decameron, where the stories in this collection come from, around 1349. Comprising a hundred tales, the Decameron is told by ten Florentines who have fled their plagueridden city and are entertaining each other as they take refuge in the countryside. It is best known for its bawdy tales of love, appearing in all its possibilities from the erotic to the tragic.

  Sowing the Seeds of Love

  There are a great many men and women who are so dense as to be firmly convinced that when a girl takes the white veil and dons the black cowl, she ceases to be a woman or to experience feminine longings, as though the very act of making her a nun had caused her to turn into stone. And if they should happen to hear of anything to suggest that their conviction is ill-founded, they become quite distressed, as though some enormous and diabolical evil had been perpetrated against Nature. It never enters their heads for a moment, possibly because they have no wish to face facts, that they themselves are continually dissatisfied even though they enjoy full liberty to do as they please, or that idleness and solitude are such powerful stimulants. Again, there are likewise many people who are firmly convinced that digging and hoeing and coarse food and hardy living remove all lustful desires from those who work on the land, and greatly impair their intelligence and powers of perception. [ … ], I would like to tell you a little tale, [ … ], which will show you quite clearly that all these people are sadly mistaken in their convictions.

  In this rural region of ours, there was and still is a nunnery, greatly renowned for its holiness, which I shall refrain from naming for fear of doing the slightest harm to its reputation. At this convent, not long ago, at a time when it housed no more than eight nuns and an abbess, all of them young, there was a worthy little man whose job it was to look after a very beautiful garden of theirs. And one day, being dissatisfied with his remuneration, he settled up with the nuns’ steward and returned to his native village of Lamporecchio.

  On his return, he was warmly welcomed by several of the villagers, among them a young labourer, a big, strong fellow called Masetto, who, considering that he was of peasant stock, possessed a remarkably handsome physique and agreeable features. Since the good man, whose name was Nuto, had been away from the village for some little time, Masetto wanted to know where he had been, and when he learned that Nuto had been living at a convent, he questioned him about his duties there.

  ‘I tended a fine, big garden of theirs,’ Nuto replied, ‘in addition to which, I sometimes used to go and collect firewood, or I would fetch water and do various other little jobs of that sort. But the nuns gave me such a paltry wage that it was barely sufficient to pay for my shoe-leather. Besides, they are all young and they seem to me to have the devil in them, because whatever you do, it is impossible to please them. Sometimes, in fact, I would be working in the garden when one of them would order me to do one thing, another would tell me to do something else, and yet another would snatch the very hoe from my hands, and tell me I was doing things the wrong way. They used to pester me to such an extent that occasionally I would down tools and march straight out of the garden. So that eventually, what with one thing and another, I decided I’d had enough of the place and came away altogether. Just as I was leaving, their steward asked me whether I knew of anyone who could take the job on, and I promised to send somebody along, provided I could find the right man, but you won’t catch me sending him anybody, not unless God has provided the fellow with the strength and patience of an ox.’

  As he listened, Masetto experienced such a longing to go and stay with these nuns that his whole body tingled with excitement, for it was clear from what he had heard that he should be able to achieve what he had in mind. Realizing, however, that he would get nowhere by revealing his intentions to Nuto, he replied:

  ‘How right you were to come away from the place! What sort of a life can any man lead when he’s surrounded by a lot of women? He might as well be living with a pack of devils. Why, six times out of seven they don’t even know their own minds.’

  But when they had finished talking, Masetto began to consider what steps he ought to take so that he could go and stay with them. Knowing himself to be perfectly capable of carrying out the duties mentioned by Nuto, he had no worries about losing the job on that particular score, but he was afraid lest he should be turned down because of his youth and his unusually attractive appearance. And so, having rejected a number of other possible expedients, he eventually thought to himself: ‘The convent is a long way off, and there’s nobody there who knows me. If I can pretend to be dumb, they’ll take me on for sure.’ Clinging firmly to this conjecture, he therefore dressed himself in pauper’s rags and slung an axe over his shoulder, and without telling anyone where he was going, he set out for the convent. On his arrival, he wandered into the courtyard, where as luck would have it he came across the steward, and with the aid of gestures such as dumb people use, he conveyed the impression that he was begging for something to eat, in return for which he would attend to any wood-chopping that needed to be done.

  The steward gladly provided him with something to eat, after which he presented him with a pile of logs that Nuto had been unable to chop. Being very powerful, Masetto made short work of the whole consignment, and then the steward, who was on his way to the wood, took Masetto with him and got him to fell some timber. He then provided Masetto with an ass, and gave him to understand by the use of sign-language that he was to take the timber back to the convent.

  The fellow carried out his instructions so efficiently that the steward retained his services for a few more days, getting him to tackle various jobs that needed to be done about the place. One day, the Abbess herself happened to catch sight of him, and she asked the steward who he was.

  ‘The man is a poor deaf-mute, ma’am, who came here one day begging for alms,’ said the steward. ‘I saw to it that he was well fed, and set him to work on various tasks that needed to be done. If he turns out to be good at gardening, and wants to stay, I reckon we would do well out of it, because we certainly need a gardener, and this is a strong fellow who will always do as he’s told. Besides, you wouldn’t need to worry about his giving any cheek to these young ladies of yours.’

  ‘I do believe you’re right,’ said the Abbess. ‘Find out whether he knows what to do, and make every effort to hold on to him. Provide him with a pair of shoes and an old hood, wheedle him, pay him a few compliments, and give him plenty to eat.’

  The steward agreed to carry out her instructions, but Masetto was not far away, pretending to sweep the courtyard, and he had overheard their whole conversation. ‘Once you put me inside that garden of yours,’ he said to himself, gleefully, ‘I’ll tend it better than it’s ever been tended before.’

  Now, when the steward had discovered what an excellent gardener he was, he gestured to Masetto, asking him whether he would like to stay there, and the latter made signs to indicate that he was willing to do whatever the steward wanted. The steward therefore took him on to the staff, ordered him to look after the garden, and showed him what he was to do, after which he went away in order to attend to the other affairs of the convent, leaving him there by himself. Gradually, as the days passed and Masetto worked steadily away, the nuns started teasing and annoying him, which is the way people frequently behave with deaf-mutes, and they came out with the foulest language imaginable, thinking that he was unable to hear them. Moreover, the Abbess, who was possibly under the impression that he had lost his tail as well as his tongue, took little or no notice of all this.

  Now one day, when Masetto happened to be taking a rest after a spell of strenuous work, he was approached by two very young nuns who were out walking in the garden. Since he gave them the impression that he was asleep, they began to stare at him, and the bolder of the two said to her companion:

  ‘If I could be sure that you would keep it a secret, I would tell you about an idea that has often crossed my mind, and one that might well work out to our mutual benefit.’

  ‘Do tell me,’ replied the other. ‘You can be quite certain that I shan’t talk about it to anyone.’

  The bold one began to speak more plainly.

  ‘I wonder,’ she said, ‘whether you have ever considered what a strict life we have to lead, and how the only men who ever dare set foot in this place are the steward, who is elderly, and this dumb gardener of ours. Yet I have often heard it said, by several of the ladies who have come to visit us, that all other pleasures in the world are mere trifles by comparison with the one experienced by a woman when she goes with a man. I have thus been thinking, since I have nobody else to hand, that I would like to discover with the aid of this dumb fellow whether they are telling the truth. As it happens, there couldn’t be a better man for the purpose, because even if he wanted to let the cat out of the bag, he wouldn’t be able to. He wouldn’t even know how to explain, for you can see for yourself what a mentally retarded, dim-witted hulk of a youth the fellow is. I would be glad to know what you think of the idea.’

  ‘Dear me!’ said the other. ‘Don’t you realize that we have promised God to preserve our virginity?’

  ‘Pah!’ she said. ‘We are constantly making Him promises that we never keep! What does it matter if we fail to keep this one? He can always find other girls to preserve their virginity for Him.’

  ‘But what if we become pregnant?’ said her companion. ‘What’s going to happen then?’

  ‘You’re beginning to worry about things before they’ve even happened. We can cross that bridge if and when we come to it. There’ll be scores of different ways to keep it a secret, provided we control our own tongues.’

  ‘Very well, then,’ said the other, who was already more eager than the first to discover what sort of stuff a man was made of. ‘How do we set about it?’

  ‘As you see,’ she replied, ‘it is getting on for nones, and I expect all our companions are asleep. Let’s make sure there’s nobody else in the garden. And then, if the coast is clear, all we have to do is to take him by the hand and steer him across to that hut over there, where he shelters from the rain. Then one of us can go inside with him while the other keeps watch. He’s such a born idiot that he’ll do whatever we suggest.’

  Masetto heard the whole of this conversation, and since he was quite willing to obey, the only thing he was waiting for now was for one of them to come and fetch him. The two nuns had a good look round, and having made certain that they could not be observed, the one who had done all the talking went over to Masetto and woke him up, whereupon he sprang instantly to his feet. She then took him by the hand, making alluring gestures to which he responded with big broad, imbecilic grins, and led him into the hut, where Masetto needed very little coaxing to do her bidding. Having got what she wanted, she loyally made way for her companion, and Masetto, continuing to act the simpleton, did as he was asked. Before the time came for them to leave, they had each made repeated trials of the dumb fellow’s riding ability, and later on, when they were busily swapping tales about it all, they agreed that it was every bit as pleasant an experience as they had been led to believe, indeed more so. And from then on, whenever the opportunity arose, they whiled away many a pleasant hour in the dumb fellow’s arms.

  One day, however, a companion of theirs happened to look out from the window of her cell, saw the goings-on, and drew the attention of two others to what was afoot. Having talked the matter over between themselves, they at first decided to report the pair to the Abbess. But then they changed their minds, and by common agreement with the other two, they took up shares in Masetto’s holding. And because of various indiscretions, these five were subsequently joined by the remaining three, one after the other.

  Finally, the Abbess, who was still unaware of all this, was taking a stroll one very hot day in the garden, all by herself, when she came across Masetto stretched out fast asleep in the shade of an almond-tree. Too much riding by night had left him with very little strength for the day’s labours, and so there he lay, with his clothes ruffled up in front by the wind, leaving him all exposed. Finding herself alone, the lady stood with her eyes riveted to this spectacle, and she was seized by the same craving to which her young charges had already succumbed. So, having roused Masetto, she led him away to her room, where she kept him for several days, thus provoking bitter complaints from the nuns over the fact that the handyman had suspended work in the garden. Before sending him back to his own quarters, she repeatedly savoured the one pleasure for which she had always reserved her most fierce disapproval, and from then on she demanded regular supplementary allocations, amounting to considerably more than her fair share.

  Eventually, Masetto, being unable to cope with all their demands, decided that by continuing to be dumb any longer he might do himself some serious injury. And so one night, when he was with the Abbess, he untied his tongue and began to talk.

  ‘I have always been given to understand, ma’am,’ he said, ‘that whereas a single cock is quite sufficient for ten hens, ten men are hard put to satisfy one woman, and yet here am I with nine of them on my plate. I can’t endure it any longer, not at any price, and as a matter of fact I’ve been on the go so much that I’m no longer capable of delivering the goods. So you’ll either have to bid me farewell or come to some sort of an arrangement.’

  When she heard him speak, the lady was utterly amazed, for she had always believed him to be dumb.

  ‘What is all this?’ she said. ‘I thought you were supposed to be dumb.’

  ‘That’s right, ma’am, I was,’ said Masetto, ‘but I wasn’t born dumb. It was owing to an illness that I lost the power of speech, and, praise be to God, I’ve recovered it this very night.’

  The lady believed him implicitly, and asked him what he had meant when he had talked about having nine on his plate. Masetto explained how things stood, and when the Abbess heard, she realized that every single one of the nuns possessed sharper wits than her own. Being of a tactful disposition, she decided there and then that rather than allow Masetto to go away and spread tales concerning the convent, she would come to some arrangement with her nuns in regard to the matter.

  Their old steward had died a few days previously. And so, with Masetto’s consent, they unanimously decided, now that they all knew what the others had been doing, to persuade the people living in the neighbourhood that after a prolonged period of speechlessness, his ability to talk had been miraculously restored by the nuns’ prayers and the virtues of the saint after whom the convent was named, and they appointed him their new steward. They divided up his various functions among themselves in such a way that he was able to do them all justice. And although he fathered quite a number of nunlets and monklets, it was all arranged so discreetly that nothing leaked out until after the death of the Abbess, by which time Masetto was getting on in years and simply wanted to retire to his village on a fat pension. Once his wishes became known, they were readily granted.

 

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