The Decameron. Giovanni Boccaccio
to Andrea, said. Shift for thy selfe (good man) in time, and tarrie not for his comming downe to thee, except thou art weary of thy life: Be gone therefore, and say thou hast a friendly warning. These words dismaying Andrea, but much more the sterne oathes and ougly sight of the Ruffian, incited also by the Neighbours counsell, whom he imagined to advise him in charitable manner: it caused him to depart thence, taking the way home-ward to his Inne, in no mean affliction and torment of minde, for the monstrous abuse offered him, and losse of his money. Well he remembred the passages, whereby the day before the young Gyrle had guided him, but the loathsome smell about him, was so extreamely to himselfe, that desiring to wash him at the Sea side, he strayed too farre wide on the contrary hand, wandring up the street called Ruga Gatellana.
Proceeding on still, even to the highest part of the Citie, hee espyed a Lanthorne and light, as also a man carrying it, and another man with him in company, both of them comming towards him. Now, because he suspected them two of the watch, or some persons that would apprehend him., he stept aside to shunne them, and entred into an olde house hard by at hand. The other mens intention was to the very same place; and going in, without any knowledge of Andreaes beeing there, one of them layde downe divers instruments of Iron which he had brought thither on his backe, and had much talke with his fellow concerning those Engines. At last one of them saide; I smell the most abhominable stinke that ever I felt in all my life. So, lifting up the Lanthorn, he espied poore pittifull Andrea, closely couched behinde the wall. Which sight somewhat affrighting him, he yet boldly demaunded, what and who he was? Whereto Andrea answered nothing, but lay still and held his peace. Neerer they drew towards him with their light, demanding how hee came thither, and in that filthy manner.
Constraint having now no other evasion, but that (of necessitie) all must out: hee related to them the whole adventure, in the same sort as it had befalne him. They greatly pittying his misfortune, one of them said to the other: Questionlesse, this villanie was done in the house of Scarabone Buttafucco. And then turning to Andrea, proceeded thus. In good faith poore man, albeit thou hast lost thy money, yet art thou much beholding to Fortune, for falling (though in a foule place) yet in a succesfull manner, and entring no more backe into the house. For beleeve mee friend, if thou haddest not falne, but quietly gone to sleepe in the house, that sleepe had beene thy last in this world, and with thy money, thou hadst lost thy life likewise. But teares and lamentations are now helpelesse, because as easily mayest thou plucke the Starres from the Firmament, as get againe the least doyt of thy losse. And for that shag-haird Slave in the house, he will be thy deathsman, if hee but understand that thou makest any enquirie after thy money. When he had thus admonished him, he began also in this manner to comfort him. Honest fellow — we cannot but pitty thy present condition: wherfore if thou wilt frendly associate us, in a businesse which we are instantly going to effect; thy losse hath not bene so great, but on our words we will warrant thee, that thine immediate gaine shall farre exceede it. What will not a man (in desperate extremity) both well like and allow of, especially when it carryeth apparance of present comfort. So fared it with Andrea, hee perswaded himselfe, worse then had already happened, could not befall him; and therefore he would gladly adventure with them.
The selfe same day preceding this disastrous night to Andrea, in the cheefe Church of the Cittie, had beene buried the Archbishop of Naples named Signior Phillippo Minutulo, in his richest pontificall Robes and Ornaments, and a Ruby on his finger valued to be worth five hundred duckets of gold: this dead body they purposed to rob and rifle, acquainting Andrea with their whole intent, whose necessitie (coupled with a covetous desire) made him more forward then well advised, to joyne with them in this sacriligious enterprize. On they went towards the great Church, Andreaes unsavourie perfume much displeasing them, whereupon the one said to his fellow: Can we devise no ease for this foule and noysome inconveniences? the very smell of him will be a meanes to betray us. There is a Well-pit hard by, answered the other, with a pulley and bucket descending downe into it, and there we may wash him from this filthinesse. To the Well-pit they came, where they found the rope and pulley hanging readie, but the bucket for safety was taken away; whereon they concluded, to fasten the rope about him, and so let him downe into the Well-pit, and when he had washed himselfe, hee should wagge the rope, and then they would draw him up againe, which accordingly they forthwith performed.
Now it came to passe, that while he was thus washing himselfe in the Well-pit, the Watch of the Citie walking the round, and finding it to bee a very hote and sweltring night, they grew dry and thirsty, and therefore went to the Well to drinke. The other two men, perceiving the Watch so neere upon them, left Andrea in the pit to shift for himselfe, running away to shelter themselves. Their flight was not discovered by the Watch, but they comming to the Wellpit, Andrea remained still in the bottome, and having cleansed himselfe so well as hee could, sate wagging the rope, expecting when hee should be haled up. This dumbe signe the Watch discerned not, but sitting downe by the Welles side, they layde downe their Billes and other weapons, tugging to draw up the rope, thinking the Bucket was fastened thereto, and full of water. Andrea being haled up to the Pits brim, left holding the rope any longer, catching fast hold with his hands for his better safety; and the Watch at the sight hereof being greatly agrighted, as thinking that they had dragd up a Spirit; not daring to speake one word, ran away with all the hast they could make.
Andrea hereat was not a little amazed, so that if he had not taken very good hold on the brim: he might have falne to the bottome, and doubtlesse there his life had perished. Being come forth of the Well, and treading on Billes and Halbards, which he well knew that his companions had not brought thither with them; his mervaile so much the more encreased, ignorance and feare still seizing him, with silent bemoaning his many misfortunes, away thence he wandred, but hee wist not whither. As he went on, he met his two fellowes, who purposely returned to drag him out of the Well, and seeing their intent already performed, desired to know who had done it: wherein Andrea could not resolve them, rehearsing what hee could, and what weapons hee found lying about the Well. Whereat they smiled, as knowing, that the Watch had haled him up, for feare of whom they left him, and so declared to him the reason of their returne.
Leaving off all further talke, because now it was about midnight, they went to the great Church, where finding their enterance to be easie: they approached neere the Tombe, which was very great, being tall of Marble, and the cover-stone weighty, yet with crowes of yron and other helps, they raised it so high, that a man might without perill passe into it. Now began they to question one another, which of the three should enter into the Tombe. Not I, said the first; so said the second: No nor I, answered Andrea. Which when the other two heard, they caught fast hold of him, saying. Wilt not thou goe into the Tombe? Be advised what thou sayest, for, if thou wilt not goe in: we will so beat thee with one of these yron crowes, that thou shalt never goe out of this Church alive.
Thus poore Andrea is still made a property, and Fortune (this fatall night) will have no other foole but he, as delighting in his hourly disasters. Feare of their fury makes him obedient, into the grave he goes, and being within, thus consults with himselfe. These cunning companions suppose me to be simple, and make me enter the Tombe, having an absolute intention to deceive me. For, when I have given them all the riches that I finde here, and am ready to come forth for mine equall portion: away will they runne for their owne safety, and leaving me heere, not onely shall I loose my right among them, but must remaine to what danger may follow after. Having thus meditated, he resolved to make sure of his owne share first, and remembring the rich Ring, whereof they had tolde him: forthwith hee tooke it from the Archbishops finger, finding it indifferently fitte for his owne. Afterward, hee tooke the Crosse, Miter, rich garments, Gloves and all, leaving him nothing but his shirt, giving them all these severall parcels, protesting that there was nothing else. Still they pressed upon him, affirming that there was a Ring beside, urging him to search diligently for it; yet still he answered, that he could not finde it, and for their longer tarrying with him, seemed as if he serched very carefully, but all appeared to no purpose.
The other two fellowes, as cunning in craft as the third could be, still willed him to search, and watching their aptest opportunity: tooke away the proppes that supported the Tombe-stone, and running thence with their got booty, left poore Andrea mewed up in the grave. Which when he perceived, and saw this miserie to exceede all the rest, it is farre easier for you to guesse at his greefe, then I am any way, able to expresse it. His head, shoulders, yea all his utmost strength he employeth, to remove that