Astolfo, of the Lombard kingdom heir, after the king, his elder brother, died,
 was in his youth so handsome and so fair
 that few with him in beauty could have vied;
Not David nor Apollo could compare with all their looks,
 however hard they tried.
Handsome he was and so by all was deemed, 
 but he more highly yet himself esteemed.

His rank to him was of less consequence in setting him apart from other men.
His armed supporters and his affluence
 which made him, among monarchs, sovereign,
Were less important than the difference in face and form 
 which put a gulf between himself and other mortals;
 praise for this to him was happiness, to him was bliss.

And at his court was one whom he loved well,
 Fausto Latini, a Roman cavalier.
With him the vain young king would often dwell upon his looks,
 his shapely hand, his hair.
He asked his friend if ever he heard tell
 of any man who could be judged his peer.
The answer which he gave the king one day was not what he expected him to say:

"From what I've heard and seen," Fausto replied,
 "Your beauty has few equals here below.
 Few, do I say?  If I searched far and wide,
 one only would there be, as I well know:
 My brother, named Giocondo.
Though beside you, other men have nothing they can show,
 and you leave the rest in beauty far behind; 
 in him thy peer and better I might find."

This seemed to the young king beyond belief.
Till then his victor's palm was uncontested.
He longed to see this handsome youth;
 in brief, he thought his rival should be fully tested.
Lest his uncertainty should cause him grief, a visit from Giocondo he requested.

Fausto agreed, and said that he would try,
 but doubted if he could and told him why:
In truth, in all his life (his brother said)
 Giocondo had not ventured outside Rome,
 but a serene existence always led,
 a peaceful and contented stay-at-home.
The property which he inherited had not increased, nor had it less become.
Pavia would have seemed as far to him as someone else the river Don might deem.

Even more difficult the task would be to seperate him from his wife,
 because Giocondo loved her so devotedly
 her wishes and desires for him were laws.
But Fausto, to obey His Majesty, said he would go to Rome and plead his cause.
The eager king had overwhelmed him by so _many_ gifts he could not but comply.

So he departs and after a few days arrives in Rome and, at his father's house,
 the king's request before Giocondo lays.
To his persuasiveness his brother bows.
 Even his wife can no objection raise.
 Indeed she sits as quiet as a mouse while Fausto shows what benefits might come
 if she will let her husband go from Rome.

Giocondo fixed the day they should depart
 and servitors and horses chose meanwhile.
Garments were made for him, adorned with art,
 for beauty is enhanced by clothes of style.

His wife and he are never seen apart.
Her eyes are wet with tears, she cannot smile.
She  does not know, she says, how she can bear to go on living 
 if _he_ is not near.
To think of it, she feels on her left side
 as if her heart were torn up by the root.
"My life," Giocondo said, and he too cried, "Do not distress yourself; 
 I will be but two months away, then home you'll see me ride.
 If Fortune favours me along my route, I'll not prolong my absence by one day.
 Not for one half his kingdom would I stay."

Giocondo's wife will not be comforted.
He will be too long absent, she knows well.
If on return he does not find her dead, it will be nothing but a miracle.
She weeps all day, she weeps all night in bed.  She cannot eat.
Unable to dispel her grief, Giocondo, by compassion stirred,
 begins to wish he had not pledged his word.

His wife was wont to wear around her neck
 a little cross which hung upon a chain,
 adorned with relics and with gems set thick.
A pilgrim left it to her father when,
 arriving at his gate infirm and sick,
 he was received and tended in his pain;
 and, dying, he bequeathed this precious gem
 which he had carried from Jerusalem.

She gave this gem to him and begged that he would wear it now in memory of her.
This pleased him and he promised readily.
Not that he needed a remembrancer;
 no absence, length of time, or destiny, no matter what befell,
 could ever blur her image
 and as long as he drew breath he would remember her,
 and after death.

On the last night before he goes,
 they lie so close together, in so sweet a swoon,
 in her Giocondo's arms she thought she'd die,
 knowing that she must do without him soon.
She did not sleep, she scarcely winked an eye.
Her husband, just an hour before the sun, 
 came to his last embrace, and off he sped.
His wife, who saw him off, went back to bed.

He had not gone above a mile or two
 when he remembered he had left the chain beneath his pillow. 
What was he to do?  "Alas!" he pondered, "How can I explain?"
 for no excuses could he find, he knew.
His wife would think, and this would give her pain, 
 that little value on her gift he set, if he so soon his promise could forget.





When he rehearses an excuse, he knows it will not seem acceptable or good,
 no matter whom he sends,
 unless he goes himself in person, as he clearly should.
So, reining in his horse, its pace he slows.
"Ride on," he says,
 "and in the neighbourhood around Cuckalry wait a while for me.
I will return and join you speedily.
I must go back; there is no other way to do what I must do;
 I promise I will catch you up again without delay."

He turned his horse around and said goodbye.
Taking no servitor, he rode away.
The sunlight had begun to gild the sky
When he arrived and, entering his house,
 he went upstairs to find his sleeping spouse.

He drew the curtains of the bed aside and saw --
 what he could never have believed:
His chaste and faithful wife, his loving bride,
 clasped in a young man's arms no longer grieved.
And who he was the covers could not hide;
 he knew at once by whom he was deceived:
 a lad of humble stock
 who had been taught to serve the household and was raised from naught.

Giocondo's sorrow and astonishment are better understood at second hand
 than known by _personal_ experiment such as this husband's destiny had planned.
By rage and fury stung, he fully meant to draw his sword and slay them but,
 unmanned by pity for her (for he loved her still despite himself)
 his wife he could not kill.

And Love the tyrant 
 (judge to what degree Giocondo was his victim)
 would not let him even waken her
 for fear lest she, on catching sight of him,
 might be upset that he should find her in adultery.
Tiptoeing out, he left them sleeping yet.
Pricked to the quick by Love, he pricked his steed
 and reached the inn just as his brother did.

Giocondo's countenance seemed changed to all.
They saw his heart was heavy now, not gay;
But what had happened in the interval when he rode back to Rome,
 no one could say.
His journey was in truth equivocal,
 for to 'Cuckoldry' he'd gone that day.
Everyone guessed that love must be the cause,
 though far from knowing what his secret was.

His brother thinks Giocondo must be sad because of having left his wife alone,
 whereas the contrary is true;
 she had too much companionship when he was gone.
With furrowed brow and pouting lip,
 to add to their perplexity, he stared upon the ground; 
All Fausto's efforts are in vain.  The cause unkown, he cannot soothe his pain.
Without intending to, he treats the sore with the wrong ointment;
 as though with a knife, where he would heal, he opens it the more,
 by talking to Giocondo  of his wife.
Small wonder is it this will not restore his brother to his former joy in life.

His face, once beautiful, is changed so much, it cannot be regarded now as such.
His lovely eyes are sunken in his head.
His nose looks longer in his wasted face.
As for the beauty contest, the less said the better,
 since of his there is no trace.
Stricken with fever, he remains in bed in Florence and Siena;
 any grace which could be seen to linger withered soon,
 like severed roses wilting in the sun.

Though Fausto, filled with sorrow and regret,
 was grieved to see his brother so distressed,
He was more vexed and troubled even yet
 to think how he had praised him
 as the best of all the handsome men he'd ever met,
 and now he would appear the ugliest;
But on towards Pavia all the same they made their way and to the city came.

Unwilling to surprise the king,
 he wrote dispatches to prepare him in advance
 (Lest he should take him for an idiot),
 saying his brother, by a sad mischance,
 to such a state of illness had been brought,
 and so transfigured were his face, his glance,
 that he no longer seemed the man he was;
Affliction of the heart had been the cause.

Giocondo's coming pleased the king no less
 than if he were a loved and long-lost friend,
 for great indeed had been his eagerness.
Now his uncertainty is at an end.
His is relieved to find, he must confess,
 his rival's looks cannot with his contend,
 although but for Giocondo's malady he might superior or equal be.

Astolfo bids his servitors prepare a set of rooms for him,
 and every day he visits him;
 and every hour elsewhere he asks about his health;
 in every way he tries to honour him and show his care,
But still Giocondo languishes,
 a prey to sadness which no music and no sport can cure,
 nor spectacle of any sort.

His rooms were at the top, beneath the roof, and often to an attic he withdrew,
 for he desired to keep himself aloof and all delight and company eschew;
There he brooded on the dismal proof
 that she whom he so loved had proved untrue.
There he discovered (who would credit it?)
 the remedy which made him well and fit.

The shutters at one end were always shut.
Giocondo sees that at a certain height
 a space divides the plaster from the strut
 and through a gap there shines a ray of light.
Giocondo is surprised, and having put his eye to it,
 is startled by a sight so unexpected
 he can scarce believe the truth of what his very eyes perceive.




He sees a charming little chamber
 where the queen invited only those
 whom she regarded the most intimate and dear of all her friends,
 and in strict secrecy.
Amazed, Giocondo sees a writhing pair:
 a dwarf entangled with Her Majesty;
 and so adroit the little man has been
 that he has placed himself above the queen.

Giocondo by this sight is stupefied.
Thinking he must be dreaming, he looks on;
 and when he sees his senses have not lied,
 as earlier he thought they must have done,
 "This hunchback, ugliness personified," he says, "a royal paramour has won,
 whose husband is the greatest king and quite the handsomest;
 what a base appetite!"

His wife, whom he has so condemned
 because she took a youthful lover to her bed,
 _now_ seems to him to have transgressed no laws of Nature,
 for the blame should not be laid on _her_,
 but on the female sex which was insatiable.
If it could be said that all of them with the same brush were tarred
 at least _his_ wife a hunchbacked monster barred.

On the next day,
 at that same time he went to that same place once more and squinnied through.
He saw the queen and dwarf
 again intent on cuckolding the king;
 the next day too, and the next one after that,
 their time was spent in toiling at this sportive task anew.

Strangest of all, the queen (at this he paled)
 the monster's lack of love for her bewailed.
One day he noticed she was much distressed.
The dwarf being absent,
 she had sent her maid not once, but twice, to call him to their nest.
He did not come,
 the queen grew more dismayed and for his presence for a third time pressed.
"Ma'am, he is playing cards," the damsel said;
 "Just at the moment he is down one sou;
 till he breaks even he'll not come to you."

Giocondo's face, at this strange sight,
 became what formerly it was, smooth-browed, serene,
 bright-eyed, plump-cheeked, and jocund like his name;
 his tears had ceased, once more his smiles were seen.
A radiance enveloped all his frame.
A cherub from on high he might have been.
The king, his brother, _all_
 astonished seem to see the change that has come over him.

If the king longed to hear Giocondo say what remedy had brought about this cure,
 Giocondo for _his_ part desired straightway to _tell_ the king,
 but wanted to be sure the queen would have no penalty to pay,
 nor any retribution would endure.
No matter _what_ he heard,
 he made him swear, upon the host! that he his wife would spare.


He made him swear
 that nothing which he heard, that nothing untoward which he might see,
 however painfully he might be stirred,
 however flagrant the lese majesty,
 would make him take revenge, 
 _and_ by no word the evil-doer should suspect that he,
 the king, has fully understood the case
 and knows precisely what has taken place.

Astolfo gave his word without delay.
All else, except the truth, he could believe.
Giocondo then at last began to say what had occurred to make him pine and grieve
(Not he alone has cause to feel dismay, for women do not scruple to deceive):
To find his wife in bed with a young lad 
 Giocondo's very life endangered had.

But in this palace a strange sight he'd seen
 and now his deep despondency was gone.
Though he had fallen in the eyes of men, in such dishonor he was not alone.
He leads Astolfo to the gap between the plaster and the strut;
 the dwarf is shown astride the... 'stolen mare',
 which by his spurs and careful riding, to great leaps he stirs.

You will believe, I have no need to swear it,
 That this despicable sight the king appals.
If he does not go mad, then he comes near it,
 he almost bangs his head against the walls;
 his anger is so fierce he cannot bear it, he almost shouts,
 but this the pact forestalls.
He stops his mouth, as well he knows he must,
 for he has sworn upon the sacred host.

"Brother, advise me; what am I to do?" Astolfo asked,
 "for since I am denied all vengeance by the vow I swore to you,
 What satisfaction is there for my pride?"
"Let's leave our two ungrateful wives to stew in their own juice,"
 Giocondo then replied;
 "Let's see _how many_ are adulterous and do to husbands what was done to us.

"We are both young, our looks exceptional.
What woman could resist us or refuse?
If to such _brutes_ so easily they fall,
 _we_ shall possess as many as we choose.
If youth and beauty are of no avail, with money in our purse we cannot lose.
Do not return till you have claimed as booty a _thousand_ wives;
 regard this as your duty.

"Absence from home, travel in foreign parts,
 the company of women in strange lands,
 are said to be a cure for broken hearts."
The king approves this plan
 and he commands two squires to bear them company;
They start in a few hours
 and into Fortune's hands the Lombard monarch and the knight of Rome
 their future both commit as forth they roam.





They travelled through all Italy and France, 
 in Flanders and in England, in disguise.
Wherever pretty faces met their glance,
 they met with none but courteous replies,
 and were invited soon to join the dance.
They gave... and they _received_;
 to their surprise the money which they offered was returned;
 by some they were invited, by _none_ spurned.
And staying one month here and two months there,
 not once but _many_ times they verified
 their wives no worse than other women were.
However far they travelled, far and wide,
 they found _none_ chaste and faithful anywhere.

After a time the two of them decide to call a halt;
 in every neighbourhood husbands are waiting, thirsting for their blood.
Better to choose one girl,
 who by her face and form would please them both
 and who would satisfy them equally.
No trace of jealousy need come between the two.

Astolfo asked, "If I must yield my place
 not to a stranger but, instead, to you,
 Why should I mind? 
 In all the female clan there is not one contented with one man.
 One woman, without overdoing it, but guided by our natural desires,
 let us enjoy in common, as is fit.
There is no need to quarrel: as one tires, the other can take over for a bit.
She will be pleased; a wife perhaps requires two husbands,
 and if this could be arranged the present state of marriage might be changed."

The king's suggestion greatly pleased the knight,
 who liked to hear him talking in this vein.
The project he accepted with delight.
So, searching every hill and every plain, 
 they found, at last, a girl who seemed just right,
 the daughter of an innkeeper in Spain.
His inn was in Valencia, near the bay,
 and she was fair and sweet in every way.

She was a damsel in the bloom of spring,
 of tender age and scarcely yet mature.
The poverty which broods of children bring
 such trials caused her father to endure
 that to persuade him proved an easy thing.
His daughter he is willing to procure, and even for a modest sum to _sell_,
 provided they will always treat her well.

They took the girl and had their pleasure of her.
In amity, alternately they came.
First one and then the other played the lover,
 as bellows in succession fan the flame.

Now when this trio's tour of Spain is over,
 to visit Africa is their next aim.
They leave Valencia and that same day,
 arriving at Jativa, there they stay.
The partners go to see the palaces, the monuments, the churches and the squares,
 for visiting the sights their custom is on all their travels,
 in between affairs.

Back at the inn, the girl of service is: 
 horses are stabled, beds are made upstairs;
 she helps the kitchen boys set out a meal to meet requirements of the clientele.

There was a lad in service at the inn
 who at her father's house was once employed;
 and from his earliest years
 this boy had been the girl's admirer and _her_ love enjoyed.
They eyed each other furtively, unseen by those around them,
 careful to avoid the knowing looks of the inquisitive,
 when anyone is near, no sign they give.
But when an opportunity arose, he asked the damsel where she went and why,
 and which her lord and master was of those two travellers she was escorted by.

Fiammetta (that's her name) tells all she knows.
(The young man's name is Greco, by the by.)
"Alas," he said, "when once again I find you,
 you must depart and leave me far behind you!
All my sweet plans to bitterness are turned,
 for you belong to others, not to me.
From tips and meagre wages which I earned, I skimped and hoarded with economy.
In all this time for you _alone_ I yearned
 and in Valencia I longed to be,
 where, when I'd settled down, as I had planned, 
 I'd go and ask your father for your hand."

The damsel shrugged her shoulders
 and replied that it was now a little late, she thought.
Greco shed tears (some in pretence) and sighed.
"Ah! do not thus torment me," he besought.
"You will regret your scorn when I have died.
Let my desire have rein,
 ere I am brought to my last hour! 
 Each hour with you I spend will help to reconcile me to my end."

Fiammetta said, moved to compassion now,
 "Believe me, I desire it too, no less;
 but when can we achieve it, where and how,
 surrounded as we are by witnesses?"
Greco replied, "Were but the love you vow
 a third of that which I for you confess,
 You would contrive to find this very night
 some hideaway where we could share delight."

"How can I," said the girl,
 "when all night through I lie between _two_ men
 and one will take his pleasure of me, as is due,
 and when that stops, the other has begun?"
Greco replied, "This need not trouble you,
 for I will show you how it can be done,
 and, if you wish, I'll even set you free.
 Surely you wish it, if you care for me?"






Fiammetta thinks a moment and then says,
 when everyone appears to be asleep that night,
 if her instructions he obeys,
 he'll find it will be possible to creep unnoticed up and down the passage-ways.
When all is quiet, Greco, step by step,
 reaches her bedroom door, as she has said,
 and softly tiptoes in towards the bed.

And from the moment when his footsteps pass the threshold of the room,
 as if on eggs, or like a man afraid of breaking glass,
 he shifts his weight on to alternate legs,
 which thus, in long strides, gingerly progress;
And, like a blind man groping as he begs, he finds the bed,
 and where the sleeper's feet are, Greco goes head first beneath the sheet.

And sliding up between Fiammetta's thighs,
 who on her back in expectation lay,
 he reached so high, he could no further rise.
Thus they remain embraced till break of day;
 and all that night no other mount he tries,
 but on this filly gallops all the way.
She goes so well he needs no other horse,
 and she is _quite_ content to stay the course.

Giocondo and the king were well aware of the vibrations in the bed that night,
 but each of them fell victim to the snare,
 thinking the _other_ was the favoured knight.
When Greco knew he could no further fare, he left as he had come;
 the light of day on the horizon could be seen
 when the girl rose and let the servants in.

The king said to Giocondo, jokingly,
 "Brother, you must have ridden quite a way.
 You'd better rest a while, it seems to me.
 You were on horseback till the break of day."
Giocondo answered him as smilingly,
 "You have just said what I was going to say.
 You are the one who needs a good long rest.
 All night you galloped and your quarry chased."

Astolfo said, "I also, I admit, should have been glad to give my... _dog_ a run.
 If you had let me ride the horse a bit,
 for my need, a brief canter would have done."
Giocondo answered, "Do as you think fit.
 I _am_ your vassal, be there pact or none.
 Such innuendoes wasted are on me.
 You could have said, <<Now let the damsel be.>>"

And soon at one another's head they fling annoyed retorts and,
 moving on from jests, they come to bitter taunts, and jibes which sting.
Such mockery their patience sorely tests.
They call Fiammetta, who alone can bring some light upon the truth
 which each contests and each continues to reiterate.
She is not far; they have not long to wait.






"Come here," Astolfo said, with a fierce look,
 "We will not hurt you, neither he nor I:
 Who was it who such lusty pleasure took of you,
 that no one else all night could try?"
Each thought the other would be brought to book
 and proved a liar by the girl's reply.
Fiammetta throws herself upon her knees, imploring pardon;
 all is lost, she sees.

She pleaded that her love for a young man,
 that her compassion for his tortured heart,
 had led her - wrongly -
 to devise a plan which they had carried out with skill and art.
A true account of it she then began,
 telling no lies concerning any part.
She said how Greco hoped to trick them both
 in such a way they'd never know the truth.

Exchanging glances of astonishment,
 Giocondo and Astolfo at once knew,
 from their expressions it was evident,
 no men were made such fools of as they two.
Then, bursting into equal merriment,
 they throw their heads back, open-mouthed, and screw their eyes up;
 scarce can either man draw breath
 as on the bed they fall and helpless stretch.

When they have laughed so much they can no more,
 with streaming eyes, holding their sides for mirth,
 they ask each other:
"How can we make sure our wives are faithful,
 when no power on earth our rights in this one woman can secure?
We lay so close to her: what was the worth?
If husbands had as many eyes as hairs,
 their wives would still betray them unawares."

"A thousand women we have had in bed,
 and all were beautiful and to our taste,
 and no resistance any of them made.
To sample any more would be a waste.
We have now _proved_
 the wives whom /we/ have wed are no more lecherous and no less chaste:
 Such is the world!
So let us now go home,
 enjoy our wives _ourselves_
 and cease to roam."

Having said this,
 they sent Fiammetta first to fetch her lover,
 and they blessed the pair with many witnesses;
 then they disbursed a dowry to her, generous and fair.
Then, mounting on their horses, they reversed their route, from west to east.
Quite soon they were united with their wives,
 and from that day
 no fault they found with them in any way.