The Coffer

I'm leaving. You don't have to take up a sword or a cudgel to chase me out. All of us are going immediately; we'll leave the house to you. Come on, let’s all go; let him alone, so that he can take what he wants and ransack the place without witnesses.

Your foolishness is indeed unbelievable, Nebbia; of all of us servants you alone always oppose Erofilo's wishes. You, yourself, should realize by now whether this has been harmful or beneficial to you. What the devil, obey him and please him in what he wants. After all, he's our master's only son and, in the natural course of events, we'll be serving longer under his command than under that of the old man. Why the hell do you insist on staying in the house when he wants to send you out with us? Why do you try to make him a worse enemy than he already is?

If you had received the strictest orders from the master as I did, I'm sure that you would have done the same.

Perhaps.

And if you saw things as I see them, you would see that I'm not doing enough.

How do you see them?

I'll tell you: you probably know that pimp who's been living on our street for a short time.

Yes, I know him.

If you know him, then I'm sure you've seen the two gorgeous girls he has in his house.

I've seen them.

Our Erofilo is so taken with one of them that in order to have her he's ready to give everything he has in the world, and even sell himself. But the pimp, who's aware of his desire and who knows that he's the son of Crisobolo, one of the wealthiest merchants in Sibaris, is asking him more than twice the price and more than would be considered reasonable.

How much is he asking?

I cannot say exactly; but I do know that he’s asking him much more than usual and that Erofilo couldn't gather together such a large sum by himself or even with the aid of his friends; he would need his father's help.

What is he going to do?

A great deal of harm to his father as well as to himself. I think that he has his mind set on selling either the wheat that arrived from Sicily a few days ago or the silk, the wool, or other such merchandise with which the house is bulging. His adviser in this matter, as you know, is that thief, Vulpino; you can imagine the rest. The opportunity that they've been awaiting came this morning when the old man left very early to go to Procida; and they want us out of the house so that no one can witness their scheme. Now they've sent us to find Filostrato with the excuse that he needs our help around the house.

Let him do what he wants. Why should you care about it more than we do? Even if they robbed and emptied the house, Erofilo will be heir to what remains, not you, stupid.

It's you who are stupid; you have no more sense than an ass. Tell me, Corbo, if Crisobolo returns, what will happen to me? When he left this morning he entrusted me with the keys to his bedroom where the other keys are kept; and he ordered me, if I valued his good will and my life, to keep them on my belt or in my sleeve, not to give them to anyone, especially not to Erofilo, and never to dare set foot out the door. Now you see how I obey him! He probably hadn't even reached the port when Erofilo asked me for the keys and finally demanded them, saying that he wanted to look in the closets for a certain hunting horn of his. He got them—perhaps you were there.

I could easily hear the sound of about ten or twelve blows of a cudgel ...

There were more than fifteen, more than twenty!

... which flattened your back before you agreed to give them to him. But I wasn't right there when it happened.

I wish I, too, hadn't been! He would have killed me had I not given them to him.

I believe he would have.

What should I have done?

You should have given them to him as soon as he asked for them and left the house the moment he ordered you to. You would always have had a legitimate excuse for the old man—that you were forced to do so. Do you think he's so unrealistic and unreasonable that he’s not aware of the fact that you're hardly fit to be a match for a rash and ardent young man like Erofilo, his only son?

Yes, by God, as if it would be difficult to place all the blame on my shoulders! After all, he's the master, and all of you servants in the house despise me! This truly isn't due to my faults, but to my merits, for I don't allow the master to be robbed.

It's due to your bad disposition, for you don't know how to make friends.

Have you seen anyone in any household who has my job and isn't also hated by all the others?

Because those like you are wicked and you're all scoundrels. In choosing stewards, whose job it is to provide for the household, masters always select the worst man they have in the house so that they can shift the blame to him for every hardship the servants suffer. But let's change the subject. Tell me something: who's that young man who just entered the house—the fellow Erofilo honors so much?

He's the son of the captain of justice.

What's his name?

Caridoro. He wants the other girl in the pimp's house; but I don't think he's any more able to raise the money unless he, too, tries to steal from his father. And, just as Erofilo has Vulpino as his adviser, he likewise has a little glutton of a servant, one named Fulcio, as his. The two of them would seem as natural on a gallows as wine on the table. Oh, look, Corbo, the girls are coming out of the pimp's house.

Which one is Erofilo in love with?

With the one closer to the door. Caridoro is in love with the other one.

Let's get going; if Erofilo came out and found us here, he'd accuse us of negligence and he might get angry.

Please! Come on, Eulalia; Lucramo's not home. Come out for a while. Let's take this small pleasure.

What pleasure could compensate for a thousandth part of our misfortune, Corisca? Oh, how miserable we are! We're servants, and while this is a hard and distasteful condition, it would be tolerable if we belonged to someone who showed some humanity and moderation; but of all the procurers in the world there's none who is as unpleasant, greedy, godless, mean, and bursting with anger as the one to whom our cruelest fate has made us slaves.

Have patience, sister. We’re not going to remain like this forever. I have hopes that some day our friends will take us out of this misery.

And when are they going to do this if they haven't already done so? How do you expect them to, if we're leaving at dawn tomorrow?

I know too well what Caridoro has promised me many times, and you know what Erofilo has promised you also; and we both know how much they love us.

I'm well aware of what they promised; but I don't know whether they intend to keep those promises. Neither you nor I really know whether they love us, for we cannot look into their hearts. This much we do know — they should be in love with us.

They should love us indeed! Simply because they're fine young men you assume that they're in love with us, and because they're in love with us they'll do what they promised us a thousand times.

I would rather that they had denied it a thousand or two thousand times and then promised only once, for I would find them more credible. If they're going to do it what are they waiting for? They don’t intend to, Corisca, and they’re enjoying themselves by teasing us. In this they've done us much harm: If they weren't around perhaps others might have come who would have provided us with fewer words and more deeds. Besides, they so angered Lucramo —who has seen the whole affair dragged out and himself deceived— that under no circumstances will he stay in Sibaris any longer; and we're going to leave tomorrow come what may. But we'd better go inside; let's get our things ready and do what our master ordered us to do. Let's not give him reason, because of our neglect, to vent his anger and irritation on us.

Sister, since we have to leave, are we going to depart without speaking to our boyfriends?

Alas! If they were our boyfriends, as you say, sister, I don't think that they would have let this come to such a pass that we would have to say good-bye and take leave of them; they would have rescued us from our servitude and kept us with them here in the city.

I’m not going to abandon the hope that they still may do it.

Let's return to the house. Since they won't come out, it's not proper for us to go knocking on their door.

Let’s stay a while, Eulalia. They shouldn’t be much longer now. I hear the door opening; it must be them.

It is them.

Here they are.

Oh, Caridoro, we're going to have great success in all our plans after having experienced such a happy encounter, such a lucky omen.

Here they are, Erofilo. Here are the serene and salutary stars whose appearance calms the stormy and dismal sea of our thoughts.

We could more truthfully say this about you, for you indeed could be our happy encounter, our lucky omen, and our serene and salutary stars if actions would follow the words we hear being said. You make great promises when you're with us: "Give me your hand. Eulalia." "Give me your hand, Corisca." We give you our hands; then one of you says: "May I be cut into pieces," and the other, "May I burn like wood if I don't free you by tomorrow, my soul." Alas, how wretched you would be if you were to suffer the punishments to which you condemn yourselves for not keeping your promises!

You’re wrong in saying this.

Even though you're rich and noble, you shouldn't scoff at us poor women and make fun of us; for, although misfortune has brought us to this condition, we were not lowborn in our own country.

Don't make my anguish more bitter by these complaints, Eulalia. Please! Don't think that our words aren't in accord with our intentions and that we desire anything else other than to free you from your servitude to this beastly man; but we cannot do this as easily or as rapidly as we had planned and intended. Because you see me dressed in respectable clothes and hear that my father is an extremely rich merchant you imagine that I can lay my hands on his money whenever I want and spend it as I please. And what I say about myself is true for him also: we both have the same object in mind. It's true that we have considerable wealth, but its not in our power to dispose of it. I want you to know that we both have fathers who are as stingy as they are rich; they show no less diligence in conserving their possessions than in acquiring them. Until now, by God, I haven't been able to lay my hands on a penny. But now that my father has left me alone for a while, for he set out this morning to go to Procida, I'm sure I'll prove to you that I'm speaking from the heart and not pretending. You can publicly denounce me as the most uncivil, the most ungrateful and perfidious man in the world if by tomorrow...

Ah, Erofilo, cursed be the day that I put so much faith in you. All the todays and yesterdays pass by, but your tomorrows never come.

Please let me finish! Listen to what I have to say. I cannot tell you everything, but you can be certain —and rest assured— that I'm not going to take longer than tomorrow to free you.

Even if you're telling the truth, for I cannot believe that you are —although I would like to believe that you have the means as well as the intention of doing it— even if it is the truth, what good will it do when I'm dead to give me the medicine that you wouldn't administer to me when I had a soul in my body? Don’t you realize that Lucramo wants us to leave Sibaris tomorrow?

I don't believe it.

Why should I lie to you?

We're going to leave, believe us.

I believe that Lucramo told you so, but I don't think he told you the truth.

What harm is there in believing what he said? Let's see if we can possibly get done today what we're supposed to do tomorrow.

Or else have Lucramo discover your plans in such a way that he can believe you. I think if you assure him that the money will be forthcoming tomorrow, he'll stay.

Since my old man is no longer around and won’t be able to keep his eyes on me continually, I have no doubts about being able to accomplish everything. Rest assured, Eulalia, for you're not going to leave Sibaris and you'll never belong to anyone but me.

And I say the same to you, my Corisca.

May God hear you and may He have you persevere in your determination and turn your words into deeds. Your duty should be to love us and to act for our benefit, for ever since the very day we became acquainted we have loved you with all our hearts and have revered you as our gods. But enough for now; we don't want Lucramo to return and find us here.

I don't think that many hours will pass before you’ll be free and be able to be with me.

May it be God's will!

And what of me?

We seek your well-being no less than that of Eulalia, my life.

I go in hope of it.

Go with your mind at ease.

Good-bye, Erofilo.

Good-bye, my dear Eulalia.

Should I not show her how much I love her? And should I not assure her that I love no one else —not even my father ... my father? I won't even exclude myself— as much as the least part of her! In some way I'm going to remove the suspicion from her mind that I'm mocking her. Today will be the last time that she'll reproach me for such a thing. I'm prepared to set her free today even if I have to change places with her. I'm not going to let myself be taken in any longer by Vulpino's stories, which make me appear to be, in her eyes, what I'm not and never intended to be — ungrateful, disloyal, and unloving. If Vulpino doesn’t resolve this matter today —rather, if he doesn't do something more than he has been doing— I'll no longer listen to his prattling, prattling with which, from one day to the next, for fifteen days, he has led me on. First he promises to play a trick on the old man who, without realizing it —that is, while thinking he was spending his money wisely— would give me the money that I need to redeem her; then he changes his mind and tells me that he's going to devise such a scheme that we'll have the girl in our power without my father giving me a penny or anyone else lending it to me. And now he wants to humble this Lucramo, who has been so arrogant, and shear him like a sheep. Should I continue to listen to these dreams and these stories? By God, I won't. If I cannot obtain my desires secretly, I'll do it openly. There's no shortage of silver and other things in the house, which can be converted immediately into thousands of scudi. Am I to be like Tantalus and let myself die of thirst while in water up to my chin?

If only I were in your situation, Erofilo! If my old man was away from Sibaris for a while and left me a house full of goods, as your father has done, he’d find it so clean when he returned that it would seem as if the Spaniards had lodged there for some time. Oh, here he comes.

Who's coming.

The procurer.

I wish he were being carried, but in the manner he deserves.

When you hear a woman's beauty, a prince's liberality, a friar's sanctity, a merchant's riches, the good life and enjoyment of a city, or similar things being lauded or, as they say, being praised to the skies, you wouldn't be mistaken if you believed little of it; and at times I have found it best to believe the opposite of what one hears of their reputation. Nor would you be wrong if, on hearing someone being condemned for thievery or greed, or it being said that he's a swindler, a cheat, a forger, or a traitor, you believed more than what you heard; for, in practice, you'll always find the vices worse and the virtues, the good and praiseworthy qualities, less than what their public image is. I cannot explain why this is so; but the experience I've had with both types prompts me to say this. Right now I’m encountering one more than the other. I'll tell you about it. These past few days I found myself in Genoa, where on many, many occasions I've been able to sell my merchandise —for no other merchandise is there a more stable market— and where I came away with a hundred florins after expenses. While I was there I heard it said that in Sibaris more than anywhere else in the world every sort of pleasure is prized, and, above all, the pleasure that comes from amorous entanglements. [I also heard it said] that the young men here were wealthier and greater spendthrifts than in any city you could name. Attracted by its reputation, I came to this city; and, when I first arrived, I rejoiced on hearing that the gentlemen —most of whom were called counts— used the title of "Lord" when speaking with one another. I said to myself: "In other cities there's perhaps one person of this quality and in many places none; now, if there's so many of them here, there's no doubt that money must flow through the streets and it must rain gold." But I wasn't here three days when I regretted having come; for, apart from their titles, their boasting and their vanity, their ostentation and their fables, I found very little that's splendid about them. They spend whatever they have in adorning themselves, in polishing and perfuming themselves like women. They spend it in feeding mules and page boys who follow them around all day long while they go here and there running through the streets and the piazzas waggling more than coquettes and making more gestures than a monkey. They think that by dressing in brocades and fancy clothes, by dressing fashionably and ostentatiously, they'll get others to esteem them as they esteem themselves, that is, as generous, munificent, and important men; but, in reality, they're like new boxes—painted on the outside and empty within. One might think that if they're lavish in adorning themselves, then perhaps they would have their women be parsimonious; and, by staying at home and working and exhausting themselves, they would try to restore what their husbands or sons squander in their foolish and ridiculous ambition. But, instead, one finds husbands and wives, mothers and daughters, all working together to the detriment and ruin of their houses. We'll ignore the fact that these women want new dresses and new hats like women in any other city. [But the truth is that] you couldn't find a woman in this city whose husband is an artisan and who deigns to walk. They abhor going out of the house on foot and they won't even cross the street unless they have a carriage underneath their buttocks. They want their carriages all painted in gold, covered with brocades, and drawn by great big horses; and they must have two damsels, a personal maid, footmen, and’ pages to accompany them. It isn't only the rich, but the poor as well, who engage in such foolishness and who draw the bow so tight that they never have a carlin left to spend for any unusual desire. And so it happens that when a foreigner comes to this city he rarely finds someone who invites him to his house and uses terms of courtesy that are commonly used elsewhere. Someone who comes from abroad and isn't acquainted with their custom of penurious living considers them as prodigals, immoderate and hardly discreet; for, if they were misers, they would engage in commerce and the other occupations that make men rich. But these people consider all employment as lower class and they'll only call someone noble who lives in idleness and doesn't work. And this itself isn't enough: it's necessary for his father and grandfather also to have spent their time scratching their bellies. See what a mistaken custom, what a queer idea this is; see what discipline, what fine organization for a sensible city that intends to expand its riches and power! Let them do as they please. What? Am I supposed to introduce reason? Let them live and behave as they will. If my interests weren't involved, I'd take the same care that bishops do for the souls that were entrusted to them by Christ. I came to this city about three months ago with the hope of profitably selling my girls, whose beauty, whose youth, and whose charm seemed to me —and still do— to deserve to have all the gentlemen compete for them, with no price seemingly too high. But I found myself greatly mistaken. Many of them came to see me —the old more than the young; one or another of them tells me that he wants to buy this woman or that one and asks me the price. I tell it to them. Some abandon the idea; others stay a while and bargain. They make me an offer; I make a counter-offer, and finally we come to an agreement. Then, when I expect them to pay me the money, they lack the means and ask for an extension, some until the sheep are sheared, others until the hay or the wheat is harvested, and still others ask to postpone it until vintage time; and they won't give me any guarantees except their word or a promissory note signed in their own hand. Elsewhere, when you sell something, the cash appears; here it's invisible. Not mine, however, for if I want bread, wine, or meat to live on I have to put my hand in my purse, take out money, and show it. If I could pay for the various things that I need with words, notes, and promises, then I'd be happy to sell my women to whomever wants them for the same price. Who would believe that here, where there's such a splendid court, where there are such gallant men, one wouldn't find a thousand customers for two girls tender as babes? I could almost say that these young men seem to be of such quality that there are no women in the world worthy of being loved by them; and I rather think that they yearn for one another and make love together and do other things that I won't mention. I no longer have hopes that someone from Sibaris will take my girls. There are two youths, foreigners, on whom my entire plan hangs. They've taken a fancy [to the girls], and any price would seem small to them. If their audacity were as great as their desire and they would venture to steal from their fathers, as they promised they would do —they could easily do it— we could come to an agreement; but they're leading me on from day to day without concluding the deal. One of them is the son of a merchant who lives in that house and who came here from Procida not long ago to carry on his commercial activity. The other is the son of a Catalan who is a judge here and who is called the captain of justice in charge of criminals. In order to hurry them along. I'm pretending that I'm going elsewhere, and I hope that this pretense will work. Now I'd better return to the house, for I never can leave it for even a moment or go the least bit away from it without experiencing some loss. It's impossible to get these rascals of mine and these whorish asses to do something they're supposed to do without my getting angry and without threats —in fact, not unless I employ an abundance of punches, kicks, and canings.

Furbo hasn't returned yet. I left him in the piazza a while ago to buy me a denarius's worth of radishes; and I thought he would be home ahead of me, for I stopped at a number of places on my way. Ah, here he's finally returning. — Must I always hold a cane or a spur behind you, you ass, for in no other way can I ever get you to hurry. Stop right there and listen to me if you value your eyes and your tongue — I know that you care little about your shoulders, and I rather think you dislike them, for every day, in fact every hour, you find a reason to have them thrashed. To the extent that you value your head, and so that I won't see it cracked open and your brains scattered at my feet, open your ears and listen to me.

I'll open my mouth also, so that your words can enter more easily.

Close it instead. As for your other parts, above or below, open them as much as you wish. If you say anything about what I'm going to tell you, I'll tear out your eyes and cut out your tongue.

I won't say a thing.

Now, listen to me. You know that for the past six days I've been continually saying that I want to go to Sicily as soon as the master of the ship who's returning to Drepano is ready to leave. I've been saying this in such a way that you believe it, the girls also believe it, and everyone who has had anything to do with me or with my household believes it as well. But my intentions have always been contrary to my words, for I'm not going to leave. I'm pretending to do so in order to hurry those young men who want our women or say they do. They'll either accomplish in one day what should be done in twenty or else they'll make [their intentions] clear to me. When I get within hearing distance of the girls or of anyone else whom I want to think that I'm going to leave, I'll give you a great many errands to do. Remember, I have no intention of having them carried out; above all, make sure that you don't spend a penny of what I give you. Act solicitous and diligent, but don't make your pretense at my expense. Do you understand?

I understand you.

Now let's go back toward the house. Get close to the door; a little closer; now stop. Did you say that the ship's master wants me to load all our belongings today?

That's what I said.

And that he wants to set sail and start the journey tomorrow?

That's what he told me.

Well, then, we'd better hurry and do what has to be done. Listen, you women of great expense and little use; you who are so beautiful and pleasant that you cannot find someone to free you from your servitude. Other men aren't as blind or as stupid as I, who went and spent my money on two pieces of glass thinking I was buying two precious jewels. But rest assured that I'm not going to let this remain a loss, and, if I'm not able to recover what I spent all at once, I'll be forced to put it together little by little. There's no doubt that you'll be able to bring in four or six carlins a day by means of which I'll be able to clothe you or at least feed you. As soon as we arrive at our destination I'll have you open your shops. I won't undertake this here, for I don't want the lords of Sibaris to have this satisfaction. They’re lords without dominions and they're more puffed up with wind than balloons. Oh, you ugly woman, to whom am I speaking? You little rascals, you good-for-nothings! Strip all the beds, fold up the sheets and covers, and put away the shirts and aprons whether or not they're clean; and do the same with your curlers and bonnets, your towels and napkins and your other trash. But place the mirrors and phials among the clothes and, if you don't want your rumps broken by a whip, make sure that they're arranged in such a way that they won't break in transit. Here, Furbo, go buy me several feet of rope and tie up the boxes, coffers, matresses, and quilts. Then go get six porters; no, get eight of them, so that we can clear out everything at once. What are you waiting for? Why haven't you gone? What a lazy ass you are! Didn't you hear me? I want you to go to the customs house and ask one of those wolves to send someone here to see the goods before they're packed so that they won't make us unload them and open the boxes and won't give us any trouble when I pass through the gates. Hold it. Wait there for me. Listen to the music! It's all for love.

I'll play the counterpoint.’

Don't return until late so that it will seem as if you actually had been to the port. Then come and report to me that the ship's master met you and told you that his departure, which was to take place tomorrow, has been postponed and is uncertain. Tell me this so that the girls can hear. There, I got Erofilo to come out of the house and Caridoro is with him. Surely they must have heard me and perhaps they're coming to make a deal, for now more than ever they should have the means to do so. But I'm not going to wait for them on the street; I don't want them to think that I'm out here just to have them speak to me.

What are we going to do, Erofilo, now that we're sure that he's leaving? Do you think we ought to go find him? If we propose various alternatives to him, alternatives that are more appealing, and if we plead with him and point out what profits there'll be —actually have him touch them with his hand— if we show him how close we are to settling the matter, don’t you at least think we could convince him not to leave so soon?

Oh, Caridoro, I think we should try everything possible to keep him here; but I'm not going to make any decision until I inform Vulpino about the matter and hear his advice. I don't know what to think or imagine about why he's so late in returning.

If Fulcio cannot find him, at least he ought not to waste time. I wish he would return!

Unless I first speak to him and tell him about the procurer's departure, I wouldn't know what to do.

My goodness, here they are. Both of them are coming together. Take a look.

Could one possibly devise a more remarkable scheme than this, Fulcio, in order to save two young lovers and punish a greedy and knavish pimp like him?

Vulpino, despite all the self-confidence I have, this plot reminds me of an artichoke, which has more toughness, thistles, and bitterness than tastiness.

At least we can take comfort in this, that if it doesn't work out we won't be punished for some small thing. What more can we get than a beating?

Who is more capable of receiving it than you; no shoulders in the world are more suitable than yours.

Yours are the only ones that are better; they would tire the arms of ten men and would wear out a hundred canes a day.

— It seems that they're laughing as they come.

Fools laugh at every little thing.—

There they are, waiting for us.

— Yet their gaiety gives me high hopes.

You hope in vain, for they don't realize that Lucramo is leaving so soon.—

May God preserve you, Masters.

Indeed, we need Him as well as the saints to save us.

Right now there's no necessity for God or the saints to take the trouble to save you. I can save you myself. My name is no longer Vulpino; it's Salvation.

Alas! Don't you know that Lucramo is going to leave tomorrow morning?

May he leave in a storm.

For pity's sake no, for the girls would also be in danger.

Then let the girls remain on land and him be drowned in the sea. Just as I'm Fortunate Salvation to you, so I'm Misfortune to the procurer. I'm determined to destroy that glutton and save you any way I can. But don’t think that he's leaving.

He is leaving; believe one who knows.

The rascal is pretending to leave in order to scare you.

Without seeing us or realizing that we were where we could hear what he was saying, he ordered his women to fold up the sheets, the covers, and the gowns, and even the dirty shirts, and to pack everything in boxes. He sent Furbo to the customs house so that they can ship out their goods; and he ordered him to bring some porters to carry their belongings to the ship this evening. Have no doubts about it. Vulpino, he's going to leave.

Alas! What will become of me if he leaves? Wherever Eulalia goes my heart will go with her.

And my heart will likewise go with Corisca.

If you decide that your heart is going to leave tomorrow morning, let me know, so that I can get a bill of lading before the office closes; then they won't hold it up at customs.

And it wouldn’t be inappropriate if you made a gown for yours so that the nasty crows and eagles won't find it naked and peck at it.

See, Caridoro, how these wise guys make fun of us!

Ah, how wretched is he who is the servant of Love.

We who serve unhappy servants, Fulcio, are doubly wretched servants. Erofilo, I didn't think you had such little faith that, knowing Vulpino is around, you would let such a trifle scare you.

Is this a trifle? If this is a trifle, then what can be important?

Listen to me carefully. The procurer is leaving, right? I'll accept what you say. My response is that, if you do as I tell you, I'll place Eulalia in your arms, and Corsica in yours, before tomorrow arrives; and as for Lucramo, that arrogant fellow, I'll shear him like a sheep.

Oh, my good Vulpino.

The very best.

But tell me, did you prepare the shears with which to clip him, as I asked?

What shears did you tell me about?

Didn't I ask you to get the keys to your father's room?

I have them.

And to send all the servants out of the house, especially Nebbia?

Everything is done.

These are the shears that I asked for. Now pay attention and listen to me. I came across a prudent and able fellow here in the city who just suits our needs. We became close friends when I spent some time with your father in Naples. He's the servant of one of the noblemen there. Now, then, his master sent him here on some business, and he has to return tomorrow. He only arrived yesterday, and he’s never been here before.

What has this to do with me?

I'll tell you. Listen. I'll have him dress in your father's clothes. I'll have him put on a coat, a cap, stockings, slippers, and a long gown —the complete attire of a merchant. He makes a good appearance, and I'll dress him in such a way that everyone, on seeing him, will imagine that he's a great merchant. Disguised in this way, he'll go to see Lucramo; we'll give him the coffer filled with fine gold brocades that those Florentine litigants deposited with your father.

What is he going to do with it?

He'll take it to Lucramo and leave it as security for giving him Eulalia.

And leave it in Lucramos hands?

Yes, Lucramo's.

With that pimp?

Yes, with the pimp. Listen to me a moment. I'll have him give the coffer to Lucramo or the pimp, whatever you want to call him; he'll tell him that he'd like to leave it with him for a day or two as a pledge until he brings the amount that he’ll pretend to agree upon with him.

I understand all right. What the devil! Leave it with a pimp?

And get the woman. Then we'll go immediately...

Think of something else. [Are you going] to place such valuable goods in the hands of a cheat, of a perfidious fellow, of the greatest little thief in the world?

Let me take care of it. Now listen.

It's too risky.

It's not, if you'll listen. We could then easily...

Easily do what?

If you'll be quiet. I’ll tell you. Erofilo, it’s necessary for anyone who wants...

What's this prattling; what are these stories you're creating?

If you won't listen it's your hard luck. I must be mad...

Let him speak.

Go ahead.

... to bother helping someone who doesn't want me to. May I be eaten away by plague if I ever...

Don't go away; he'll listen to you. —Listen to him.— Don't go away. Vulpino; come back. —Now listen for a moment.

What do you want to say? I'm listening.

What do I want to say? All day long you beg me, you urge me, to contrive to find a way for you to get this girl. I've found a hundred ways, but not one of them pleases you. One seems difficult, the other too perilous. This one is too long; that one too obvious. Who can figure you out? You want it and you don't want it; you desire something, but you don't know what. Oh, Erofilo, believe me, you cannot do something memorable without effort and without great risk. Do you think that you can get this procurer to relent and give her to you by your sighs and tears?

Still, it would seem rather foolish to place a thing so valuable in such obvious danger. Don't you realize that the brocades in that coffer, which was given to my father on deposit, are worth two thousand ducats, or even more? If they were ours, perhaps I would more readily risk them. These are shears with which to clip us rather than the sheep you were telling me about.

Do you think that I have so few wits about me, Erofilo, that I would try to lose something so precious as this without figuring out a way to get it back at once? Leave it to me. I'm in more danger than you are. If my plans don't succeed—which I doubt very much—you would only be punished with words; I would receive severe bodily torture, or I would be thrown in jail to die of hunger.

If we place the coffer in his hands, how are we going to get it back from him unless we first produce the money? And you know how little we have of that. What if my father returns before we get the cloth back, or —and this is the real danger— what if the procurer leaves tonight and takes it with him? Tell me, where will we find ourselves then?

If you'll have enough patience to listen to me, you'll find that my plan is good —excellent, in fact— and that there's an easy way to get it back this very night.

Go ahead, I'm listening. Speak out.

As soon as our merchant has given the coffer to Lucramo and has delivered the girl into your hands, I want you to go to the captain of justice, Caridoro's father, and complain to him that the coffer has been stolen from your house and that you suspect a procurer who lives nearby.

I understand.

This is certainly plausible, for since he’s a pimp he could be a thief. You'll ask the captain if he would please send his bailiff along with you to search the house. Caridoro will influence his father in your favor, and he'll send the bailiff immediately.

That will be easy to do; if necessary I'll go myself.

We'll be upon him so fast that we'll find the coffer; he won't have time to put it somewhere else. He'll say that a merchant left it with him as a guarantee of payment for a woman whom he sold to him. But who will believe that someone would leave goods worth two thousand ducats as a pledge for something barely worth, let us say, a hundred ducats? Now, after the stolen goods have been found in his house, undoubtedly he'll be taken for a thief and dragged off to jail; and if he's then hanged or drawn and quartered, what concern is it of ours? Anyhow, he deserves this and even worse for his wickedness.

By God, it's a fine plan, and it could work!

As soon as Lucramo is taken, you, Caridoro, being the man that you are, can accomplish your purpose by yourself. Speak to the bailiff and arrange with him to have the girl brought to you as soon as that glutton is thrown in jail. Whatever happens, whether they hang him or let him go, it doesn't matter. If he survives, Lucramo will be only too happy to give her to you as a present, provided you show that you’re ready to use your influence with your father and the others in his favor.

By God, Vulpino, you deserve a crown.

Rather a fine miter.’

Not everybody can rise to your rank, Fulcio.

Where is this fellow of yours whom we’re going to dress up as a merchant?

I'm surprised he's not already here; but he won't be long.

Do you expect him to carry the coffer on his back by himself?

We've also taken care of that. He has a peasant with him, a fellow who works for the same master as he does. That gentleman sent both of them here to find two or three pairs of bullocks and buy them. This peasant will be the porter. Now go get the gown and whatever else is needed ready, so that he won't have to wait when he gets here.

Is there anything else you need me for?

You can go home, Caridoro; we'll let you know the results.

I'll go then. Good-bye.

If you don't need me any longer, I'll go with my master.

Go ahead.

I should have remembered that Trappola rarely tells the truth. It was rather foolish of me and lacking in foresight to let him stay behind. If he’s cheated me again, as usual, I won't be able to do what I had planned; and I cannot find a substitute, for it's already evening. Ah, here he is, thank goodness! Now that he's here, I have hopes that all my plans will succeed.

Isn't it great, Brusco, that you can never do a favor for anyone without expecting something in return!

It's even greater, Trappola, that you never have enough to do yourself that you have to take on other people's business that doesn't concern you.

I consider Vulpinos affairs to be nothing less than my own; and it has always been my practice —it's my nature— to seek out new friends.

If it's your habit and your nature to acquire new friends, acquire them with your own labors, without troubling me or others who don’t have such desires.

What else have we got to do?

We have to load some hay on the boat for the bullocks and provide the things we need to sustain us.

There’s time for that.

Trappola, I thought that you had deceived me.

Good Lord, Vulpino, I'm sorry that I led you to jump to the wrong conclusion, but I didn't think about it.

You were walking very solemnly.

If I'm going to have to be a serious man today, it's only right that I learn how to walk in a serious manner.

Who should know better than you —you whose merits have made you used to walking around with irons on your legs.

Who's used to it more than you? There isn't an animal so obstinate that it wouldn't learn to slow down from a trot to a gentle amble if its master had made it tote heavy loads for so long, as your master has made you do.

Come inside. Forget this nonsense; we have no time to lose.

For God's sake, I have a good mind to return to the inn and leave that idiot here without me; he wants to do someone else a favor with my labor and thus earn one or two scudi. I know that he wouldn't be so ready or eager to do so without a reward, but he won't let me partake of it. And from what I gather they intend to cheat someone —I don't know who. If this thing is discovered. I'll be considered no less guilty than he is; if we're caught, I'll receive my share of the punishment, perhaps the greater portion, since I have much more to lose than he has. All he has to do is save himself; he has no other worries. This isn't the case with me; if I save myself, the bullocks won't be saved. My master will make good his losses out of me, for I own cows, sheep, goats, and pigs and have so many possessions that one couldn't buy them with a hundred lire. Yes! It would be better if I turned back. Oh, I’d better not, for I did promise him, and if I don't wait for him I'll be behaving badly and giving him cause to be my enemy forever. I know that he has a thousand ways to hurt me through my master. He'd do it, too, for his tongue is as sharp as a razor and the master gives him credence as does nearly everyone who listens more attentively to those who speak evil than to those who speak good. Those who say nice things are so few that you can count them on the tip of your nose; but the sewers of evil are infinite in number. It's a general rule that whoever wants to get into the good graces of his master must accuse others and relate ail the bad things he knows about them and conceal or minimize their good works as much as he can. He must demonstrate that all others have little or no worth, that they're lazy and idle, that they have no love for their master and don't care whether his affairs go badly or well, and that they steal all they can. He must show that he alone is faithful and loving, that only he is diligent, careful, and prompt. So, be that as it may, I'm determined not to give him cause to complain about me. As soon as we've done what we have to, I'm going to return to the inn so I won't be caught with him if some disturbance results.

Before you leave, make sure you remember well what I told you so that you'll know where you have to bring the woman and won't mistake the house. Come along this street until you reach a portico; go past that and beyond the church nearby, and when you come to the first corner turn left; then go to the fifth door.

Why are you repeating it so much? By now a donkey would understand you. If you're afraid that I'll forget, then wait for me here and I'll bring her to you; then you can take her where you please.

Lucramo might see us together, or someone else might see us and report it to him; and so through mere foolishness our plans would be discovered, and everything would be spoiled.

Then don't instruct me any more.

It's a small door that was recently built.

I remember that.

The lady of the house...

I know.

... is called Lena. There's a shed across the way.

You're annoying me.

Don't give him any more instructions. Let's go now and wait for him. He cannot possibly miss it.

When you get to the comer, give us a signal. Whistle, and we'll come and meet you.

My mouth is so dry that it will be difficult to whistle.

You'll have plenty to drink.

I wish I had some already.

You're better off sober; you'll have your wits about you. Go then, and remember, you're not dealing with a fool; be careful that in thinking we're deceiving him, we're not the ones being deceived. Open the coffer and show him the brocades; then close it tightly and bring back the key. Make sure you can tell us in what room he puts it, so that I can lay my hands on it right away.

I understood you; don't bother me any more. If you're as generous with drink at supper as you've been with words, everything will go smoothly.

Now, then, let him go, and if there's anything else to do, let's do it.

Hurry up; don't make me waste any more time.

What’s the hurry? Who's rushing you?

Do you think that the bullocks can be without me all day long without a particle of hay before them?

They can feed to their hearts' content all night long. We would be as dumb as bullocks and even more so if we miss this supper just to give them some hay, for it's a supper we'll enjoy, with girls and merriment.

You can stay there if you want; as for me, may I break my neck if I wait around another minute after I get this box off my back.

Keep still; I hear the door being opened. This must be our pimp; he looks like a scoundrel.

—I'd better leave the house before those chatterboxes deafen me, before they split my head, before they destroy me, overwhelm me, kill me.—

Others have the signs of their trade on their chests; this man has his very clearly written on his face.

As long as you remain with me, you women will do what I tell you, even if it breaks your hearts.—

It shows even more in his speech.

—How arrogant, how insolent these whores are! They're always looking for a quarrel or a fight. All their efforts are directed at opposing your wishes; they're always trying to steal, and they constantly think of ways to defraud and betray you. Their sole intention is to bring you to ruin.—

From what I hear, he must have realized that I want to buy his merchandise, for he's praising it so much to make it attractive to me.

—If someone had committed every possible crime and he kept women as I do, and tolerated their ways without flying into a rage every minute, without anger, without irritation, without wrath, without fury, without screaming and cursing and turning heaven and earth, sea and air, upside down, he would merit greater forgiveness than the saints in the monasteries with their prayers, their scourging, their fastings, and their vigils.—

If they can put up with you without hanging themselves they have more patience than Job.

(That fellow who's coming this way must have just disembarked, for a porter with a heavy load is accompanying him.)

According to all indications, he must live in this neighborhood. There's the large house, and there's the narrow street and the two sheds in the rear.

(He must be looking for a place to stay without going to the inn; he would just as soon stay at Francolino.)

Here's someone who'll give me information. Tell me, my good man, I'm not very well acquainted with this place

You're certainly not very well acquainted! The name you called me by is not mine, nor was it my father's name, nor that of my grandfather or of anyone else in my family.

Forgive me for not knowing better. If I've offended you, I'll correct myself. Tell me, wicked man, from a long line of wicked men ...Good heavens, you could be the very one I'm looking for or one of his relatives.

Whom are you looking for?

I'm seeking a glutton, a cheat, a fraud, a thief, a perfidious fellow.

Hold it; you're on the right track. What's his name?

His name ... his name ... I just had it on the tip of my tongue. I don't know that became of it.

You either spit it out or swallowed it.

I must have spit it out, for I couldn't have fed my stomach such rotten food without immediately vomiting it up.

Well, then, gather it out of the dust.

I can describe him in so many ways that there'll be no need to know his name. He's one who screams, goes back on his promises, and blasphemes.

Who wouldn't if he had females in the house as I do.

He's a liar and a perjurer.

These are precisely the attributes of my trade.

He's a counterfeiter, and he clips and shaves coins.

If one knows how to do it, there's no better way to make a profit.

He's a thief and a cutpurse.

Do you consider it an insignificant skill to know how to manipulate one's hands?

He's a pimp.

That's my principal activity.

He's an informer, a slanderer, a sower of discord, and a scandalmonger.

Don't trouble yourself any more. I'm positive that you're looking for me. I'll also remind you of my proper name. I'm called Lucramo.

Lucramo with the pox.

May you be the one to get it.

Lucramo, that's just whom I'm looking for.

I'm the one you're seeking. Now, tell me: what do you want from me?

First let him place his load in your house, and then I'll tell you what I want.

Go inside and put it where you like.— You women, help him unload.

The day before yesterday, while I was in Naples, one of the great lords they have there, knowing that I was preparing to come to Sibaris, gave me an errand to do. He asked me to look over two girls whom you have in your house for sale and to buy the one whom I thought was prettier, if you were willing to sell her at an honest and reasonable price. I'm to deliver her to the helmsman who brought me here. Now, contrary to what he originally told me, the helmsman intends to return tonight, and because of this I'm caught unprepared, for I made a deal today that emptied my purse. So as a deposit, until I bring you the money —you'll have it before Vespers tomorrow— I'll give you something with which one could buy fifty women, even if they were all Helens and Venuses. Let's seal the bargain.

They're already sold, and I have the down payment. The purchasers are coming with the full amount tomorrow; however...

I understand. What you mean is that the lure of profits can lead men into a galley.

You get the point. My duty is to serve whoever pays me more, regardless of who it is. Let's go into the house.

I'm never afraid to spend, provided that the merchandise is worth the price.

Since we’re going so early, Master, I don't want to leave my shoes at the shoemakers. Remember to tell Furbo, as soon as he returns, to go get them; or else give me five quattrini, for that's how much he asked to fix them.

Don't bother me, you idiot.

I'm always an idiot when I ask him for something. There's no one more close-fisted toward his poor servants than he is. He'd let us die of hunger if not for the fear that he would lose us or would be denied the use of our labor if we became weak or infirm. It does us little good if there's an abundance of wheat or some other crop, for he has us eat moldy bread full of tares and vetch and made with bran. He looks around for the worst wine possible or for putrid fish or meat that the butchers weren't able to sell; and the old miser buys carrion at bargain prices and feeds it to us, food that would be loathsome to wolves and ravens. But there's no one more prodigal than him in giving out punches and kicks or in breaking our backs with a cane or marking them with a whip and often drawing blood. Poor me! The other women have hopes that some day they'll be delivered from their servitude to this devil, either by changing masters or by freeing themselves; they can hope, for the young and the beautiful are never without their luck. But I, who was born ugly and am now old, have no hope of finding someone to take me away from him, even if my master was willing to give me as a gift rather than sell me. Cursed be my unhappy lot!

He's inside there engaged in a conversation that isn't about to end very soon. I'm not going to wait around any longer, no matter what the consequences. I'll lose payment for the service I've already done for him, but it doesn't matter; I've lost it on other occasions. It makes no difference whether one does him a favor or not: he gives the same reward to those who serve as to those who injure him. Whatever is done him out of kindness he thinks is done out of obligation. Just because he knows how to read and write and keep records of profits and expenses —and so the master often confers with him, as he must— he's become so haughty that he thinks he's a hundred-thousand times better than we are. We can no longer live with him: he screams and reprimands, and he scolds us and abuses us as if we were donkeys. This evening I'll have him at my ears. I don't care. I'll know very well how to answer him, for this time we won't be in Naples or in my master's house where, out of respect and fear, I keep quiet and tolerate it. Now, who are those jolly fellows coming out of there? What have I to do with them? I don't care who they are.

Filostrato is truly a kind and liberal young man.

Men like him are the ones to serve, for they give you little work and plenty of drink.

And what an abundance of meat on that table!

What about the wine, which has touched my heart.

I've never seen any that was clearer or more like topaz.

Have you ever tasted any that was more fragrant, that was sweeter than this?

Didn't it seem somewhat strong and tangy?

How sweet that tanginess is! It's worth more than the kisses from the vermilion lips of painted women.

I wish I had a decanter full in my room tonight!

And I'd like a pitcher of it at the head of my bed!

I'd like to have the whole barrel to myself!

I only wish that Erofilo would decide to send us to work for this fellow every day.

Yes, provided he treats us this well.

I don't know how all of you feel; but, as for me, I'm so happy I can hardly contain myself.

I think we're all in the same condition.

I only wish it were so when the old man returns! We're all together when it comes to drinking and gulping down food; but when the master returns I'm afraid that I alone will digest it all and pay the bill.

Don't worry about trouble that hasn't yet arisen, stupid; don't kick back before you've been stung. How do you know what may come up?

I'm neither a prophet nor an astrologer; but you'll see. As soon as we get home everything that I predicted today will happen.

I, too, am neither prophet nor astrologer, but I predict that things will go badly for you if Erofilo becomes your enemy; and, if you persist in behaving the way you have been and don't change your ways, you'll have him after you continually with punches and kicks. At times he'll crack you on your face or break your head, perhaps with footstools and trestles or whatever is handy at the time. I'm afraid he might maim you or tear out your eye; and maybe one day he'll kill you. But if you ignore a few minor things in order to serve him, you'll find the old man, who's wiser and more discreet, easier to pacify than he is. He would realize that you would be crazy to oppose a passionate young man, his son, whose mind revolves like a spinning wheel. I tell you this as a friend.

I've been giving a great deal of thought to this since earlier today when you told me something similar; and I've finally concluded that what you say is right. In any case, I'm going to follow your advice.

You'll benefit from it.

(Has that peasant left? Oh, what an ass, what a stupid fool!)

Look, Nebbia, do you see who's there?

I see. Isn't that Erofilo's sweetheart?

It looks like her.

It looks like her, because it is her.

(The big fool left without saying a word.)

That fellow must have bought her.

Perhaps the pimp lent her to him.

If he begins by tapping the barrel, our master will have plenty to drink and will be able to quench his thirst without spending too much.

I could quench mine much better with the wine we had today.

Me, too.

(It got dark rather fast, and it's not very safe escorting this girl by myself).

Hold it. Let's see where he takes her.

You hide around the corner; we'll withdraw into this entranceway, and when they get some distance from that door we'll follow them very, very quietly so that we can tell Erofilo all about it.

(Now that I find myself alone, I’m sorry that I got involved in this.)

Oh, Erofilo, you unfortunate fellow! Oh, what bad news we're going to bring him! Shall we do him a good turn?

What?

Take her away from him.

(Still, I'd better go on and have courage.)

The plague to him who hesitates.

May I get it if I hesitate.

And me too.

Nebbia's going to get it, because he doesn’t answer.

I'll do whatever the others decide to do.

There's no better way than this to begin making Erofilo your friend.

—Don't vex yourself, my beautiful girl, you're not among enemies.—

Let's wait until he gets further away from Lucramo's house; then we'll do it.

What if he shouts and people come running?

They won't be able to get here soon enough; besides, you'll find few people who would stir at night when they hear a noise outside.

—Don't stain such beautiful cheeks with your tears.—

Where are we going to take her once we have her? We cannot take her to the house without endangering both the master and ourselves: someone could easily see her enter and have us arrested. We'd be too conspicuous.

—Does it seem so painful for you to leave Sibaris?—

Where shall we take her then?

How the devil should I know?

Then let's not bother about the whole thing.

You won't make me change my mind and get the plague.

—Don't cry, don't shed tears because of this; you won't be taken far away.—

Let's take her to Galante's house. Erofilo doesn't have a closer friend than him, and, as you know, he lives in a solitary place, near the [city] walls.

That's a good idea. The place is just right and the person even more so.

Let's get a move on. You hold him at bay and, if he resists, beat him with punches and kicks. Nebbia and I will get the girl away.

Enough talking: Forward, my brave men.

—Good grief! Who are these people following us in such a hurry?—

Hold it, merchant. What merchandise is this?

I'm not going to tell you; I don't have to pay a duty to you.

You haven't obtained a customs certificate or a receipt and you intend to take the goods out as contraband. If you have a certificate, let's see it.

Look down below and you'll find the ring with which to stamp it. What certificate?

If you don't have a certificate, then you're smuggling.

One doesn't need a certificate for such things, nor does one pay duty when the loss exceeds the gain.

The loss. Well said, for you've lost it because you tried to defraud customs. Let go of her.

Do you think you'll take her from me this way?

I told you to let go of her.

Let go.

If he doesn't let go, cut off his arm.

Is this how you murder foreigners in Sibaris?

Eulalia, let's go find your Erofilo.

Tear out his eyes if he doesn't shut up.

Break his head.

Help! Help! Citizens, come to my aid.

What are you doing? Why haven't you cut out his tongue already?

He's defending himself with his teeth.

Hold him until I get that stone. I’ll knock them all out one by one.

Is this the way you take my woman away from me, you scoundrels?

Let's go and let him croak.

(Woe is me, what shall I do? I'll follow them to see where they take her, even if they kill me.)

Where are you going? If you don't get away immediately and go down another street. I'll mince that fat head of yours into more pieces than one cuts a turnip when preparing to cook it. If you want to demand your rights to this woman, present yourself to the collector of customs.

(I'm in bad shape: They've taken the woman from me; they've thrown me to the ground and rolled me in the mud; they’ve disheveled my hair; they’ve struck me in the face and eyes; and now they jeer at me.)

We've been walking quite slowly and now we’ve reached the house; yet we haven't met Trappola with the girl.

We cannot go on any further, for if we allow ourselves to be seen, we might cause some commotion.

(How can I possibly face Erofilo?)

I think I see him, but the girl isn't with him.

(What can I say to justify myself?)

I don't see the coffer.

(How can I begin to tell him that they took her from me?)

Let's go meet him.

(How will I convince him that they took her by force and that I didn't give her up willingly?)

What's this? Weren't you able to get the girl?

Where did you put the coffer?

I got the girl. I took her from the house, and I was bringing her to you.

Good grief!

When I reached this spot I was surrounded by more than fifteen people...

See if the devil himself isn't involved in this!

... all of them armed, who beat me up severely and took the girl away.

They took her away from you?

They knocked me to the ground senseless with three blows; then they gave me a hundred more and another hundred after that. They finally left me, thinking I was dead.

And they took Eulalia away?

I cannot say for certain, but I think so; as soon as I got up...

Did you deliver the coffer to the procurer?

Let him answer me; this is more important.

It's more important to find out about the coffer, for it's clear that they've taken the girl from him.

Why am I waiting to run after them?

I delivered the coffer to Lucramo.

Where are you going? What are you thinking of doing?

I'll either get her back or I'll die.

Don't go off in such a hurry, Erofilo. Remember, we run the risk of losing the coffer. Let's first take care of that, and then...

What should I take care of? What coffer? My Eulalia is more important to me than all the riches in the world. Which way do you think they went?

I think they went that way.

Don't go, Master, for they'll hurt you.

What more can they do to me when they've already taken my heart and soul away?

I'll follow him and see if I can convince him to do that which, if it isn't done, will result in our losing the coffer. Now you, Trappola, go and wait for me in the house so that in addition to our other losses we won't lose Crisobolo's clothes. Hurry up and go inside so that Lucramo won't see you with me, for there he is coming out of the house. You keep watch until I return from the wine shop.

Of all the fowlers, there's none more fortunate than I am; for, having prepared my snare for two paltry little birds who hung around and sang all day, a partridge got caught in it while in flight. By a partridge I mean a certain merchant who's more partial to loss than to gain. He asked me to sell him one of my women, and not only was he ready to agree to the amount I asked without bargaining, but, until he brings the money, he left me as collateral a coffer full of the finest gold brocade that is worth more than my women or than all the women that a procurer could ever buy and sell. This is an opportunity that rarely comes, and, if I'm so foolish as to let it go, I'll never come across a similar one. If I wait until that fellow returns to reclaim the coffer, I may as well pull the hair from my chin and hang myself; but, if I take it with me someplace else and sell it, I'll never be poor for the rest of my life. I'll leave tonight, if possible, or as soon as the gates open at dawn. I won't let myself be found here tomorrow. So, the pretense that I made was actually a forecast of what was going to happen; and what was a fable this morning has now become an historical fact. If that merchant doesn't find me when he returns to redeem his coffer, he would be wrong in complaining about me, for I told him all my attributes before he came into the house; rather, he told me that I was a glutton, a fraud, a thief, a cheat, a perfidious fellow, and that I was guilty of every vice. If after knowing me he was still willing to trust me, he can only blame himself. Ah, here's Furbo. Did you buy the rope? Where are the porters that I asked for to pack our belongings?

Weren't you just singing about sailing?

Hurry up. I sold the wine to the mark; I have the flower in my hand and tonight, if I can, I'd like to buy the whole bouquet and leave. Now, I'll sing to you off-key. Go get two porters. Do you have three grossi? Buy some good packing rope and bring it here. Run to the piazza; the stores there won't close until eight o'clock.

Ah, poor Vulpino. You're assailed on all sides by so many adversaries, by so many misfortunes, that if you're able to defend yourself against them you could boast of being an excellent swordsman. Oh envious Fortune, how you always gaze at the designs of men with fixed and watchful eyes in order to choose the right moment to interrupt them! How I've tired myself out, how I've turned and racked my brains these past fifteen days! I've searched for, considered, and imagined a means by which I could either lift the money to buy the girl out of Crisobolo's hands or swindle and trick this Lucramo so that he'll let her go without us have to spend anything. With what longing, with what concern we waited for the day when the master, by leaving the city, would give us the opportunity to do one or the other! Well, he left today; we managed to trick the procurer and we took the girl from him without expending any money. And just when we thought we had finished our weaving a few loose threads remained. There, in ambush, lay malevolent Fortune who, suddenly, and I don't know from where, conjured up some men who took her away from us. I thought that we had provided for and taken care of all contingencies; however, we hadn't thought about or provided for this. Not only will this impede Erofilo in fulfilling his desires, his pleasures, and his love, but it will affect his interests and the things that really matter; for, if he fails now, he could go from rich to poor. He's so intent on finding out where they took her that he doesn't listen to anything I tell him. I reminded him, but in vain, to go complain to the captain of justice as we had agreed and [I pointed out that] if he doesn't do it or postpones it, he's likely to lose the coffer just as he's lost the girl. Some day he may be able to recover the girl; but not the coffer if he gives the procurer a chance to carry it away tonight. If this happens, not only will it bring on certain ruin to himself and his father, and his own dishonor, but it will give rise to perpetual warfare in the house. It will be the cause of my rotting in prison, poor wretch that I am, where I'll continually waste away in pain and torment. Alas! Perhaps I could stave off this misfortune, serious as it is, if I only had a little more time to think about it, only enough to gather my wits again. But I'm troubled on the one hand by the fear that the procurer may pack up tonight and on the other that Crisobolo may suddenly return —I can almost see him coming now— and keep me so busy that I won't even have time to tie a rope around my neck and kick my feet in the air. I just learned from one of Pontico's servants who was coming from the pier that a considerable number of ships have returned to port and are still returning, because of a sea wind that prevents them from leaving and drives them landward. But what’s this light I see coming toward me? God help me, I hope it isn't the old man! Oh, my goodness; it's him all right. It's my master; it’s Crisobolo! You're a dead man, Vulpino! What will you do, you poor fellow; you wretch, what will you do? To whom should I appeal? To whom should I turn? Where can I hide? Where can I flee? Where can I rush off and fling myself to escape from the torments that I see being prepared for me tonight?

I really shouldn't complain that this foul weather prevented me from going to Procida.

(It's your son and I who should complain.)

By remaining here, even though against my will, I gained more than I would have had I left.

(You'll soon see whether there's a gain or a loss.)

For as I landed I met someone whom I hadn't see in twelve years...

(Alas, why didn’t we have the same luck with you?)

...and whom I thought was dead. While in Alexandria I had lent him a hundred saraffi and merchandise worth two hundred. I gave him a year's credit; but shortly after that he went bankrupt, and I thought that...

(I, too, am bankrupt.)

... I would never recover a grosso. He told me that he had been to Arabia and India...

(If only we had such a master who goes so far away that it takes years and even centuries for him to return.)

...and that he's now rich. We didn't take leave of each other before he counted out a hundred and eighty ducats, and he promised me the rest as soon as he sells some merchandise that he was clearing through customs today. While we were engaged in talking about these things we didn't notice that night fell and the sky became dark and overcast.

(Ah, Vulpino, you coward and fainthearted wretch. Where's your boldness, where's your enterprise, where's your ingenuity? You're seated at the helm of the boat. Will you be the first to let himself be dismayed by such a small storm? Cast all fear aside and demonstrate that you're the same Vulpino who showed his mettle before in the face of danger. Find your old cunning and put it to work here, for you're in need of it now more than in any previous undertaking.)

It certainly is quite late.

(On the contrary, it really is much earlier than it need be for us or than we want it to be. He couldn't have come at a more opportune time. Come, come then, for I've already prepared the neatest bag of tricks and the finest and most marvelous sleight of hand that was ever seen.)

Since the weather prevented me from going to Procida today, I won't go there at all. I’ll accomplish the same thing by means of letters, and it will be more profitable for me if I stay here.

(It's a little late for him to realize it.)

Especially when one has a prodigal son such as mine who's never satisfied unless he has friends at the table day and night and for whom ordinary things aren't good enough. He wants to buy the best that there is in the piazza regardless of what it costs.

(You would have been quite content if, on this occasion, all we had done was prepare meals.)

But this time I returned so fast that, if he had thought about causing some trouble, he wouldn't have had time to do it.

(You'll soon find out. If you had run faster than a deer, I don't know whether you could have arrived in time. But why am I waiting to take out my little balls and begin the game?) Oh, poor us! Oh, how unfortunate we are!

That seems to be my Vulpino.

Oh this city, full of deceit, full of thieves and villains!

God help me!

Oh, the foolishness of a drunk; oh, the negligence of a rascal!

What is it?

How will the master take it when he finds out?

I tremble and sweat with fear that some misfortune has come upon me.

He entrusts his rooms, which are filled with so many things, to the custody of a senseless idiot who leaves them open all day long and never stays at home.

Vulpino!

If they don't find it this evening, it's gone.

Hold it. Vulpino.

The master is ruined.

I would sooner your tongue be dry than this be true, Vulpino!

I hear someone calling me.

Vulpino!

Oh, it's the master!

What are you shouting about?

Oh, Master!

What's the matter?

I'd like to think...

What’s wrong?

...that God, by some miracle...

What is it?

...has brought you back...

Come on, tell me, what misfortune has occurred?

I can hardly catch my breath.

What's the matter with you?

But now that I see you I can begin to breathe. Goodness me, I didn’t know to whom to turn.

Whom are you complaining about?

I was dead.

What did you die of?

But now that I see you. Master, I'm revived.

What's the matter?

I no longer have to abandon hope...

Come on, speak up; out with it.

... that you'll recover it.

What do you want me to recover? What the devil is the matter? Am I not going to...

Oh, Master!

...find out from you today?

Your servant...

What servant?

... your Nebbia...

What has he done?

He's done an enormous amount of damage.

What did he do?

I'll tell you; but let me rest a while, for I've done nothing but run around all day long. I can hardly move, and I'm having difficulty getting the words out.

Tell me just one; that will suffice. What did he do?

He's ruined you through his negligence.

Finish me off; don't hold me in suspense any longer, you rascal.

He allowed someone to steal from the room...

What did he allow to be stolen from the room?

...from the room, Master, in which you sleep, the one whose keys you had handed over to him alone, the one you had entrusted him with...

What was stolen from my room? Tell me at once; speak up.

The coffer.

The coffer?

The one that those men—I think they were Florentines— put there.

That one?

Yes, that one.

Oh, God! The one I have in trust?

You should say "you had," for you no longer have it.

Ah, woe is me! Ah, Crisobolo, you're the unhappiest man in the world! To leave the city and entrust your house to poltroons, idiots, drunkards, scoundrels, and gallows-birds! I could just as well have entrusted it to so many donkeys.

Master, if you find the wine cellar in a mess, punish me and make me suffer whatever torments you please; but what have I got to do with your room?

Is this how Erofilo uses his discretion? Is this the care and concern that he has for my things and his? Is this the duty of a good son?

You shouldn't find fault with him for this either. What more can a young man do than imitate his father? If you trust Nebbia no less than you do yourself, why shouldn't he also trust him? Why shouldn't he believe, as you do, that Nebbia would be just as diligent in the care and custody of your things and that he wouldn't go out and leave the door to your room open as soon as you turn your back?

I'm undone! Oh, poor me, I'm ruined!

Master, do something about it while the damage is still fresh. Now that I see you here I won't lose hope that your coffer will soon be recovered; and I believe that the Lord brought you back in the nick of time.

Have you any clue, any lead, that can aid me in recovering it?

I looked for it all day long, and I went around searching here and there like a bloodhound, with the result that I think I can show you where the hare is located.

If you know it, why didn't you tell me?

I didn't say that I knew it for certain; I said that I think I know.

Whom do you suspect has taken it?

I'll tell you; but come a little closer to me, a little closer. Move far away from that door.

Who are you afraid will hear us?

The one whom I think may have it.

Is he close enough to hear?

He lives in that house, that one on your right.

Do you think that the procurer who lives there has taken it?

I think so; in fact. I'm certain of it.

What proof do you have?

I didn't say that I had proof; I said I'm certain of it. But, for God's sake, let's not waste time by asking me to relate with what skill, with what difficulty, by what means I found out. because any delay could be disastrous. I can assure you that the scoundrel is preparing to flee at dawn as soon as the gates are open.

What do you think I should do? Advise me, for this sudden turn of events has so overwhelmed me that I don't know where to turn.

I advise you to inform the captain of justice immediately that the coffer is missing and that this procurer, your neighbor, has stolen it. Ask him to send a bailiff with you so that you can break into his house. If you get there soon, without giving him a chance to flee or tamper with the coffer, you're sure to find it.

But what evidence can I give him? What proof can I bring?

Isn't it proof enough that, being a pimp, he's also a thief? And if you say so, wouldn't the captain believe you more than ten other witnesses?

If we have no other proof than this we're in a sad state. Whom do the authorities give more credence to than pimps and villains? And whom do they scoff at more than law-abiding and virtuous men? Whom are they out to get if not merchants like me who have the reputation of being wealthy?

Let me come with you. I'll give him so many indications and conjectures that he'll believe us. I'm not telling them to you now in order not to waste time. Let's hurry, let's quicken our pace so that we won't give the procurer time to flee or to hide the goods somewhere else.

Let's go, then. No, wait a moment; I just thought of another way and I’d like to try it.

What other way could be better and more certain than this?

Come here, Nespolo. Go to Critone's house and ask him for me to come here immediately and to bring his brother with him, and his son-in-law as well, if he's there, or any others in his household. Tell them to come quickly. I'll wait for him here. Hurry up; run.

What do you want them for?

As my witnesses when I go inside the house; and I’m determined to enter without waiting for the bailiff. I'll descend upon the procurer unexpectedly and, if I find my coffer, I'll take it without anyone else's help. I have the right to seize my merchandise wherever I find it. If we were to go to the captain at this hour I know that it would be useless. He would either inform us that he was going to have supper or they would say that he had withdrawn to deal with important matters. I know very well the habits of those who govern us. When they're by themselves in idleness, or when they waste their time playing chess, taroc, backgammon, or, more often, playing cards, they try to appear the busiest. They place a servant at the door who lets in gamblers and pimps and sends away honest citizens and virtuous men.

If you gave him to understand that you had something important to tell him, I doubt that he would deny you an audience.

And how would you get him to listen? Don't you know what the doorkeepers tell you? "You cannot speak to him." "Please let him know that I'm here." "He's ordered me not to give him any messages." Once they've said this there's no other reply. So it will be better if I go in there myself, without other help, and take my own goods provided they're there.

They're there for sure, so go in with confidence. Your idea is excellent.

While we're waiting for Critone, tell me something: how did you find out that the procurer had stolen the coffer? What evidence do you have?

It would be a long story, and there wouldn't be enough time. Let's try to recover it first and then when we're more at our leisure I'll tell you the whole story.

We have time enough, and, if you cannot tell me the whole story, at least tell me part of it.

I can begin, but I won't be able to finish.

You could have told me part of it already.

Since you want me to tell you, I'll do so. (What the devil will I say to him?)

Aren't you going to say something?

I'm afraid that Critone will delay too long and the procurer will get a chance to hide or transfer the goods. It would be better if I went to urge them to hurry. (Still, I'd like to hold him at bay with a few lies until they arrive.)

No, don't go. I don't think they'll be very long. Tell me: did it take you long before you realized it had been stolen?

Listen. If you really want to know, I'll tell you. Erofilo had returned home after we had lunch —he had been invited out by some of his friends this morning. Nebbia then came to see him and said: "I have to go out on an errand; here, these are the keys to your father’s room in case you need to go inside." And he gave them to him without being asked.

This was a fine way to begin obeying me!

Erofilo took them, without suspecting anything, and Nebbia left.

Why did he do that? Didn't I expressly forbid him ever to leave the house or to stop guarding the room?

You see. We stayed a while chatting about various things; and we went from one subject to another, as usual. Finally, we got to talking about hunting. Erofilo then remembered a horn that he used to have and that he hadn't seen or heard for some time. He wanted to see whether it was in your room; so he took the keys that Nebbia had left; he opened the door and went in. I followed him. Your son looked around, and he was the first to notice that the coffer was missing; then he turned to me and asked if I knew whether those who had left it on deposit had reclaimed it. I looked around and I was more than astonished —I was mortified— when I didn't see the coffer. I told him that I remembered that when you left I had seen it at the head of the bed where it used to be. Immediately I realized the stupid ploy of your Nebbia, who, as soon as he realized that the coffer had been stolen, brought the keys to your room to your son to make him share the blame, although he alone is guilty. Do you see what I mean?

I understand. Go on. I'll treat him as he deserves.

He played dumb, but he has more malice than the devil himself. You don't know him.

Continue.

(They’re so late in coming that I’m afraid I'm running out of stories.)

Your mind is on something else.

I'm preoccupied with those dawdlers who haven't yet come, and I forget. Now, as I was saying, my dear Master, as soon as I realized this, Erofilo and I began to discuss the matter, to think about and consider who could have taken it. Erofilo gave me his opinion, and I gave him mine. We deliberated a long time without being able to decide on how to go about this or what course to follow to get evidence. We were more confused than ever: we didn't know where to run, to whom to turn —we were at a complete loss. Oh, dear Master, I found myself so downcast today that I wished I were dead and buried; in fact, I wished I were never born. Ah, here comes Critone —damn it, it's about time— and he has his brother and son-in-law with him.

With all your chattering you haven't given me a single indication by which I can deduce that it's the procurer rather than anyone else who has my coffer.

Enter [his house] with assurance, and if you don't find it then hang me. If I wasn't sure of it, I wouldn't dare affirm it with such conviction.

(Every place has its thieves, but there are more of them here than anywhere else. Where can citizens be safe, if they're robbed in their very own homes? Oh, there's Crisobolo.) We're sorry about what happened; and we're ready to help you in whatever you want.

Thank you. I'm sorry to bother you at this hour; you can impose upon me some other time when I can be of benefit to you.

You don't have to say that to us.

I'd like you please to come with me and be my witnesses. I'm going in here where I was told that I'll find my goods.

We'll be happy to come.

Enough said; let's go in.

Yes, let's go in.

All of you line up along the wall and hide the torches. I'll knock, and when they open up everyone come in. I'll stay at the door so that while you're searching for the coffer in one place he won't take it out of another and hide it elsewhere.

Come on, knock, and have us do what you think best.

There are many braggarts who try to hoodwink you by boasting that they can do all sorts of things; but when put to the test they don't dare even attempt them. Among these is that drunkard, Vulpino, who promised us today that, with the help of one of his friends, he would play a really cunning and well-conceived trick on the procurer that would work. He was to let us know as soon as he begins so that we, on our part, could follow up what we had agreed upon. Caridoro and I have been waiting all evening, and we still haven’t heard any news. I'm going to find out whether the plans have been changed or whether something has come up to interrupt them.

(I hear someone coming this way; he seems to be approaching our door. He's about to knock on it.) Who are you? Hey there, what are you looking for? Whom do you want?

Oh, Vulpino, I seek no one but you.

Oh, Fulcio, I didn't recognize you.

Should we continue to wait for you and Erofilo to come and do what we had agreed, or have you changed you mind?

Oh, Fulcio, the devil must not only have put his tail in, as they say, but his head and his horns as well; he's messed up all our plans.

What has happened?

Listen, I'll tell you. Hold it; be quiet, shh, shh.

What mob is this coming out of Lucramo's house with so much noise and such an uproar?

My good man, is this the way to treat foreigners?

Is this the way to treat citizens, you thief?

Don't think you'll get away with this so easily; I'll cry to high heaven.

I won't take my complaints to such a high place, but rather to a place where your wickedness will be punished.

Don't think that just because I'm a procurer I won't be listened to...

Do you still have the audacity to speak?

...and that I don't have a tongue with which to express my rights.

The hangman will make it stick nine inches out of your mouth. Listen to him! Wouldn't he be even more indignant if he had found his merchandise in my house just as I found mine in his?

I'll undergo torture and I'll have all in my household do the same in order to prove to any judge that a merchant gave me this coffer. He left it as security until be brings me the sum we had agreed upon for a woman he had just bought from me.

Do you still dare to open your mouth, you common and notorious thief?

Who's more common and notorious than you, you who come here to steal and bring witnesses with him?

If you don't speak with moderation, you glutton...

Don't bother answering him; don't reply to his tittle-tattle. It's not fitting for someone like you to argue with this idiot.— If you think he's done you an injustice, take him to court tomorrow; he's not a fugitive like you. Show up before the captain of justice.

You'll see me there; be certain of that. You won't get away with this as easily as you think. Right now there are too many of you against one; but we'll meet in a place where I can answer you as an equal.

Did you ever see such insolence? Have you even seen a thief as arrogant as this one?

No, never. You've been very fortunate, Crisobolo.

Most fortunate.

Is there anything else you want from us?

Only that you call upon me if you need me, as I called upon you. Vulpino, take that torch and accompany them home; you, hand it to him.

Shall I wait for you, Vulpino?

Yes, wait for me; I'd like to speak to you.

Try to get back soon.

I'll be back in a flash.

Do you have far to go?

No, just a short distance.

I'll keep you company.

That would be better. I'll be able to talk to you about our affairs. Oh, blast it!

May you break your neck! What's the matter?

Alas, woe is me! I’ve had it; I'm dead!

What's the matter, you idiot? What's going on?

Here, take the torch, Fulcio, and accompany these gentlemen. Damn my short memory!

Please, hold it yourselves and light the way for each other. I want to find out whether what just happened to him is good or bad.

Both of you certainly are fine servants and courteous young men! You indiscreet poltroons, by God, we would certainly give you back your torch were it not for the fact that the police would arrest us if they found us without a light at this hour. Then, tomorrow morning, without knowing who we are, without allowing us recourse to the captain for pardon, they'd have us hanging from a rope with our arses exposed to the crowds. Come, then, let's provide the light ourselves and be like the poor knights who accompany one another.

What happened to you just now?

Alas! I left Trappola with Crisobolo's clothes on and I forgot to run on ahead and have him undress and give him back his own gown, which is in my room, before my master gets home.

Oh, you scatterbrain, you good-for-nothing! Run quickly and at least have him hide someplace so that your master won't see him.

I'm afraid I'll get there too late. In fact, I am too late, for I already hear the shouts. He must have found him. There he is outside. God help me.

Where do you think you’re going? Don't move, you falsefaced little thief. Where did you get this gown of mine?

(What will you do now, wretched and pitiful Vulpino?)

You must be the fine fellow who also stole my coffer!

(Oh! If I could only get close to his ear!)

Do you think I won't get you to answer, you scoundrel, you cheat? Hey there, help me so that he won't flee. This glutton pretends not to understand me and he won't speak. He's either a mute or he pretends to be one.

(One couldn’t have found a better remedy for this unexpected turn of events. Now is the time to help him.) Master, what are you doing with that mute?

I found this fellow dressed in my clothes, as you see him.

Who the devil gave him your gown and brought him into the house?

I can't make him answer at all.

How do you expect him to reply if he's dumb?

Is he a mute?

What? Don't you know him?

I never saw him before.

Don't you know the mute who hangs around the Monkey's Tavern?

What tavern? What mute? What monkey do you expect me to know, you rascal? Do I look like a man who frequents taverns?

I see he's dressed in your clothes.

Why the devil do you think I'm so angry?

I see that he's put on your hat as well.

You mean everything he's wearing, from his shirt to his shoes, is mine.

So it is, by God. This is the strangest thing in the world! Did you ask him who gave him your clothes?

Of course I asked him; but how do you expect him to answer me if he's dumb?

See if you can get him to tell you by means of signs.

I cannot understand someone who doesn't speak.

I can.

If you understand him, then you question him.

I understand him very well, no less than I do anyone else.

Then ask him.

Who gave you these? I mean these clothes; these, where did you get them?

See how well they converse with their hands, as well as everyone else does with their tongues! Tell me, do you understand what he's saying?

He indicates that someone from this house took his rags and gave him your gown and your other clothes in exchange; and he told him to wait here until he returns.

Motion to him to let you know, if he can, who in my household it was.

That will be easy.

I could watch him for a thousand years and I still couldn't comprehend what he's saying; in fact, I couldn't decipher a single phrase. What does it mean when he raises his hand or when he touches his head and face, and often his nose, and when he puffs out his cheeks?

He indicates that it was a short fellow with a large nose, curly hair, a pallid face, who speaks somewhat hurriedly.

I think he means Nebbia. But how does he know that he speaks hurriedly? Can a mute hear?

I didn't say that he speaks hurriedly, but that he left in a hurry. There's no mistaking it; he means Nebbia. You understood it sooner and better than I did.

What did that fool hope to accomplish by dressing in this fellow's clothes?

I imagine that, having noticed that the coffer was missing and realizing that it was his fault, he decided to flee. He switched clothes because they might recognize him and hold him at the gates.

Why did he give him my clothes rather than his own?

How the devil should I know? He's somewhat reckless at times.

Now go take him in the house and have him put on some clothes that would be suitable for him so that he doesn't soil mine.

(By, God, it could be quite otherwise: one shouldn't go into this with one's eyes closed and believe everything Vulpino says. One shouldn't take his word as gospel.) Don't go yet, Vulpino; wait a moment. Didn't the procurer say that a merchant had given him the coffer? And didn't he describe him, if I remember correctly, as being dressed precisely in this manner?

What? Would you rely on what the procurer said?

I don’t consider you a better foundation on which to rely, Vulpino; and now I'm going to do otherwise. Gallo, Negro, Nespolo, hold that fellow still and tie him up.

Why?

I’m going to send him to the captain of justice to see whether a rope is a good remedy to cure speechlessness.

Master, don’t I know for certain whether he's a mute? Yet, if you want to clarify this further, I'll take him to the procurer so that when he sees him he'll be able to tell if he's the merchant who gave him the coffer. Who would know him better?

I'll have the captain's rope clarify it, and that will suffice. Hurry up and if there's nothing else to tie him with, take the rope from the well. That's fine; tie his hands behind his back. But damn you, first take my gown off him.

Forgive me, Vulpino. I served you as long as the words and threats didn’t turn into actions.

(Oh, God, woe is me, wretched Vulpino!)

But I won’t be maimed or killed because of you.

By God, this rope deserves to be included in the list of the saints, for it heals a mute. Do you think, Vulpino, that if it's placed around your neck it can perform the miracle of curing your villainy? Now, answer me: who gave you my clothes?

Your son gave them to me.

And not Vulpino?

The two of them were in it together.

For what purpose?

To send me dressed this way to pick up a woman from the procurer’s house.

Were you the one who took my coffer there?

They gave me a chest, which I brought there and left as security as they told me to do.

So this is how you have the audacity. Vulpino, to place so much valuable merchandise in such danger, in the house, in the hands, in the power, at the discretion of a fleeing pimp, of a perfidious man? You almost ruined me, you rogue! Are these the exemplary morals, are these the fine deeds you teach my son whom I asked you to look after? And then you mock me and try to make me believe such nonsense, which even donkeys would see through by now, no less men? You'll not boast of it, by God. — Untie that fellow immediately and tie up this rascal.

Oh, Master, your son ordered me and forced me to do it. You left me here to take orders from him and not to command him.

Tie him up firmly. If God allows me to live until tomorrow, I'll make such an example of you to others that they'll never again dare deceive me.

Have pity on me, Master!

You scoundrel!— You, come and get your clothes; come in, for I want to hear all about this business.

Everything is going badly for all of us, but especially for Vulpino, as fickle Fortune has put everything in disarray. She had been treating us so favorably for a while, and would have continued to do so, had she not been interrupted and reversed by the short memory of this fool. Now what other course should I pursue than to persuade my young master to abandon this project and turn to something else that would be more profitable and would bring him greater honor? If he cannot have his desire, then he ought to desire what he can have. But what will I accomplish by this? I would need more eloquence and more valid reasons than I have available in order to remove such firm conviction from his mind, a conviction that Vulpino and I reinforced by giving him such high hopes and getting him close to realizing his objective. Now if, on the contrary, I persuade him to give up this undertaking, it will more likely lead the poor thing to desperation than induce him to undertake something honest and profitable. Besides, if I don't find some way for him to reach his objective, won't I incur shame, blame, and infamy? Won't I always have the reputation of being a fool? It will seem as if I'm not able to hatch a plot without Vulpino; and, despite my successes in the past, if I fail here, now that I'm by myself, the glory will go to Vulpino. May God prevent me from being known as Vulpinos disciple and may He save me from such dishonor, from having such an ugly blemish mar my face! What shall I do, then? What shall I do? If I try it this way..., it would be very difficult. And this other way ...; it would be much easier. Yet it's not that simple, and I have many reservations. How about this other...? It's almost the same thing. But what if I take precautions by ...? That's fine, but I'm afraid that I'll be discovered. What if I take precautions by ...? That's not bad, Now if I complete it this way ...; that's it. How will it be if I add this twist..., and then this...? It might be good enough; in fact, very good ...; as a matter of fact, excellent. It will be perfect. I've found it. I'm going to do it in any case, and it cannot help but succeed. I figured it out. I decided to do it this way; and I'll show then that I'm not a disciple, but the master of masters. Now I'll advance against this pimp with an army of lies. I'm going to destroy him and put him to the sack. So favor me, Fortune, and, if my plan succeeds, I vow to stay drunk in your honor for three whole days. Behold, she must have heard me, for the procurer is not waiting for my assault; he's opening the door and coming to surrender.

(The more I delay in complaining, the more I weaken my case. I wanted Furbo to come with me, but he's so late returning that I'm forced to go alone.)

Oh, God! I hope I find Lucramo at home so that I can inform him...

(Who's that mentioning my name?)

... of the ruin descending upon him.

(What is he talking about?)

So that at least he won't lose his life.

(Oh, God!)

However, he's more likely to lose it than have it saved. Anyway, I'm going to warn him.

Don't bother to knock, Fulcio; here I am if you're looking for me.

Of, unhappy, oh, unfortunate, oh, pitiful Lucramo! Why don't you flee?

Why the devil should I flee?

Oh, you poor beggar! Go; get away from here right away. Run away and hide.

Why do you want me to run away?

You'll be hanged at once, immediately, you poor fellow, if they catch you. Flee. What are you waiting for?

Who would have me hanged?

My master, the captain of justice. I warn you, run away. Are you still here? Flee, you poor soul.

What have I done that merits the gallows?

You've stolen from your neighbor, Crisobolo.

That's not true.

And he has witnesses —what witnesses!— to prove that he found the stolen goods in your house. You're still hanging around? Go, get away, run away immediately. Aren't you moving yet?

Maybe your master will listen to my part of the story ...

Don't waste your time; don't stand around talking, you poor man. Go, run like the devil, for the chief of police isn't fifteen yards away; he has a warrant to hang you on the spot and he's bringing the hangman with him. Now see whether you have the time to chatter. Flee, disappear.

Ah, Fulcio, I place myself in you hands. Help me; advise me. You know very well that I like you and have always liked you ever since our friendship began.

That's why I came to warn you and I did so at the risk of being punished.

I thank you for it.

If my master knew it. I'm afraid he would hang me along with you. So get out of here and don't croak any more.

But what will become of my poor family and my possessions?

What family? What possessions? It's better to lose everything else you have than your life. Run! What are you waiting for?

But, alas, where can I flee? Where can I hide?

How the devil should I know? I've done my duty; if they hang you, it's your fault. I don't want to be found with you and follow you to the gallows.

Ah, Fulcio, Fulcio!

Shut up and don't mention my name, may you be drawn and quartered! Let no one hear you and report to my master that I came to warn you.

I place myself in your hands. Please don't leave me!

Place yourself in the hands of the hangman, not in mine. I wouldn't want my master to find out that I spoke to you, not for a hundred-thousand ducats.

Oh, for God's sake, listen a moment.

I can't wait a moment longer; I think I hear something and I'm afraid it's the chief of police.

I'll come with you.

Go somewhere else; I don't want them to find you with me.

I want to come.

No, don't come.

Wherever you go I'm determined to follow.

With these and other words, along with various and appropriate gestures, which worked with great success, I put so much fear into the poor fellow that he came running after me. He followed me for quite some time as I ran here and there all over the city as if I, too, were afraid. At every little sound he heard he shook more than a leaf in the wind, as if he had the chief constable constantly on his trail, with the police force not far behind.

I'm amazed that, knowing himself to be innocent, as in truth he is, he's such a coward that he wouldn’t have the courage to show up [before the captain of justice].

What? Does it seem so strange? I already had told him and convinced him that the chief of police had the strictest orders to hang him on the spot as soon as he was caught, without examination or trial!

I don't see how he could believe you so readily.

Why shouldn't he believe me? He knows my master—he's seen him elsewhere—and he knows very well that he often plays such tricks on others like him; and he knows how quick he is to anger and how much he has always hated the name of procurer.

Yet, knowing his innocence...

What? Granting that he's completely innocent of this, as he is, of how many other untold crimes of every sort do you think he's guilty, the smallest of which deserves not one, but a thousand hangings? He knows he's a scoundrel, and it would be madness for him to go to jail and suffer torture; for, even if he were to acquit himself of one false accusation, he would run the risk of uncovering other crimes that would easily condemn him to death.

Did you say that he went to see Caridoro in his bedroom? How did he find the courage to go there?

I gave him to understand that my master decided to have him hanged right off, no matter what, and if he were not found in the course of the night, he wouldn't let the gates be open tomorrow; and that he was going to issue a decree requiring anyone who knew or had any indication of his whereabouts to bring it to the attention of the authorities under the threat of harsh punishment. With this story and an infinity of other lies I brought the poor man to such a state of desperation that there isn't a precipice in the world so high that he wouldn't have leaped from it in order to escape. And then, pretending that I wanted to save him, I suggested that it would be best if he took refuge with Caridoro, who could hide him without the fear that others might have of being punished by his father for sheltering him. I told him that, as Caridoro was a nice and amiable friend, he wouldn't refuse to hide him until his father's anger abated somewhat.

And so you brought him there?

I jabbered so much that I finally got him there. I wish you could have seen him when he came before Caridoro—trembling all over and pale. His tears were streaming down like those of a child; and how humbly he begged and pleaded with him to have compassion in his misfortune! He embraced his knees, he kissed his feet, and he offered to give him, not only the girl, but all his worldly goods and to he his slave forever.

Hah, hah, hah! You're making me laugh.

You should also have seen Caridoro pretending to be very reluctant and afraid of incurring his father's wrath, and begging him, in turn, to go elsewhere and not to cause him to fall into disfavor with the very person whom he should love and revere above all others.

Hah, hah, hah!

If only you had seen me trying to convince Caridoro, proposing ways by which he could help him without incurring censure.

Hah, hah, hah! Good Lord, it would have been impossible for me to refrain from laughing.

Finally, I advised Lucramo to send for the girl, as her presence would do more to get Caridoro to help him than would prayers and offerings. He agreed to my suggestion; and he wrote this note himself and gave me this ring as a token. So now I'm going to get the girl whose arrival will have a beneficial effect.

I'm sure it will. Then the procurer is waiting for you in Caridoro's bedroom?

Oh, I didn't tell you the best part! So that he wouldn't be seen by others in the household as they come and go, we had him hide under the bed. He's so frightened that I can hardly describe it to you and he doesn't dare breathe lest he be heard.

I rejoice that Caridoro has had such fine success in his love affair; and it doubles my happiness in having found Eulalia. The enormous worry and fear that I had lost her forever—I couldn't imagine who had taken her from me —makes my pleasure greater than it would have been had our Trappola brought her to me without any difficulty, for I had already dissipated a good part of my joy in a particular expectation. Now, I have her back; and it was my servants, who had taken her away, thinking that they were pleasing and serving me, who restored her to me.

So it is that the more trouble, the more danger one encounters in obtaining things and the more one lacks hope of getting them, the more enjoyable they are.

And, conversely, it's most disturbing if misfortune comes when you least expect it, when it interjects itself into the midst of pleasure and ruins your enjoyment. I have proof of this right now with the horrible news you brought me that my father has returned instead of going to Procida, that he's discovered our plans and that he's imprisoned our adviser, Vulpino.

You can easily find a remedy for this misfortune. With a few humble words to the old man he'll be happy to forgive you and make peace. Show him that you have respect and reverence for him, for that's all he expects of you. Once peace is established between you, you'll be able to free Vulpino from all danger. So, Erofilo, it's up to you to do everything you can to save him. And then there remains one more debt —no less important— to satisfy.

What debt?

We have to get Lucramo to leave town tomorrow morning.

Let's have him leave tonight.

We need money for that; at least we ought to pay him what the two girls cost. It's better for him to gain than lose, so that should he later realize that we duped him, he'll keep quiet. See if you can put together fifty scudi and let's have them now, if possible. I'll ask Caridoro for the same amount. Let's send him on his way immediately with a hundred scudi, and let's not hear any more clamor.

Speak to anyone but me about this; you won't be able to get a carlin or a picciolo from me.

You must really be poor. Borrow it from someone.

I don't have enough credit to borrow such a sum.

The Jews will lend it to you if you don't have a friend to whom you can turn.

What collateral can I give them?

At least find thirty, if you can't find more. Don't waste any more time.

I don't have it and I don't know where to find it. Since my old man has returned and our scheme has been discovered, don't expect me to be able to help out with a soldo.

What shall we do then?

You think of something.

I'm thinking about it. If you can't give me anything more, couldn't you at least give me fifteen [scudi]? Still, it won't be very much. I know that this poor procurer hasn't a penny to his name. He has to leave with his household and support himself during the voyage. See if this can be done without spending!

I couldn't even give him one; you find the money.

I'm thinking about where to find it.

Think harder.

I'm still thinking and I believe I can find it at last.

I have such confidence in you ingenuity that even if none existed in the world you would create some out of nothing.

Come on, then, leave it to me; I hope to find it for you before midnight. First I'll hurry and take the girl to Caridoro; then I'll concentrate on making the money sprout up from somewhere. — Hey, you going in there; stop, whoever you are. I want to talk to you.

Even if you owned me, you shouldn't have commanded me with such arrogance. If you need me for something, then follow me.

Oh what an ass! His manners are just like those of his master.

(I'll go into the house and do what I can to appease my father; if it weren't a matter of helping Vulpino, I wouldn't dare face him for a fortnight. There's our door being opened. It's him. I feel my blood surging and my heart pounding in my bosom.)

I wonder what's keeping those other rascals! I don't see them coming from any direction. Where can they be at this hour? If I find my things in such a fine state when I'm gone for only one day, and not even the whole day at that, what would have happened had I stayed away for two or three months! The next time that villain deceives me I'll surely forgive him. Oh what a fool I was to fall for his stories!

(I'm still not sure whether or not I ought to show my face.)

If, with his cunning, he manages to slip out of the shackles in which I placed him, I'll be happy to let him put me in his place.

(I must finally take courage; otherwise Vulpino will be in a sad state.)

Oh, my fine fellow!

Didn't you go to Procida, Father?

(See with what temerity this rascal comes before me!)

Oh, Father, I'm extremely sorry and I regret having upset you.

If this were really true, Erofilo, you would try to live better. Oh, well, I'll remember this and when you think I've forgotten, I'll remind you of it.

Forgive me, Father. Next time I'll be better advised, and I won't give you anything to complain about.

Ah, Erofilo! I don't want you to promise me with words what you try to take away from me with deeds. It would have been difficult for me to believe that the perfect child whom I raised with such care would, in his adolescence, when his wisdom should have increased with the years, turn out to be one of the wickedest and most dissolute young men in Sibaris. I expected you to be the cane to sustain me when I'm decrepit; instead you have become the cane with which to beat me and break my bones one by one, to bury me before my time.

Oh Father!

You call me "Father"; but then you show with your deeds that you're my enemy instead.

Forgive me, Father.

If it weren't for the fact that I don't want to offend your mother's honor, Erofilo, I would deny that you were my son. I don't see any resemblance to me in your actions or manners; and I would very much rather you resembled me in your virtues than in your physical features.

Father, my youth and my carelessness made me fall into this error and offend you.

Don’t you think that I, too, was young once? At your age I was always at your grandfather's side, and with hard work and diligence I helped him increase our patrimony and property, which you, prodigal as you are, try to consume and destroy with your deceit and lust. In my youth, my concern, my intention, my desire, was to gain the esteem of upright men; with them alone I associated, and I tried whenever possible to emulate them. You, on the contrary, think it disgraceful to be seen with me; and you're always to be found with pimps, drunkards, cheats, or other such riffraff. You ought to burn with shame and not just blush if you were seen in their company by the birds, let alone by men.

I was wrong, Father, I confess it. Forgive me and rest assured that this will be the last time you'll have cause to be angry with me.

I swear by God, Erofilo, that if you don't mend your ways and turn to living virtuously you'll know my resentment and you'll suffer for it. I'm not as stupid as you would have me be. If sometimes I pretend not to see, don't think that because of this I'm blind. If you won't do your duty. I'll do mine. It's better to be without a son than to have one who always torments me, afflicts me, and doesn't let me live.

In the future, Father, I’ll try to be more obedient.

If you seek out good things you'll be doing that which not only pleases me very much and is becoming to you, but which" will benefit you more than anyone else. Believe me.

[To Furbo, inside]If I wait here for her to finish beautifying herself I won't be able to do another task or accomplish anything else all evening. Keep hurrying her along until I return; in the meantime, there are other matters, no less important, that I had better settle.— Oh, how much time these females waste in getting dressed and making themselves up! Wait for them, wait, for they never finish: they have to use three hundred pins and move each one to three hundred different places, and even then they won't let them be: they change each curl a hundred times and still they're not content to let it stay. And then come the cosmetics: oh, what patience is needed here! First they put on the white, then the red; then they take it off; they adjust it; they wipe it off and they begin again, returning to the mirror more than a thousand times to look at themselves. Oh, how long they take in plucking their eyebrows! Oh, what care they use in lifting their breasts so that they'll be firm and won’t sag! What do they do to their nails with their files and scissors, and to their hands with lotions and lemons? They spend an hour washing their hands and another hour oiling and rubbing them so that they'll stay soft! How much attention they give to picking their teeth and brushing them with a variety of toothpowders! How much time is wasted, how many little boxes, phials, and jars, how many paints they put to use! I couldn’t count them all. One could fully arm a naval vessel in less time. But what the devil! If one must be truthful, why reproach them for following their instincts, which are to seek every means possible to appear beautiful and to provide with their skill what they were denied by nature. Their desire is quite understandable, for if you take away their beauty what else do they have that's worthy of attention? But what will we say about our young men, who should be known and honored for their manliness? Instead of devoting their time to acquiring it, they too waste time in beautifying themselves and in putting on greasepaint and rouge. They copy the women in all things: They have their mirrors, their combs, their tweezers, their small cases with various instruments; they have their little boxes, their phials and jars. They're experts in making up, not heroic or elegiac verses, but with moss, amber, and civet. They too wear hoopskirts to broaden their hips, and they puff themselves out by filling their doublets at the chest with wool-batten; and with cardboards or felt they expand themselves and broaden their shoulders as they wish. Many whose legs resemble those of a crane give form to their thighs and calves by means of a double lining. Now, if one is going to waste time in adorning oneself, it's more excusable for women to do so; and thus it’s only right that I give Corsica time to beautify herself. I'll use this time to assail Crisobolo whom I'll get to surrender just as the procurer did. Well, then, let the army of lies come before me and let's despoil this rather tenacious old man. In any case, it's fitting for him to become my tributary. Favor me. Fortune, for I reaffirm my vow; let all the glory be mine alone. Forward, onward. I want to approach the enemy's doors, and by knocking on them. I'll catch the guards unawares.

Who's that knocking?

Tell Crisobolo that a servant of one of his best friends wants to speak to him about something important.

If you want to speak to him, why don t you come inside?

There are good reasons why I want to wait for him out here; he won't regret this inconvenience when he hears what I have to say.

Who is it that wants me at this hour?

Forgive me if I disturb you, but the person who sent me doesn't want me to be recognized by your servants nor does he want them to know who sent me. Have them go back inside.

Go into the house and wait for me.— Now tell me what you have to say.

I was sent to see you by my young master, the son of the captain of justice, who, because of his close friendship with your son, esteems you and loves you as a father; and, for this reason, when he can do something useful for you and to your honor and can help you avoid censure, he will never fail to do so.

I thank him, and I'll always be obliged to him.

Now, listen. As he was leaving the house to take a stroll, as young men are accustomed to do —and I was with him— we came upon a certain procurer, as luck would have it, at the foot of the stairs, and he claimed to be a neighbor of yours.

Well, then?

He was shouting angrily and complaining a great deal about you and your Erofilo to some people who were with him.

What was he saying?

If Caridoro hadn't stopped him he was going to go straight to the captain of justice to complain and inform him about a fraud that it seems your Erofilo committed against him; and if he's telling the truth, it's a very serious charge.

Now see how much trouble is in prospect for me because of the imprudence of that silly fool!

He said that earlier today he had dressed up a cheat in the clothes of a merchant and had sent him there with a certain deposit.

See how the devil still meddles in this!

Having left the deposit, the cheat took one of his women. I didn't hear all the details, for Caridoro sent me off in a hurry to warn you.

We're much obliged to him; he's done the duty of a gentleman and a friend.

The two persons who I told you were with the procurer seem ready to testify on his behalf and accuse you.

What could they accuse me of?

They claim that the cheat is in your house and that the fraud was carried out with your knowledge.

With my knowledge?

So they say; and, if I remember well, I think they also said that you entered his house with some people and removed a coffer or a strongbox. Caridoro sent me off in such a hurry to see you that I couldn't hear the details. Now, what my master sent me to tell you is that he'll do everything in his power to ensure that the procurer doesn't get to see the captain of justice tonight. Meanwhile, try to calm him down and do what you can so that he won't complain to the captain, for if he complains to him not only will you suffer, but your son will be publicly shamed.

What provision can I make? What remedy can I find?

Have him give back the girl.

He can't, for he doesn't have her and he doesn't know who took her away.

Oh, that's too bad.

It couldn't be worse.

What shall we do, then?

How in heaven's name should I know? No one is more miserable than I am.

The easiest and best thing to do is to pay the procurer for the girl; at least give him what he could have gotten for her, and that would keep him quiet.

It seems strange to me that I have to spend my money this way; I’m not used to spending it unless it's on something that benefits me.

One cannot always make a profit, Crisobolo; however, if by investing a small sum of money one can avoid considerable injury and, besides this, disgrace and public shame, it can be called more than a small gain. If my master, the captain, finds out that your Erofilo has ruined and misused a poor foreigner by such deceit, where will you find yourself? Will you be able to bear having your son undergo an inquiry, having him called to the dock, and having a ban pronounced against him? Besides this, you have the reputation of being the richest man in Sibaris; and, while others might get away with paying a small amount in compensation, you wouldn’t get by without paying a great many scudi. You're a prudent man; you understand what I mean.

What do you advise me to do?

The procurer is poor and, like others in his trade, he's timid and cowardly. If the girl were paid for, he would keep his mouth shut. Our Caridoro has already given him to understand that taking you to court would do him more harm than good, for you have enough money...

Good Lord, I have much less than everyone thinks.

... to keep the lawsuit going for the rest of his life; and that you're not without good friends and relatives who would make him regret having troubled you.

Do you know how much he wants for the girl or what he could have gotten for her?

I heard that a merchant from Thessaly had offered him a hundred and forty ducats; but that he wouldn't let her go for under two hundred.

That's too much. One could buy fifty cows for less. I won’t have anything to do with it. Let him complain and do the worst he can.

I'm surprised that you value such a small amount...

Does it seem small to you?

... more than your own son, more than yourself, more than your honor. I'll report to my master, then, that you don’t intend to do anything.

Couldn't we keep him quiet for less?

One could slit his throat with a knife; that would cost less, and it would keep him quiet.

I don't mean that; yet, two hundred scudi or two hundred ducats seems such a large sum.

I agree. Maybe you could appease him with less. I believe that if he received the same amount that he was offered before, he would remain quiet.

And no less?

I wish, for your sake, that I could keep him quiet without any expense. Pardon me, if I give you some advice. I'll tell you anyway. Why don't you send Erofilo with me right now with the amount you think would suffice. Caridoro will see to it that the procurer comes to an agreement with him and that he spends as little as possible. He won't be able to refuse; all of us will get on him and make him give in.

Wouldn't it be much better if I went myself?

Not in my judgment. If the procurer sees that you're so interested in this matter he'll think that Erofilo cheated him with your consent; and he'll hesitate and be as stubborn as a mule, hoping to get you to pay more. On the contrary, I think it best for Erofilo to go alone and pretend that he's seeking this accord without your knowledge and that he managed to borrow the money from some friends or, better still, that he borrowed it with great difficulty.

Have him go alone? Naturally, by God, for he's such a cautious youth! He would immediately be taken in and led by the nose like a buffalo.

Don't you have any among your servants who are experienced enough to be able to deal with him? Vulpino seems capable and quick-witted; he would be perfect for the job. You couldn't find anyone better.

That little thief? He was the chief cause; he was the director and the instigator of this trouble and of all this scandal. I have him in irons and, by God, I'm determined to punish him as he deserves.

Come now, Crisobolo, don't let your anger get the better of you and cloud your reason. Send him with your son; you couldn't do any better, believe me.

He's the worst villain...

The greater the villain he is, the more useful he'll be in this matter. So send him anyway; you couldn't choose someone more able from among a thousand men. Send him with your son, and have them go right away.

I suppose I'm forced to have recourse to him, even though he is what he is and I'd like to punish him. I know of no one else among all my servants who can put two words together. God only knows how much this bothers me!

Forget it; you'll be able to punish him some other time when you find it more convenient.

The fact is, it pains me, and it's rather a tough bone to chew. But don't go away; wait for them here. I'll have both of them go with you.

Go ahead; I'll wait.— Now comes the triumph that I really deserve; now it's fitting that this head of mine, so full of wisdom, be crowned with a laurel, for I've routed my enemies and defeated them. I've destroyed and razed their strongholds and have invaded them in force. I’ve captured their fortresses and burned them. I've sacked [their territories], I've levied taxes on them, and I've made them tributaries of my treasury for greater sums than I had hoped for at the beginning, and all this without any injury to me or my forces. Now, Fortune, if you'll continue to provide me with successes, as you have been doing, then nothing remains to be done except to fulfill the vow that I made to stay drunk in your honor for three full days, and on wine more putrid than Moschino and his friends ever tasted. Ah, there, the door's opening; perhaps it's Erofilo and Vulpino. It doesn't look like them. Who’s that fellow? Now I recognize him: he's our merchant whose tongue was loosed and whose speechlessness was cured by the miracle of the sacred rope.

Never again will I do someone a favor at the risk of injury to myself. It's my fault, and it's also due to Vulpino's carelessness that I was almost tied up like a thief and sent to the captain of justice. If he got hold of me, he wouldn't have failed to have me hanged right off. He would have given me two lashes even before he knew anything about me; then he would have questioned me about this and that, all the time having me singing in midair like a lark...

(He guessed correctly.)

I ran the risk of never seeing Naples again, although they might have raised me high enough above the ground that the trees wouldn't prevent me from seeing it from afar.

(He was lucky that Crisobolo decided to let him go without doing anything else to him.)

Now that I escaped this time, like a virtuous woman, I won't let them catch me again. If I'm to swindle anyone else and do wicked things. I'm going to do them for my own and not for someone else's benefit.

(He's not repenting for being a villain, but only for doing villainous things without profit.)

I wasn't even able to get a supper out of it; and this because I had planned to enjoy myself and to continue in my bliss until dawn.

(One's plans don't always succeed.)

I especially regret it because I'm very hungry tonight. If I return to the inn I'll provide that fool of a peasant with something to laugh at; yet I'm forced to return there, for I have no other place where I can get food. If it weren't for my hunger pangs. I’d forego eating so as not to let him perceive that which, if he does know, would give him great pleasure. But I would sooner suffer his mockery than have this hunger gnaw at my stomach all night and eat it away.

(I think that would be better, for hunger surpasses all other ailments; being mocked and laughed at isn't nearly so hazardous. But there, I hear the door being opened, and I see my soldiers returning to their captain laden with rich booty.)

Don’t worry, I'll try to keep him quiet with as little expense as possible; and I hope to do better than if you yourself went there. Leave it to me; I know that you’ll be pleased with my work. Oh, I see Fulcio.

Where is he?

Over there.

I see him. Oh, Fulcio, how will we ever thank you in a way that would be commensurate and appropriate for the favors you've done for us? If I placed all my worldly goods at your disposal they would seem insufficient to discharge my enormous obligation to you.

It would be enough for me, Erofilo, to have you regard me kindly.

Oh, my unfailing hope, oh, my refuge, oh, my only real salvation! Fulcio, you've delivered me from immense tribulation; you've freed this poor life of mine from the cruelest of torments, and I place it forever entirely at your command.

These are favors, these are services, that we owe one another. Don't mention it. Vulpino. Erofilo, do you think that I was able to find enough funds, to raise plenty of money as I promised you?

More than was necessary.

If you have more than you need, then return the surplus to your father.

No, I wouldn't do that.

Nor does Fulcio advise you to.

I'm not going to take it myself either.

What's left over will be enough for you to have a good time with Eulalia for a few days.

How much should we give Lucramo?

As little as possible. Caridoro has to contribute his half.

Take it and do what you want with it.

No, you take it instead and, as soon as I've brought the girl to Caridoro, I'll meet you at Galante's house.— Now, you in the audience may as well go home, for the girl whom I'm going to take with me doesn't want to be seen, perhaps because she's not as well prepared as she would like to be. I mean well adorned, for in every other respect she's no less prepared than any other woman is at any time. And, as the procurer has to flee, he wouldn't want, nor would it be desirable for him, to be seen by such a large crowd.