at, he answered nought but
'The ill hole[143] will have no holidays;'[144] and there, no great
while after, he died. Paganino, hearing this and knowing the love the
lady bore himself, espoused her to his lawful wife and thereafter,
without ever observing saints' day or vigil or keeping Lent, they
wrought what while their legs would carry them and led a jolly life of
it. Wherefore, dear my ladies, meseemeth Bernabo, in his dispute with
Ambrogiuolo, rode the she-goat down the steep."[145]

[Footnote 141: According to one of the commentators of the Decameron,
there are as many churches at Ravenna as days in the year and each day
is there celebrated as that of some saint or other.]

[Footnote 142: A trifling jingle upon the similarity in sound of the
words _mortale_ (mortal), _mortaio_ (mortar), _pestello_ (pestle), and
_pestilente_ (pestilential). The same word-play occurs at least once
more in the Decameron.]

[Footnote 143: _Il mal foro_, a woman's commodity (Florio).]

[Footnote 144: _i.e._ _Cunnus nonvult feriari._ Some commentators
propose to read _il mal furo_, the ill thief, supposing Ricciardo to
allude to Paganino, but this seems far-fetched.]

[Footnote 145: _i.e. semble_ ran headlong to destruction. The
commentators explain this proverbial expression by saying that a
she-goat is in any case a hazardous mount, and _a fortiori_ when
ridden down a precipice; but this seems a somewhat "sporting" kind of
interpretation.]

* * * * *

This story gave such occasion for laughter to all the company that
there was none whose jaws ached not therefor, and all the ladies
avouched with one accord that Dioneo spoke sooth and that Bernabo had
been an ass. But, after the story was ended and the laughter abated,
the queen, observing that the hour was now late and that all had told
and seeing that the end of her seignory was come, according to the
ordinance commenced, took the wreath from her own head and set it on
that of Neifile, saying, with a blithe aspect, "Henceforth, companion
dear, be thine the governance of this little people"; and reseated
herself. Neifile blushed a little at the honour received and became in
countenance like as showeth a new-blown rose of April or of May in the
breaking of the day, with lovesome eyes some little downcast,
sparkling no otherwise than the morning-star. But, after the courteous
murmur of the bystanders, whereby they gladsomely approved their
goodwill