'Tis no long time since there dwelt in our city a lady, noble, debonair
and of excellent discourse, whom not a few of you may have seen or heard
of, whose name--for such high qualities merit not oblivion--was Madonna
Oretta, her husband being Messer Geri Spina. Now this lady, happening to
be, as we are, in the country, moving from place to place for pleasure
with a company of ladies and gentlemen, whom she had entertained the day
before at breakfast at her house, and the place of their next sojourn,
whither they were to go afoot, being some considerable distance off, one
of the gentlemen of the company said to her:--"Madonna Oretta, so please
you, I will carry you great part of the way a horseback with one of the
finest stories in the world." "Indeed, Sir," replied the lady, "I pray
you do so; and I shall deem it the greatest of favours." Whereupon the
gentleman, who perhaps was no better master of his weapon than of his
story, began a tale, which in itself was indeed excellent, but which, by
repeating the same word three, four or six times, and now and again
harking back, and saying:--"I said not well"; and erring not seldom in
the names, setting one in place of another, he utterly spoiled; besides
which, his mode of delivery accorded very ill with the character of the
persons and incidents: insomuch that Madonna Oretta, as she listened, did
oft sweat, and was like to faint, as if she were ill and at the point of
death.
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