Neither the various stories themselves nor the idea of uniting them in a framework is original with Boccaccio. The latter device was especially popular in the Orient, and is illustrated in the Seven Wise Men, so vastly popular in the Middle Ages. Chaucer imitated Boccaccio in this respect in his Canterbury Tales. The sources of the stories in the Decameron are various. Such tales were among the most popular kinds of literature of the times, as may be seen in the Fabliaux in France and the well-known collections, the Novellino and Cento Novelle, in Italy. Boccaccio gathers them from all sides and adds many he had heard told orally, especially anecdotes of his contemporaries. All these are changed, however, by the alchemy of his own genius, and become original in style, in delineation of character, and in local color.
The framework of the Decameron is as follows: During the terrible pestilence which raged in Europe in 1348, a famous description of which is given in the opening chapter of the book, seven young ladies and three young men meet in one of the churches at Florence and agree to forsake the plague-stricken city, retire to their villas in the country and try to forget in pleasant converse the terrors that surround them. The plan is carried out. Each day a leader is chosen, whom all must obey. After breakfast they betake themselves to the garden, and here on green lawns covered with flowers, beneath shady trees and beside clear-running streams, they dance, play, and sing; and then, comfortably seated on the soft grass, they pass the hours away in cheerful conversation and story-telling.
Each one of these one hundred stories has an individual character of its own. While reading them we see passing in picturesque procession before our eyes the whole of Italian society of the times, kings and princes, knights and peasants, merchant, artist, mechanic, priest, and monk. There are not wanting earnest and serious stories, but the comic and satirical element prevails; especially are the vices of the clergy scourged, that fruitful source of all European medieval literature. The avaricious and licentious priests and monks are everywhere held up to the scornful laughter of his readers.
All this is expressed in an admirable prose style, with perfect adaptation of local color, with excellent delineation of character and insight into human nature, and with the inimitable skill in narration of the born story-teller.
The popularity of Boccaccio was, and is still, enormous, in spite of the immorality of certain of his stories. He is read to-day in the elementary schools of Italy (in emendated editions), and his influence on modern literature is incalculable. In English literature alone most of the great writers have found subjects for poems, stories, and dramas in the Decameron, among them Chaucer, Dryden, Shakespeare, Keats, Tennyson, and Longfellow.
The following story, which I have translated with some slight condensation, is not only the best and most famous of the Decameron, but it illustrates on the one hand the vast antiquity of the short-story (existing, as it does, not only in all European languages in the Middle Ages, but running back its roots to the early antiquity of India), and on the other hand, the influence of Boccaccio, "Patient Griselda" having become almost a household word in modern literature, and having furnished themes for poet, painter, and sculptor. John Addington Symonds has declared that no Greek poem equals Boccaccio's story of Griselda for tenderness.
A long time ago there lived a certain marquis of Saluzzo, named Walter, who spent his time chiefly in hunting, with never a thought of marriage. His vassals not liking this state of affairs often urged him to take to himself a wife, so that in case of death, he might not be without an heir, nor they without a master. To all this Walter made answer as follows: "My friends, you urge me to do that which I had resolved not to do, considering how difficult it is to find a proper mate, and how hard is the life of him who finds one not suited to him. Yet since it pleases you to bind me with these chains, I will agree—on this condition, however, that I choose my wife myself, so that if evil come to me, I may have no one to blame but myself. But bear this in mind: if you do not honor her as becomes your lady, you shall prove to your cost how grievous a thing it is to have forced me to wed against my own desire."
Now for some time past Walter had been much attracted by the gentle manners of a poor but beautiful village maiden, who lived near his castle; and it seemed to him that with her he could be happy. Hence without seeking further he sent for her father, and agreed with him to take his daughter as his wife. This being settled, Walter called together his friends and vassals and said to them: "Friends, it has pleased you to ask me to take to myself a wife, and I have yielded, more to please you, however, than through any desire of my own. You will remember that you agreed to be satisfied and treat as your lady whomsoever I should choose. The time has now come when I intend to keep my promise, and I desire that you keep yours. I have found a young lady to my liking whom I intend to marry, and I shall bring her home in a few days. See to it that the wedding feast be a fair one and that you receive her honorably." The good men, all rejoicing, answered that they were indeed pleased, and that whoever his bride might be, they would honor her in all things as their lady.
After this Walter prepared a bountiful wedding feast and invited thereto his many friends and relatives and all the gentle folk round about. He had many rich and beautiful gowns made fit to adorn the figure of the young girl whom he proposed to wed; and likewise rings, and girdles, and a fair rich crown, in short all things that a new bride might require.
Now when the day fixed for the wedding had come, Walter mounted his horse and said to his followers: "Gentlemen, it is time to go for the bride." And setting out with all his company he came to the village, and the house of the young girl's father, where they found her returning in great haste from the fountain, in order that she, with the other women-folk of the village, might go and see the coming of their lord's bride. When Walter saw her he called her by name—that is, Griselda—and asked her where her father was; to whom she answered shamefacedly, "My lord, he is in the house." Then Walter dismounted, and ordering his followers to remain outside, went alone into the humble cottage, where he found her father—whose name was Giannùcolo—and said to him: "I have come to wed Griselda; but first I wish to ask her something in your presence." And he asked her if she would always try to please him, if he took her for his wife; and if she would promise not to be angry, whatever he might say or do; and many other similar things; to all of which she made answer: "Yes, my lord."