ter, and it may be." Quoth she,
laughing, "You are too cruel towards lovers, an you desire of them
only an ill end;[231] but, to obey you, I will tell a story of three
who all ended equally ill, having had scant enjoyment of their loves."
So saying, she began thus: "Young ladies, as you should manifestly
know, every vice may turn to the grievous hurt of whoso practiseth it,
and often of other folk also; but of all others that which with the
slackest rein carrieth us away to our peril, meseemeth is anger, which
is none otherwhat than a sudden and unconsidered emotion, aroused by
an affront suffered, and which, banishing all reason and overclouding
the eyes of the understanding with darkness, kindleth the soul to the
hottest fury. And although this often cometh to pass in men and more
in one than in another, yet hath it been seen aforetime to work
greater mischiefs in women, for that it is lightlier enkindled in
these latter and burneth in them with a fiercer flame and urgeth them
with less restraint. Nor is this to be marvelled at, for that, an we
choose to consider, we may see that fire, of its nature, catcheth
quicklier to light and delicate things than to those which are denser
and more ponderous; and we women, indeed,--let men not take it
ill,--are more delicately fashioned than they and far more mobile.
Wherefore, seeing that we are naturally inclined thereunto[232] and
considering after how our mansuetude and our loving kindness are of
repose and pleasance to the men with whom we have to do and how big
with harm and peril are anger and fury, I purpose, to the intent that
we may with a more steadfast, mind keep ourselves from these latter,
to show you by my story how the loves of three young men and as many
ladies came, as I said before, to an ill end, becoming through the ire
of one of the latter, from happy most unhappy.

[Footnote 231: _i.e._ _semble_ "an you would wish them nought but an
ill end."]

[Footnote 232: _i.e._ to anger.]

Marseilles is, as you know, a very ancient and noble city, situate in
Provence on the sea-shore, and was once more abounding in rich and
great merchants than it is nowadays. Among the latter was one called
Narnald Cluada, a man of mean extraction, but of renowned good faith
and a loyal merchant, rich beyond measure in lands and monies, who had
by a wife of his several children, whereof the three eldest were
daughters. Two of these latter, born at a birth, were fifteen and the
thi