o, it is always young noblemen
and ladies who talk: seven young ladies, "all of good family, beautiful,
elegant, and virtuous," and three young men, "all three affable and
elegant," whom the misfortunes of the time "did not affect so much as to
make them forget their amours." The great plague has broken out in
Florence; they seek a retreat "wherein to give themselves up to mirth
and pleasure"; they fix upon a villa half-way to Fiesole, now villa
Palmieri.

"A fine large court, disposed in the centre, was surrounded by
galleries, halls and chambers all ornamented with the gayest paintings.
The dwelling-house rose in the midst of meadows and magnificent gardens,
watered by cool streams; the cellars were full of excellent wines."
Every one is forbidden, "whencesoever he may come, or whatever he may
hear or see, to bring hither any news from without that be not
agreeable." They seat themselves "in a part of the garden which the
foliage of the trees rendered impenetrable to the sun's rays," at the
time when, "the heat being in all its strength, one heard nothing save
the cicadae singing among the olive-trees." Thanks to the stories they
relate to each other, they pleasantly forget the scourge which threatens
them, and the public woe; yonder it is death; here they play.

Chaucer has chosen for himself a plan more humane, and truer to nature.
It is not enough for him to saunter each day from a palace to a garden;
he is not content with an alley, he must have a road. He puts his whole
troop of narrators in motion; he stops them at the inns, takes them to
drink at the public-houses, obliges them to hurry their pace when
evening comes, causes them to make acquaintance with the passers-by. His
people move, bestir themselves, listen, talk, scream, sing, exchange
compliments, sometimes blows; for if his knights are real knights, his
millers are real millers, who swear and strike as in a mill.

The interest of each tale is doubled by the way in which it is told, and
even by the way it is listened to. The knight delights his audience,
which the monk puts to sleep and the miller causes to laugh; one is
heard in silence, the other is interrupted at every word. Each story is
followed by a scene of comedy, lively, quick, unexpected, and amusing;
they discuss, they approve, they lose their tempers; no strict rules,
but all the independence of the high-road, and the unforeseen of real
life; we are not sauntering in alleys! Mine host himse