filled with mysterious longings at the sight, longings I know nothing of
but that they spring from the region of my loins, and that, like the
infant Hercules, they showed their strength from the very cradle. And
these longings were not merely after rosy mists and floating clouds;
they pictured very precisely a wench named Monna Libetta I made
acquaintance with once in travelling, at Castro, at an inn where she was
serving-maid and at the free disposal of the muleteers and soldiers
frequenting it.

"But the picture I framed in my mind of Monna Libetta, this morning, as
I fared along the slopes of the hills, was wondrously embellished by the
tenderness of recollection and the regrets of separation, and she was
tricked out with all the pretty fancies that, springing from the loins
as I said, presently send their fragrant fire coursing through all the
body's soul, transfusing it with languishing ardours and pains that are
a delicious pleasure.

"For I would have you know, my Giovanni, that looking at her calmly and
coldly, the girl was not greatly different from all the rest of the
country wenches that, in the plains of Umbria and the Roman Marches, go
afield to milk the cattle. She had dark eyes, slow and sullen, a
sunburnt face, a big mouth, the bosom heavy, the belly tanned and the
forepart of the legs, from the knee, shaggy with hair. Her laugh was
ready and rude, in a general way; but in act with a lover, her face grew
dark and transfigured as if with wonder at the presence of a god. 'Twas
this had attached me to her, and I have many a time pondered since on
the nature of this attachment, for I am learned and curious to search
out the reasons of things.

"And I discovered the force that drew me toward this girl Monna Libetta,