THE FIFTH FABLE.

Thievish bird, I charge you well,Hearken to my mystic spell.While I dance and wave my sieve,All my tender chicks shall live.Not a bird from all my hatch,Thievish rascal, shall you snatch.Wolf nor rat his prey shall seek,Nor bird with sharp and crooked beak.Thieves who stand behind the door,Hearken, fly, and come no more.If my speech you cannot read,Surely you are fools indeed.

Thievish bird, I charge you well,

Hearken to my mystic spell.

While I dance and wave my sieve,

All my tender chicks shall live.

Not a bird from all my hatch,

Thievish rascal, shall you snatch.

Wolf nor rat his prey shall seek,

Nor bird with sharp and crooked beak.

Thieves who stand behind the door,

Hearken, fly, and come no more.

If my speech you cannot read,

Surely you are fools indeed.

When Thia had come to the end of her mummery she still went on dancing round Cechato, keeping her eyes fixed upon the outer door the while, and making signs to Marsilio, who was there concealed, that he had better run away at once. But Marsilio, who was neither nimble-minded nor quick to catch her meaning, failed to comprehend what might be the purport of the gestures she was making or what she meant by going through these rites of exorcism; so he kept still in his hiding-place and did not budge an inch. Meantime Cechato, being now half stifled and mightily weary of lying stretched out on the floor, was anxious to get up, and spake thus to Thia: ‘Well, is it all over now?’ But Thia, who had not been able to induce Marsilio to move from his place behind the door, answered Cechato in these words: ‘Stay where you are, for heaven’s sake, and move not at your peril. Did I not tell you that I should have to repeat the incantation three times? I hope you may not have wrecked everything, as it is, by wanting to get up.’ ‘No, no, surely not,’ said Cechato. And Thia made him lie down stretched out as he was before, and began to chant her incantation anew.

The Conjuration of the Kite

Now by this time Marsilio had at last come to understand how matters really stood, and what was the meaning of Thia’s mummery, so he seized the opportunity to slip out from his hiding-place, and to run away as fast as his legs could carry him. Thia, when she saw Marsilio take to his heels and run out of the courtyard, finished her form of exorcism against the kite, and when she had brought it to an end she suffered her cuckoldly fool of a husband to get up from the ground. Then with Thia’s help he began forthwith to unload the flour which he had brought back from the mill. Now Thia when she went with Cechato outside into the courtyard to help unload the flour, saw Marsilio in the distance hurrying away at the top of his speed, whereupon she began to shout after him in a lusty voice: ‘Ah, ah! what a wicked bird! Ah, ah! begone, get away! For, by my faith, I will send you packing with your tail between your legs if ever you show yourself here again. Away then, I tell you! Is not he a greedy wretch? Do you not see that the wicked beast was bent on coming back? Heaven give him a bad year!’

And in this fashion it happened, that every time the kite came and flew down into the courtyard to carry away a chick or two, he would first have a bout with the hen herself,[50]who would afterwards set to work with her conjuration as before. Then he would take to flight with his tail down, but all the while the fowls belonging to Cechato and Thia suffered no damage at all from his harrying.

This fable, given by the Trevisan, was found to be so mirthful and amusing that the ladies, and the gentlemen as well, almost split their sides with laughter; so well did he mock the rustic speech that there was no one of the company who would not have judged him to be a peasant of Treviso. And when the merriment had abated somewhat, the Signora turned her fair face towards the Trevisan and spake to him thus: “In truth, Signor Benedetto, you have this evening diverted us in such featly wise that with one voice we declare your fable may deservedly be held to be the equal of Molino’s in merit. But to fill up the measure of my content and that of this honourable company, I entreat you—an it displease you not—that you will set forth to us an enigma which shall be as graceful in form as amusing in matter.” The Trevisan, when he saw how the Signora was inclined, was unwilling to disappoint her; so, standing up, with a clear voice and with no hesitation of any sort, he began his riddle in the following words:

Sir Yoke goes up and down the field,To every tug is forced to yield.One on the left, one on the rightPlods on, and next there comes a wight,A cunning rascal who with powerBeats one who goes on carriers four.Now if an answer you can give,Good friends, we will for ever live.

Sir Yoke goes up and down the field,

To every tug is forced to yield.

One on the left, one on the right

Plods on, and next there comes a wight,

A cunning rascal who with power

Beats one who goes on carriers four.

Now if an answer you can give,

Good friends, we will for ever live.

When the Trevisan, with the true manner and bearing of a peasant, had finished his enigma, which was comprehended by few or none of the company, he thus gave the interpretation thereof in peasant dialect in order that its meaning might be made clear to them all: “I must not keep this gentle company waiting any longer. Tell me, do you understand the meaning of my enigma? If you do not know, I will tell you. Sir Yoke goes to and fro, that is to say, the yoke, to which the oxen are attached, goes up and down the fields and roads, and is dragged hither and thither by them. Those who fare, the one on this side and the other on that side of it, are the oxen. He who beats one who stands on four, means that the ploughman who walks behind lashes the bull, who has four legs, with his leathern whip. And to end my explanation, I tell you once more that the answer to my riddle is the yoke, and I hope you will all understand it.”

Everyone was greatly interested over this riddle dealing with country life, and, laughing heartily thereat, they praised it highly. But the Trevisan, remembering that only one more story remained to be told this night, to wit, that of the charming Cateruzza, turned with a smiling face towards the Signora and spake thus: “Signora, it is not for the reason that I wish to disturb the settled order of this our entertainment, or to dictate to your highness, my mistress and sovereign lady, but merely to satisfy the desire of this devoted company, that I beg your excellency to make us the sharers of some fair fancies of your own, by telling us, for our delight and recreation, a story with your wonted grace. And if I peradventure have been more presumptuous (which God forbid) in making this request than is suitable to my humble estate, I beg you will forgive me, seeing that the love I bear towards this gracious assembly has been the chief cause why I have been led to prefer it.”

The Signora, when she heard the courteous petition of the Trevisan, at first cast her eyes down upon the ground; not, however, for anyfear or shame that she felt, but because she deemed that, for divers reasons, it was more seemly for her to listen than to discourse. But after a time, with a gracious and smiling look, as if her humour were a merry one, she turned her bright face towards the Trevisan and said: “Signor Benedetto, what though your request is a pleasant and seemly one, it appears to me that you are somewhat too insistent a beggar, forasmuch as the duty of story-telling pertains rather to these young damsels round about than to me; therefore you must hold me excused if I decline to give way at once to your demand, and bid Cateruzza, who has been chosen by lot to tell the fifth story of this evening, to favour you with her discourse.” The merry listeners, who were mightily eager to hear the Signora tell her story, forthwith all rose to their feet and began to support the request of the Trevisan, begging her most earnestly that she would in this matter favour them with her courtesy and kindness, and not stand too severely by the exalted dignity of her position, for time and place will allow anyone, however high in rank, to speak freely whatever thing may be pleasing. The Signora, when she heard the gentle loving terms of this petition, in order that she might not seem ungracious in her bearing, smilingly replied: “Since this is the wish of all of you, and your pleasure withal, that I should conclude this evening with some little story of my own, I will gladly grant your wish.” And without further demur she blithely began to tell her fable.

Madonna Modesta, wife of Messer Tristano Zanchetto, in her young days gathers together a great number of shoes, offerings made by her various lovers. Having grown old, she disposes of the same to divers servants, varlets, and other folk of mean estate.

It commonly happens that ill-gotten wealth, and indeed all riches which have been acquired by evil ways, are scattered abroad and dissipated in brief space of time, for by the divine will it has been decreed that, quickly as such riches come, quickly they shall depart. This, indeed, proved to be the case with a certain woman of Pistoia, who, had she been honest and wise inthe same degree as she was dissolute and foolish, would never have given occasion for the story which I am now about to tell to you. And although perhaps this fable of mine is one hardly suitable for your ears, forasmuch as it comes to an end in a picture of shame and dishonour, which obscures and tarnishes the fame of those who live honest lives, nevertheless I will not hesitate to relate it to you, for at the right time and place it may serve (I speak here to those to whom it may apply) as a useful incentive for all to pursue the ways of uprightness and well-doing, and to eschew all wicked courses and lewd inclinations.

I must first tell this worshipful company that, not far from these our days, there lived in Pistoia, an ancient city of Tuscany, a young woman called by name Madonna Modesta, but this name, on account of her reprehensible manner of life and the shameful courses she followed, was one in no wise befitting her. In person, indeed, this woman was very lovely and graceful, though she was of mean condition.

She had a husband called Tristano Zanchetto[51](a name as well suited to him as his wife’s was unfitting to her), a good-tempered fellow, given to merry company, and thinking of little else save of his business of buying and selling, whereby he gained a good living for himself. Madonna Modesta, who was by nature of a lecherous temper, and inclined for nought else but amorous sport, when she saw that her husband was given up heart and soul to commerce, and careful only about the matters appertaining thereto, took it into her head that she too would embark in merchandise and set up a new trade, concerning which her husband, Messer Tristano, should know nothing.

Wherefore every day she was wont to go out upon the balcony for her amusement, now on one side, now on the other, and throw glances at any gallant who might be passing in the street, and when her eye might chance to fall upon anyone whose appearance pleased her, she would strive by divers suggestive signs and gestures to arouse his curiosity and desire, and to lure him to her. And in the course of time it proved that Madonna Modesta had no mean skill in the art of traffic; indeed, so diligent was she in the display of her merchandise, and so carefully did she attend to the needs of her customers, that there was to be found in all the city no one, rich or poor, noble or plebeian, who was not anxious to take and taste of her goods. When, therefore,Madonna Modesta had attained a position of great notoriety in her calling, and had gathered together much wealth thereby, she made up her mind to exact only a very small guerdon from anyone who might come to her as a claimant for her favours. That is to say, she made it her custom to demand from her lovers no greater reward than a pair of shoes, stipulating, however, that each one should give shoes of a sort such as he might in an ordinary way wear himself. Thus, if the lover who had been with her happened to be a noble, she would expect from him a pair of velvet shoes; if a burgher, she would ask for a pair of shoes made of fine cloth; if a mechanic, a pair made of leather. So great a concourse of clients flocked to this good woman’s place of business that it was rarely or never empty, and seeing that she was young and beautiful and of fine figure, seeing likewise that the price which she demanded for her favours was such a modest one, all the men of Pistoia freely repaired to her house and took their pleasure therein. At the time of which I am writing, Madonna Modesta had already filled a very large storehouse with shoes, the wealth she had gathered together in her tender amorous calling, and so mighty was the tale of shoes of every sort and quality, that if any man here in Venice had searched diligently every shop in the city he would not have found a third part of the number of shoes which Madonna Modesta had heaped up in her storehouse.

It happened one day that Messer Tristano her husband had need to use this same storehouse for the stowing away of certain chattels and merchandise which by chance had been consigned to him at the same time from divers parts of the world; so, having called Madonna Modesta his beloved wife, he asked her to hand over to him the keys of the warehouse. And she, like the crafty jade that she was, presented them to him without excuse of any sort; and the husband, when he opened the storehouse, which he expected would be empty, found it quite full of shoes (as has already been told) of divers qualities. When he saw this he was mightily astonished thereat, and could in no wise understand whence had come this great quantity of shoes of all sorts; so, having called his wife, he put a question to her as to where these shoes with which his warehouse was filled had come from. To this the astute Madonna Modesta answered in these words: ‘What think you of this, good Messer Tristano my husband? Did you in sooth set yourself down as the only merchant in this city? Certes, if you did, you were hugely mistaken, for be sure thatwe women likewise know somewhat concerning the art of traffic; and, although you may be a great merchant, accustomed to concern yourself with many and weighty ventures, I content myself with commerce on a smaller scale. Wherefore I have stored my merchandise in this warehouse, and put it safely under lock and key in order that it may be kept secure. So I beg you to keep your care and watchfulness for the benefit of your own goods and your own traffic, and I will do the same with regard to mine.’ Messer Tristano, who knew nothing more than what his wife told him, and asked no further questions, was gratified amain with the exceeding ingenuity and great foresight of his clever and far-seeing wife, and besought her to prosecute with diligence the enterprise she had undertaken. Madonna Modesta therefore continued in secret to carry on her amorous trade, and, as in the exercise thereof she prospered mightily, she gathered together so vast a store of shoes that she could have easily supplied the wants not only of Pistoia, but of any other great city as well.

Thus whilst Madonna Modesta remained young and full of grace and beauty her trade showed no sign of falling off. But in the process of years cruel Time, the master of all things and all men, who fixes ever a beginning, a middle, and an end for all, so dealt with Madonna Modesta, who had been heretofore fresh and plump and lovely, that he changed the semblance of her face, and of her hair[52]likewise—leaving her desire unsubdued the while—and traced many wrinkles upon her forehead, and disfigured her countenance. Her eyes became rheumy and her breasts all dry and empty as shrivelled bladders, and whenever she happened to smile the skin of her face became so puckered that anyone who looked at her was fain to laugh and hold her in ridicule. And when the time came that Madonna Modesta was grown old and grey-headed, and lovers no longer sought her to pay court to her as formerly, she found that she added no more shoes to her store, and she lamented bitterly in her heart thereanent. From the first years of her youth until the present hour she had given herself over entirely to the vice of luxury, the destructive enemy of the body and of the purse as well, and she had likewise become more accustomed to dainty living and libidinous life than any otherwoman in the world, therefore she could find no method or means by which she might withdraw herself from these noxious ways. And although in her body, from day to day, the vital fluid, through which all plants and living things take root and grow, failed more and more, nevertheless the desire of satisfying her wicked and unrestrained appetite was as violent as ever. Therefore Madonna Modesta, seeing that she was entirely bereft of youthful beauty, and was no longer one to be flattered and caressed by handsome young gallants as in former days, made up her mind to order her plans anew. For the furtherance of these she once more went out upon the balcony, and began to ogle and to spread her lures to catch any varlets or porters or peasants or chimney-sweepers or idle fellows of any sort, who might be passing by, and any of these whom she might attract she would entice into her house for her own purposes, and with them take such pleasure as she had hitherto been wont to take. And as in times past she had always demanded from each one of her lovers a pair of shoes of a quality according with the donor’s condition as the reward for her favours granted, now, on the other hand, she found herself obliged to give a pair of shoes from her stock to anyone who would come to her. Madonna Modesta had now sunk into such a shameful state that all the lowest ruffians of Pistoia would betake themselves to her dwelling, some to have their pleasure of her, others to make mock of her and to befool her, and others to receive the disgraceful guerdon which she was wont to give.

In this manner of life pursued by Madonna Modesta, it came to pass that the storehouse, which had once been crammed full of shoes, became wellnigh void. Messer Tristano one day, having a mind to go by stealth and see how his wife was prospering in her commerce, and whether her store of merchandise was increasing, took the key of the warehouse without his wife’s knowledge and opened the door, only to find, when he looked in, that nearly all the shoes were gone. Wherefore Messer Tristano was beyond measure amazed, for he could not understand how his wife could have disposed of the many pairs of shoes he had formerly seen there. On this account he began to fancy that by this time his wife must, as it were, be made of gold by reason of her prosperous traffic, and he felt himself mightily consoled at the thought; for he deemed that he might hereafter be a sharer in her wealth. So he straightway called her to him and thus addressed her: ‘Modesta, I have always rated you as a wise and prudentwoman, but this day I chanced to open your storehouse, wishing to see how your commerce was thriving, and deeming that by this time your stock of shoes must have greatly increased, but I found, instead of any increase, that your wares had nearly all disappeared. At first I was mightily astonished thereat, but afterwards it came into my mind that you must have trafficked them away and received therefor a great sum of money, whereupon I was greatly reassured, and if this notion of mine should prove to be correct I shall hold that you have traded at great profit.’

Madonna Modesta, when her husband had finished his speech, heaved a deep sigh and thus made answer to him: ‘Messer Tristano, my husband, do not be amazed at what you have lately seen, for I must tell you that all those shoes you saw some long time ago in my warehouse, have walked away in the same fashion in which they came to me. And over and above this let me tell you that those things which are ill got will, for the most part, ill go in a very brief space of time. Therefore I bid you once more not to wonder or be surprised at what you have seen.’ Messer Tristano, who did not in any way fathom the meaning of his wife’s words, fell into a great state of fright and confusion, fearing hugely lest a similar mischance might befall the goods and merchandise he himself had collected. However, he forbore to discuss the matter with her farther, but bestirred himself anxiously to see that his own merchandise might not vanish as his wife’s had vanished.

Madonna Modesta finding herself now slighted by men of all sorts and conditions, and entirely beggared of all the shoes she had gained in the course of her lecherous youth, fell into a grave malady, and in a very brief space of time died miserably of consumption. And in this manner Madonna Modesta, who took so little heed for the future, made a shameful end of her life and also of the possessions she had gathered together, leaving nothing behind her to serve as an example to the rest of the world, but rather a disgraceful memory.

When the Signora had ended her short fable all the company began to laugh aloud, and heaped abundant blame upon Madonna Modesta, who lived moderately enough in all things save only in the matter of lecherous indulgence. And again they could not help laughing when they recalled to mind the story of the shoes which were so easily got and so easily spent. But because it was on Cateruzza’s account that the Trevisan had urged the Signora to tellthis fable, the latter now began to spur on the damsel with words which, though gently spoken, had a sting therein, and afterwards, as a penalty for having failed to tell her fable, expressly commanded Cateruzza to propound an enigma which should not be irrelevant to the subject of the fable they had just heard. Whereupon Cateruzza, when she heard the command of the Signora, rose from her seat, and turning herself towards her spake thus: “Dear Signora, the biting rebukes which you have just addressed to me are not in any way displeasing to me; on the contrary, I gladly take them home to myself with my whole heart. But the task of making my enigma agree in some measure with the fable you have just told us is no light one, seeing that I am entirely unprepared. Since, however, it pleases you to punish in this fashion my fault, if indeed it be a fault, I, as an obedient girl and your most complaisant handmaiden, will begin at once.

My lady seats her in a chair,And raises then her skirt with care;And as I know she waits for me,I bring her what she fain would see.Then soft I lift her dainty leg,Whereon she cries, ‘Hold, hold, I beg!It is too strait, and eke too small;Be gentle, or you’ll ruin all.’And so to give her smallest pain,I try once more, and eke again.”

My lady seats her in a chair,

And raises then her skirt with care;

And as I know she waits for me,

I bring her what she fain would see.

Then soft I lift her dainty leg,

Whereon she cries, ‘Hold, hold, I beg!

It is too strait, and eke too small;

Be gentle, or you’ll ruin all.’

And so to give her smallest pain,

I try once more, and eke again.”

The enigma told by Cateruzza provoked as great laughter as the ingenious fable which the Signora had recently given; but, for the reason that certain of the listeners put thereupon a somewhat lewd interpretation, she set herself at once to make the honesty of her intent clear to them in as civil terms as she could use: “Noble ladies, the real subject of my enigma is nothing greater or less than a tight shoe; for when the lady has sat down, the shoemaker, with the shoe in his hand, raises her foot, whereupon she tells him to put the shoe on gently, as it is too tight, and causes her much pain. Then he takes it off and puts it on again and again till it fits her well, and she is content therewith.”

When the explication of Cateruzza’s enigma had been brought to an end and highly praised by the whole company, the Signora, seeing that the hour was now late, gave order that under pain of her displeasure no one should leave the place, and, having bidden themsummon into her presence the trusty steward of the household, she directed him to set out the tables in the great hall. And while the feast was in course of preparation she proposed that the ladies and gentlemen should divert themselves with the dance, and, after the dancing was finished, they sang two songs. Then the Signora rose to her feet and went into the supper room, having the Signor Ambassador on one hand and Messer Pietro Bembo on the other, the rest of the company following in their due order. And when they had all washed their hands, each one sat down according to his rank at the table, which was richly spread with rare and delicate dishes and new wines. When this merry feast had come to end amidst the loving discourse of the guests, each one being in blither mood than ever, they rose from the board and forthwith began to sing and dance in a circle. But forasmuch as the rosy light of dawn was now beginning to appear, the Signora bade the servants to kindle the torches and go in attendance on the Signor Ambassador as far as the steps, having first begged him and all the others to return to the meeting-place at the appointed hour.

The End of the Fifth Night.

[Fleuron]

1.“Istoria della volgar poesia” (Ven. 1731).

2. In 1556 the two parts were first issued bearing the same date, but with a different title-page.

3. To add to the confusion, the English translator of Grimm gives “stories” as the equivalent for “Märchen.”

4. M. Jannet in his preface to the “Facétieuses Nuits de Straparole” (Paris, 1857), says he has not been able to find a copy of this work in any library. There is one in the British Museum, under the title, “Opera nova da Zoan Francesco Streparola da Caravazo novamēte stampata Sonetti CXV., Strabotti XXXV., Epistole VII., Capitoli XII.” (Ven. 1508, per Georgio de Ruschoni).

5. The “Decameron” did not reach its sixteenth edition till fifty years after its first publication.

6. In his introduction to the recent edition of Painter, Mr. Joseph Jacobs cites the presence of this fable as an argument that Painter must occasionally have translated directly from the Italian. There is no reason, however, why he should not have used Louveau’s work.

7. It was published with seven other stories in a volume, “Novelle otto rarissime stampate a spese de Signor Giacomo conte de Clambrassil, J. Stanley, et Wogan Browne. Londra, Giacomo Edwards, 1790.”

8. Brackelmann says that it was a selection from the first six nights, while Grimm maintains that it contains the whole of these, and Grimm’s English translator says that it “only contains six stories.” In fact, it is made up chiefly of the contents of the first six nights, but in addition to these it contains fables from Nights VII., VIII., and XIII. It would appear that neither Dunlop nor Schmidt knew of the existence of this work.

9. Night IV., Fable I.; Night IV., Fable III.; Night V., Fable III., and Night XII., Fable III.

10. Night V., Fable I.

11. In the National Gallery.

12.Di che le donne, et parimente gli huomini fecero si gran risa che ancora ridono.

13. Night VII., Fable II.

14. Night IV., Fable V.

15. Night VIII., Fable V.

16. Night X., Fable IV.

17. Night VII., Fable I.

18. “Die XIII. nächtlichen Erzählungen sammt den Logogryphen welche Argellati, ‘ingeniosissime conflata quamvis parum pudice,’ nennt wurden zu Rom durch das Decret vom 16ten Dec. 1605, einigen darin enthaltenen unzüchtigen Stellen wegen verbothen” (preface to Vienna translation, 1791). The book must have been condemned by the index some time before this, as the issue of 1604, Ven., “con licenza de’ Superiori” is rigorously castrated.

19. “Ma ben holle fedelmente scritte secondo il modo, che furono da dieci damigelle nel concistorio raccontate.”—Straparola,Introduction to Book II.

20. Orig.,ed importar altro, che finocchi.

21. Orig.,altrimenti si guasterebbe la coda al fasiano.

22. Orig.,cominciorono macinare à raccolta.

23. Orig.,essendo da suoi servi senza pettine oltra modo carminato.

24. Orig.,infilzar perle al scuro.

25. Orig.,gli troncò la strada.

26. Orig.,tra se stesso se radeva.

27. Orig.,che se io potrò rendervi il contra cambio non starò a dormire.

28. Orig.,credonsi signare il fronte à se stessi cavano gli occhi.

29. Orig.,pane per schiacciata.

30. Orig.,le renderò gnanf per gnaf.

31. Orig.,stento per non stentare.

32. Orig.,cuocersi nel suo unto.

33. Pietro Bembo.

34. Told in the dialect of Bergamo.

35. Orig.,e ixi romà co li ma pieni de moschi.

36. Orig.,con sarevef à di tre penduletti sgonfi de dre.

37.i.e., a famished wolf.

38. Orig.,anch ella no tira le calzi.

39. Orig.,e dal dichg al fahg se fe le nozzi.

40. Orig.,una mostazzada si fatta in sol mostaz, che la fe andà d’inturem.

41. Orig.,e fag una pellizza de tanti bastonadi, quanti la ne pos mai portà, e la lassà quasi per morta.

42. Orig.,che ti romagnis con le ma pieni de moschi.

43. Orig.,picegamort.

44. Orig.,anda a segonda.

45. Orig.,se n’anda a parla a Pilat.

46. Orig.,schiffare tal scoglio.

47. Told in the dialect of Treviso.

48. Orig.,chi mal balla, ben solazza.

49. Orig.,V’ande laldando, e lavando la bocca di fatti nuostri,.

50. Orig.,in prima el se spellatava con la chiozza.

51.Zanchetto,zannetto, a buffoon, a zany.

52. Orig.,e mutò le usate penne. The use ofpenneorpiumeforcapelliis not uncommon. Thus in Dante,“Che riavesse le maschile penne” (Inferno, xx.); “Movendo quell’ oneste piume” (Purgatorio, i.).

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTESTypos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained.Used numbers for footnotes, placing them all at the end of the last chapter.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

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