Chapter VII: Part 7

One of my other Consorts being by me, and perceiving in what an extreame agony I was; presently said unto me. My friend, what hast thou done more, then any of us here condemned with thee, that thou tremblest and quakest, being in so hot a fire? Oh my friend (quoth I) I am in feare of a greater judgement then this, for a grievous offence by mee heretofore committed while I lived. Then hee demaunded of mee what offence it was, whereto thus I answered. It was my chance in the other world, to be Godfather at a childs Christning, and afterward I grew so affectionate to the childs mother, as (indeed) I kissed her twice or thrise. My companyon laughing at me in mocking manner, replyed thus. Goe like an Asse as thou art, and be no more afraid hereafter, for here is no punishment inflicted, in any kinde whatsoever, for such offences of frailty committed, especially with Gossips, as I my selfe can witnesse.

Now day drew on, and the Cockes began to crow, a dreadfull hearing to walking spirits, when _Tingoccio_ said to _Meucio_. Farewell my friendly companion, for I may tarry no longer with thee, and instantly hee vanished away. _Meucio_ having heard this confession of his friend, and verily beleeving it for a truth, that no punishment was to be inflicted in the future world, for offences of frailty in this life, and chiefly with Gossips: began to condemne his owne folly, having bin a Gossip to many wives, yet modesty restrained him from such familiar offending. And therefore being sorry for this grosse ignorance, hee made a vowe to be wiser hereafter. And if Fryar _Reynard_ had been acquainted with this kind of shrift (as doubtlesse he was, though his Gossip _Agnesia_ knew it not) he needed no such Syllogismes, as he put in practise, when he converted her to his lustfull knavery, in the comparison of kinred by him moved, concerning her husband, the childe and himselfe. But, these are the best fruits of such Fryerly Confessions, to compasse the issue of their inordinate appetites; yet clouded with the cloake of Religion, which hath beene the overthrow of too many.

* * * * *

By this time the gentle blast of _Zephirus_ began to blow, because the Sunne grew neere his setting, wherewith the King concluded his Novell, and none remaining more to be thus imployed: taking the Crowne from off his owne head, he placed it on Madame _Laurettaes_, saying, Madame, I Crowne you with your owne Crowne, as Queene of our Company. You shall henceforth command as Lady and Mistresse, in such occasions as shall be to your liking, and for the contentment of us all; With which words he set him downe. And Madame _Lauretta_ being now created Queene, shee caused the Master of the houshold to bee called, to whom she gave command, that the Tables should be prepared in the pleasant vally, but at a more convenient houre, then formerly had beene, because they might (with better ease) returne backe to the Pallace. Then shee tooke order likewise, for all such other necessary matters, as should bee required in the time of her Regiment: and then turning her selfe to the whole Company, she began in this manner.

It was the Will of _Dioneus_ yesternight, that our discourses for this day, should concerne the deceits of wives to their Husbands. And were it not to avoyde taxation, of a spleenitive desire to be revenged, like the dog being bitten, biteth againe: I could command our to morrows conference, to touch mens treacheries towards their wives. But because I am free from any such fiery humour, let it be your generall consideration, to speake of such queint beguylings, as have heretofore past, either of the woman to the man, the man to the woman, or of one man to another: and I am of opinion, that they will yeeld us no lesse delight, then those related (this day) have done. When she had thus spoken, she rose; granting them all liberty, to goe recreate themselves untill Supper time.

The Ladies being thus at their owne disposing, some of them bared their legges and feete, to wash them in the coole current. Others, not so minded, walked on the greene grasse, and under the goodly spreading trees. _Dioneus_ and Madame _Fiammetta_, they sate singing together, the love-warre betweene _Arcit_ and _Palemon_. And thus with diversity of disports, in choice delight and much contentment, all were imployed, till Supper drew neere. When the houre was come, and the Tables covered by the Ponds side: we need not question their dyet and dainties, infinite Birds sweetly singing about them, as no musicke in the world could be more pleasing; beside calme windes, fanning their faces from the neighbouring hilles (free from flyes, or the least annoyance) made a delicate addition to their pleasure.

No sooner were the Tables withdrawne, and all risen: but they fetcht a few turnings about the vally, because the Sunne was not (as yet) quite set. Then in the coole evening, according to the Queenes appointment: in a soft and gentle pace, they walked homeward: devising on a thousand occasions, as well those which the dayes discourses had yeelded, as others of their owne inventing beside. It was almost darke night, before they arrived at the Pallace; where, with variety of choice Wines, and abounding plenty of rare Banquetting, they out-wore the little toile and wearinesse, which the long walke had charged them withall. Afterward, according to their wonted order, the Instruments being brought and played on, they fell to dancing about the faire Fountaine; _Tindaro_ intruding (now and then) the sound of his Bagpipe, to make the musicke seeme more melodious. But in the end, the Queene commanded Madame _Philomena_ to sing; whereupon the Instruments being tuned fit for the purpose, thus she began.

The Song.

The Chorus Sung by the whole Company.

_Wearisome is my life to me,
Because I cannot once againe returne;
Unto the place which made me first to mourne._

_Nothing I know, yet feele a powerfull fire,
Burning within my brest,
Through deepe desire;
To be once more where first I felt unrest,
Which cannot be exprest.
O my sole good! O my best happinesse!
Why am I thus restrainde?
Is there no comfort in this wretchednesse?
Then let me live content, to be thus painde.
Wearisome is my life to me, &c._

_I cannot tell what was that rare delight,
Which first enflamde my soule,
And gave command in spight,
That I should find no ease by day or night,
But still live in controule.
I see, I heare, and feele a kinde of blisse,
Yet find no forme at all:
Other in their desire, finde blessednesse,
But I have none, nor thinke I ever shall.
Wearisome is my life to me, &c._

_Tell me if I may hope in following dayes,
To have but one poore sight,
Of those bright Sunny rayes,
Dazeling my sence, did o'recome me quite,
Bequeath'd to wandring wayes.
If I be posted off and may not prove.
To have the smallest grace:
Or but to know, that this proceeds from love,
Why should I live despisde in every place?
Wearisome is my life to me, &c._

_Me thinkes milde favour whispers in mine eare,
And bids me not despaire;
There will a time appeare
To quell and quite confound consuming care,
And joy surmount proud feare.
In hope that gracious time will come at length,
To cheare my long dismay:
My spirits reassume your former strength,
And never dread to see that joyfull day.
Wearisome is my life to me,
Because I cannot once againe returne;
Unto the place which made me first to mourne._

This Song gave occasion to the whole Company, to imagine, that some new and pleasing apprehension of Love, constrained Madame _Philomena_ to sing in this manner. And because (by the discourse thereof) it plainely appeared, that shee had felt more then shee saw, shee was so much the more happy, and the like was wished by all the rest. Wherefore, after the Song was ended; the Queene remembring, that the next day following was Friday, turning her selfe graciously to them all, thus she spake.

You know noble Ladies, and you likewise most noble Gentlemen, that to morrow is the day consecrated to the Passion of our blessed Lord and Saviour, which (if you have not forgotten it, as easily you cannot) we devoutly celebrated, Madame _Neiphila_ being then Queene, ceasing from all our pleasant discoursing, as we did the like on the Saturday following, sanctifying the sacred Sabboth, in due regard of it selfe. Wherefore, being desirous to imitate precedent good example, which in worthy manner shee began to us all: I hold it very decent and necessary, that we should asttaine to morrow, and the day ensuing, from recounting any of our pleasant Novels, reducing to our memories, what was done (as on those dayes) for the salvation of our soules. This holy and Religious motion made by the Queene, was commendably allowed by all the assembly, and therefore, humbly taking their leave of her, and an indifferent part of the night being already spent; severally they betooke themselves to their Chambers.

_The end of the Seaventh day._

THE EIGHT DAY.

Whereon all the Discourses, passe under the Rule and Government, of the Honourable Ladie LAURETTA. And the Argument imposed, is, Concerning such Wittie deceyvings; as have, or may be put in practise, by Wives to their Husbands; Husbands to their Wives: Or one man towards another.

The Induction.

Earely on the Sonday Morning, _Aurora_ shewing her selfe bright and lovely; the Sunnes Golden beames beganne to appeare, on the toppes of the neere adjoyning Mountaines; so, that Hearbes, Plants, Trees, and all things else, were verie evidently to be discerned. The Queene and her Companie, being all come foorth of their Chambers, and having walked a while abroad, in the goodly greene Meadowes, to taste the sweetnesse of the fresh and wholesome ayre, they returned backe againe into the Palace, because it was their dutie so to do.

Afterward, betweene the houres of seaven and eight, they went to heare Masse, in a faire Chappell neere at hand, and thence returned to their Lodgings. When they had dined merrily together, they fell to their wonted singing and dauncing: Which beeing done, such as were so pleased (by License of the Queene first obtained) went either to their rest, or such exercises as they tooke most delight in. When midday, and the heate thereof was well over-past, so that the aire seemed mild and temperate: according as the Queene had commanded; they were all seated againe about the Fountaine, with intent to prosecute their former pastime. And then Madame _Neiphila_, by the charge imposed on her, as first speaker for this day, beganne as followeth.

Gulfardo _made a match or wager, with the Wife of_ Gasparuolo, _for the obtaining of her amorous favour, in regard of a summe of money first to be given her. The money hee borrowed of her Husband, and gave it in payment to her, as in case of discharging him from her Husbands debt. After his returne home from_ Geneway, _hee told him in the presence of his wife, how he had payde the whole summe to her, with charge of delivering it to her Husband, which she confessed to be true, albeit greatly against her will._

The First Novell.

_Wherein is declared, that such women as will make sale of their honestie, are sometimes over-reached in their payment, and justly served as they should be._

Seeing it is my fortune, Gracious Ladies, that I must give beginning to this dayes discoursing, by some such Novel which I thinke expedient; as duty bindeth me, I am therewith well contented. And because the deceits of Women to men, have beene at large and liberally related; I will tell you a subtile tricke of a man to a Woman. Not that I blame him for the deede, or thinke the deceyte not well fitted to the woman: but I speake it in a contrarie nature, as commending the man, and condemning the woman very justly, as also to shew, how men can as well beguile those crafty companions, which least beleeve any such cunning in them, as they that stand most on their artificiall skill.

Howbeit, to speake more properly, the matter by me to be reported, deserveth not the reproachfull title of deceite, but rather of a recompence duly returned: because women ought to be chaste and honest, & to preserve their honour as their lives, without yeelding to the contamination thereof, for any occasion whatsoever. And yet (neverthelesse, in regard of our frailty) many times we proove not so constant as we should be: yet I am of opinion, that she which selleth her honestie for money, deserveth justly to be burned. Whereas on the contrary, she that falleth into the offence, onely through intire affection (the powerfull lawes of Love beeing above all resistance) in equity meriteth pardon, especially of a Judge not over-rigorous: as not long since wee heard from _Philostratus_, in revealing what hapned to Madam _Phillippa de Prato_, upon the dangerous Edict.

Understand then, my most worthy Auditors, that there lived sometime in _Millaine_ an _Almaigne_ Soldiour, named _Gulfardo_, of commendable carriage in his person, and very faithfull to such as he served, a matter not common among the _Almaignes_. And because he made just repayment, to every one which lent him monies; he grew to such especiall credit, and was so familiar with the very best Marchants; as (manie times) he could not be so ready to borrow, as they were willing alwaies to lend him. He thus continuing in the Cittie of _Millaine_, fastened his affection on a verie beautifull Gentlewoman, named Mistresse _Ambrosia_, Wife unto a rich Merchant, who was called Signior _Gasparuolo Sagastraccio_, who had good knowledge of him, and respectively used him. Loving this Gentlewoman with great discretion, without the least apprehension of her husband: he sent upon a day to entreate conference with her, for enjoying the fruition of her love, and she should find him ready to fulfill whatsoever she pleased to command him, as, at any time he would make good his promise.

The Gentlewoman, after divers of these private solicitings, resolutely answered, that she was as ready to fulfill the request of _Gulfardo_, provided, that two especiall considerations might ensue thereon. First, the faithfull concealing thereof from any person living. Next, because she knew him to be rich, and she had occasion to use two hundred Crowns, about businesse of important consequence: he should freely bestow so many on her, and (ever after) she was to be commanded by him. _Gulfardo_ perceiving the covetousnesse of this woman, who (notwithstanding his doting affection) he thought to be intirely honest to her Husband: became so deepely offended at her vile answere, that his fervent love converted into as earnest loathing her; determining constantlie to deceive her, and to make her avaritious motion, the only means whereby to effect it.

He sent her word, that he was willing to performe her request, or any farre greater matter for her: in which respect, he onely desired for to know, when she would be pleased to have him come see her, and to receive the money of him? No creature hee acquainted with his setled purpose, but onely a deere friend and kinde companion, who alwayes used to keepe him company, in the neerest occasions that concerned him. The Gentlewoman, or rather most disloyall wife, uppon this answer sent her, was extraordinarily jocond and contented, returning him a secret Letter, wherein she signified: that _Gasparuolo_ her husband, had important affaires which called him to _Geneway_: but he should understand of his departure, and then (with safety) he might come see her, as also his bringing of the Crownes.

In the meane while, _Gulfardo_ having determined what he would do, watched a convenient time, when he went unto _Gasparuolo_, and sayde: Sir, I have some businesse of maine importance, and shall neede to use but two hundred Crownes onely: I desire you to lend me so many Crownes, upon such profite as you were wont to take of mee, at other times when I have made use of you, and I shall not faile you at my day.

_Gasparuolo_ was well contented with the motion, and made no more adoe, but counted downe the Crownes: departing thence (within few dayes after) for _Geneway_, according** to his Wives former message; she giving _Gulfardo_ also intelligence of his absence, that now (with safety) hee might come see her, and bring the two hundred Crownes with him.

_Gulfardo_, taking his friend in his company, went to visite Mistresse _Ambrosia_, whom he found in expectation of his arrivall, and the first thing he did, he counted downe the two hundred Crownes; and delivering them to her in the presence of his friend, saide: Mistresse _Ambrosia_, receive these two hundred Crownes, which I desire you to pay unto your Husband on my behalfe, when he is returned from _Geneway. Ambrosia_, receyved the two hundred Crownes, not regarding wherefore _Gulfardo_ used these words: because shee verily beleeved, that hee spake in such manner, because his friend should take no notice, of his giving them to her, upon any covenant passed betweene them; whereuppon, she sayde. Sir, I will pay them to my Husband for you; and cause him to give you a sufficient discharge: but first I will count them over my selfe, to see whether the summe be just, or no. And having drawne them over upon the Table, the summe containing truly two hundred Crownes (wherewith she was most highly contented) she lockt them safe uppe in her Cuppe-boord, and _Gulfardoes_ Friend being gone (as formerly it was compacted betweene them) shee came to converse more familiarly with him, having provided a banquet for him. What passed between them afterward, both then, and oftentimes beside, before her Husbande returned home, is a matter out of my element, and rather requires my ignorance then knowledge.

When _Gasparuolo_ was come from _Geneway, Gulfardo_ observing a convenient time, when he was sitting at the doore with his Wife; tooke his Friend with him, and comming to _Gasparuolo_, said. Worthy Sir, the two hundred Crownes which you lent me, before your journy to _Geneway_, in regard they could not serve my turne, to compasse the businesse for which I borrowed them: within a day or two after, in the presence of this Gentleman my friend, I made repayment of them to your wife, and therefore I pray you crosse me out of your booke.

_Gasparuolo_ turning to his Wife, demanded; Whether it was so, or no? She beholding the witnesse standing by, who was also present at her receyving them: durst not make deniall, but thus answered. Indeede Husband, I received two hundred Crownes of the Gentleman, and never remembred, to acquaint you therewith since your comming home: but hereafter I will be made no more your receiver, except I carried a quicker memory.

Then saide _Gasparuolo_: Signior _Gulfardo_, I finde you alwaies a most honest Gentleman, and will be readie at any time, to doe you the like, or a farre greater kindnesse; depart at your pleasure, and feare not the crossing of my Booke. So _Gulfardo_ went away merrily contented, and _Ambrosia_ was served as she justly merited; she paying the price of her owne leudnesse to her Husband, which she had a more covetous intent to keepe, questionlesse, not caring how many like lustfull matches shee coulde make, to be so liberally rewarded, if this had succeeded to her minde: whereas he shewed himselfe wise and discreete, in paying nothing for his pleasure, and requiting a covetous queane in her kinde.

_A lustie youthfull Priest of_ Varlungo, _fell in love with a pretty woman, named_ Monna Belcolore. _To compasse his amorous desire, hee lefte his Cloake (as a pledge of further payment) with her. By a subtile sleight afterward, he made meanes to borrow a Morter of her, which when hee sent home againe in the presence of her Husband; he demaunded to have his Cloake sent him, as having left it in pawne for the Morter. To pacifie her Husband, offended that shee did not lend the Priest the Morter without a pawne: she sent him backe his Cloake againe, albeit greatly against her will._

The Second Novell.

_Approving, that no promise is to be kept with such Women as will make sale of their honesty for coyne. A warning also for men, not to suffer Priests to be over familiar with their wives._

Both the Gentlemen and Ladies gave equall commendations, of _Gulfardoes_ queint beguiling the _Millaine_ Gentlewoman _Ambrosia_, and wishing all other (of her minde) might alwaies be so served. Then the Queene, smiling on _Pamphilus_, commaunded him to follow next: whereupon, thus he began.

I can tell you (faire Ladies) a short Novell, against such as are continually offensive to us, yet we being no way able to offend him; at least, in the same manner as they do injurie us. And for your better understanding what and who they be, they are our lusty Priests, who advance their Standard, and make their publike predications against our wives, winning such advantage over them, that they can pardon them both of the sinne and punishment, whensoever they are once subjected unto theyr perswasions, even as if they brought the Soldane bound and captived, from _Alexandria_ to _Avignon_. Which imperious power, we (poore soules) cannot exercise on them, considering, we have neither heart nor courage, to do our devoire in just revenge on their Mothers, Sisters, Daughters, and Friends, with the like spirit as they rise in armes against our wives. And therefore, I meant to tell you a tale of a Country mans wife, more to make you laugh at the conclusion thereof; then for any singularity of words or matter: yet this benefite you may gaine thereby, of an apparant proofe that such Sinamon, amorous and perswading Priests, are not alwayes to be credited on their words or promises.

Let me then tell you, that at _Varlungo_, which you know to bee not farre distant hence, there dwelt an youthfull Priest, lustie, gallant, and proper of person (especially for Womens service) commonly called by the name of sweet Sir _Simon_. Now, albeit he was a man of slender reading, yet notwithstanding, he had store of Latine sentences by heart; some true, but twice so many maimed and false, Saint-like shewes, holy speeches, and ghostly admonitions, which hee would preach under an Oake in the fields, when he had congregated his Parishioners together. When women lay in childe-bed, hee was their daily comfortable visitant, and would man them from their houses, when they had any occasion to walke abroad: carrying alwaies a bottle of holy water about him, wherewith he would sprinkle them by the way, peeces of hallowed Candles, and Chrisome Cakes, which pleased women extraordinarily, and all the Country affoorded not such another frolicke Priest, as this our nimble and active sweet Sir _Simon_.

Among many other of his feminine Parishioners, all of them being hansome and comely Women: yet there was one more pleasing in his wanton eye, then any of the rest, named _Monna Belcolore_, and wife to a plaine mecanicke man, called _Bentivegna del Mazzo_. And, to speake uprightly, few Countrey Villages yeelded a Woman, more fresh and lovely of complexion, although not admirable for beauty, yet sweete Sir _Simon_ thought her a Saint, and faine would be offering at her shrine. Divers prety pleasing qualities she had, as sounding the Cymball, playing artificially on the Timbrill, and singing thereto as it had beene a Nightingale, dancing also so dexteriously, as happy was the man that could dance in her company. All which so enflamed sweet Sir _Simon_, that he lost his wonted sprightly behaviour, walked sullen, sad and melancholly, as if he had melted all his mettall, because hee could hardly have a sight of her. But on the Sonday morning, when hee heard or knew that she was in the Church, hee would tickle it with a _Kyrie_ and a _Sanctus_, even as if hee contended to shewe his singular skill in singing, when it had beene as good to heare an Asse bray. Whereas on the contrary, when she came not to Church, Masse, and all else were quicklie shaken uppe, as if his devotion waited onely on her presence. Yet he was so cunning in the carriage of his amorous businesse, both for her credite and his owne; as _Bentivegna_ her husband could not perceive it, or any neighbour so much as suspect it.

But, to compasse more familiar acquaintance with _Belcolore_, hee sent her sundry gifts and presents, day by day, as sometime a bunch of dainty greene Garlicke, whereof he had plenty growing in his Garden, which he manured with his owne hands, and better then all the countrey yeelded; otherwhiles a small basket of Pease or Beanes, and Onyons or Scallions, as the season served. But when he could come in place where she was; then he darted amourous wincks and glances at her, with becks, nods, and blushes, Loves private Ambassadours, which shee (being but countrey-bred) seeming by outward appearance, not to see, retorted disdainefully, and forthwith would absent her selfe, so that sweet Sir _Simon_ laboured still in vaine, and could not compasse what he coveted.

It came to passe within a while after, that on a time, (about high noone) Sir _Simon_ being walking abroad, chanced to meete with _Bentivegna_, driving an Asse before him, laden with divers commodities, and demaunding of him, whither he went, _Bentivegna_, thus answered. In troth Sir _Simon_, I am going to the City, about some especiall businesse of mine owne, and I carry these things to Signior _Bonacorci da Cinestreto_, because he should helpe me before the Judge, when I shall be called in question concerning my patrimony. Sir _Simon_ looking merrily on him, said. Thou doest well _Bentivegna_, to make a friend sure before thou need him; goe, take my blessing with thee, and returne againe with good successe. But if thou meet with _Laguccio_, or _Naldino_, forget not to tell them, that they must bring me my shooe-tyes before Sunday. _Bentivegna_ said, hee would discharge his errand, and so parted from him, driving his Asse on towards _Florence_.

Now began Sir _Simon_ to shrug, and scratch his head, thinking this to be a fit convenient time, for him to goe visite _Belcolore_, and to make triall of his fortune: wherefore, setting aside all other businesse, he stayed no where till he came to the house, whereinto being entred, he saide: All happinesse be to them that dwell heere. _Belcolore_ being then above in the Chamber, when she heard his tongue, replyed. Sweet Sir _Simon_! you are heartely welcome, whether are you walking, if the question may bee demaunded? Beleeve me dainty Ducke, answered Sir _Simon_, I am come to sit a while with thee, because I met thy Husband going to the Citie. By this time, _Belcolore_ was descended downe the stayres, and having once againe given welcome to Sir _Simon_, she sate downe by him, cleansing of Colewort seeds from such other course chaffe, which her Husband had prepared before his departure.

Sir _Simon_ hugging her in his armes, and fetching a vehement sigh, said. My _Belcolore_, how long shall I pine and languish for thy love? How now Sir _Simon_? answered she, is this behaviour fitting for an holy man? Holy-men _Belcolore_, (quoth Sir _Simon_) are made of the same matter as others be, they have the same affections, and therefore subject to their infirmities. Santa Maria, answered _Belcolore_, Dare Priests doe such things as you talke of? Yes _Belcolore_ (quoth he) and much better then other men can, because they are made for the very best businesse, in which regard they are restrained from marriage. True (quoth _Belcolore_) but much more from medling with other mens wives. Touch not that Text _Belcolore_, replyed Sir _Simon_, it is somewhat above your capacity: talke of that I come for, namely thy love, my Ducke, and my Dove. Sir _Simon_ is thine, I pray thee be mine.

_Belcolore_ observing his smirking behaviour, his proper person, pretty talke, and queint insinuating; felt a motion to female frailty, which yet she would withstand so long as she could, and not be over-hasty in her yeelding. Sir _Simon_ promiseth her a new paire of shoes, garters, ribbands, girdles, or what else she would request. Sir _Simon_ (quoth she) all these things which you talke of, are fit for women: but if your love to mee be such as you make choice of, fulfill what I will motion to you, and then (perhaps) I shall tell you more. Sir _Simons_ heate made him hasty to promise whatsoever she would desire; whereupon, thus shee replyed. On Saturday, said she, I must goe to _Florence_, to carry home such yarne as was sent me to spinne, and to amend my spinning wheele: if you will lend mee ten Florines, wherewith I know you are alwayes furnished, I shall redeeme from the Usurer my best petticote,** and my wedding gowne (both well neere lost for lacke of repaiment) without which I cannot be seene at Church, or in any other good place else, and then afterward other matters may be accomplished.

Alas sweet _Belcolore_ answered Sir _Simon_, I never beare any such sum about me, for men of our profession, doe seldome carry any money at all: but beleeve me on my word, before Saturday come, I will not faile to bring them hither. Oh Sir (quoth _Belcolore_) you men are quicke promisers, but slow performers. Doe you thinke to use me, as poore _Billezza_ was, who trusted to as faire words, and found her selfe deceived? Now Sir _Simon_, her example in being made scandall to the world, is a sufficient warning for me: if you be not so provided, goe and make use of your friend, for I am not otherwise to be moved. Nay _Belcolore_ (quoth he) I hope you will not serve me so, but my word shall be of better worth with you. Consider the conveniency of time, wee being so privately here alone: whereas at my returning hither againe, some hinderance may thwart me, and the like opportunity be never obtained. Sir, Sir, (said she) you have heard my resolution; if you will fetche the Florines, doe; otherwise, walke about your businesse, for I am a woman of my word.

Sir _Simon_ perceiving, that she would not trust him upon bare words, nor any thing was to be done, without _Salvum me fac_, whereas his meaning was _Sine custodia_; thus answered. Well _Belcolore_, seeing you dare not credit my bringing the tenne Florines, according to my promised day: I will leave you a good pawne, my very best cloake, lyned quite thorough with rich Silke, and made up in the choysest manner.

_Belcolore_ looking on the Cloake, said. How much may this Cloake bee worth? How much? quoth Sir _Simon_, upon my word _Belcolore_, it is of a right fine Flanders Serdge, and not above eight dayes since, I bought it thus (ready made) of _Lotto_ the Fripperer, and payed for it sixe and twenty Florines, a pledge then sufficient for your ten. Is it possible, said shee, that it should cost so much? Well, Sir _Simon_, deliver it me first, I will lay it up safe for you against Saturday, when if you fetch it not; I will redeeme mine owne things with it, and leave you to release it your selfe.

The Cloake is laid up by _Belcolore_, and Sir _Simon_ so forward in his affection; that (in briefe) he enjoyed what hee came for; and departed afterward in his light tripping Cassocke, but yet thorow by-Lanes, and no much frequented places, smelling on a Nosegay, as if hee had beene at some wedding in the Countrey, and went thus lightly without his Cloake, for his better ease. As commonly after actions of evill, Repentance knocketh at the doore of Conscience, and urgeth a guilty remembrance, with some sence of sorrow: so was it now with sweet Sir _Simon_, who survaying over all his Vailes of offering Candles, the validity of his yearely benefits, and all comming nothing neere the summe of (scarce halfe) sixe and twenty Florines; he began to repent his deed of darkenesse, although it was acted in the day-time, and considered with himselfe, by what honest (yet unsuspected meanes) hee might recover his Cloake againe, before it went to the Broaker, in redemption of _Belcolores_ pawned apparrell, and yet to send her no Florines neither.

Having a cunning reaching wit, especially in matters for his owne advantage, and pretending to have a dinner at his lodging, for a few of some invited friends: he made use of a neighbours Boy, sending him to the house of _Belcolore_, with request of lending him her Stone Morter, to make Greene-sawce in for his guests, because hee had meate required such sawce. _Belcolore_ suspecting no treachery, sent him the Stone Morter with the Pestell, and about dinner time, when he knew _Bentivegna_ to bee at home with his wife, by a spye which was set for the purpose; hee called the Clearke (usually attending on him) and said. Take this Morter and Pestell, beare them home to _Belcolore_, and tell her: Sir _Simon_ sends them home with thankes, they having sufficiently served his turne, and desire her likewise, to send me my Cloake, which the Boy left as a pledge for better remembrance, and because she would not lend it without a pawne.

The Clearke comming to the house of _Belcolore_, found her sitting at dinner with her Husband, and delivering her the Pestell and Morter, performed the rest of Sir _Simons_ message. _Belcolore_ hearing the Cloake demaunded, stept up to make answere: But _Bentivegna_, seeming (by his lookes) to be much offended, roughly replyed. Why how now wife? Is not Sir _Simon_ our especiall friend, and cannot be be pleasured without a pawne? I protest upon my word, I could find in my heart to smite thee for it. Rise quickely thou wert best, and send him backe his Cloake; with this warning hereafter, that whatsoever he will have, be it your poore Asse, or any thing else being ours, let him have it: and tell him (Master Clearke) he may command it. _Belcolore_ rose grumbling from the Table, and fetching the Cloake forth of the Chest, which stood neere at hand in the same roome; shee delivered it to the Clearke, saying. Tell Sir _Simon_ from me, and boldly say you heard me speake it: that I made a vow to my selfe, he shall never make use of my Morter hereafter, to beat any more of his sawcinesse in, let my Husband say whatsoever he will, I speake the word, and will performe it.

Away went the Clearke home with the Cloake, and told Sir _Simon_ what she had said, whereto he replyed. If I must make use of her Morter no more; I will not trust her with the keeping of my Cloake, for feare it goe to gage indeed.

_Bentivegna_ was a little displeased at his wives words, because hee thought she spake but in jest; albeit _Belcolore_ was so angry with Sir _Simon_, that she would not speake to him till vintage time following. But then Sir _Simon_, what by sharpe threatenings of her soule to be in danger of hell fire, continuing so long in hatred of a holy Priest, which words did not a little terrifie her; besides daily presents to her, of sweet new Wines, roasted Chesse-nuts, Figges and Almonds: all unkindnesse became converted to former familiarity; the garments were redeemed; he gave her Sonnets which she would sweetly sing to her Cimbale, and further friendship increased betweene her and sweet Sir _Simon._

Calandrino, Bruno, _and_ Buffalmaco, _all of them being Painters by profession, travelled to the Plaine of_ Mugnone, _to finde the precious Stone called_ Helitropium. Calandrino _perswaded himselfe to have found it; returned home to his house heavily loaden with stones. His Wife rebuking him for his absence, hee groweth into anger, and shrewdly beateth her. Afterward, when the case is debated among his other friends_ Bruno _and_ Buffalmaco, _all is found to be meere foolery._

The Third Novell.

_Justly reprehending the simplicity of such men, as are too much addicted to credulitie, and will give credit to every thing they heare._

_Pamphilus_ having ended his Novell, whereat the Ladies laughed exceedingly, so that very hardly they could give over: The Queene gave charge to Madame _Eliza_, that shee should next succeed in order; when, being scarcely able to refraine from smyling, thus she began.

I know not (Gracious Ladies) whether I can move you to as hearty laughter, with a briefe Novell of mine owne, as _Pamphilus_ lately did with his: yet I dare assure you, that it is both true and pleasant, and I will relate it in the best manner I can.

In our owne Citie, which evermore hath contained all sorts of people, not long since there dwelt, a Painter, named _Calandrino_, a simple man; yet as much addicted** to matters of novelty, as any man whatsoever could be. The most part of his time, he spent in the company of two other Painters, the one called _Bruno_, and the other _Buffalmaco_, men of very recreative spirits, and of indifferent good capacity; often resorting to the said _Calandrino_, because they tooke delight in his honest simplicity, and pleasant order of behaviour. At the same time likewise, there dwelt in _Florence_, a yong Gentleman of singular disposition, to every generous and witty conceite, as the world did not yeeld a more pleasant companion, he being named _Maso del Saggio_, who having heard somwhat of _Calandrinos_ sillinesse: determined to jest with him in merry manner, and to suggest his longing humours after Novelties, with some conceit of extraordinary nature.

He happening (on a day) to meete him in the Church of Saint _John_, and seeing him seriously busied, in beholding the rare pictures, and the curious carved Tabernacle, which (not long before) was placed on the high Altar in the said Church: considered with himselfe, that he had now fit place and opportunity, to effect what hee had long time desired. And having imparted his minde to a very intimate friend, how he intended to deale with simple _Calandrino_: they went both very neere him, where he sate all alone, and making shew as if they saw him not; began to consult between themselves, concerning the rare properties of precious stones; whereof _Maso_ discoursed as exactly, as he had beene a most skilfull Lapidarie; to which conference of theirs, _Calandrino_ lent an attentive eare, in regard it was matter of singular rarity.

Soone after, _Calandrino_ started up, and perceiving by their loude speaking, that they talked of nothing which required secret Counsell: he went into their company (the onely thing which _Maso_ desired) and holding on still the former Argument; _Calandrino_ would needs request to know, in what place these precious stones were to be found, which had such excellent vertues in them? _Maso_ made answere, that the most of them were to be had in _Berlinzona_, neere to the City of _Bascha_, which was in the Territory of a Countrey, called _Bengodi_, where the Vines were bound about with Sawcidges, a Goose was sold for a penny, and the Goslings freely given in to boote. There was also an high mountaine, wholly made of _Parmezane_, grated Cheese, whereon dwelt people, who did nothing else but make _Mocharones_ and _Raviuolies_, boiling them with broth of Capons, and afterward hurled them all about, to whosoever can or will catch them. Neere to this mountaine runneth a faire River, the whole streame being pure white Bastard, none such was ever sold for any money, and without one drop of water in it.

Now trust me Sir, (said _Calandrino_) that is an excellent Countrey to dwell in: but I pray you tell me Sir, what doe they with the Capons after they have boyld them? The _Baschanes_ (quoth _Maso_) eate them all. Have you Sir, said _Calandrino_, at any time beene in that Countrey? How? answered _Maso_, doe you demaund if I have beene there? Yes man, above a thousand times, at the least. How farre Sir, I pray you (quoth _Calandrino_) is that worthy Countrey, from this our City? In troth replyed _Maso_, the miles are hardly to be numbred, for the most part of them we travell when we are nightly in our beddes, and if a man dreame right; he may be there upon a sudden.

Surely Sir, said _Calandrino_, it is further hence, then to _Abruzzi_? Yes questionlesse, replyed _Maso_; but, to a willing minde, no travell seemeth tedious.

_Calandrino_ well noting, that _Maso_ delivered all these speeches, with a stedfast countenance, no signe of smyling, or any gesture to urge the least mislike: he gave such credit to them, as to any matter of apparent and manifest truth, and upon this assured confidence, he said.

Beleeve me Sir, the journey is over-farre for mee to undertake, but if it were neerer; I could affoord to goe in your Company; onely to see how they make these _Macherones_, and to fill my belly with them.

But now wee are in talke Sir, I pray you pardon mee to aske, whether any such precious stones, as you spake off, are to be found in that Countrey, or no? Yes indeed, replyed _Maso_, there are two kinds of them to be found in those Territories, both being of very great vertue. One kind, are gritty stones, of _Settignano_, and of _Montisca_, by vertue of which places, when any Mill-stones or Grind-stones are to bee made, they knede the sand as they use to doe meale, and so make them of what bignesse they please. In which respect, they have have a common saying there: that Nature maketh common stones, but _Montisca_ Mill-stones. Such plenty are there of these Mill-stones, so slenderly here esteemed among us, as Emeralds are with them, whereof they have whole mountaines, farre greater then our _Montemorello_, which shine most gloriously at midnight. And how meanly soever we account of their Mill-stones; yet there they drill them, and enchase them in Rings, which afterward they send to the great Soldane, and have whatsoever they will demaund for them.

The other kinde is a most precious Stone indeede, which our best Lapidaries call the _Helitropium_, the vertue whereof is so admirable; as whosoever beareth it about him, so long as he keepeth it, it is impossible for any eye to discerne him, because he walketh meerely invisible. O Lord Sir (quoth _Calandrino_) these stones are of rare vertue indeede: but where else may a man finde that _Helitropium_? Whereto _Maso_ thus answered: That Countrey onely doth not containe the _Helitropium_; for they be many times found upon our plaine of _Mugnone_. Of what bignesse Sir (quoth _Calandrino_) is the Stone, and what coulour? The _Helitropium_, answered _Maso_, is not alwayes of one quality, because some are bigge, and others lesse; but all are of one coulour, namely blacke.

_Calandrino_ committing all these things to respective memory, and pretending to be called thence by some other especiall affaires; departed from _Maso_, concluding resolvedly with himselfe, to finde this precious stone, if possibly hee could: yet intending to doe nothing, untill hee had acquainted _Bruno_ and _Buffalmaco_ therewith, whom he loved dearly: he went in all hast to seeke them; because, (without any longer trifling the time) they three might bee the first men, that should find out this precious stone, spending almost the whole morning, before they were all three met together. For they were painting at the Monastery of the Sisters of _Faenza_, where they had very serious imployment, and followed their businesse diligently: where having found them, and saluting them in such kinde manner, as continually he used to doe, thus he began.

Loving friends, if you were pleased to follow mine advise, wee three will quickely be the richest men in _Florence_; because, by information from a Gentleman (well deserving to be credited) on the Plaine of _Mugnone_: there is a precious stone to be found, which whosoever carrieth it about him, walketh invisible, and is not to be seene by any one. Let us three be the first men to goe and finde it, before any other heare thereof, and goe about it, and assure our selves that we shall finde it, for I know it (by discription) so soone as I see it. And when wee have it, who can hinder us from bearing it about us. Then will we goe to the Tables of our Bankers, or money changers, which we see daily charged with plenty of gold and silver, where we may take so much as wee list, for they (nor any) are able to descrie us. So, (in short time) shall wee all be wealthy, never needing to drudge any more, or paint muddy walles, as hitherto we have done; and, as many of our poore profession are forced to doe.

_Bruno_ and _Buffalmaco_ hearing this, began to smile, and looking merrily each on other, they seemed to wonder thereat, and greatly commended the counsell of _Calandrino. Buffalmaco_ demaunding how the stone was named. Now it fortuned, that _Calandrino_ (who had but a grosse and blockish memory) had quite forgot the name of the stone, and therefore said. What neede have wee of the name, when we know, and are assured of the stones vertue? Let us make no more adoe, but (setting aside all other businesse) goe seeke where it is to be found. Well my friend (answered _Bruno_) you say wee may find it, but how, and by what meanes?

There are two sorts of them (quoth _Calandrino_) some bigge, others smaller, but all carry a blacke colour: therefore (in mine opinion) let us gather all such stones as are blacke, so shall we be sure to finde it among them, without any further losse of time.

_Buffalmaco_ and _Bruno_, liked and allowed the counsell of _Calandrino_, which when they had (by severall commendations) given him assurance of, _Bruno_ saide. I doe not thinke it a convenient time now, for us to go about so weighty a businesse: for the Sun is yet in the highest degree, and striketh such a heate on the plaine of _Mugnone_, as all the stones are extreamly dryed, and the very blackest will nowe seeme whitest. But in the morning, after the dew is falne, and before the Sunne shineth forth, every stone retaineth his true colour. Moreover, there be many Labourers now working on the plaine, about such businesse as they are severally assigned, who seeing us in so serious a search:** may imagine what we seeke for, & partake with us in the same inquisition, by which meanes they may chance to speed before us, and so wee may lose both our trot and amble. Wherefore, by my consent, if your opinion jumpe with mine, this is an enterprise onely to be perfourmed in an early morning, when the blacke stones are to be distinguisht from the white, and a Festivall day were the best of all other, for then there will be none to discover us.

_Buffalmaco_ applauded the advice of _Bruno_, and _Calandrino_ did no lesse, concluding all together; that Sunday morning (next ensuing) should be the time, and then they all three would go seeke the Stone. But _Calandrino_ was verie earnest with them, that they shold not reveale it to any living body, because it was tolde him as an especiall secret: disclosing further to them, what hee had heard concerning the Countrey of _Bengodi_, maintaining (with solemn oaths and protestations) that every part thereof was true. Uppon this agreement, they parted from _Calandrino_, who hardly enjoyed anie rest at all, either by night or day, so greedie he was to bee possessed of the stone. On the Sonday morning, hee called up his Companions before breake of day, and going forth at S. _Galls_ Port, they stayed not, till they came to the plaine of _Mugnone_, where they searched all about to finde this strange stone.

_Calandrino_ went stealing before the other two, and verilie perswaded himselfe, that he was borne to finde the _Helitropium_, and looking on every side about him, hee rejected all other Stones but the blacke, whereof first he filled his bosome, and afterwards, both his Pockets. Then he tooke off his large painting Apron, which he fastened with his girdle in the manner of a sacke, and that he filled full of stones likewise. Yet not so satisfied, he spred abroad his Cloake, which being also full of stones, hee bound it up carefully, for feare of loosing the very least of them. All which _Buffalmaco_ and _Bruno_ well observing (the day growing on, and hardly they could reach home by dinner time) according as merrily they had concluded, and pretending not to see _Calandrino_, albeit he was not farre from them: What is become of _Calandrino_? saide _Buffalmaco. Bruno_ gazing strangely every where about him, as if hee were desirous to finde him, replyed. I saw him not long since, for then he was hard by before us; questionlesse, he hath given us the slippe, is privilie gone home to dinner, and making starke fooles of us, hath lefte us to picke up blacke stones, upon the parching plaines of _Mugnone_. Well (quoth _Buffalmaco_) this is but the tricke of an hollow-hearted friend, and not such as he protested himselfe to be, to us. Could any but wee have bin so sottish, to credit his frivolous perswasions, hoping to finde any stones of such vertue, and here on the fruitlesse plains of _Mugnone_? No, no, none but we would have beleeved him.

_Calandrino_ (who was close by them) hearing these wordes, and seeing the whole manner of their wondering behaviour: became constantly perswaded, that hee had not onely founde the precious stone; but also had some store of them about him, by reason he was so neere to them, and yet they could not see him, therefore he walked before them. Now was his joy beyond all compasse of expression, and being exceedingly proud of so happy an adventure: did not meane to speake one word to them, but (heavily laden as hee was) to steale home faire and softly before them, which indeede he did, leaving them to follow after, if they would. _Bruno_ perceiving his intent, said to _Buffalmaco_: What remaineth now for us to doe? Why should not we go home, as well as hee? And reason too, replyed _Bruno_, It is in vaine to tarry any longer heere: but I solemnly protest, _Calandrino_ shall no more make an Asse of me: and were I now as neere him, as not long since I was, I would give him such a remembrance on the heele with this Flint stone, as should sticke by him this moneth, to teach him a lesson for abusing his friends.

Hee threw the stone, and hit him shrewdly on the heele therewith; but all was one to _Calandrino_, whatsoever they saide, or did, as thus they still followed after him. And although the blow of the stone was painfull to him; yet he mended his pace so wel as he was able, in regard of beeing over-loaden with stones, and gave them not one word all the way, because he tooke himselfe to bee invisible, and utterly unseene of them. _Buffalmaco_ taking uppe another Flint-stone, which was indifferent heavie and sharp, said to _Bruno_. Seest thou this Flint? Casting it from him, he smote _Calandrino_ just in the backe therewith, saying. Oh that _Calandrino_ had bin so neere, as I might have hit him on the backe with the stone. And thus all the way on the plaine of _Mugnone_, they did nothing else but pelt him with stones, even so farre as the Port of S. _Gall_, where they threwe downe what other stones they had gathered, meaning not to molest him any more, because they had done enough already.

There they stept before him unto the Port, and acquainted the Warders with the whole matter, who laughing heartily at the jest, the better to upholde it; would seeme not to see _Calandrino_ in his passage by them, but suffered him to go on, sore wearied with his burthen, and sweating extreamly. Without resting himselfe in any place, he came home to his house, which was neere to the corner of the Milles, Fortune being so favourable to him in the course of this mockery, that as he passed along the Rivers side, and afterward through part of the City; he was neither met nor seen by any, in regard they were all in their houses at dinner.