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

 

  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.

 

  Both the Gentlemen and Ladies gave equall commendations, of

Gulfardoes queint beguiling the Millaine Gentle-woman 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 punnishment, 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 meane 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 childebed, 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 halowed 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 thoght 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 Sancsingular 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 neighbor so much as suspect it.

  But, to compaise 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 Benes, 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 Ginestreto, because he should helpe me before the

Judge, when I shall be called in question concerning my patrimony. Sir

Simon looking merily 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 peticote, 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 sweete 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, 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 Belcolove, 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 survayin 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 Greenesawce 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 he 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 make 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.