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When The Assembly Being Met Together, And Under
The Regiment Of Dioneus: The Discourses Are Directed, For The Discoverie
Of Such Policies And Deceites, As Women Have Used For Beguiling Of Their
Husbandes, Either In Respect Of Their Love, Or For The Prevention Of
Some Blame Or Scandall, Escaping Without Sight, Knowledge, Or Otherwise.
All the Starres were departed out of East, but onely that, which
commonly cal bright Lucifer, the Day-Star, gracing the morning very
gloriously: when the Master of the household, being risen, went with all
the provision, to the Valley of Ladies, to make everie thing in due and
decent readines, according as his Lord over-night had commanded him.
After which departure of his, it was not long before the King arose,
beeing awaked with the noise which the carriages made; and when he was
up, the other two Gentlemen and the Ladies were quickly readie soone
after.
Such as were so disposed, were licensed by the King to take their
rest: and they that would not, he permitted them to their wonted
pastimes, each according to their minds. But when they were risen from
sleepe, and the rest from their other exercises, it seemed to be more
then high time, that they should prepare for talke and conference. So,
sitting downe on Turky Carpets, which were spred abroad on the green
grasse, and close by the place where they had dined: the King gave
command, that Madam Aemillia should first begin, whereto she willingly
yeelding obedience, and expecting such silent attention, as formerly had
bin, thus she began.
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Reprehending The Simplicity Of Some Sottish
Husbands: And Discovering The Wanton Subtilties Of Some Women, To
Compasse Their Unlawfull Desires.
John of Lorraine heard one knocke at his doore in the night time,
whereuppon he awaked his Wife Monna Tessa. She made him beleeve, that it
was a Spirit which knocked at the doore, and so they arose, going both
together to conjure the Spirit with a prayer; and afterwardes, they
heard no more knocking.
My Gracious Lord (quoth Madame Aemillia) it had bene a matter highly
pleasing to mee, that any other (rather then my selfe) should have begun
to speake of this argument, which it hath pleased you to apoint. But
seeing it is your Highnesse pleasure, that I must make a passage of
assurance for all the rest; I will not be irregular, because obedience
is our cheefe Article. I shall therefore (Gracious Ladies) strive, to
speake something, which may bee advantageable to you heereafter, in
regard, that if other women bee as fearfull as we, especially of
Spirits, of which all our sexe have generally bin timorous (although,
upon my credite, I know not what they are, nor ever could meete with
any, to tell me what they be) you may, by the diligent observation of my
Novell: learne a wholsome and holy prayer, very availeable, and of
precious power, to conjure and drive them away, whensoever they shall
presume to assault you in any place.
There dwelt sometime in Florence, and in the street of Saint
Brancazio, a woollen Weaver, named John of Lorrayne; a man more happy in
his Art, then wise in any thing else beside: because, savouring somewhat
of the Gregorie, and (in very deede) little lesse then an Ideot; Hee was
many times made Captain of the Woollen Weavers, in the quarters
belonging to Santa Maria Novella, and his house was the Schoole or
receptacle, for all their meetings and assemblies. He had divers other
petty Offices beside, by the gnity and authority whereof, hee supposed
himselfe much exalted or elevated, above the common pitch of other men.
And this humour became the more tractable to him, because he addicted
himselfe oftentimes (as being a man of an easie inclination) to be a
benefactor to the holy Fathers of Santa Maria Novella, giving (beside
his other charitable Almes) to some one a paire of Breeches, to another
a Hood, and to another a whole habit. In reward whereof, they taught him
(by heart) many wholsome prayers, as the Pater noster in the vulgar
tongue; the Song of Saint Alexis; the Lamentations of Saint Bernard, the
Hymne of Madame Matilda, and many other such like matters, which he kept
charily, and repeated usually, as tending to the salvation of his soule.
This man, had a very faire and lovely wife, named Monna Tessa, the
daughter of Manuccio della Cuculia, wise and well advised; who knowing
the simplicity of her Husband, and affecting Frederigo di Neri
Pegolotti, who was a comely yong Gentleman, fresh, and in the floure of
his time, even as she was, therefore they agreed the better together. By
meanes of her Chambermaid, Frederigo and shee met often together, at a
Countrie Farme of John of Lorraynes, which hee had neere to Florence,
and where she used to lodge all the Summer time, called Camerata,
whether John resorted somtimes to Supper, and lodge for a night,
returning home againe to his City house the next morning; yet often he
would stay there longer with his owne companions.
Frederigo, who was no meane man in his Mistresses favor, and
therefore these private meetings the more welcome to him; received a
summons or assignation from her, to be there on such a night, when hir
husband had no intent of comming thither. There they supped merrily
together, and (no doubt) did other things, nothing appertaining to our
purpose, she both acquainting, and well instructing him, in a dozen (at
the least) of her Husbands devout prayers. Nor did shee make any
account, or Frederigo either, that this should be the last time of their
meeting, because (indeede) it was not the first: and therfore they set
downe an order and conclusion together (because the Chambermaide must be
no longer the messenger) in such manner as you shall heare.
Frederigo was to observe especially, that alwayes when hee went or
came from his owne house, which stood much higher then John of Lorraynes
did, to looke upon a Vine, closely adjoyning to her house, where stood
the scull of an Asses head, advanced upon an high pole; and when the
face thereof looked towards Florence, he might safely come, it being an
assured signe, that John kept at home. And if he found the doore fast
shut, he should softly knocke three severall times, and thereon bee
admitted entrance. But if the face stood towards Fiesola; then he might
not come, for it was the signe of Johns being there, and then there
might be no medling at all.
Having thus agreed upon this conclusion, and had many merry meetings
together: one night above the rest, when Frederigo was appointed to
suppe with Monna Tessa, who had made ready two fat Capons, drest in most
dainty and delicate manner: it fell out so unfortunately, that John
(whose Kue was not to come that night) came thither very late, yet
before Frederigo, wherewith she being not a little offended, gave John a
slight supper, of Lard, Bacon, and such like coarse provision, because
the other was kept for a better guest. In the meane time, and while John
was at supper, the Maide (by her Mistresses direction) had conveighed
the two Capons, with boyled Eggs, Bread and a Bottle of Wine (all folded
up in a faire cleane table cloth) into her Garden, that a passage to it,
without entering into the house, and where shee had divers times supt
with Frederigo. She further willed the Maide, to set all those things
under a Peach tree, which adjoyned to the fields side: but, so angry she
was at her husbands unexpected comming, that shee forgot to bid her
tarrie there, till Frederigoes comming, and to tell him of Johns being
there: as also, to take what he found prepared readie for his Supper.
John and she being gone to bed together, and the Maide likewise, it
was not long after, before Frederigo came, and knocking once softly at
the doore, which was very neere to their lodging Chamber, John heard the
noise, and so did his wife. But to the end, that John might not have the
least scruple of suspition, she seemed to be fast asleepe; and Frederigo
pausing a while, according to the order directed, knockt againe the
second time. John wondering thereat very much, jogd his wife a litle,
and saide to her: Tessa, hearest thou nothing? Methinkes one knocketh at
our doore. Monna Tessa, who was better acquainted with the knocke, then
plaine honest meaning John was, dissembling as if shee awaked out of a
drowsie dreame, saide: Alas Husband, dost thou know what this is? In the
name of our blessed Ladie, be not affraid, this is but the Spirit which
haunts our Countrey houses, whereof I have often told thee, and it hath
many times much dismayed me, living heere alone without thy comfort.
Nay, such hath bin my feare, that in divers nights past, so soone as I
heard the knockes: I was feigne to hide my selfe in the bedde over-head
and eares (as we usually say) never daring to be so bold, as to looke
out, untill it was broad open day. Arise good wife (quoth John) and if
it be such a Spirit of the Countrey, as thou talkest of, never be
affraid; for before we went to bed, I said the Telucis, the Intemerata,
with many other good prayers beside. Moreover, I made the signe of the
Crosse at every corner of our bed, in the name of the Father, Son, and
holy Ghost, so that no doubt at all needs to be made, of any power it
can have to hurt or touch us.
Monna Tessa, because (perhaps) Frederigo might receive some other
suspition, and so enter into distaste of her by anger or offence:
determined to arise indeede, and to let him covertly understand, that
John was there, and therefore saide to her husband. Beleeve me John, thy
counsell is good, and every one of thy words hath wisedome in it: but I
hold it best for our owne safety, thou being heere; that wee should
conjure him quite away, to the end he may never more haunt our house.
Conjure him Wife? Quoth John, By what meanes? and how? Bee patient good
man (quoth Tessa) and I will enstruct thee, I have learned an excellent
kinde of conjuration; for, the last weeke, when I went to procure the
pardons at Fiesola, one of the holy recluse Nuns, who (indeede John) is
my indeered Sister and Friend, and the most sanctimonius in life of them
all; perceiving me to be troubled and terrified by Spirits; taught me a
wholsome and holy prayer, and protested withall, that shee had often
made experiment thereof, before she became a Recluse, and found it
(alwayes) a present helpe to her. Yet never durst I adventure to essay
it, living heere by my selfe all alone: but honest John, seeing thou art
heere with me, we will go both together, and conjure this Spirit. John
replyed, that he was very willing; and being both up, they went fayre
and softly to the doore, where Frederigo stoode still without, and was
growne somewhat suspitious of his long attendance.
When they were come to the doore, Monna Tessa said to John: Thou must
cough and spet, at such time as I shall bid thee. Well (quoth John) I
will not faile you. Immediately she beganne her prayer in this manner.
Spirit, that walkst thus in the night,
Poore Countrey people to affright:
Thou hast mistane thy marke and ayme,
The head stood right, but John home came,
And therefore thou must packe away,
For I have nothing else to say:
But to my Garden get the gone,
Under the Peach-tree stands alone,
There shalt thou finde two Capons drest,
And Egges laide in mine owne Hennes nest,
Bread, and a Bottle of good Wine,
All wrapt up in a cloath most fine.
Is not this good Goblins fare?
Packe and say you have your share;
Not doing harme to John or me,
Who this night keepes me companie.
No sooner had she ended her devoute conjuring prayer, but she saide
to her husband: Now John, cough and spet: which John accordingly did.
And Frederigo, being all this while without, hearing her witty
conjuration of a Spirit, which he himselfe was supposed to be, being
ridde of his former jealous suspition: in the middst of all his
melancholy, could very hardly refraine from laughing, the jest appeared
so pleasing to him: But when John cought and spet, softly he said to
himselfe: When next thou spetst, spet out all thy teeth.
The woman having three severall times conjured the Spirite, in such
manner as you have already heard; returned to bed againe with her
husband: and Frederigo, who came as perswaded to sup with her, being
supperlesse all this while; directed by the words of Monna Tessa in hir
praier, went into the Garden. At the foot of the Peach-tree, there he
found the linnen cloth, with the two hot Capons, Bread, Egges, and a
Bottle of Wine in it, all which he carried away with him, and went to
Supper at better leysure. Oftentimes afterward, upon other meetings of
Frederigo and she together, they laughed heartily at her enchantment,
and the honest beleefe of silly John.
I cannot deny, but that some do affirme, that the Woman had turned
the face of the Asses head towards Fiesola, and a Country Travailer
passing by the Vine, having a long piked staffe on his necke: the staffe
(by chance) touched the head, and made it turne divers times about, and
in the end faced Florence, which being the cal for Frederigoes comming,
by this meanes he was disappointed. In like manner some say, that Monna
Tessaes prayer for conjuring the Spirit, was in this order.
Spirit, Spirit, thy way,
And come againe some other day.
It was not I that turnd the head,
But some other. In our Bed
Are John and I: Go from our dore,
And see thou trouble us no more.
So that Frederigo departed thence, both with the losse of his labour
and supper. But a neighbour of mine, who is a woman of good yeares, told
me, that both the one and other were true, as she her selfe heard, when
she was a little Girle. And concerning the latter accident, it was not
to John of Lorrayne, but to another, named John de Nello, that dwelt at
S. Peters Gate, and of the same profession as John of Lorrayne was.
Wherefore (faire Ladies) it remaineth in your owne choice, to entertain
which of the two prayers you please, or both together if you will: for
they are of extraordinary vertue in such strange occurrences, as you
have heeretofore heard, and (upon doubt) may prove by experience. It
shall not therefore be amisse for you, to learne them both by hart, for
(peradventure) they may stand you in good sted, if ever you chance to
have the like occasion.
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Wherein Is Declared, What Hard And Narrow
Shifts And Distresses, Such As Bee Seriously Linked In Love, Are Many
Times Enforced To Undergo: According As Their Owne Wit, And Capacitie Of
Their Surprizers, Drive Them To In Extremities.
Peronella hid a yong man her friend and Lover, under a great brewing
Fat, upon the sodaine returning home of her Husband; who told her, that
hee had solde the saide Fat and brought him that bought it, to cary it
away. Peronella replyed, that shee had formerly solde it unto another,
who was now underneath it, to see whether it were whole and sound, or
no. Whereupon, he being come forth from under it; she caused her Husband
to make it neate and cleane, and so the last buyer carried it away.
Not without much laughter and good liking, was the Tale of Madame
Aemillia listened unto, and both the prayers commended to be sound and
soveraigne: but it being ended, the King commaunded Philostratus, that
hee should follow next in order, whereupon thus he began.
Deare Ladies, the deceites used by men towards your sexe, but
especially Husbands, have bene so great and many, as when it hath
sometime happened, or yet may, that husbands are requited in the
self-same kinde: you need not finde fault at any such accident, either
by knowledge thereof afterward, or hearing the same reported by any one;
but rather you should referre it to generall publication, to the end,
that immodest men may know, and finde it for trueth, that if they have
apprehension and capacity; women are therein not a jote inferiour to
them. Which cannot but redound to your great benefite, because, when any
one knoweth, that another is as cunning and subtile as himselfe; he will
not be so rashly adventurous in deceite. And who maketh any doubt, that
if those sleights and trickes, whereof this dayes argument may give us
occasion to speake, should afterwardes be put in execution by men: would
it not minister just reason, of punishing themselves for beguiling you,
knowing, that (if you please) you have the like abilitie in your owne
power? Mine intent therefore is to tell you, what a woman (though but of
meane qualitie) did to her husband, upon a sodaine, and in a moment (as
it were) for her owne safety.
Not long since, there lived in Naples, an honest meane man, who did
take to Wife, a fayre and lustie young Woman, being named Peronella.-He
professing the Trade of a Mason, and shee Carding and Spinning,
maintained themselves in a reasonable condition, abating and abounding
as their Fortunes served. It came to passe, that a certayne young man,
well observing the beauty and good parts of Peronella, became much
addicted in affection towardes her: and by his often and secret
sollicitations, which he found not to be unkindely entertayned; his
successe proved answerable to his hope, no unindifferencie appearing in
their purposes, but where her estate seemed weakest, his supplies made
an addition of more strength.
Now, for their securer meeting, to stand cleare from all matter of
scandal or detection, they concluded in this order between themselves.
Lazaro, for so was Peronellaes Husband named, being an earely riser
every morning, either to seeke for worke, or to effect it being
undertaken: this amorous friend being therewith acquainted, and standing
in some such convenient place, where hee could see Lazaroes departure
from his house, and yet himselfe no way discerned; poore Lazaro was no
sooner gone, but presently he enters the house, which stood in a verie
solitarie street, called the Avorio. Many mornings had they thus met
together, to their no meane delight and contentation, till one especial
morning among the rest, when Lazaro was gone forth to worke, and
Striguario (so was the amorous young man named) visiting Peronella in
the house: upon a verie urgent occasion, Lazaro returned backe againe,
quite contrary to his former wont, keeping foorth all day, and never
comming home till night.
Finding his doore to be fast lockt, and he having knockt softlie once
or twice, he spake in this manner to himselfe. Fortune I thanke thee,
for albeit thou hast made mee poore, yet thou hast bestowed a better
blessing on me, in matching me with so good, honest, and loving a Wife.
Behold, though I went early out of my house, her selfe hath risen in the
cold to shut the doore, to prevent the entrance of theeves, or any other
that might offend us. Peronella having heard what her husband sayde, and
knowing the manner of his knocke, said fearfully to Striguario. Alas
deare friend, what shall wee doe? I am little lesse then a dead Woman:
For, Lazaro my Husband is come backe again, and I know not what to do or
say. He never returned in this order before now, doubtlesse, hee saw
when you entred the doore; and for the safety of your honour and mine:
creepe under this brewing Fat, till I have opened the doore, to know the
reason of his so soone returning.
Striguario made no delaying of the matter, but got himselfe closelie
under the Fat, and Peronella opening the doore for her husbands
enterance, with a frowning countenance, spake thus unto him. What
meaneth this so early returning home againe this morning? It seemeth,
thou intendest to do nothing to day, having brought backe thy tooles in
thy hands? If such be thine intent, how shall we live? Where shal we
have bread to fill our bellies? Dooest thou thinke, that I will suffer
thee to pawne my gowne, and other poore garments, as heeretofore thou
hast done? I that card and spinne both night and day, till I have worne
the flesh from my fingers; yet all will hardly finde oyle to maintaine
our Lampe. Husband, husband, there is not one neighbour dwelling by us,
but makes a mockerie of me, and tels me plainly, that I may be ashamed
to drudge and moyle as I do; wondering not a little, how I am able to
endure it; and thou returnest home with thy hands in thy hose, as if
thou hadst no worke at all to do this day.
Having thus spoken, she fell to weeping, and then thus began again.
Poore wretched woman as I am, in an unfortunate houre was I borne, and
in a much worse, when I was made thy Wife. I could have had a proper,
handsome yong man; one, that would have maintained mee brave and
gallantly: but, beast as I was, to forgoe my good, and cast my selfe
away on such a beggar as thou art, and whom none wold have had, but such
an Asse as I. Other women live at hearts ease, and in jollity, have
their amorous friends and loving Paramours, yea, one, two, three at
once, making their husbands looke like a Moone cressent, wheron they
shine Sun-like, with amiable lookes, because they know not how to helpe
it: when I (poore foole) live heere at home a miserable life, not daring
once to dreame of such follies, an innocent soule, heartlesse and
harmelesse.
Many times, sitting and sighing to my selfe: Lord, thinke I, of what
mettall am I made? Why should not I have a Friend in a corner, aswell as
others have? I am flesh and blood, as they are, not made of brasse or
iron, and therefore subject to womens frailty. would thou shouldest know
it husband, and I tell it thee in good earnest; That if I would doe ill,
I could quickely finde a friend at a neede. Gallants there are good
store, who (of my knowledge) love me dearely, and have made me very
large and liberall promises, of Golde, Silver, jewels, and gay Garments,
if I would extend them the least favour. But my heart will not suffer
me, I never was the daughter of such a mother, as had so much as a
thought of such matters: no, I thanke our blessed Ladie, and S. Friswid
for it: and yet thou returnest home againe, when thou shouldst be at
Worke.
Lazaro, who stoode all this while like a well-beleeving Logger-head,
demurely thus answered. Alas good Wife! I pray you bee not so angry, I
never had so much as an ill thought of you, but know wel enough what you
are, and have made good proofe thereof this morning. Understand
therefore patiently (sweet Wife) that I went forth to my work as dayly I
use to do, little dreaming (as I thinke you doe not) that it had bene
Holyday. Wife, this is the Feast day of Saint Galeone; whereon we may in
no wise worke, and this is the reason of my so soone returning.
Neverthelesse (dear Wife) I was not carelesse of our Houshold provision:
For, though we worke not, yet we must have foode, which I have provided
for more then a moneth. Wife, I remembred the brewing Fat, whereof we
have little or no use at all, but rather it is a trouble to the house,
then otherwise. I met with an honest Friend, who stayeth without at the
doore, to him I have sold the Fat for ten Gigliatoes, and he tarrieth to
take it away with him.
How Husband? replied Peronella, Why now I am worse offended then
before. Thou that art a man, walkest every where, and shouldst be
experienced in worldly affaires: wouldst thou bee so simple, as to sell
such a brewing Fat for ten Gigliatoes? Why, I that am a poore ignorant
woman, a house Dove, sildome going out of my doore: have sold it already
for twelve Gigliatoes, to a very honest man, who (even a little before
thy comming home) came to me, we agreed on the bargaine, and he is now
underneath the Fat, to see whether it be sound or no. When credulous
Lazaro heard this, he was better contented then ever, and went to him
that taried at the doore, saying. Good man, you may goe your way, for,
whereas you offered me but ten Gigliatoes for the Fat, my loving wife
hath sold it for twelve, and I must maintaine what shee hath done: so
the man departed, and the variance ended.
Peronella then saide to her husband. Seeing thou art come home so
luckily, helpe me to lift up the Fat, that the man may come foorth, and
then you two end the bargaine together. Striguario, who thogh he was
mewed up under the tubbe, had his eares open enough; and hearing the
witty excuse of Peronella, tooke himselfe free from future feare: and
being come from under the Fat, pretending also, as if he had herd
nothing, nor saw Lazaro, looking round about him, said. Where is this
good woman? Lazaro stepping forth boldly like a man, replyed: Heere am
I, what would you have Sir? Thou? quoth Striguario, what art thou? I ask
for the good wife, with whom I made my match for the Fat. Honest
Gentleman (answered Lazaro) I am that honest Womans Husband, for lacke
of a better, and I will maintaine whatsoever my Wife hath done.
I crie you mercie Sir, replyed Striguario, I bargained with your Wife
for this brewing Fat, which I finde to be whole and sound: only it is
uncleane within, hard crusted with some dry soile upon it, which I know
not well how to get off, if you will be the meanes of making it cleane,
I have the money heere ready for it. For that Sir (quoth Peronella) take
you no care, although no match at all had beene made, what serves my
Husband for, but to make it cleane? Yes forsooth Sir, answered sily
Lazaro, you shall have it neate and cleane before you pay the mony.
So, stripping himselfe into his shirt lighting a Candle, and taking
tooles fit for the purpose; the Fat was whelmed over him, and he being
within it, wrought untill he sweated, with scraping and scrubbing. So
that these poore Lovers, what they could not accomplish as they wold,
necessity enforced them to performe as they might. And Peronella,
looking in at the vent-hole, where the Liquor runneth forth for the
meshing; seemed to instruct her husband in the businesse, as espying
those parts where the Fat was fowlest, saying: There, there Lazaro,
tickle it there, the Gentleman payes well for it, and is worthy to have
it: but see thou do thy selfe no harme good Husband. I warrant thee
Wife, answered Lazaro, hurt not your selfe with leaning your stomacke on
the Fat, and leave the cleansing of it to me. To be breefe, the Brewing
Fat was neatly cleansed, Peronella and Striguario both well pleased, the
money paide, and honest meaning Lazaro not discontented.
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Serving As A Friendly Advertisement To Married
Women, That Monks, Friars, And Priests May Be None Of Their Gossips, In
Regard Of Unavoydable Perilles Ensuing Thereby.
Friar Reynard, falling in love with a Gentlewoman, Wife to a man of good
account; found the meanes to become her Gossip. Afterward, he being
conferring closely with her in her Chamber, and her Husband coming
sodainly thither: she made him beleeve, that he came thither for no
other end; but to cure his God-sonne by a charme, of a dangerous disease
which he had by Wormes.
Philostratus told not this Tale so covertly, concerning Lazaros
simplicity, and Peronellaes witty policy; but the Ladies found a knot in
the rush, and laughed not a little, at his queint manner of discoursing
it. But upon the conclusion, the King looking upon Madam Eliza, willed
her to succeede next, which as willingly she granted, and thus began.
Pleasant Ladies, the charme or conjuration wherwith Madam Aemillia laid
her night-walking Spirit, maketh me remember a Novell of another
enchantment; which although it carrieth not commendation equall to the
other, yet I intend to report it, because it suteth with our present
purpose, and I cannot sodainly be furnisht with another, answerable
thereto in nature.
You are to understand then, that there lived in Siena, a proper yong
man, of good birth and well friended, being named Reynard. Earnestly he
affected his neere dwelling neighbour, a beautifull Gentlewoman, and
wife to a man of good esteeme: of whom hee grew halfe perswaded, that if
he could (without suspition) compasse private conference with her, he
should reach the height of his amorous desires. Yet seeing no likely
meanes wherewith to further his hope, and shee being great with childe,
he resolved to become a Godfather to the childe, at such time as it
should be brought to Christening. And being inwardly acquainted with her
Husband, who was named Credulano; such familiar intercourses passed
betweene them, both of Reynards kinde offer, and Credulanoes as
courteous acceptance, that hee was set downe for a Gossippe.
Reynard being thus embraced for Madam Agnesiaes Gossip, and this
proving the onely colourable meanes, for his safer permission of speech
with her, to let her now understand by word of mouth, what long before
she collected by his lookes and behaviour: it fell out no way
beneficiall to him, albeit Agnesia seemed not nice or scrupulous in
hearing, yet she had a more precious care of her honor. It came to
passe, within a while after (whether by seeing his labour vainly spent,
or some other urgent occasion moving him thereto, I know not) Reynard
would needs enter into Religion, and whatsoever strictnesse or
austeritie hee found to be in that kinde of life, yet he determined to
persevere therein, whether it were for his good or ill. And although
within a short space, after he was thus become a Religious Monke, hee
seemed to forget the former love which he bare to his gossip Agnesia,
and divers other enormous vanities beside: yet let me tell you, successe
of time tutord him in them again(!; and, without any respect to his
poore ho habite, but rather in contempt thereof (as it were) he tooke an
especiall delight, in wearing garments of much richer esteeme, yet
favoured by the same Monasticall profession, appearing (in all respects)
like a Court-Minion or Favourite, of a sprightly and Poeticall
disposition, for composing Verses, Sonnets, and Canzons, singing them to
sundry excellent instruments, and yet not greatly curious of his
company, so they were some of the best, and Madame Agnesia one, his
former Gossip.
But why doe I trouble my selfe, in talking thus of our so lately
converted Friar, holy Father Reynard, when they of longer standing, and
reputed meerely for Saints in life, are rather much more vile then hee?
Such is the wretched condition of this world, that they shame not (fat,
foggie, and nastie Abbey-lubbers) to shew how full-fedde they live in
their Cloysters, with cherry cheekes, and smooth shining lookes, gay and
gaudy garments, far from the least expression of humility, not walking
in the streets like Doves: but high-crested like Cockes, with well cramd
gorges. Nay, which is worse, if you did but see their Chambers furnished
with Gally-pots of Electuaries, precious Unguents, Apothecary Boxes,
filled with various Confections, Conserves, excellent Perfumes, and
other goodly Glasses of artificiall Oyles and Waters: beside Rundlets
and small Barrels full of Greeke Wine, Muscatella, Lachrime Christi, and
other such like most precious Wines, so that (to such as see them) they
seeme not to bee Chambers of Religious men; but rather Apothecaries
Shoppes, or appertaining to Druggists, Grocers, or Perfumers.
It is no disgrace to them to be Gowty; because when other men know it
not, they alledge, that strict fasting, feeding on grosse Meates (though
never so little,) continuall studying, and such like restraints from the
bodies freer exercise, maketh them subject to many infirmities. And yet,
when any one of them chanceth to fall sicke, the Physitian must minister
no such counsell to them, as Chastity, Abstinence from voluptuous meats,
Discipline of the body, or any of those matters appertaining to a modest
religious life. For, concerning the plaine, vulgar, and Plebeian people,
these holy Fathers are perswaded, that they know nothing really
belonging to a sanctimonious life; as long watching, praying, discipline
and fasting, which (in themselves) are not able, to make men look leane,
wretched, and pale. Because Saint Dominicke, Saint Fraunces, and divers
other holy Saints beside, observed the selfesame religious orders and
constitutions, as now their carefull successors do. Moreover, in example
of those fore-named Saints, who went wel cloathed, though they had not
three Garments for one, nor made of the finest Woollen excellent cloath:
but rather of the very coarsest of all other, and of the common ordinary
colour, to expell cold onely, but not to appear brave or gallant,
deceyving thereby infinite simple credulous soules, whose purses
(neverthelesse) are their best pay-masters.
But leave we this, and returne wee backe to vertuous Fryar Reynard,
who falling again& to his former appetites; became an often visitant of
his Gossip Agnesia, and now hee had learned such a blushlesse kinde of
boldnesse; that he durst be more instant with her (concerning his privie
sute) then ever formerly he had bin, yea even to solicite the enjoying
of his immodest desires. The good Gentlewoman, seeing her selfe so
importunately pursued, and Friar Reynard appearing now (perhappes) of
sweeter and more delicate complexion, the at his entrance into Religion:
at a set time of his secret communing with her; she answered him in as
apt tearmes, as they use to do, who are not greatly sqeamish, in
granting matters demanded of them.
Why how now Friar Reynard? quoth shee, Doe Godfathers use to move
such questions? Whereto the Friar thus replyed. Madam, when I have laide
off this holy habite (which is a matter very easie for mee to do) I
shall seeme in your eye, in all respects made like another man, quite
from the course of any Religious life. Agnesia, biting the lip with a
prety smile, said; O my faire Starres! You will never bee so unfriendly
to me. What? You being my Gossip, would you have me consent unto such a
sinne? Our blessed Lady shield mee, for my ghostly Father hath often
told me, that it is utterly unpardonable: but if it were, I feare too
much confiding on mine owne strength. Gossip, the Friar, you speake like
a Foole, and feare (in this case) is wholly frivolous, especially, when
the motions mooved by such an one as my selfe, who (upon repentance) can
grant you pardon and indulgence presently. But I pray you let mee aske
you one question, Who is the neerest Kinsman to your Son; either I, that
stood at the Font for his Baptisme, or your Husband that begot him? The
Lady made answere, that it was her Husband. You say very true Gossip,
replyed the Friar, and yet notwithstanding, doth not your Husband (both
at boord and bed) enjoy the sweet benefit of your company? Yes, said the
Lady, why shold he not? Then Lady (quoth Reynard) I, who am not so neere
a Kinsman to your Sonne, as your Husband is, why may ye not afford mee
the like favour, as you do him? Agnesia, who was no Logitian, and
therefore could not stand on any curious answer, especially being so
cuningly moved; beleeved, or rather made shew of beleeving, that the
Godfather said nothing but truth, and thus answered. What woman is she
(Gossip) that knoweth how to answer your strange speeches? And, how it
came to passe, I know not, but such an agreement passed betweene them,
that, for once onely (so it might not infrindge the league of
Gossip-ship, but that title to countenance their further intent) such a
favour should be affoorded, so it might stand cleare from suspition.
An especiall time being appointed, when this amorous Combate should
be fought in loves field, Friar Reynard came to his Gossips house, where
none being present to hinder his purpose, but onely the Nursse which
attended on the child, who was an indifferent faire and proper woman:
his holy brother that came thither in his company (because Friars were
not allowed to walke alone) was sent aside with her into the Pigeon
loft, to enstruct her in a new kinde of Pater noster, lately devised in
their holy Convent. In the meane while, as Friar Reynard and Agnesia
were entring into hir chamber, she leading her little son by the hand,
and making fast the doore for their better safety: the Friar laide by
his holie habit, Cowle, Hood, Booke, and Beads, to bee (in all respects)
as other men were. No sooner were they thus entred the Chamber, but her
husband Credulano, being come into the house, and unseen of any, staid
not till he was at the Chamber doore, where hee knockt, and called for
his Wife.
She hearing his voice: Alas Gossip (quoth she) what shall I do? My
Husband knocketh at the doore, and now he will perceive the occasion of
our so familiar acquaintance. Reynard being stript into his Trusse and
straite Strouses, began to tremble and quake exceedingly. I heare your
Husbands tongue Gossip, said he, and seeing no harme as yet hath bin
done, if I had but my garments on againe; wee would have one excuse or
other to serve the turne, but till then you may not open the doore. As
womens wits are sildome gadding abroad, when any necessitie concerneth
them at home: even so Agnesia, being sodainly provided of an invention,
both how to speake and carry her selfe in this extreamitie, saide to the
Friar. Get on your garments quickely, and when you are cloathed, take
your little God-son in your armes, and listning wel what I shall say,
shape your answeres according to my words, and then refer the matter to
me. Credulano had scarsely ended his knocking, but Agnesia stepping to
the doore said: Husband, I come to you. So she opened the doore, and
(going forth to him) with a chearefull countenance thus spake. Beleeve
me Husband, you could not have come in a more happy time, for our yong
Son was sudainly extreamly sicke, and (as good Fortune would have it)
our loving Gossip Reynard chanced to come in; and questionlesse, but by
his good prayers and other religious paynes, we had utterly lost our
childe, for he had no life left in him.
Credulano, being as credulous as his name imported, seemed ready to
swoune with sodaine conceit: Alas good wife (quoth he) how hapned this?
Sit downe sweet Husband said she, and I wil tell you al. Our child was
sodainly taken with a swouning, wherein I being unskilful, did verily
suppose him to be dead, not knowing what to doe, or say. By good hap,
our Gossip Reynard came in, and taking the childe up in his armes, said
to me. Gossip, this is nothing else but Wormes in the bellie of the
childe, which ascending to the heart, must needs kill the child, without
all question to the contrary. But be of good comfort Gossip, and feare
not, for I can charme them in such sort, that they shall all die, and
before I depart hence, you shall see your Son as healthfull as ever. And
because the maner of this charm is of such nature, that it required
prayer and exorcising in two places at once: Nurse went up with his
Holye Brother into our Pigeon loft, to exercise their devotion there,
while we did the like heere. For none but the mother of the childe must
bee present at such a mystery, nor any enter to hinder the operation of
the charme; which was the reason of making fast the Chamber doore. You
shall see Husband anon the Childe, which is indifferently recovered in
his armes, and if Nurse and his holy Brother were returned from theyr
meditations; he saith, that the charme would then be fully effected: for
the child beginneth to looke chearefull and merry.
So deerely did Credulano love the childe, that hee verily beleeved,
what his Wife had saide, never misdoubting any other treachery: and,
lifting up his eyes, with a vehement sigh, said. Wife, may not I goe in
and take the child into my armes? Oh no, not yet good husband (quoth
she) in any case, least you should overthrow all that is done. Stay but
a little while, I will go in againe, and if all bee well, then will I
call you. In went Agnesia againe, making the doore fast after her, the
Fryar having heard all the passed speeches, by this time he was fitted
with his habite, and taking the childe in his armes, he said to Agnesia.
Gossip methought I heard your Husbands voice, is hee at your Chamber
doore? Yes Gossip Reynard (quoth Credulano without, while Agnesia opened
the doore, and admitted him entrance) indeede it is I. Come in Sir, I
pray you, replyed the Friar, and heere receive your childe of mee, who
was in great danger, of your ever seeing him any more alive. But you
must take order, to make an Image of waxe, agreeing with the stature of
the childe, to be placed on the Altar before the Image of S. Frances, by
whose merites the childe is thus restored to health.
The childe, beholding his Father, made signes of comming to him,
rejoycing merrily, as yong infants use to do, and Credulano clasping him
in his armes, wept with conceite of joy, kissing him infinitely, and
heartily thanking his Gossip Reynard, for the recovery of his God-son.
The Friars brotherly Companion, who had given sufficient enstructions to
the Nurse, and a small purse full of Sisters white thred, which a Nunne
(after shrift) had bestowed on him, upon the husbands admittance into
the Chamber (which they easily heard) came in also to them, and seeing
all in very good tearmes, they holpe to make a joyfull conclusion, the
Brother saying to Friar Reynard: Brother, I have finished all those
foure jaculatory prayers, which you commanded me.
Brother, answered Reynard, you have a better breath then I, and your
successe hath prooved happier then mine, for before the arrivall of my
Gossip Credulano, I could accomplish but two jaculatory prayers onely.
But it appeareth, that we have both prevailed in our devout desire,
because the childe is perfectly cured. Credulano calling for Wine and
good cheare, feasted both the Friars very jocondly, and then conducting
them forth of his house, without any further intermission, caused the
childs Image of waxe to be made, and sent it to be placed on the Altar
of Saint Frances, among many other the like oblations.
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Wherein Is Manifested, That The Malice And
Subtilty Of Woman, Surpasseth All The Art Or Wit In Man.
Tofano in the night season, did locke his wife out of his house, and
shee not prevailing to get entrance againe, by all the entreaties she
could possiblie use: made him beleeve that she had throwne her selfe
into a Well, by casting a great stone into the same Well. Tofano hearing
the fall of the stone into the Well, and being perswaded that it was his
Wife indeed; came forth of his house, and ran to the Welles side. In the
meane while, his wife gotte into the house, made fast the doore against
her Husband, and gave bim many reproachfull speeches.
So soone as the King perceyved, that the Novell reported by Madame
Eliza was finished: hee turned himselfe to Madame Lauretta, and told her
as his pleasure, that she should now begin the next, whereto she yeelded
in this manner. O Love: What, and how many are thy prevailing forces?
How straunge are thy foresights? And how admirable thine attempts? Where
is, or ever was the Philosopher or Artist, that could enstruct the
wiles, escapes, preventions, and demonstrations, which sodainly thou
teachest such, as are thy apt and understanding Schollers indeede?
Certaine it is, that the documents and eruditions of all other
whatsoever, are weak, or of no worth, in respect of thine: as hath
notably appeared, by the remonstrances already past, and whereto (worthy
Ladies) I wil adde another of a simple woman, who taught her husband
such a lesson, as shee never learned of any, but Love himselfe.
There dwelt sometime in Arezzo (which is a faire Village of Tuscany)
a rich man, named Tofano, who enjoyed in marriage a young beautifull
woman, called Cheta: of whom (without any occasion given, or reason
knowne to himselfe) he became exceeding- jealous. Which his wife
perceyving, she grew much offended thereat, and tooke it in great
scorne, that she should be servile to so vile and slavish a condition.
Oftentimes, she demanded of him, from whence this jealousie in him
received originall, he having never seene or heard of any; he could make
her no other answer, but who his owne bad humour suggested, and drove
him every day (almost) to deaths doore, by feare of that which no way
needed. But, whether as a just scourge for this his grosse folly, or a
secret decree, ordained to him by Fortune and the Fates, I am not able
to distinguish: It came so to passe, that a young Gallant made meanes to
enjoy her favour, and she was so discreetly wise in judging of his
worthinesse; that affection passed so farre mutually betweene them, as
nothing wanted, but effects to answere words, suited with time and place
convenient, for which order was taken as best they might, yet to stand
free from all suspition.
Among many other evill conditions, very frequent and familiar in her
husband Tofano; he tooke a great delight in drinking, which not only he
held to be a commendable quality, but was alwaies so often solicited
thereto: that Cheta her selfe began to like and allow it in him, feeding
his humor so effectually, with quaffing and carowsing, that (at any time
when she listed) she could make him bowsie beyonde all measure: and
leaving him sleeping in this drunkennesse, would alwayes get her selfe
to bed. By helpe heereof, she compassed the first familiarity with her
friend, yea, divers times after, as occasion served: and so confidently
did she builde on her husbands drunkennesse, that not onely shee
adventured to bring her friend home into her owne house; but also would
as often go to his, which was some-what neere at hand, and abide with
him there, the most part of the night season. While Cheta thus continued
on these amorous courses, it fortuned, that her slye suspitious husband,
beganne to perceive, that though shee drunke very much with him, yea,
untill he was quite spent and gone: yet she remained fresh and sober
still, and therby imagined strange matters, that he being fast asleepe,
his wife then tooke advantage of his drowsinesse, and mightand so forth.
Beeing desirous to make experience of this his distrust, hee returned
home at night (not having drunke any thing all the whole day)
dissembling both by his words and behaviour, as if he were notoriously
drunke indeede. Which his Wife constantly beleeving, saide to her selfe:
That hee had now more neede of sleepe, then drinke; getting him
immediately into his warme bed; and then going downe the staires againe,
softly went out of doores unto her Friends house, as formerly she had
used to do, and there shee remained untill midnight.
Tofano perceiving that his Wife came not to bed, and imagining to
have heard his doore both open and shut: arose out of his bed, and
calling his Wife Cheta divers times, without any answere returned: hee
went downe the staires, and finding the doore but closed too, made it
fast and sure on the inside, and then got him up to the window, to watch
the returning home of his wife, from whence shee came, and then to make
her conditions apparantly knowne. So long there he stayed, till at the
last she returned indeede, and finding the doore so surely shut, shee
was exceeding sorrowful, essaying how she might get it open by strength:
which when Tofano had long suffered her in vaine to approove, thus hee
spake to her. Cheta, all thy labour is meerely lost, because heere is no
entrance allowed for thee; therefore return to the place from whence
thou camest, that all thy friends may Judge of thy behaviour, and know
what a night-walker thou art become.
The woman hearing this unpleasing language, began to use all humble
entreaties, desiring him (for charities sake) to open the doore and
admit her entrance, because she had not bin in any such place, as his
jelous suspition might suggest to him: but onely to visit a weak and
sickly neighbour, the nights being long, she not (as yet) capeable of
sleepe, nor willing to sit alone in the house. But all her perswasions
served to no purpose, he was so setled in his owne opinion, that all the
Town should now see her nightly gading, which before was not so much as
suspected. Cheta seeing, that faire meanes would not prevalle, shee
entred into roughe speeches and threatnings, saying: If thou wilt not
open the doore and let me come in, I will so shame thee, as never base
man was. As how I pray thee? answered Tofano, what canst thou do to me?
The woman, whom love had inspired with sprightly counsell,
ingeniously enstructing her what to do in this distresse, stearnly thus
replyed. Before I will suffer any such shame as thou intendest towards
mee, I will drowne my selfe heere in this Well before our doore, where
being found dead, and thy villanous jealousie so apparantly knowne,
beside thy more then beastly drunkennesse: all the neighbours will
constantly beleeve, that thou didst first strangle me in the house, and
afterwardes threw me into this Well. So either thou must flie upon the
supposed offence, or lose all thy goodes by banishment, or (which is
much more fitting for thee) have thy head smitten off, as a wilfull
murtherer of thy wife; for all will Judge it to be no otherwise. All
which wordes, mooved not Tofano a jot from his obstinat determination:
but he still persisting therin, thus she spake. I neither can nor will
longer endure this base Villanie of thine: to the mercy of heaven I
commit my soul, and stand there my wheele, a witnesse against so
hard-hearted a murtherer.
No sooner had she thus spoke, but the night being so extreamly dark,
as they could not discerne one another; Cheta went to the Well, where
finding a verie great stone, which lay loose upon the brim of the Well,
even as if it had beene layde there on purpose, shee cried out aloud,
saying. Forgive me faire heavens, and so threw the stone downe into the
Well. The night being very still and silent, the fal of the great stone
made such a dreadfull noise in the Well; that he hearing it at the
Windowe, thought verily she had drowned her selfe indeede. Whereupon,
running downe hastily, and taking a Bucket fastened to a strong Cord: he
left the doore wide open, intending speedily to helpe her. But she
standing close at the doores entrance, before he could get to the Wels
side; she was within the house, softly made the doore fast on the
inside, and then went up to the Window, where Tofano before had stood
talking to her.
While he was thus dragging with his Bucket in the Well, crying and
calling Cheta, take hold good Cheta, and save thy life: she stood
laughing in the Window, saying. Water should bee put into Wine before a
man drinkes it, and not when he hath drunke too much already. Tofano
hearing his Wife thus to flout him out of his Window, went back to the
doore, and finding it made fast against him: he willed hir to grant him
entrance. But she, forgetting all gentle Language, which formerly she
had used to him: in meere mockery and derision (yet intermixed with some
sighes and teares, which women are saide to have at command) out aloud
(because the Neighbours should heare her) thus she replyed.
Beastly drunken Knave as thou art, this night thou shalt not come
within these doores, I am no longer able to endure thy base behaviour,
it is more then high time, that thy course of life should bee publiquely
known, and at what drunken houres thou returnest home to thy house.
Tofano, being a man of very impatient Nature, was as bitter unto her in
words on the other which the Neighbours about them (both men and Women)
hearing; looked forth of their Windowes, and demaunding a reason for
this their disquietnesse, Cheta (seeming as if she wept) sayde.
Alas my good Neighbours, you see at what unfitting houres, this bad
man comes home to his house, after hee hath lyen in a Taverne all day
drunke, sleeping and snorting like a Swine. You are my honest witnesses,
how long I have suffered this beastlinesse in him, yet neyther your good
counsell, nor my too often loving adrionitions, can worke that good
which wee have expected. Wherefore, to try if shame can procure any
amendment, I have shut him out of doores, until his drunken fit be
over-past, and so he shall stand to coole his feet.
Tofano (but in very uncivill maner) told her being abroad that night,
and how she had used him: But the Neighbours seeing her to be within the
house, and beleeving her, rather then him, in regard of his too well
knowne ill qualities; very sharpely reproved him, gave him grosse
speeches, pittying that any honest Woman should be so continually
abused. Now my good Neighbours (quoth she) you see what manner of man he
is. What would you thinke of me, if I should walk the streets thus in
the night time, or be so late out of mine owne house, as this dayly
Drunkard is? I was affraid least you would have given credit to his
dissembling speeches, when he told you, that I was at the Welles side,
and threw something into the Well: but that I know your better opinion
of me, and how sildome I am to be seene out of doores, although he would
induce your sharper judgement of me, and lay that shame upon me, wherein
he hath sinned himselfe.
The Neighbours, both men and Women, were all very severely incensed
against Tofano, condemning him for his great fault that night committed,
and avouching his wife to be vertuous and honest. Within a little while,
the noise passing from Neighbour to Neighbour, at the length it came to
the eares of her Kindred, who forthwith resorted thither, and hearing
how sharpely the Neighbours reprehended Tofano: they tooke him, soundly
bastanadoed him, and hardly left any bone of him unbruised. Afterward,
they went into the house, tooke all such things thence as belonged to
hir, taking hir also with them to their dwelling, and threatning Tofano
with further infliction of punishment, both for his drunkennesse, and
causlesse jealousie.
Tofano perceyving how curstly they had handled him, and what crooked
meanes might further be used against him, in regard her Kindred and
Friends were very mightie: thought it much better, patiently to suffer
the wrong alreadie done him, then by obstinate contending to proceed
further, and fare worse. He became a suter to her Kindred, that al might
be forgotten and forgiven, in recompence whereof; he would not onely
refraine from drunkennesse, but also, never more be jelous of his wife.
This being faithfully promised, and Cheta reconciled to her Husband, all
strife was ended, she enjoyed her friends favour, as occasion served,
but yet with such discretion, as it was not noted. Thus the Coxcombe
foole, was faine to purchase his peace, after a notorious wrong
sustained, and further injuries to bee offered.
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In Just Scorne And Mockery Of Such Jealous
Husbands, That Will Be So Idle Headed Upon No Occasion. Yet When They
Have Good Reason For It, Do Least Of All Suspect Any Such Injury.
A jealous man, clouded with the habite of a Priest, became the
Confessour to his owne Wife; who made him beleeve, that she was deepely
in love with a Priest, which came every night, and lay with her. By
meanes of which confession, while her jealous Husband watched the doore
of his house; to surprize the Priest when he came: she that never meant
to do amisse, had the company of a secret Friend, who came over the
toppe of the house to visite her, while her foolish Husband kept the
doore.
Madam Lauretta having ended her Novell, and every one commended the
Woman, for fitting Tofano in his kinde; and, as his jealousie and
drunkennesse justly deserved: the King (to prevent all losse of time)
turned to Madame Fiammetta, commaunding her to follow next: whereuppon,
very graciously, shee beganne in this manner.
Noble Ladies, the precedent Novell delivered by Madame Lauretta,
maketh me willing to speake of another jealous man; as being halfe
perswaded, that whatsoever is done to them by their Wives, and
especially upon no occasion given, they doe no more then well becommeth
them. And if those grave heads, which were the first instituters of
lawes, had diligently observed all things; I am of the minde, that they
would have ordained no other penalty for Women, then they appointed
against such, as (in their owne defence) do offend any other. For
jealous husbands, are meere insidiators of their Wives lives, and most
diligent pursuers of their deaths, being lockt up in their houses all
the Weeke long, imployed in nothing but domesticke drudging affayres:
which makes them desirous of high Festivall dayes, to receive some litle
comfort abroad, by an honest recreation or pastime, as Husbandmen in the
fields, Artizans in our Citie, or Governours in our judiciall Courtes;
yea, or as our Lord himselfe, who rested the seaventh day from all his
travailes. In like manner, it is so willed and ordained by the Lawes, as
well divine as humane, which have regard to the glory of God, and for
the common good of every one; making distinction betweene those dayes
appointed for labour, and the other determined for rest. Whereto jealous
persons (in no case) will give consent, but all those dayes (which for
other women are pleasing and delightfull) unto such, over whom they
command, are most irksome, sadde and sorrowful, because then they are
lockt up, and very strictly restrained. And if question wer urged, how
many good women do live and consume away in this torturing het of
affliction: I can make no other answere, but such as feele it, are best
able to discover it. Wherefore to conclude the proheme to my present
purpose, let none be over rash in condemning women: for what they do to
their husbands, being jealous without occasion; but rather commend their
wit and providence.
Somtime (faire Ladies) there lived in Arimino, a Merchant, very rich
in wealth and worldly possessions, who having a beautifull Gentlewoman
to his wife, he became extreamly jelous of her. And he had no other
reason for this foolish conceit; but, like as he loved hir dearly, and
found her to be very absolutely faire: even so he imagined, that althogh
she devised by her best meanes to give him content; yet others would
grow enamored of her, because she appeared so amiable to al. In which
respect, time might tutor her to affect some other beside himselfe: the
onely common argument of every bad minded man, being weake and shallow
in his owne understanding. This jelous humor increasing in him more and
more, he kept her in such narrow restraint: that many persons condemned
to death, have enoyed larger libertie in their imprisonment. For, she
might not bee present at Feasts, Weddings, nor goe to Church, or so much
as to be seen at her doore: Nay, she durst not stand in her Window, nor
looke out of her house, for any occasion whatsoever. By means whereof,
life seemed most tedious and offensive to her, and she supported it the
more impatiently, because shee knew her selfe not any way faulty.
Seeing her husband still persist in this shamefull course towards
her; she studied, how she might best comfort her selfe in this desolate
case: by devising some one meane or other (if any at all were to bee
founde) wherby he might be requited in his kind, and wear that badge of
shame whereof he was now but onely affraid. And because she could not
gain so small a permission, as to be seene at any window, where
(happily) she might have observed some one passing by in the street,
discerning a litle parcell of her love: she remembred at length, that,
in the next house to her Husbands (they both joyning close together)
there dwelt a comely yong proper Gentleman, whose perfections carried
correspondencie with her desires. She also considered with her selfe,
that if there were any partition wall; such a chinke or cranny might
easily be made therein, by which (at one time or other) she should gaine
a sight of the young Gentleman, and finde an houre so fitting, as to
conferre with him, and bestow her lovely favour on him, if he pleased to
accept it. If successe (in this case) proved answerable to her hope,
then thus she resolved to outrun the rest of her wearisome dayes, except
the frensie of jealousie did finish her husbands loathed life before.
Walking from one roome to another, thorough every part of the house;
and no wall escaping without diligent surveying; on a day, when her
Husband was absent from home, she espyed in a corner very secret, an
indifferent cleft in the Wall; which though it yeelded no full view on
the other side, yet she plainly perceived it to be an handsome Chamber,
and grew more then halfe perswaded, that either it might be the Chamber
of Philippo (for so was the neighbouring yong Gentleman named) or else a
passage guiding thereto. A Chambermaid of hers, who compassioned her
case very much; made such observance, by her Mistresses direction, that
she found it to be Philippoes bed Chamber, and where alwayes he used to
lodge alone. By often visiting this rift or chinke in the Wall,
especially when the Gentleman was there; and by throwing in little
stones, flowers, and such like things, which fell still in his way as he
walked: so farre she prevailed, that he stepping to the chinke, to know
from whence they came; shee called softly to him, who knowing her voyce,
there they had such private conference together, as was not any way
displeasing to either. So that the chinke being made a little larger;
yet so, as it could not be easily discerned: their mouthes might meete
with kisses together, and their hands folded each in other; but nothing
else to be performed, for continuall feare of her jelous husband.
Now the Feast of Christmasse drawing neere, the Gentlewoman said to
her Husband; that, if it stood with his liking: she would do such duty
as fitted with so solemne a time, by going earely in a morning unto
Church, there to be confessed, and receive her Saviour, as other
Christians did. How now? replied the jealous Asse, what sinnes have you
committed, that should neede confession? How Husband? quoth she, what do
you thinke me to be a Saint? Who knoweth not, I pray you, that I am as
subject to sinne, as any other Woman living in the world? But my sins
are not to be revealed to you, because you are no Priest. These words
enflamed his jealousie more violently then before, and needes must he
know what sinnes she had committed, and having resolved what to do in
this case, made her answer: That hee was contented with her motion,
alwaies provided, that she went to no other Church, then unto their owne
Chappel, betimes in a morning; and their own Chaplaine to confesse her,
or some other Priest by him appointed, but not any other: and then she
to returne home presently againe. She being a woman of acute
apprehension, presently collected his whole intention: but seeming to
take no knowledge thereof, replyed, that she would not swerve from his
direction.
When the appointed day was come, she arose very earely, and being
prepared answerable to her owne liking, to the Chappell shee went as her
Husband had appointed, where her jealous Husband (being much earlier
risen then she) attended for her comming: having so ordred the matter
with his Chaplaine, that he was cloathed in his Cowle, with a large Hood
hanging over his eyes, that she should not know him, and so he went and
sate downe in the Confessors place. Shee being entred into the Chappell,
and calling for the Priest to heare her confession, he made her answer:
that he could not intend it, but would bring her to another holy
Brother, who was at better leysure then hee. So to her Husband he
brought her, that seemed (in all respects) like the Confessor himselfe:
save onely his Hood was not so closely veyled, but shee knew his beard,
and said to her selfe. What a mad world is this when jealousie can
metamorphose an ordinary man into a Priest? But, let me alone with him,
I meane to fit him with that which he lookes for.
So, appearing to have no knowledge at all of him, downe she fell at
his feete, and he had conveyed a few Cherry stones into his mouth, to
trouble his speech from her knowledge; for, in all things els, he thoght
himselfe to be sufficiently fitted for her. In the course of her
confession, she declared, that she was married to a most wicked jealous
Husband, and with whom she lead a very hatefull life. Neverthelesse
(quoth she) I am indifferently even with him, for I am beloved of an
Holie Fryar, that every night commeth and lyeth with me. When the
jealous Husband heard this, it stabbed him like a dagger to the heart,
and, but for his greedy covetous desire to know more; he would faine
have broke off confession, and got him gone. But, perceiving that it was
his wisest course, he questioned further with his wife, saying: Why good
Woman, doth not your husband lodge with you? Yes Sir, quoth she. How is
it possible then (replyed the Husband) that the Friar can lodge there
with you too?
She, dissembling a farre fetcht sigh, thus answered. Reverend Sir, I
know not what skilfull Art the Fryar useth, but this I am sure, every
doore in our house will flye open to him, so soone as he doth but touch
it. Moreover, he told me, that when he commeth unto my Chamber doore, he
speaketh certaine words to himselfe, which immediately casteth my
Husband into a dead sleepe, and, understanding him to bee thus sleepily
entranced: he openeth the doore, entreth in, lieth downe by me, and this
every night he faileth not to do. The jealous Coxcomb angerly scratching
his head, and wishing his wife halfe hangd, said: Mistresse, this is
very badly done, for you should keepe your selfe from all men, but your
husband onely. That shall I never doe, answered shee, because (indeed) I
love him dearely. Why then (quoth our supposed Confessor) I cannot give
you any absolution. I am the more sory Sir, said she, I came not hither
to tell you any leasings, for if I could, yet I would not, because it is
not good to fable with such Saint-like men as you are. You do therein
(quoth hee) the better, and surely I am very sory for you, because in
this dangerous condition, it will bee the utter losse of your soule:
neverthelesse, both for your husbands sake and your owne, I will take
some paines, and use such especiall prayers in your name, which may
(perchance) greatly avayle you. And I purpose now and then, to send you
a Novice or young Clearke of mine, whom you may safely acquaint with
your minde, and signifie to me, by him, whether they have done you good,
or no: and if they prove helpefull, then will we further proceed
therein. Alas Sir, said she, never trouble your selfe, in sending any
body to our house; because, if my Husband should know it, he is so
extreamly jealous, as all the world cannot otherwise perswade him, but
that he commeth thither for no honest intent, and so I shall live worse
then now I do. Fear not that, good woman, quoth he, but beleeve it
certainly, that I will have such a care in this case, as your Husband
shall never speake thereof to you. If you can doe so Sir, sayde she,
proceed I pray you, and I am well contented.
Confession being thus ended, and she receiving such pennance as hee
appointed, she arose on her feete, and went to heare Masse; while our
jealous Woodcocke (testily puffing and blowing) put off his Religious
habite, returning home presently to his house, beating his braines al
the way as he went, what meanes he might best devise, for the taking of
his wife and the Friar together, whereby to have them both severely
punished. His wife being come home from the Chappell, discerned by her
Husbands lookes, that he was like to keepe but a sory Christmasse: yet
he used his utmost industry, to conceale what he had done, and which she
knew as well as himself. And he having fully resolved, to watch his own
street doore the next night ensuing in person, in expectation of the
Friars comming, saide to his Wife. I have occasion both to suppe and
lodge out of my house this night, wherefore see you the streete doore to
be surely made fast on the inside, and the doore at the middest of the
staires, as also your own Chamber doore, and then (in Gods name) get you
to bed. Whereto she answered, that all should be done as hee had
appointed.
Afterward, when she saw convenient time, she went to the chink in the
Wall, and making such a signe as shee was woont to doe: Phillippo came
thither, to whom she declared all her mornings affayres, and what
directions her husband had given her. Furthermore she saide, certaine I
am, that he will not depart from the house, but sit and watch the doore
without, to take one that comes not heere. If therefore, you can climbe
over the house top, and get in at our gutter Window, you and I may
conferre more familiarly together. The young Gentleman being no dullard,
had his lesson quickly taught him; and when night was come, Geloso (for
so must wee tearme the Cocke-braind husband) armes himselfe at all
points, with a browne Bill in his hand, and so he sits to watch his owne
doore. His Wife had made fast all the doores, especially that on the
midst of the stayres, because he should not (by any means) come to her
Chamber; and so, when the houre served, the Gentleman adventured over
the house top, found the gutter Window, and the way conducting him to
her Chamber, where I leave them to their further amorous conference.
Geloso, more than halfe mad with anger, first, because hee had lost
his supper: next, having sitten almost all the night (which was
extreamely cold and windle) his Armor much mollesting him, and yet he
could see no Friar come: when day drew neere, and hee ashamed to watch
there any longer; conveighed himselfe to some more convenient place,
where putting off his Armes, and seeming to come from the place of his
Lodging; about the ninth houre, he found his doore open, entred in, and
went up the stayres, going to dinner with his Wife. Within a while
after, according as Geloso had ordred the businesse, a youth came
thither, seeming to be the Novice sent from the Confessor, and he being
admitted to speake with her, demanded, whether shee were troubled or
mollested that night passed, as formerly she had bin, and whether the
partie came or no? The Woman, who knew well enough the Messenger
(notwithstanding all his formall disguise) made answer: That the party
expected, came not: but if hee had come, it was to no purpose; because
her minde was now otherwise altred, albeit she changed not a jote from
her amorous conclusion.
What should I now further say unto you? Geloso continued his watch
many nights afterward, as hoping to surprize the Friar at his entrance,
and his wife kept still her contented quarter, according as opportunitie
served. In the conclusion, Geloso beeing no longer able to endire his
bootlesse watching, nor some (more then ordinary) pleasing countenance
in his wife: one day demaunded of her (with a very stearne and frowning
brow) what secret sinnes shee had revealed to the ghostly Father, upon
the day of her shrift? The Woman replyed, that she would not tell him,
neyther was it a matter reasonable, or lawfull for her to doe. Wicked
Woman, answered Geloso: I knowe them all well enough, even in despight
of thee, and every word that thou spakest unto him. But Huswife, now I
must further know, what the Fryar is, with whom you are so farre in
love, and (by meanes of his enchantments) lyeth with you every night;
tell me what and who he is, or else I meane to cut your throate.
The Woman immediately made answer, it was not true, that she was in
love with any Fryar. How? quoth Geloso, didst not thou confesse so much
to the Ghostly Father, the other day when thou wast at shrift? No Sir,
sayde she, but if I did, I am sure he would not disclose it to you,
except hee suffered you to bee there present, which is an Article
beyonde his dutie. But if it were so, then I confesse freely, that I did
say so unto him. Make an end then quickely Wife (quoth Geloso) and tell
mee who the Friar is. The Woman fell into a hearty laughter, saying. It
liketh me singularly well, when a wise man will suffer himselfe to be
ledde by a simple Woman, even as a Sheepe is to the slaughter, and by
the hornes. If once thou wast wise, that wisedome became utterly lost,
when thou felst into that divellish frensie of jealousie, without
knowing anie reason for it: for, by this beastlike and no manly humor,
thou hast eclipsed no meane part of my glory, and womanly reputation.
Doest thou imagine Husband, that if I were so blinded in the eyes of
my head, as thou art in them which should informe thine understanding; I
could have found out the Priest, that would needs bee my Confessor? I
knew thee Husband to be the man, and therefore I prepared my wit
accordingly, to fit thee with the foolish imagination which thou
soughtest for, and (indeed) gave it thee. For, if thou hadst beene wise,
as thou makest the world to beleeve by outward apparance, thou wouldest
never have expressed such a basenesse of minde, to borrow the coulour of
a sanctified cloake, thereby to undermine the secrets of thine honest
meaning Wife. Wherefore, to feede thee in thy fond suspition, I was the
more free in my Confession, and tolde thee truely, with whom, and how
heinously I had transgressed. Did I not tell thee, that I loved a Fryar?
And art not thou he whom love, being a Fryar, and my ghostly Father,
though (to thine owne shame) thou madst thy selfe so? I said moreover,
that there is not any doore in our house, that can keepe it selfe shut
against him, but (when he pleaseth) he comes and lies with me. Now tell
me Husband, What doore in our house hath (at any time) bin shut against
thee, but they are freely thine owne, and grant thee entrance? Thou art
the same Friar that confest me, and lieth every night with me, and so
often as thou sentst thy yong Novice or Clearke to me, as often did I
truly returne thee word, when the same Fryar lay with me. But (by
jealousie) thou hast so lost thine understanding, that thou wilt hardly
beleeve all this.
Alas good man, like an armed Watchman, thou satst at thine owne doore
all a cold Winters night, perswading mee (poorelly credulous woman)
that, upon urgent occasions, thou must needs suppe and lodge from home.
Remember thy selfe therefore better heereafter, become a true
understanding man, as thou shouldst bee, and make not thy selfe a
mocking stocke to them, who knoweth thy jealous qualities, as well as I
do, and be not so watchfull over me, as thou art. For I sweare by my
true honesty, that if I were but as willing, as thou art suspitious: I
could deceive thee, if thou hadst an hundred eyes, as Nature affords
thee but two, and have my pleasures freely, yet thou be not a jot the
wiser, or my credit any way impaired.
Our wonderfull wise Geloso, who (very advisedly) considred that he
had wholly heard his wives secret confession, and dreamed now on no
other doubt beside, but (perceiving by her speeches) how hee was become
a scorne to al men: without returning other answer, confirmed his wife
to be both wise and honest, and now when he hadde just occasion to be
jealous indeede, hee utterly forsware it, and counted them all Coxcombes
that would be so misguided. Wherefore, she having thus wisely wonne the
way to her owne desires, and he reduced into a more humane temper: I
hope there was no more neede, of clambring over houses in the night time
like Cats, nor walking in at gutter Windowes; but all abuses were
honestly reformed.
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Wherein Is Manifestly Discerned, That If Love
Be Driven To A Narrow Straite In Any Of His Attempts; Yet Hee Can
Accomplish His Purpose By Some Other Supply.
Madame Isabella, delighting in the company of her affected Friend, named
Lionello, and she being likewise beloved by Signior Lambertuccio: At the
same time as shee had entertained Lionello, shee was also visited by
Lambertuccio. Her Husband returning home in the very instant; shee
caused Lambertuccio to run forth with a drawne sword in his hand, and
(by that meanes) made an excuse sufficient for Lionello to her husband.
Wondrously pleasing to all the company, was the reported Novell of
Madame Fiammetta, every one applauding the Womans wisedome, and that she
had done no more, then as the jealous foole her husband justly deserved.
But shee having ended, the King gave order unto Madame Pampinea, that
now it was her turne to speake, whereupon, thus she began. There are no
meane store of people who say (though very false and foolishly,) that
Love maketh many to be out of their wits, and that such as fall in Love,
do utterly loose their understanding. To mee this appeareth a very ydle
opinion, as already hath beene approved by the related discourses, and
shall also bee made manifest by another of mine owne.
In our City of Florence, famous for some good, though as many bad
qualities, there dwelt (not long since) a Gentlewoman, endued with
choice beauty and admirable perfections, being wife to Signior Beltramo,
a very valiant Knight, and a man of great possessions. As oftentimes it
commeth to passe, that a man cannot alwayes feede on one kind of bread,
but his appetite will be longing after change: so fared it with this
Lady, named Isabella, she being not satisfied with the delights of her
Husband; grew enamoured of a young Gentleman, called Lionello, compleate
of person and commendable qualities, albeit not of the fairest fortunes,
yet his affection every way sutable to hers. And full well you know
(faire Ladies) that where the mindes irreciprocally accorded, no
dilligence wanteth for the desires execution: so this amorous couple,
made many solemne protestations, untill they should bee friended by
opportunity.
It fortuned in the time of their hopefull expectation a Knight, named
Signior Lambertuccio, fell likewise in love with Isabella: but because
he was somewhat unsightly of person, and utterly unpleasing in the eye,
she grew regardlesse of his frequent solicitings, and would not accept
either tokens, or letters. Which when hee saw, (being very rich and of
great power) hee sought to compasse his intent by a contrary course,
threatning her with scandall and disgrace to her reputation, and with
his associates to bandie against her best friends. She knowing what
manner of man he was, and how able to abuse any with infamous
imputations, wisely returned him hopefull promises, though never meaning
to performe any, but onely (Lady-like) to flatter and foole him
therewith.
Some few miles distant from Florence, Beltramo had a Castle of
pleasure, and there his Lady Isabella used to live all Summer, as all
other doe the like, being so possessed. On a day, Beltramo being ridden
from home, and she having sent for Lionello, to take the advantage of
her Husbands absence; accordingly he went, not doubting but to winne
what he had long expected. Signior Lambertuccio on the other side,
meeting Beltramo riding from his Castle, and Isabella now fit to enjoy
his company: gallops thither with all possible speede, because hee would
bee no longer delayed. Scarcely was Lionello entred the Castle, and
receiving directions by the waiting woman, to her Ladies Chamber: but
Lambertuccio gallopped in at the Gate, which the woman perceiving, ranne
presently and acquainted her Lady with the comming of Lambertuccio.
Now was shee the onely sorrowfull woman of the world; for nothing was
now to bee feared, but stormes and tempests, because Lambertuccio, spake
no other then Lightning and Thunder, and Lionello, (being no lesse
affraide then shee) by her perswasion crept behind the bed, where he hid
himselfe very contentedly. By this time Lambertuccio was dismounted from
his Courser, which he fastened (by the bridle) to a ring in the wall,
and then the waiting woman came to him, to guide him to her Lady and
Mistresse: who stood ready at the staires head, graced him with a very
acceptable welcome, yet marvelling much at his so sodaine comming. Lady
(quoth he) I met your Husband upon the way, which granting mine accesse
to see you; I come to claime your long delayed promise, the time being
now so favourable for it.
Before he had uttered halfe these words, Beltramo, having forgot an
especiall evidence in his Study, which was the onely occasion of his
journey, came gallopping backe againe into the Castell Court, and seeing
such a goodly Gelding stand fastened there, could not redily imagine who
was the owner thereof. The waiting woman, upon the sight of her Masters
entring into the Court, came to her Lady, saying: My Master Beltramo is
returned back?, newly alighted, and (questionlesse) comming up the
staires. Now was our Lady Isabella, ten times worse affrighted then
before, (having two severall amourous suters in her house, both hoping,
neither speeding, yet her credite lying at the stake for either) by this
unexpected returne of her Husband. Moreover, there was no possible
meanes, for the concealing of Signior Lambertuccio, because his Gelding
stood in the open Court, and therefore made a shrewde presumption
against her, upon the least doubtfull question urged.
Neverthelesse, as womens wits are alwayes best upon sudden
constraints, looking forth of her window, and espying her Husband
preparing to come up: she threw her selfe on her day Couch, speaking
thus (earnestly) to Lambertuccio. Sir, if ever you loved mee, and would
have me faithfully to beleeve it, by the instant safety both of your
owne honour, and my life, doe but as I advise you. Forth draw your
Sword, and, with a stearne countenance, threatning death and
destruction: run downe the staires, and when you are beneath, say. I
sweare by my best fortunes, although I misse of thee now heere, yet I
will be sure to finde thee some where else. And if my Husband offer to
stay you, or moove any question to you: make no other answere, but what
you formerly spake in fury. Beside, so soone as you are mounted on
horsebacke, have no further conference with him, upon any occasion
whatsoever; to prevent all suspition in him, of our future intendments.
Lambertuccio sware many terrible oathes, to observe her directions in
every part, and having drawne forth his Sword, grasping it naked in his
hand, and setting worse lookes on the businesse, then ever nature gave
him, because he had spent so much labour in vaine; he failed not in a
jot of the Ladies injunction. Beltramo having commanded his horse to
safe custody, and meeting Lambertuccio discending downe the staires, so
armed, swearing, and most extreamely storming, wondring extraordinarily
at his threatning words, made offer to imbrace him., and understand the
reason of his distemper. Lambertuccio repulsing him rudely, and setting
foote in the stirrup, mounted on his Gelding, and spake nothing else but
this. I sweare by the fairest of all my fortunes, although I misse of
thee heere: yet I will be sure to find thee some where else, and so he
gallopped mainely away.
When Beltramo was come up into his wives Chamber, hee found her cast
downe upon her Couch, weeping, full of feare, and greatly discomforted;
wherefore he said unto her, What is hee that Signior Lambertuccio is so
extreamely offended withall, and threatneth in such implacable manner?
The Lady arising from her Couch, and going neere to the Bed, because
Lionello might the better heare her; returned her Husband this answere.
Husband (quoth she) never was I so dreadfully affrighted till now; for,
a young Gentleman, of whence, or what he is, I know not, came running
into our Castle for rescue, being pursued by Signior Lambertuccio, a
weapon ready drawne in his hand. Ascending up our stayres, by what
fortune, I know not, he found my Chamber doore standing open, finding me
also working on my Sampler, and in wonderfull feare and trembling.
Good Madame (quoth hee) for Gods sake helpe to save my life, or else
I shall be slaine heere in your Chamber. Hearing his pittious cry, and
compassionating his desperate case; I arose from my worke, and in my
demaunding of whence, and what he was, that durst presume so boldly into
my bed-chamber: presently came up Signior Lambertuccio also, in the same
uncivill sorte, as before I tolde you, swaggering and swearing; where is
this traiterous villaine? Heereupon, I stept (somewhat stoutly) to my
Chamber doore, and as hee offered to enter, with a womans courage I
resisted him, which made him so much enraged against mee, that when hee
saw mee to debarre his entrance; after many terrible and vile oathes and
vowes, hee ranne downe the stayres againe, in such like manner as you
chaunced to meete him.
Now trust mee deare wife (said Beltramo) you behaved your selfe very
well and worthily: for, it would have beene a most notorious scandall to
us, if a man should bee slaine in your bed-chamber: and Signior
Lambertuccio carryed himselfe most dishonestly, to pursue any man so
outragiously, having taken my Castle as his Sanctuary. But alas wife,
what is become of the poore affrighted Gentleman? Introth Sir (quoth
she) I know not, but (somewhere or other) heereabout hee is hidden.
Where art you honest friend" said plaine meaning Beltramo; Come forth
and feare not, for thine enemy is gone.
Lionello, who had heard all the forepassed discourse, which shee had
delivered to her Husband Beltramo, came creeping forth amazedly (as one
now very fearefully affrighted indeede) from under the further side of
the bedde, and Beltramo saide to him, What a quarrell was this, between
thee and furious Lambertuccio? Not any at all Sir, replyed Lionello, to
my knowledge, which verily perswadeth me; that either he is not well in
his wits, or else he mistaketh me for some other; because, so soone as
he saw me on the way, somewhat neere to this your Castle, he drew forth
hi Sword, and swearing an horrible oath, said. Traitor thou art a dead
man. Upon these rough words, I stayed not to question the occasion of
mine offending him: but fied from him so fast as possibly I could; but
confesse my selfe (indeede) over-bold, by presuming into your Ladies bed
chamber, which yet (equalled with her mercie) hath bin the onely meanes
at this time, of saving my life She hath done like a good Lady, answered
Beltramo, and I do verie much commend her for it. But, recollect thy
dismayed spirits together, for I will see thee safely secured lience,
afterward, looke to thy selfe so well as thou canst. Dinner being
immediately made ready, and they having merrily feasted together: he
bestowed a good Gelding on Lionello, and rode along with him to
Florence, where he left him quietly in his owne lodging. The selfe-same
Evening (according as Isabella had given enstruction) Lionello conferred
with Lambertuccio: and such an agreement passed betweene them, that
though some rough speeches were noised abroad, to set the better colour
on the businesse; yet al matters were so cleanly carried, that Beltramo
never knew this queint deceitfull policy of his Wife.
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Whereby Is Declared, That Such As Keepe Many
Honest Seeming Servants, May Sometime Finde A Knave Among Them, And One
That Proves To Be Oversawcy With His Master.
Lodovico discovered to his Mistresse Madame Beatrix, how amorously he
was affected to her. She cunningly sent Egano her Husband into his
garden, in all respects disguised like her selfe, while (friendly)
Lodovico conferred with her in the meane while. Afterward, Lodovico
pretending a lascivious allurement of his Mistresse, thereby to wrong
his honest Master, insted of her, beateth Egano soundly in the Garden.
This so sodaine dexterity of wit in Isabella, related in verie modest
manner by Madame Pampinea, was not onely admired by all the company; but
likewise passed with as generall approbation. But yet Madam Philomena
(whom the King had commanded next to succeede) peremptorily sayde.
Worthy Ladies, if I am not deceived; I intend to tell you another Tale
presently; as much to be commended as the last.
You are to understand then, that it is no long while since, when
there dwelt in Paris a Florentine Gentleman, who falling into decay of
his estate, by over-bountifull expences; undertooke the degree of a
Merchant, and thrived so well by his trading, that he grew to great
wealth, having one onely sonne by his wife, named Lodovico. This Sonne,
partaking somewhat in his Fathers former height of minde, and no way
inclineable to deale in Merchandize, had no meaning to be a Shopman, and
therefore accompanied the Gentlemen of France, in sundry services for
the King; among whom, by his singular good carriage and qualites, he
happened to be not meanly esteemed. While thus he continued in the
Court, it chanced, that certaine Knights, returning from Jerusalem,
having there visited the holy Sepulcher, and comming into company where
Lodovico was: much familiar discourse passed amongst them, concerning
the faire women of France, England, and other parts of the world where
they had bin, and what delicate beauties they had seene.
One in the company constantly avouched, that of all the Women by them
so generally observed, there was not any comparable to the Wife of Egano
de Galluzzi, dwelling in Bologna, and her name Madam Beatrix, reputed to
be the onely faire woman of the world. Many of the rest maintained as
much, having bin at Bologna, and likewise seene her. Lodovico hearing
the woman to be so highly commended, and never (as yet) feeling any
thought of amorous inclination; became sodainely toucht with an earnest
desire of seeing her, and his minde could entertaine no other matter,
but onely of travailing thither to see her, yea, and to continue there,
if occasion so served. The reason for his journey urged to his Father,
was to visit Jerusalem, and the holy Sepulcher, which with much
difficulty, at length he obtained his leave.
Being on his journey towards Bologna, by the name of Anichino, and
not of Lodovico, and being there arrived; upon the day following, and
having understood the place of her abiding: it was his good happe, to
see the Lady at her Window; she appearing in his eye farre more faire,
then all reports had made her to be. Heereupon, his affection became so
enflamed to her, as he vowed, never to depart from Bologna, untill he
had obtained her love. And devising by what meanes he might effect his
hopes, he grew perswaded (setting all other attempts aside) that if he
could be entertained into her Husbands service, and undergo some
businesse in the house, time might tutor him to obtaine his desire.
Having given his attendants sufficient allowance, to spare his company,
and take no knowledge of him, selling his Horses also, and other notices
which might discover him: he grew into acquaintance with the Hoste of
the house where he lay, revealing an earnest desire in himselfe, to
serve som Lord or worthy Gentleman, if any were willing to give him
entertainment.
Now beleeve me Sir (answered the Hoste) you seeme worthy to have a
good service indeede, and I know a Noble Gentleman of this Cittie, who
is named Egano: he will (without all question) accept your offer, for
hee keepeth many men of verie good deserving, and you shall have my
furtherance therein so much as may be. As he promised, so he performed,
and taking Anichino with him unto Egano: so farre he prevailed by his
friendly protestations, and good opinion of the young Gentleman; that
Anichino was (without more ado) accepted in Eganoes service, then which,
nothing could be more pleasing to him. Now had he the benefit of dayly
beholding his hearts Mistresse, and so acceptable proved his service to
Egano, that he grew very farre in love with him: not undertaking any
affayres whatsoever, without the advice and direction of Anichino, so
that he reposed his most especiall trust in him, as a man altogether
governed by him.
It fortuned upon a day, that Egano being ridden to flye his Hawke at
the River, and Anichino remaining behinde at home, Madame Beatrix, who
(as yet) had taken no notice of Anichinoes love to her (albeit her
selfe, observing his faire carriage and commendable qualities, was
highly pleased to have so seeming a servant) called him to play at the
Chesse with her: and Anichino, coveting nothing more then to content
her, carried himselfe so dexteriously in the game, that he permitted hir
still to win, which was no little joy to her. When all the Gentlewomen,
and other friends there present, as spectators to behold their play, had
taken their farewell, and were departed, leaving them all alone, yet
gaming still: Anichino breathing forth an intire sigh, Madame Beatrix
looking merrily on him, said. Tell me Anichino, art not thou angrie, to
see me win? It should appeare so by that solemne sigh. No truly Madame,
answered Anichino, a matter of farre greater moment, then losse of
infinite games at the Chesse, was the occasion why I sighed. I pray thee
(replyed the Lady) by the love thou bearest me, as being my Servant (if
any love at all remain in thee towards me) give me a reason for that
harty sigh.
When he heard himselfe so severely conjured, by the love he bare to
her, and loved none else in the world beside: he gave a farre more
hart-sicke sigh, then before. Then his Lady and Mistresse entreated him
seriously, to let her know the cause of those two deepe sighes: whereto
Anichino thus replyed. Madam, if I should tell you, I stand greatly in
feare of offending you: and when I have told you, I doubt your discovery
thereof to some other. Beleeve me Anichino (quoth she) therein thou
neither canst, or shalt offend me. Moreover, assure thy selfe, that I
will never disclose it to any other, except I may do it with thy
consent. Madame (saide hee) seeing you have protested such a solemne
promise to mee, I will reveale no meane secret unto you.
So, with teares standing in his eyes, he told her what he was; where
he heard the first report of her singular perfections, and instantly
becam enamored of her, as the maine motive of his entring into her
service. Then, most humbly he entreated her, that if it might agree with
her good liking, she would be pleased to commisserate his case, and
grace him with her private favours. Or, if shee might not be so
mercifull to him; that yet she would vouchsafe, to let him live in the
lowly condition as he did, and thinke it a thankefull duty in him, onely
to love her. O singular sweetnesse, naturally living in faire feminine
blood! How justly art thou worthy of praise in the like occasions? Thou
couldst never be wonne by sighes and teares; but hearty imprecations
have alwayes prevailed with thee, making thee apt and easie to amorous
desires. If I had praises answerable to thy great and glorious
deservings, my voice should never faint, nor my pen waxe weary, in the
due and obsequious performance of them.
Madam Beatrix, well observing Anichino when he spake, and giving
credit to his so solemne protestations; they were so powerfull in
prevailing with her, that her senses (in the same manner) were
enchanted; and sighes flew as violently from her, as before he had
vented them: which stormy tempest being a little over-blowne, thus she
spake. Anichino, my hearts deere affected Friend, live in hope, for I
tell thee truly, never could gifts, promises, nor any Courtings used to
me by Lords, Knights, Gentlemen, or other (although I have bin solicited
by many) winne the lest grace or favour at my hand, no, nor move me to
any affection. But thou, in a minute of time (compared with their long
and tedious suing) hast expressed such a soveraigne potency in thy sweet
words, that thou hast made me more thine, then mine owne: and beleeve it
unfeinedly, I hold thee to be worthy of my love. Wherefore, with this
kisse I freely give it thee, and make thee a further promise, that
before this night shall be fully past, thou shalt in better manner
perceive it. Adventure into my Chamber about the houre of midnight, I
will leave the doore open: thou knowest on which side of the bed I use
to rest, come thither and feare not: if I sleep, the least gentle touch
of thy hand will wake me, and then thou shalt see how much I love thee.
So, with a kinde kisse or two, the bargaine was concluded, she licensing
his departure for that rime, and he staying in hope of his hearts
happinesse, till when, he thought every houre a yeare.
In the meane while; Egano returned home from Hawking, and so soone as
he had supt (being very weary) he went to bed, and his Ladie likewise
with him, leaving her Chamber doore open, according as she had promised.
At the houre appointed, Anichino came, finding the doore but easily put
too, which (being entred) softly he closed againe, in the same manner as
he found it. Going to the beds side where the Lady lay, and gently
touching her brest with his hand, he found her to be awake, and
perceiving he was come according unto promise, shee caught his hand fast
with hers, and held him very strongly. Then, turning (as she could)
towards Egano, she made such meanes, as hee awaked, whereupon she spake
unto him as followeth.
Sir, yesternight I would have had a fewe speeches with you: but, in
regard of your wearinesse and early going to bed, I could not have any
opportunity. Now, this time and place being most convenient, I desire to
bee resolved by you: Among all the men retained into your service; which
of them do you thinke to be the best, most loyall, and worthiest to
enjoy your love? Egano answered thus: Wife, why should you move such a
question to me? Do not you know, that I never had any servant
heeretofore, or ever shall have heereafter, in whom I reposed the like
trust as I have done, and do in Anichino? But to what end is this motion
of yours? I will tell you Sir (quoth she) and then be Judge your self,
whether I have reason to move this question, or no. Mine opinion every
way equalled yours, concerning Anichino, and that he was more just and
faithfull to you, then any could be amongest all the rest: But Husband,
like as where the water runneth stillest, the Foord is deepest, even so,
his smooth lookes have beguiled both you and me. For, no longer agoe,
then this verie day, no sooner were you ridden foorth on Hauking, but he
(belike purposely) tarrying at home, watching such a leysure as best
fitted his intent: was not ashamed to solicite mee, both to abuse your
bed, and mine owne spotlesse honor.
Moreover, he prosecuted his impious purpose with such alluring
perswasions: that being a weake woman, and not willing to endure over
many Amorous proofes (onely to acquaint you with his most sawcie
immodestie, and to revenge your selfe uppon him as best you may; your
selfe beeing best able to pronounce him guiltie) I made him promise, to
meete him in our Garden, presently after midde-night, and to finde mee
sitting under the Pine-Tree; never meaning (as I am vertuous) to be
there. But, that you may know the deceite and falshoode of your Servant,
I would have you to put on my Night-gowne, my head Attire, and
Chinne-cloath, and sitting but a short while there underneath the
Pine-Tree: such is his insatiate desire, as he will not faile to come,
and then you may proceede, as you finde occasion.
When Egano heard these Words, sodainely hee started out of Bed,
saying. Doe I foster such a Snake in mine owne bosome? Gramercie Wife
for this politicke promise of thine, and beleeve mee, I meane to follow
it effectually. So, on he put his Ladies Night-gown, her formall head
Attire and Chin-cloth, going presently downe into the Garden, to expect
Anichinoes comming to the Pine-Tree. But before the matter grew to this
issue, let me demand of you faire Ladies, in what a lamentable condition
(as you may imagine) was poore Anichino; to bee so strongly detained by
her, heare all his amorous suite discovered, and likely to draw very
heavy afflictions on him? Undoubtedly, he looked for immediate
apprehension by Egano, imprisonment and publike punishment for his so
malapert presumption: and had it proved so, she had much renowned her
selfe, and dealt with him but as he had justlie deserved.
But frailtie in our feminine sex is too much prevalent, and makes us
wander from vertuous courses, when we are wel onward in the way to them.
Madam Beatrix, whatsoever passed betweene her and Anichino, I know not,
but, either to continue this new begunne league for further time, or, to
be revenged on her husbands implicity, in over-rashlie giving credit to
so smooth a ly; this was her advise to him. Anichino, quoth she, Take a
good Cudgell in thy hand, then go into the Garden so farre as the Pine;
and there, as if formerly thou hadst solicited mee unto this secret
meeting, only but by way of approving my honestie: in my name, revile
thy master so bitterly as thou canst, bestowing manie sound blowes on
him with thy cudgel; yet urge the shame stil (as it were) to mee, and
never leave him, til thou hast beaten him out of the garden, to teach
him keepe his bed another time Such an apt Scholler as Anichino was in
this kind, needs no tutoring, but a word is enough to a ready Wit. To
the Garden goes he, with a good willow cudgell in his hand, and comming
neere to the Pine-tree, there he found Egano disguised like to his Lady,
who arising from the place where he sate, went with chearefull gesture
to welcome him; but Anichino (in rough and stearne manner) thus spake
unto him. Wicked shamelesse, and most immodest Woman, Art thou come,
according to thine unchaste and lascivious promise? Couldest thou so
easily credite, (though I tempted thee, to trie the vertue of thy
continencie) I would offer such a damnable wrong to my worthy Master,
that so deerely loves me, and reposeth his especiall confidence in me?
Thou art much deceived in me, and shalt finde, that I hate to be false
to him.
So lifting up the Cudgell, he gave him therewith halfe a score good
bastinadoes, laying them on soundly, both on his armes and shoulders:
and Egano feeling the smart of them, durst not speake one Worde, but
fled away from him so fast as hee could, Anichino still following, and
multiplying many other injurious speeches against him, with the
Epithites of Strumpet, lustfull and insatiate Woman. Go thou lewde beast
(quoth he) most unworthy the title of a Lady, or to be Wife unto so good
a natured man, as my Mayster is, to whom I will reveale thy most
ungracious incivility to Morrow, that he may punish thee a little better
then I have done.
Egano being thus well beaten for his Garden walke, got within the
doore, and so went up to his Chamber againe: his Lady there demanding of
him, whether Anichino came according to his promise, or no? Come?
quoth Egano, Yes Wife, he came, but deerely to my cost: for hee
verily taking me for thee, hath beaten me most extreamly, calling me an
hundred Whores and Strumpets, reputing thee to bee the wickedst Woman
living. In good sadnesse Beatrix, I wondred not a little at him, that he
would give thee any such vile speeches, with intent to wrong mee in mine
honour. Questionlesse, because hee saw thee to be joviall spirited,
gracious and affable towardes all men; therefore hee intended to make
triall of thine honest carriage. Well Sir (sayde shee) twas happy that
hee tempted mee with words, and let you taste the proofe of them by
deeds: and let him thinke, that I brooke those words as distastably, as
you do or can, his ill deeds. But seeing he is so just, faithfull, and
loyall to you, you may love him the better, and respect him as you finde
occasion.
Whereto Egano thus replyed. Now trust me thou hast said very well:
And me wi drawing hence the argument of his setled perswasion; that he
had the chastest Woman living to his wife, and so just a Servant, as
could not be fellowed: there never was any further discoverie of this
Garden-night accident. Perhaps, Madame Beatrix and Anichino might
subtilly smile thereat in secret, in regard that they knew more then any
other else beside did. But, as for honest meaning Egano, hee never had
so much as the verie least mistrust of ill dealing, either in his Lady,
or Anichino; whom hee loved and esteemed farre more respectively uppon
this proofe of his honestie towards him, then hee would or could
possibly have done, without a triall so playne and pregnant.
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Whereby Appeareth, That An Husband Ought To Be
Very Well Advised, When He Meaneth To Discover Any Wrong Offered His
Wife; Except Hee Him-Selfe Do Rashly Run Into All The Shame And
Reproach.
Arriguccio Berlinghieri, became immeasurably jelous of his Wife
Simonida, who fastened a thred about her great toe, for to serve as a
small, when her amorous friend should come to visite her. Arriguccio
findeth the fallacie, and while he pursueth the amorous friend, shee
causeth her Maide to lye in her bed against his returne: whom he beateth
extreamly, cutting away the lockes of her haire (thinking he had doone
all this violence to his wife Simonida:) and afterward fetcheth her
Mother and Brethren, to shame her before them, and so be rid of her. But
they finding all his speeches to be utterly false; and reputing him to
bee a drunken jealous foole; all the blame and disgrace falleth on
himselfe.
It seemed to the whole assembly, that Madam Beatrix, dealte somewhat
strangely, in the manner of beguiling her husband; and affirmed also,
that Anichino had great cause of fear, when she held him so strongly by
her beds side, and related all his amorous temptation. But when the King
perceyved, that Madame Philomena sate silent, he turned to Madam
Neiphila, willing her to supply the next place; who modestly smiling,
thus began.
Faire Ladies, it were an heavy burthen imposed on me, and a matter
much surmounting my capacity, if I should vainely imagine, to content
you with so pleasing a Novell, as those have already done, by you so
singularly reported: neverthelesse, I must discharge my dutie, and take
my fortune as it fals, albeit I hope to finde you mercifull.
You are to know then, that sometime there lived in our Citie, a very
welthy Merchant, named Arriguccio Berlinghieri, who (as many Merchants
have done) fondly imagined, to make himselfe a Gentleman by marriage.
Which that he might the more assuredly do, he took to wife a
Gentlewoman, one much above his degree or element, she being named
Simonida. Now, in regard that he delighted (as it is the usuall life of
a Merchant) to be often abroad, and little at home, whereby shee had
small benefit of his company; shee grew very forward in affection with a
young Gentleman, called Signior Roberto, who had solicited hir by many
amorous meanes, and (at length) prevailed to win her favor. Which favour
being once obtained; affection gaddes so farre beyond al discretion, and
makes Lovers so heedelesse of their private conversations: that either
they are taken tardy in their folly, or else subjected to scandalous
suspition.
It came to passe, that Arriguccio, either by rumour, or some other
more sensible apprehension, had received such intelligence concerning
his Wife Simonida, as he grew into extraordinarie jealousie of her,
refraining travaile abroad, as formerly he was wont to doe, and ceassing
from his verie ordinary affayres, addicting all his care and endeavour,
onely to be watchfull of his Wife; so that he never durst sleepe, untill
she were by him in the bed, which was no meane mollestation to her,
being thus curbd from her familiar meetings with Roberto. Neverthelesse,
having a long while consulted with her wittes, to find some apte meanes
for conversing with him, being thereto also very earnestlie still
solicited by him; you shall heare what course she undertooke.
Her Chamber being on the streete side, and somewhat juttying over it,
she observed the disposition of her Husband, that every night it was
long before he fell asleepe: but beeing once falne into it, no noyse
whatsoever, could easily wake him. This his solemne and sound sleeping,
emboldned her so farre, as to meete with Roberto at the streete doore,
which (while her Husband slept) softly she would open to him, and
therein private converse with him.
But, because shee would know the certaine houre of his comming,
without the least suspition of any: she hung a thred forth of her
Chamber Window, descending downe, within the compasse of Robertoes reach
in the street, and the other end thereof, guided from the Window to the
bed, being conveyed under the Cloathes, and shee being in bed, she
fastned it about her left great Toe, wherewith Roberto was sufficiently
acquainted, and thus enstructed withall; that at his comming, he should
plucke the thred, and if her husband was in his dead sleep, she would
let go the thred, and come downe to him: but if he slept not, she would
hold it strongly, and then his tarrying would prove but in vaine, there
could be no meeting that night.
This devise was highly pleasing both to Roberto and Simonida, being
the intelligencer of their often meeting, and many times also advising
the contrary. But in the end, as the quaintest cunning may faile at one
time or other; so it fortuned one night, that Simonida being in a sound
sleepe, and Arriguccio waking, because his drowsie houre was not yet
come: as he extendeth forth his legge in the bed, he found the thred,
which feeling in his hand, and perceiving it was tyed to his wives great
toe; it prooved apt tinder to kindle further jealousie, and now hee
suspected some treachery indeede, and so much the rather because the
thred guided (under the cloathes) from the bed to the window, and there
hanging downe into the streete, as a warning to some further businesse.
Now was Arriguccio so furiously enflamed, that hee must needes bee
further resolved in this apparant doubt: and because therein hee would
not be deceived, softly he cut the thred from his wives toe, and made it
fast about his owne; to trye what successe would ensue thereon. It was
not long before Roberto came, and according as hee used to doe, hee
pluckt the thred, which Arriguccio felt, but because hee had not tyed it
fast, and Roberto pulling it over-hardly, it fell downe from the window
into his hand, which he understood as his lesson, to attend her comming,
and so hee did. Arriguccio stealing softly out of bed from his wife, and
taking his Sword under his arme, went downe to the doore, to see who it
was, with full intent of further revenge. Now, albeit he was a Merchant,
yet he wanted not courage, and boldnesse of spirit, and opening the
doore without any noyse, onely as his wife was wont to doe: Roberto,
there waiting his entrance, perceived by the doores unfashionable
opening, that it was not Simonida, but her Husband, whereupon he betooke
himselfe to flight and Arriguccio fiercely followed him. At the length,
Roberto perceiving that flight avayled him not, because his enemy still
pursued him: being armed also with a Sword, as Arriguccio was; he
returned backe upon him, the one offering to offend, as the other stood
upon his defence, and so in the darke they fought together.
Simonida awaking, even when her Husband went foorth of the Chamber,
and finding the thred to be cut from her toe; conjectured immediately,
that her subtle cunning was discovered, and supposing her Husband in
pursuite of Roberto, presently she arose; and, considering what was
likely to ensue thereon, called her Chamber-maide (who was not ignorant
of the businesse) and by perswasions prevailed so with her, that she lay
downe in her place in the bed, upon solemne protestations and liberall
promises, not to make her selfe knowne, but to suffer all patiently,
either blowes, or other ill usage of her Husband, which shee would
recompence in such bountifull sort, as she should have no occasion to
complaine. So, putting out the watchlight, which every night burned in
the Chamber, she departed thence, and sate downe in a close corner of
the house, to see what would be the end of all this stirre, after her
Husbands comming home.
The fight (as you have formerly heard) continuing betweene Roberto
and Arriguccio, the neighbours hearing of the clashing of their Swords
in the streets; arose out of their beds, and reproved them in very harsh
manner. In which respect Arriguccio, fearing to be knowne, and ignorant
also what his adversary was (no harme being as yet done on either side)
permitted him to depart; and extreamely full of anger, returned backe
againe to his house. Being come up into his bed-chamber, thus he began;
Where is this lewde and wicked woman? what? hast thou put out the light,
because I should not finde thee? that shall not avayle thee, for I can
well enough finde a drab in the darke. So, groping on to the beds side,
and thinking hee had taken holde on his wife, he grasped the
Chamber-maide, so beating her with his fists, and spurning her with his
feet, that al her face was bloody and bruised. Next, with his knife he
cut off a great deal of her haire, giving her the most villanous
speeches as could be devised: swearing, that he would make her a shame
to all the world.
You need make no doubt, but the poore maide wept exceedingly, as she
had good occasion to doe: and albeit many times she desired mercy, and
that hee would not bee so cruell to her: yet notwithstanding, her voyce
was so broken with crying, and his impacience so extreame, that rage
hindered all power of distinguishing, or knowing his wives tongue from a
strangers. Having thus madly beaten her, and cut the lockes off from her
head, thus he spake to her. Wicked woman, and no wife of mine, be sure I
have not done with thee yet; for, although I meane not now to beate thee
any longer: I will goe to thy brethren, and they shall understand thy
dishonest behaviour. Then will I bring them home with me, and they
perceiving how much thou hast abused both their honour and thine owne;
let them deale with thee as they finde occasion, for thou art no more a
companion for me. No sooner had he uttered these angry words, but hee
went forth of the Chamber, bolting it fast on the outward side, as
meaning to keepe her safely inclosed, and out of the house he went alone
by himselfe.
Simonida, who had heard all this tempestuous conflict, perceiving
that her Husband had lockt the streete doore after him, and was gone
whether he pleased: unbolted the Chamber doore, lighted a waxe candle,
and went in to see her poore maide, whom she found to be most pittifully
misused. She comforted her as well as she could, brought her into her
owne lodging Chamber, where washing her face and hurts in very
soveraigne waters, and rewarding her liberally with Arriguccioes owne
Gold; she held her selfe to be sufficiently satisfyed. So, leaving the
maide in her lodging, and returning again to her owne Chamber: she made
up the bed in such former manner, as if no body had lodged therein that
night. Then hanging up her Lampe fresh fild with oyle, and clearly
lighted, she deckt her selfe in so decent sort, as if she had bin in no
bed all that night.
Then taking sowing worke in her hand, either shirts or bands of her
Husbands; hanging the Lampe by her, and sitting downe at the stayres
head, she fell to worke in very serious manner, as if shee had
undertaken some imposed taske.
On the other side, Arriguccio had travelled so farre from his house,
till he came at last to the dwelling of Simonidaes brethren: where hee
knockt so soundly, that he was quickely heard, and (almost as speedily)
let in. Simonidaes brethren, and her mother also, hearing of
Arriguccioes comming thither so late. Rose from their beds, and each of
them having a Waxe Candle lighted, came presently to him, to understand
the cause of this his so unseasonable visitation. Arriguccio, beginning
at the originall of the matter, the thred found tyed about his wives
great toe, the fight and houshold conflict after following: related
every circumstance to them. And for the better proofe of his words, he
shewed them the thred it selfe, the lockes supposed of his wives haire,
and adding withall; that they might now dispose of Simonida as
themselves pleased, because she should remaine no longer in his house.
The brethren to Simonida were exceedingly offended at this relation,
in regard they beleeved it for truth, and in this fury, commanded
Torches to be lighted, preparing to part thence with Arriguccio home to
his house, for the more sharpe reprehension of their Sister. Which when
their mother saw, she followed them weeping, first entreating one, and
then the other, not to be over rash in crediting such a slander, but
rather to consider the truth thereof advisedly: because the Husband
might be angry with his Wife upon some other occasion, and having
outraged her, made this the meanes in excuse of himselfe. Moreover she
said, that she could not chuse but wonder greatly, how this matter
should thus come to passe: because she had good knowledge of her
daughter, during the whole course of her education, faultlesse and
blamelesse in every degree; with many other good words of her beside, as
proceeding from naturall affection of a mother.
Being come to the house of Arriguccio, entring in, and ascending up
the stayres: they heard Simonida sweetly singing at her working; but
pausing, upon hearing their rude trampling, shee demaunded, who was
there. One of the angry brethren presently answered: Lewde woman as thou
art, thou shalt know soone enough who is heere: Our blessed Lady be with
us (quoth Simonida) and sweet Saint Frances helpe to defend me, who dare
use such unseemely speeches? Starting up and meeting them on the staire
head: Kinde brethren, (said she) is it you? What, and my loving mother
too? For sweet Saint Charities sake, what may be the reason of your
comming hither in this manner. Shee being set downe againe to her worke,
so neatly apparelled, without any signe of outrage offered her, her face
unblemished, her haire comely ordered, and differing wholly from the
former speeches of her Husband: the Brethren marvelled thereat not a
little; and asswaging somewhat the impetuous torrent of their rage,
began to demaund in coole blood, (as it were) from what ground her
Husbands complaints proceeded, and threatning her roughly, if she would
not confesse the truth intirely to them.
Ave Maria (quoth Simonida, crossing her selfe) Alas deare Brethren, I
know not what you say, or meane, nor wherein my Husband should bee
offended, or make any complaint at all of me. Arriguccio hearing this
looked on her like a man that had lost his Senses: for well he
remembred, how many cruell blowes he had given her on the face, beside
scratches of his nailes, and spurnes of his feet, as also the cutting of
her haire, the least shew of all which misusage, was not now to be
seene. Her brethren likewise briefly told her, the whole effect of her
Husbands speeches, shewing her the thred, and in what cruell manner he
sware hee did beate her. Simonida, turning then to her Husband, and
seeming as confounded with amazement, said. How is this Husband? what
doe I heare? would you have me supposed (to your owne shame and
disgrace) to be a bad woman, and your selfe a cruell curst man, when (on
either side) there is no such matter? When were you this night heere in
the house with mee? Or when should you beate mee, and I not feele nor
know it? Beleeve me (sweete heart) all these are meerely miracles to me.
Now was Arriguccio ten times more mad in his minde, then before,
saying. Divell, and no woman, did wee not this night goe both together
to bed? Did not I cut this thred from thy great toe, tyed it to mine,
and found the craftie compact betweene thee and thy Minnion? Did not I
follow and fight with him in the streets? Came I not backe againe, and
beate thee as a Strumpet should be? And are not these the locks of
haire, which I my selfe did cut from thy bead?
Alas Sir (quoth she) where have you been? doe you know what you say?
you did not lodge in this house this night, neither did I see you all
the whole day and night, till now.
But leaving this, and come to the matter now in question, because I
have no other testimony then mine owne words. You say, that you did
beate me, and cut those lockes of haire from my head. Alas Sir, why
should you slander your selfe? In all your life time you did never
strike me. And to approve the truth of my speeches, doe you your selfe,
and all else heere present, looke on me advisedly, if any signe of blow
or beating is to be seene on me. Nor were it an easie matter for you to
doe either to smite, or so much as lay your hand (in anger) on me, it
would cost dearer then you thinke for. And whereas you say, that you did
cut those lockes of haire from my head; it is more then either I know,
or felt, nor are they in colour like to mine: but, because my Mother and
brethren shall be my witnesses therein, and whether you did it without
my knowledge; you shall all see, if they be cut, or no. So, taking off
her head attyre, she displayed her hayre over her shoulders, which had
suffered no violence, neither seemed to bee so much as uncivilly or
rudely handled.
When the mother and brethren saw this, they began to murmure against
Arriguccio, saying. What thinke you of this Sir? you tell us of strange
matters which you have done, and all proving false, we wonder how you
can make good the rest. Arriguccio looked wilde, and confusedly,
striving still to maintaine his accusation: but seeing every thing to
bee flatly against him, he durst not attempt to speake one word.
Simonida tooke advantage of this distraction in him, and turning to her
brethren, saide. I see now the marke whereat he aymeth, to make me doe
what I never meante: Namely, that I should acquaint you with his vile
qualities, and what a wretched life I leade with him, which seeing hee
will needes have me to reveale; beare with me if I doe it upon
compulsion.
Mother and Brethren, I am verily perswaded, that those accidents
which he disclosed to you, hath doubtlesse (in the same manner) happened
to him, and you shall heare how. Very true it is, that this seeming
honest man, to whom (in a lucklesse houre) you married me, stileth
himselfe by the name of a Merchant, coveting to be so accounted and
credited, as holy in outward appearance, as a Religious Monke, and as
demure in lookes, as the modestest Maide: like a notorious common
drunkard, is a Taverne hunter, where making his luxurius matches, one
while with one Whore, then againe with another; hee causeth mee every
night to sit tarrying for him, even in the same sort as you found me:
sometimes till midnight, and otherwhiles till broad day light in the
morning.
And questionlesse, being in his wounted drunken humour, hee hath lyen
with one of his sweet Consorts, about whose toe he found the thred, and
finding her as false to him, as he hath alwayes been to me: Did not
onely beat her, but also cut the haire from her head. And having not yet
recovered his sences, is verily perswaded, and cannot be altered from
it; but that hee performed all this villany to me. And if you doe but
advisedly observe his countenance, he appeareth yet to be more then
halfe drunke.
But whatsoever he hath said concerning me, I make no account at all
thereof, because he spake it in his drunkennesse, and as freely as I
forgive him, even so (good Mother and kinde Brethren,) let mee entreate
you to do the like.
When the Mother had heard these words, and confidently beleeved her
Daughter: she began to torment her selfe with anger, saying. By the
faith of my body Daughter, this unkindnesse is not [to] be endured, but
rather let the dogge be hanged, that his qualities may be knowne, he
being utterly unworthy, to have so good a woman to his wife, as thou
art. What could he have done if he had taken thee in the open more, and
in company of some wanton Gallants? In an unfortunate houre wast thou
married to him, base jealous Coxecombe as he is, and it is quite against
sense, or reason, that thou shouldest be subject to his fooleries. What
was hee, but a Merchant of Eale-skinnes or Orenges, bred in some paltry
countrey village; taken from Hogge-rubbing; clothed in Sheepes-Sattin,
with Clownish Startops, Leather stockings, and Caddies garters: His
whole habite not worth three shillings: And yet he must have a faire
Gentlewoman to his Wife, of honest fame, riches and reputation; when,
comparing his pedegree with hers, hee is farre unfit to wipe her shooes.
Oh my deare sonnes, I would you had followed my counsell, and
permitted her to mate in the honourable family of Count Guido, which was
much mooved, and seriously pursued. But you would needs bestow her on
this goodly jewell; who, although shee is one of the choysest beauties
in Florence, chaste, honest and truely vertuous: Is not ashamed at
midnight, to proclaime her for a common whore, as if we had no better
knowledge of her. But by the blessed mother of Saint John, if you would
be ruled by mine advise; our law should make him dearely smart for it.
Alas my sonnes, did I not tell you at home in our owne house, that
his words were no way likely to prove true? Have not your eyes observed
his unmannerly behaviour to your Sister? If I were as you are, hearing
what he hath said, and noting his drunken carriage beside; I should
never give over, as long as he had any life left in him. And were I a
man, as I am a woman, none other then my selfe should revenge her
wrongs, making him a publike spectacle to all drabbing drunkards.
When the brethren had heard and observed all these occurrences; in
most bitter manner they railed on Arriguccio, bestowing some good
bastinadoes on him beside, concluding thus with him in the end. Quoth
one of them, Wee will pardon this shamefull abusing of our Sister,
because thou art a notorious drunkard: but looke to it (on perill of thy
life) that we have no more such newes hereafter; for, beleeve it
unfainedly, if any such impudent rumours happen to our eares, or so much
as a flying fame thereof; thou shalt surely be paide for both faults
together.
So home againe went they, and Arriguccio stood like one that had
neither life or motion, not knowing (whether what he had done) was true,
or no, or if he dreamed all this while, and so (without uttering any
word) he left his Wife, and went quietly to bed. Thus by her wisdome,
she did not onely prevent an imminent perill: but also made a free and
open passage, to further contentment with her amourous friend, yet
dreadlesse of any distaste or suspition in her Husband.
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Wherein Is Declared, That Great Lords May
Sometime Be Deceived By Heir Wives, As Well As Men Of Meaner Condition.
Lydia, a Lady of great beauty, birth, and honor, being Wife to
Nicostratus, Governour of Argos, falling in love with a Gentleman, named
Pyrrhus; was requested by him (as a true testimony of her unfeigned
affection) to performe three severall actions of her selfe. She did
accomplish them all, and imbraced and kissed Pyrrhus in the presence of
Nicostratus; by perswading him, that whatsoever he saw, was meerely
false.
The Novell delivered, by Madame Neiphila, seemed so pleasing to all
the Ladies; as they could not refraine from hearty laughter, beside much
liberality of speech. Albeit the King did oftentimes urge silence, and
commanded Pamphilus to follow next. So, when attention was admitted,
Pamphilus began in this order. I am of opinion, faire Ladies, that there
is not any matter, how uneasie or doubtfull soever it may seeme to be;
but the man or woman that affecteth fervently, dare boldly attempt, and
effectually accomplish. And this perswasion of mine, although it hath
beene sufficiently approved, by many of our passed Novels: Yet
notwithstanding, I shall make it much apparent to you, by a present
discourse of mine owne. Wherein I have occasion to speake of a Lady, to
whom Fortune was more favourable, then either reason or judgement, could
give direction. In which regard, I would not advise any of you, to
entertaine so high an imagination of minde, as to tracke her footsteps
of whom I am now to speake: because Fortune containeth not alwayes one
and the same disposition, neither can all mens eyes be blinded after one
manner. And so proceed we to our Tale.
In Argos, a most ancient Citie of Achaya, much more renowned by her
precedent Kings, then wealth, or any other great matter of worth: there
lived as Lieutenant or Governour thereof, a Noble Lord, named
Nicostratus, on whom (albeit hee was well stept into yeares) Fortune
bestowed in marriage a great Lady, no lesse bold of spirit, then
choisely beautifull. Nicostratus, abounding in treasure and wealthy
possessions, kept a goodly traine of Servants, Horses, Houndes, Hawkes,
and what else not, as having an extraordinary felicity in all kinds of
game, as singular exercises to maintaine his health.
Among his other Servants and Followers, there was a yong Gentleman,
gracefull of person, excellent in speech, and every way as active as no
man could be more: his name Pyrrhus, highly affected of Nicostratus, and
more intimately trusted then all the rest. Such seemed the perfections
of this Pyrrhus, that Lydia (for so was the Lady named) began to affect
him very earnestly, and in such sort, as day or night shee could take no
rest, but devised all meanes to compasse her harts desire. Now, whether
he observed this inclination of her towards him, or else would take no
notice thereof, it could not be discerned by any outward apprehension:
which moved the more impatiency in her, and drove her hopes to
dispairing passions. Wherein to finde some comfort and ease, she called
an ancient Gentlewoman of her Chamber, in whom shee reposed especiall
confidence, and thus she spake to her.
Lesca, The good turnes and favours thou hast received from me, should
make thee faithfull and obedient to me: and therefore set a locke uppon
thy lippes, for revealing to any one whatsoever, such matters as now I
shall impart to thee; except it be to him that I command thee. Thou
perceivest Lesca, how youthfull I am, apt to all sprightly recreations,
rich, and abounding in all that a woman can wish to have, in regard of
Fortunes common and ordinary favours: yet I have one especiall cause of
complaint: namely, the inequality of my Mariage, my Husband being
over-ancient for me; in which regard, my youth finds it selfe too highly
wronged, being defeated of those duties and delights, which Women (farre
inferiour to me) are continuallie cloyed withall, and I am utterly
deprived of. I am subject to the same desires they are, and deserve to
taste the benefit of them, in as ample manner, as they do or can.
Hitherto I have lived with the losse of time, which yet (in some
measure) may be releeved and recompenced: For, though Fortune were mine
enemy in Mariage, by such a disproportion of our conditions: yet she may
befriend in another nature, and kindely redeeme the injury done me.
Wherefore Lesca, to be as compleate in this case, as I am in all the
rest beside; I have resolved upon a private Friend, and one more worthy
then any other, Namely, my Servant Pyrrhus, whose youth carieth some
correspondency with mine; and so constantly have I setled my love to
him, as I am not well, but when I thinke on him, or see him: and
(indeede) shall dye, except the sooner I may enjoy him. And therefore,
if my life and well-fare be respected by thee, let him understand the
integrity of mine affection, by such good means as thou findest it most
expedient to be done: entreating him from me, that I may have some
conference with him, when he shall thereto be solicited by me.
The Chamber-Gentlewoman Lesca, willingly undertooke the Ladies
Embassie; and so soone as opportunity did favor her: having withdrawne
Pyrrhus into an apt and commodious place, shee delivered the Message to
him, in the best manner she could devise. Which Pyrrhus hearing, did not
a little wonder thereat, never having noted any such matter; and
therefore sodainly conceyved, that the Lady did this onely to try him;
whereupon, somewhat roundly and roughly, hee returned this answere.
Lesca, I am not so simple, as to credite any such Message to be sent
from my Lady, and therefore be better advised of thy words. But admit
that it should come from her, yet I cannot be perswaded, that her soule
consented to such harsh Language, far differing from a forme so full of
beuty. And yet admit againe, that her hart and tongue herein were
relatives: My Lord and Master hath so farre honoured mee, and so much
beyond the least part of merite in mee: as I will rather dye, then any
way offer to disgrace him: And therefore I charge thee, never more to
move mee in this matter.
Lesca, not a jot danted at his stearne words, presently she saide.
Pyrrhus, Both in this and all other Messages my Lady shall command me, I
wil speake to thee whensoever shee pleaseth, receive what discontent
thou canst thereby; or make presumption of what doubts thou maist
devise. But as I found thee a senselesse fellow, dull, and not shaped to
any understanding, so I leave thee: And in that anger parted from him,
carrying backe the same answer to her Lady. She no sooner heard it, but
instantly shee wished her selfe to be dead; and within some few dayes
after, she conferred againe with her Chamber-woman, saying. Lesca, thou
knowest well enough, that the Oxe falleth not at the first blow of the
Axel neither is the victory won, upon a silly and shallow adventure:
Wherefore, I thinke it convenient, that once more thou shouldst make
another tryall of him, who (in prejudice to me) standeth so strictly on
his loyalty, and choosing such an houre as seemeth most commodious,
soundly possesse him with my tormenting passions. Bestirre thy Wittes,
and tippe thy tongue with a Womans eloquence, to effect what I so
earnestly desire: because, by languishing in this lovesicke affliction,
it will bee the danger of my death, and some severe detriment to him, to
be the occasion of so great a losse.
Lesca, comforted her Lady, so much as lay in her power to doe, and
having sought for Pyrrhus, whom she found at good leysure; and, in a
pleasing humor, thus she beganne. Pyrrhus, some few dayes since I tolde
thee, in what extreame Agonies thy Lady and mine was, onely in regarde
of her love to thee: and now againe I come once more, to give thee
further assurance thereof: Wherefore, beleeve it unfeignedly, that if
thy obstinacie continue still, in like manner as the other day it did,
expect very shortly to heare the tydings of her death.
It is my part therefore, to entreat thee, to comfort her long
languishing desires: but if thou persist in thy harsh opinion, in stead
of reputing thee a wise and fortunate yong man, I shall confesse thee to
bee an ignoraunt Asse. What a glorie is it to thee, to be affected of so
faire and worthy a Lady, beyond all men else whatsoever? Next to this,
tell me, how highly maist thou confesse thy self beholding to Fortune,
if thou but duly consider, how shee hath elected thee as sole soveraigne
of her hopes, which is a crowne of honour to thy youth and a sufficient
refuge against all wants and necessities? Where is any to thy knowledge
like thy selfe, that can make such advantage of his time, as thou maist
do, if thou wert wise? Where canst thou find any one to go beyond thee
in Armes, Horses, sumptuous garments, and Gold, as will be heaped on
thee, if Lydia may be the Lady of thy love? Open then thine
understanding to my words, returne into thine owne souie, and bee wise
for thy selfe.
Remember (Pyrrhus) that Fortune presents her selfe but once before
any one, with cheerefull lookes, and her lappe wide open of richest
favours, where if choice be not quickely made, before she folde it up,
not quic and turn her backe; let no complaint afterward be made of her,
if the Fellow that had so faire an offer, proove to be miserable,
wretched, and a Begger, only thorow his owne negligence. Beside, what
else hath formerly bin saide, there is now no such neede of loyaltie in
servants to their Ladies, as should be among deare Friends and Kindred:
but servants ought rather (as best they may) be such to their Masters,
as they are to them. Doest thou imagine, that if thou hadst a faire
Wife, Mother, Daughter, or Sister, pleasing in the eye of our
Nicostratus; he would stand on such nice tearmes of duty or Loyaltie, as
now thou doest to his Ladie? Thou wert a verie foole to rest so
perswaded. Assure thy selfe, that if entreaties and faire means might
not prevalle, force, and compulsion (whatsoever ensued thereon) woulde
winne the masterie. Let us then use them, and the commodities unto them
belonging, as they would us and ours. Use the benefit of thy Fortune,
and beware of abusing her favour. She yet smiles on thee; but take heede
least she turne her backe, it will then be over-late to repent thy
folly. And if my Ladie die through thy disdaine, be assured, that thou
canst not escape with life, beside open shame and disgrace for ever.
Pyrrhus, who had often considered on Lescaes first message, concluded
with himselfe; that if any more she moved the same matter: hee would
returne her another kinde of answere, wholly yeelding to content his
Lady; provided, that he might remaine assured, concerning the intyre
truth of the motion, and that it was not urged onely to trie him,
wherefore, thus he replyed. Lesca, do not imagine mee so ignorant, as
not to know the certaintie of all thy former allegations, confessing
them as freely as thou doest, or canst. But yet let mee tell thee
withall, that I knowe my Lord to be wise and judicious, and having
committed all his affaires to my care and trust: never blame mee to
misdoubt, least my Ladie (by his counsell and advice) make thee the
messenger of this motion, therby to call my Fidelitie in question.
To cleare which doubt, and for my further assurance of her well
meanning toward me; if she wil undertake the performance of three such
things as I must needes require in this case: I am afterward her owne,
in any service she can command me. The first of them, is; that in the
presence of my Lord and Master, she kill his faire Faulcon, which so
dearly hee affecteth. The second, to send me a locke or tuft of his
beard, being puld away with her owne hand. The third and last, with the
same hand also, to pluck out one of his best and soundest teeth, and
send it mee as her loves true token. When I finde all these three
effectually performed, I am wholly hers, and not before.
These three strict impositions, seemed to Lesca, and her Ladie
likewise, almost beyond the compasse of all possibility. Nevertheles
Love, being a powerfull Oratour in perswading, as also adventurous even
on the most difficult dangers; gave her courage to undertake them all:
sending Lesca backe againe to him, with full assurance, of these more
then Herculean labours. Moreover, her selfe did intend to adde a fourth
taske, in regard of his strong opinion concerning the great Wisedome of
his Lord and Maister. After she had effected all the other three, she
would not permit him to kisse her, but before his Lords face: which yet
should be accomplished in such sort, as Nicostratus himselfe should not
beleeve it, although apparantly he saw it. Well, (quoth Pyrrhus) when
all these wonders are performed, assure my Ladie. that I am truelie
hers.
Within a short while after, Nicostratus made a solemne Feastival
(accorling as yearely he used to doe) in honour of his birth day,
inviting many Lords and Ladies thereto. On which rejoycing day, so soone
as dinner was ended, and the Tables withdrawne: Lydia came into the
great Hall, where the Feast was solemnly kept; very rich and costly
apparrelled; and there, in presence of Pyrrhus, and the whole assemblie,
going to the Perch whereon the Faulcone sate, wherein her Husband tooke
no little delight, and having untyed her, as if shee meant to beare her
on her Fist: tooke her by the jesses, and beating her against the wal,
killed her. Nicostratus beholding this, called out aloud unto her,
saying. Alas Madame! What have you done? She making him no answere, but
turning to the Lords and Ladies, which had dined there, spake in this
manner.
Ill should I take revenge on a King, that had offended me, if I had
not so much heart, as to wreake my spleene on a paltry Hawke. Understand
then, worthy Lords and Ladies, that this Faulcone hath long time robbed
me of those delights, which men (in meere equitie) ought to have with
their wives: because continually, so as breake of day hath appeared, my
Husband, starting out of bed, makes him selfe readie, presently to
Horsse, and with this Faulcon on his Fist, rides abroad to his
recreation in the Fields. And I, in such forsaken sort as you see, am
left all alone in my bed, discontented and despised: often vowing to my
selfe, to bee thus revenged as now I am, being with-held from it by no
other occasion, but onely want of a fit and apt time, to do it in the
presence of such persons, as might bee just judges of my wrongs, and as
I conceive you all to be.
The Lords and Ladies hearing these words, and beleeving this deed of
hers to be done no otherwise, but out of her entire affection to
Nicostratus, according as her speeches sounded: compassionately turning
towards him (who was exceedingly displeased) and all smiling, said. Now
in good sadnesse Sir; Madame Lydia hath done well in acting her just
revenge upon the Hawke, that bereft her of her Husbands kinde companie;
then which nothing is more precious to a loving wife, and a hell it is
to live without it. And Lydia, being sodainly with. into her chamber;
with much other friendly and familiar talke, they converted the anger of
Nicostratus into mirth and smiling.
Pyrrhus, who had diligently observed the whole cariage of this
businesse, saide to himselfe. My Ladie hath begun well, and proceeding
on with no worse successe, will (no doubt) bring her love to an happy
conclusion. As for the Lady her selfe, she having thus kild the Hawke,
it was no long while after, but being in the Chamber with her husband,
and they conversing familiarly together; she began to jest with him, and
hee in the like manner with her, tickling and toying each the other,
till at the length she played with his beard, and now she found occasion
aptly serving, to effect the second taske imposed by Pyrrhus. So, taking
fast hold on a small tuft of his beard, she gave a sodaine snatch, and
plucked it away quite from his chin. Whereat Nicostratus beeing angerly
moved, she (to appease his distaste) pleasantly thus spake. How now my
Lord? Why do you looke so frowningly? What? Are you angry for a few
loose haires of your beard? How then should I take it, when you plucke
mee by the haire of my head, and yet I am not a jot discontented,
because I know you do it but in jesting manner? These friendly speeches
cut off all further contention, and she kepte charily the tuft of er
Husbands beard, which (the verie selfe-same day) shee sent to Pyrrhus
her hearts chosen friend.
But now concerning the third matter to be adventured, it drove her to
a much more serious consideration, then those two which shee had already
so well and exactly performed. Notwithstanding, like a Ladie of
unconquerable spirit, and (in whom) Love enlarged his power more and
more: she sodainly conceited, what course was best to bee kept in this
case, forming her attempt in this manner. Upon Nicostratus wayted two
young Gentlemen, as Pages of his Chamber, whose Fathers had given them
to his service, to learne the manners of honourable Courtship, and those
qualities necessarily required in Gentlemen. One of them, when
Nicostratus sate downe to dinner or supper, stood in Office of his
Carver, delivering him all the meats whereon he fed. The other (as
Taster) attended on his Cup, and he dranke no other drinke, but what hee
brought him, and they both were highly pleasing unto him.
On a day, Lydia called these two youths aside; and, among some other
speeches, which served but as an induction to her intended policy; she
perswaded them, that their mouths yeelded an unsavoury and ilpleasing
smell, whereof their Lord seemed to take dislike. Wherefore she advised
them, that at such times as they attended on him in their severall
places: they should (so much as possibly they could) withdraw their
heads aside from him, because their breath might not be noyous unto him.
But withall, to have an especiall care, of not disclosing to any one,
what she had told them; because (out of meere love) she had acquainted
them therewith: which very coistantly they beleeved, and followed the
same direction as she had advised, being loath to displease, where
service bound them to obey. Choosing a time fitting for her purpose,
when Nicostratus was in private conference with her, thus she began.
Sir, you observe not the behaviour of your two Pages, when they wait on
you at the Table? Yes but I do wife (quoth he) how squemishly they turn
their heads aside from me, and it hath often bin in my minde, to
understand a reason why they do so.
Seating her selfe by him, as if shee had some weighty matter to tell
him; she proceeded in this manner. Alas my Lord, you shall not need to
question them, because I can sufficiently resolve you therein: which
(neverthelesse) I have long concealed, because I would not be offensive
to you. But in regard, it is now manifestly apparant, that others have
tasted, what (I immagined) none but my selfe did, I will no longer hide
it from you. Assuredly Sir, there is a most strange and unwonted
ill-savour, continually issuing from your mouth, smelling most
noysomely, and I wonder what should be the occasion. In former times, I
never felt any such foule breathing to come from you: and you, who do
dally converse with so many worthy persons, should seeke meanes to be
rid of so great an annoyance. You say verie true wife (answered
Nicostratus) and I protest to you on my Credite, I feele no such ill
smell, neither know what should cause it, except I have som corrupted
tooth in my mouth. Perhaps Sir (quoth she) it may be so, and yet you
feele not the savour which others do, yea, very offensively.
So, walking with her to a Window, he opened wide his mouth, the which
nicely shee surveyed on either side, and, turning her head from him, as
seeming unable to endure the savour: starting, and shrieking out alowd,
she said. Santa Maria! What a sight is this? Alas my good Lord, How
could you abide this, and for so long a while? Heere is a tooth on this
side, which (so farre as I can perceive) is not onely hollow and
corrupted: but also wholly putrified and rotten, and if it continue
still in your head, beleeve it for a truth, that it will infect and
spoile all the rest neere it. I would therefore counsell you, to let it
be pluckt out, before it breede your further danger. I like your
counsell well Lydia, replyed Nicostratus, and presently intend to follow
it; Let therefore my Barber be sent for, and, without any longer delay,
he shall plucke it forth instantly.
How sir? (quoth she,) your Barber? Uppon mine Honour, there shall
come no Barber heere. Why Sir, it is such a rotten Tooth, and standeth
so fairely for my hand: that, without helpe or advice of any Barber, let
mee alone for plucking it forth without putting you to any paine at all.
Moreover, let me tell you Sir, those Tooth-drawers are so rude and
cruell, in performing such Offices, as my heart cannot endure, that you
should come within compasse of their currish courtesie, neither shall
you Sir, if you will be ruled by me. If I should faile in the manner of
their facilitie, yet love and duty hath enstructed me, to forbeare your
least paining, which no unmannerly Barber will do.
Having thus spoken, and he well contented with her kinde offer, the
instruments were brought, which are used in such occasions, all being
commanded forth of the Chamber, but onely Lesca, who evermore kept still
in her company. So, locking fast the doore, and Nicostratus being
seated, as she thought fittest for her purpose, she put the Tanacles
into his mouth, catching fast hold on one of his soundest teeth: which,
notwithstanding his loud crying, Lesca held him so strongly, that forth
she pluckt it, and hid it, having another tooth readie made hot, and
bloody, very much corrupted and rotten, which she helde in the Tanacles,
and shewed to him, who was well-neere halfe dead with anguish. See Sir
(quoth she) was this Tooth to be suffered in your head, and to yeeld so
foule a smell as it did? He verily beleeving what she said, albeit hee
had endured extreame paine, and still complained on her harsh and
violent pulling it out: rejoyced yet, that he was now ridde of it, and
she comforting him on the one side, and the anguish asswaging him on the
other, he departed forth of the Chamber.
In the mean while, by Lesca she sent the sound tooth to Pyrrhus, who
(wondering not a little at her so many strange attempts, which hee urged
so much the rather, as thinking their performance impossible, and in
meere loyall duty to his Lord) seeing them all three to be notably
effected; he made no further doubt of her intire love towardes him, but
sent her assurance likewise, of his readinesse and serviceable
diligence, whensoever she would command him.
Now, after the passage of all these adventures, hardly to bee
undertaken by any other Woman: yet she held them insufficient for his
security, in the grounded perswasion of her love to him, except shee
performed another of her owne, and according as shee had boldly
promised. Houres do now seeme dayes, and dayes multiplicitie of yeeres,
till the kisse may be given, and receyved in the presence of
Nicostratus, yet hee himselfe to avouch the contrary.
Madam Lydia (upon a pretended sicknesse) keepeth her chamber, and as
women can hardly be exceeded in dissimulation: so, shee wanted no wit,
to seeme exquisitely cunning, in all the outwarde apparances of
sicknesse. One day after dinner, shee being visited by Nicostratus, and
none attending on him but Pyrrhus onely: she earnestly entreated, that
as a mitigation, to some inward afflictions which she felt, they would
helpe to guide her into the Garden.
Most gladly was her motion graunted, and Nicostratus gently taking
her by one arme, and Pyrrhus by the other, so they conducted her into
the Garden, seating her in a faire floury Grasse-plot, with her backe
leaning to a Peare-tree. Having sitten there an indifferent while, and
Pyrrhus, being formerly enstructed, in the directions which she had
given him, thus shee spake, some-what faintly. Pyrrhus, I have a kinde
of longing desire upon a sodaine, to taste of these Peares: Wherefore,
climbe up into the Tree, and cast me downe one or two; which instantly
hee did. Being aloft in the Tree, and throwing downe some of the best
and ripest Peares; at length (according to his premeditated Lesson)
looking downe, he said.
Forbeare my Lord, Do you not see, in how weake and feeble condition
my Ladie is, being shaken with so violent a sicknesse? And you Madam,
how kinde and loving soever you are to my Lord, Are you so little
carefull of your health, being but now come forth of your sicke Chamber,
to be ruffled and tumbled in such rough manner? Though such dalliances
are not amisse in you both; being fitter for the private Chamber, then
an open garden, and in the presence of a servant: yet time and place
should alwaies bee respectively considered, for the avoiding of ill
example, and better testimonie of your owne Wisedomes, which ever should
be like your selves. But if so soone, and even in the heate of a yet
turbulent sicknesse, your equall love can admit these kisses and
embraces: your private Lodginges were much more convenient, where no
Servants eye can see such Wantonnesse, nor you be reproved of
indiscretion, for being too publique in your Familiaritie. Madame Lydia,
sodainely starting, and turning unto her Husband, sayde. What doth
Pyrrhus prate? Is he well in his wittes? Or is he franticke? No Madame,
replyed Pyrrhus, I am not franticke. Are you so fond as to thinke that I
do not see your folly? Nicostratus wondering at his Words, presently
answered. Now trust me Pyrrhus, I think thou dreamest. No my Lord,
replyed Pyrrhus, I dreame not a jot, neither do you, or my Ladie: but if
this Tree could affoord the like kindnesse to me, as you do to her,
there would not a Peare bee left uppon it. How now Pyrrhus? (quoth
Lydia) this language goeth beyond our understanding, it seemeth thou
knowest not what thou saist. Beleeve me husband, if I were as well as
ever I have bin, I would climb this tree, to see those idle wonders
which hee talketh of: for, while he continueth thus above, it appeareth,
hee can finde no other prattle, albeit he taketh his marke amisse.
Heereupon, he commanded Pyrrhus to come downe, and being on the
ground: Now Pyrrhus (quoth he) tell me what thou saydst. Pyrrhus,
pretending an alteration into much amazement, straungely looking about
him, saide; I know not verie well (my Lord) what answere I should make
you, fearing least my sight hath bin abused by error: for when I was
aloft in that Tree, it seemed manifestly to me: that you embraced my
Lady (though somewhat rudely, in regard of her perillous sicknesse, yet
lovingly) and as youthfully as in your yonger dales, with infinite
kisses, and wanton dalliances, such as (indeede) deserved a far more
private place in my poore opinion. But in my descending downe, mee
thought you gave over that amorous familiaritie, and I found you seated
as I left you. Now trust mee Pyrrhus, answered Nicostratus, Thy tongue
and wit have very strangely wandred, both from reason and all reall
apprehension: because we never stirred from hence, since thou didst
climbe up into the Tree, neither mooved otherwise, then as now thou
seest us. Alas my Lord (saide Pyrrhus) I humbly crave pardon for my
presumption, in reprooving you for medling with your owne: which shal
make me hereafter better advised, in any thing what soever I heare or
see.
Mervaile and amazement, encreased in Nicostratus far greater then
before, hearing him to avouch still so constantly what he had seene, no
contradiction being able to alter him, which made him rashly sweare and
say. I will see my selfe, whether this Peare-tree bee enchanted, or no:
and such wonders to be seene when a man is up in it, as thou wouldst
have us to beleeve. And being mounted up so hy, that they were safe from
his sodaine comming on them, Lydia had soone forgotten her sicknes, and
the promised kisse cost her above twenty more, beside verie kinde and
hearty embraces, as lovingly respected and entertained by Pyrrhus. Which
Nicostratus beholding aloft in the tree; cryed out to her, saying.
Wicked woman, What doest thou meane? And thou villain Pyrrhus, Darst
thou abuse thy Lord, who hath reposed so much trust in thee? So,
descending in haste downe againe, yet crying so to them still: Lydia
replyed, Alas my Lord, Why do you raile and rave in such sort? So, he(
found her seated as before, and Pyrrhus waiting with dutiful reverence,
even as when he climbed up the Tree: but yet he thought his sight not
deceyved, for all their demure and formall behaviour, which made him
walke up and downe, extreamely fuming and fretting unto himselfe, and
which in some milder manner to qualifie, Pyrrhus spake thus to him.
I deny not (my good Lord) but freely confesse, that even as your
selfe, so I, being above in the Tree, had my sight most falsely deluded:
which is so apparantly confirmed by you, and in the same sort, as there
needeth no doubt of both our beguiling; in one and the same suspitious
nature. In which case to be the more assuredly resolved, nothing can be
questioned, but whether your beleefe do so farre misleade you, as to
thinke, that my Ladie (who hath alwayes bene most wise, loyall, and
vertuous,) would so shamefullie wrong you: yea, and to performe it
before your face, wherein I dare gadge my life to the contrary.
Concerning my selfe, it is not fit for mee, to argue or contest in mine
owne commendation: you that have ever knowne the sincerity of my
service, are best able to speake in my behalfe: and rather wold I be
drawne in peeces with foure wilde horses, then bee such an injurious
slave to my Lord and Master.
Now then, it can be no otherwise, but we must needs rest certainely
perswaded, that the guile and offence of this false appearance, was
occasioned by thee onely. For all the world could not make me otherwise
beleeve, but that I saw you kisse and most kindely imbrace my Lady: if
your owne eyes had not credited the like behaviour in me to her, of
which sinne, I never conceived so much as a thought. The Lady (on the
other side) seeming to be very angerly incensed, starting faintly up on
her feet, yet supporting her selfe by the tree, said. It appeareth Sir,
that you have entertained a goodly opinion of me, as, if I were so lewde
and lasciviously disposed, or addicted to the very least desire of
wantonnesse: that I would bee so forgetfull of mine owne honour, as to
adventure it in your sight, and with a servant of my house? Oh Sir, such
women as are so familiarly affected, need learne no wit of men in
amourous matters; their private Chambers shall be better trusted, then
an open blabing and tell-tale Garden.
Nicostratus, who verily beleeved what they had both said, and that
neither of them would adventure such familiarity before his face: would
talke no more of the matter, but rather studyed of the rarity of such a
miracle, not seene, but in the height of the tree, and changing againe
up on the descent. But Lydia, containing still her collourable kinde of
impatience, and angerly frowning upon Nicostratus, stearnely saide. If I
may have my will, this villanous and deceiving tree, shall never more
shame me, or any other woman: and therefore Pyrrhus, runne for an Axe,
and by felling it to the ground, in an instant, revenge both thy wrong
and mine. Doest not thou serve a worthy Lord? And have not I a wise
Husband, who, without any consideration, will suffer the eye of his
understanding to be so dazeled, with a foolish imagination beyond all
possibility? For, although his eyes did apprehend such a folly, and it
seemed to be a truth indeed: yet, in the depth of setled judgement, all
the world should not perswade him, that it was so.
Pyrrhus had quickely brought the Axe, and hewing downe the tree, so
soone as the Lady saw it fall; turning her selfe to Nicostratus, she
said. Now that I have seene mine honour and honesties enemy laid along;
mine anger is past, and Husband, I freely pardon you: intreating you
heartily henceforward, not to presume or imagine, that my love eyther
is, or can bee altred from you.
Thus the mocked and derided Nicostratus, returned in againe with his
Lady and Pyrrhus; where perhaps (although the Peare-tree was cut downe)
they could find as cunning meanes to over-reach him.
|
|
Wherein Such Men Are Covertly Reprehended, Who
Make No Care Or Conscience At All Of Those Things That Should Preserve
Them From Sinne.
Two Citizens of Siena, the one named Tingoccio Mini, and the other
Meucio di Tura, affected both one woman, called Monna Mita, to whom the
one of them was a Gossip. The Gossip dyed, and appeared afterward to his
companion, according as he had formerly promised him to doe, and tolde
him what strange wonders he had seene in the other world.
Now there remained none but the King himselfe, last of all to recount
his Novell; who, after hee heard the Ladies complaints indifferently
pacified, for the rash felling downe of such a precious Peare-tree; thus
he began. Faire Ladies, it is a case more then manifest, that every
King, who will be accounted just and upright: should first of all, and
rather then any other, observe those Lawes which he himselfe hath made;
otherwise he ought to be reputed as a servant, worthy of punishment, and
no King. Into which fault and reprehension, I your King, shall well
neere be constrained to fall; for yesterday I enacted a Law, upon the
forme of our discoursing, with full intent, that this day I would not
use any part of my priviledge; but being subject (as you all are) to the
same Law, I should speake of that argument, which already you have done.
Wherein, you have not onely performed more then I could wish, upon a
subject so sutable to my minde: but in every Novell, such variety of
excellent matter, such singular illustrations, and delicate eloquence
hath flowne from you all; as I am utterly unable to invent any thing
(notwithstanding the most curious search of my braine) apt or fit for
the purpose, to paragon the meanest of them already related. And
therefore seeing I must needs sinne in the Law established by my selfe;
I tender my submission, as worthy of punishment, or what amends else you
please to enjoyne mee. Now, as returned to my wonted priviledge, I say,
that the Novell recounted by Madame Eliza, of the Fryar Godfather and
his Gossip Agnesia, as also the sottishnesse of the Senese her Husband,
hath wrought in me (worthy Ladies) to such effect; as, forbearing to
speake any more of these wily prancks, which witty wives exercise on
their simple Husbands; I am to tell you a pretty short Tale; which,
though there is matter enough in it, not worthy the crediting, yet
partly it will bee pleasing to heare.
Sometime there lived in Sienna two popular men; the one being named
Tingoccio Mini, and the other Meucio de Tura; Men simple, and of no
understanding, both of them dwelling in Porta Salaia. These two men
lived in such familiar conversation together, and expressed such
cordiall affection each to other, as they seldome walked asunder; but
(as honest men use to doe) frequented Churches and Sermons, oftentimes
hearing, both what miseries and beatitudes were in the world to come,
according to the merits of their soules that were departed out of this
life, and found their equall repaiment in the other. The manifold
repetition of these matters, made them very earnestly desirous to know,
by what meanes they might have tydings from thence, for their further
confirmation. And finding all their endeavours utterly frustrated, they
made a solemne vow and promise (each to other under oath) that hee which
first dyed of them two, should returne backe againe (so soone as
possibly he could) to the other remaining alive, and tell him such
tydings as hee desired to heare.
After the promise was thus faithfully made, and they still keeping
company, as they were wont to doe: It fortuned, that Tingoccio became
Gossip to one, named Ambrosio Anselmino, dwelling in Camporegglo, who by
his wife, called Monna Mita, had a sweet and lovely Sonne. Tingoccio
often resorting thither, and consorted with his companion Meucio; the
she-Gossip, being a woman worthy the loving, faire and comely of her
person. Tingoccio, notwithstanding the Gossipship betweene them, had
more then a moneths minde to his Godchilds Mother. Meucio also fell
sicke of the same disease, because shee seemed Fleasing in his eye, and
Tingoccio gave he no meane commendations; yet, carefully hey concealed
their love to themselves, but not for one and the same occasion. Because
Tingoccio kept it closely from Meucio, lest he should hold it
disgracefull in him, to beare amourous affection to his Gossip, and
thought it unfitting to bee knowne. But Meucio had no such meaning, for
hee knew well enough that Tingoccio loved her, and therefore conceived
in his minde, that if he discovered any such matter to him: He will
(quoth he) be jealous of me, and being her Gossip (which admitteth his
conference with her when himselfe pleaseth;) he may easily make her to
distaste me, and therefore I must rest contented as I am.
Their love continuing on still in this kinde, Tingoccio prooved so
fortunate in the businesse, that having better meanes then his
companion, and more prevayring courses, when, where, and how to Court
his Mistresse, which seemed to forward him effectually. All which Meucio
plainely perceived, and though it was tedious and wearisome to him, yet
hoping to finde some successe at length: he would not take notice of any
thing, as fearing to infringe the amity betweene him and Tingoccio, and
so his hope to be quite supplanted. Thus the one triumphing in his loves
happinesse, and the other hoping for his felicity to come; a lingering
sickenesse seazed on Tingoccio, which brought him to so low a condition,
as at the length he dyed.
About some three or foure nights after, Meucio being fast asleepe in
his bed, the ghoste of Tingoccio appeared to him, and called so loude
that Meucio awaking, demanded who called him? I am thy friend Tingoccio,
replied the ghoste, who according to my former promise made, am come
again in vision to thee, to tell thee tidings out of the nether world.
Meucio was a while somewhat amazed: but, recollecting his more manly
spirits together, boldly he said. My brother and friend, thou art
heartily welcome: but I thought thou hadst beene utterly lost. Those
things (quoth Tingoccio) are lost, which cannot be recovered againe, and
if I were lost, how could I then be heere with thee? Alas Tingoccio,
replyed Meucio, my meaning is not so: but I would be resolved, whether
thou art among the damned soules, in the painefull fire of hell
torments, or no? No (quoth Tingoccio) I am not sent thither, but for
divers sinnes by mee committed I am to suffer very great and grievous
paines. Then Meucio demaunded particularly, the punishments inflicted
there, for the severall sinnes committed heere: Wherein Tingoccio fully
resolved him. And upon further question, what hee would have to be done
for him here, made answere, That Meucio should cause Masses, Prayers and
Almes-deeds to be performed for him, which (he said) were very helpefull
to the soules abiding there, and Meucio promised to see them done.
As the ghost was offering to depart, Meucio remembred Tingoccioes
Gossip Monna Mita, and raysing himselfe higher upon his pillowe, said.
My memorie informeth me friend Tingoccio, your kinde Gossip Monna Mita,
with whom (when you remained in this life) I knew you to be very
familiar: let me intreat you then to tell me, what punishment is
inflicted on you there, for that wanton sinne committed heere? Oh
Brother Meucio, answered Tingoccio, so soone as my soule was landed
there, one came immediately to me, who seemed to know all mine offences
readily by heart, and forthwith commanded, that I should depart thence
into a certaine place, where I must weepe for my sinnes in very grievous
paines. There I found more of my companions, condemned to the same
punishment as I was, and being among them, I called to minde some wanton
dalliances, which had passed betweene my Gossip and me, and expecting
therefore farre greater afflictions, then as yet I felt (although I was
in a huge fire, and exceedingly hot) yet with conceite of feare, I
quaked and trembled wondrously.
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 n 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 f 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 humor, 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 spread:
trees. Dioneus and Madame Fiammetta, they sate singing together, the
love-warre between 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 re 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
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, etc,
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, feele blessednesse,
But I have none, nor thinke I ever shall.
Wearisome is my life to me, etc.
Tell me, if I may hope in following dayes,
To have but one poore sight,
Of those bright Sunny rayes,
Dazeling my sence, did overecome me quite,
Bequeath'd to wandring wayes.
If I be poasted 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, etc.
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,
sanctifiing 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 abstaine 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.
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