Frederigo, _of the_ Alberighi _Family, loved a Gentlewoman, and wasnot requited with like love againe. By bountifull expences, and overliberall invitations, he wasted and consumed all his lands and goods,having nothing left him, but a Hawke or Faulcon. His unkinde Mistressehappeneth to come visite him, and he not having any other foode for herdinner; made a daintie dish of his Faulcone for her to feede on. Beingconquered by this his exceeding kinde courtesie, she changed her formerhatred towardes him, accepting him as her Husband in marriage, and madehim a man of wealthy possessions._
The ninth Novell.
_Wherein is figured to the life, the notable kindnesse and courtesie,of a true and constant Lover: As also the magnanimous minde of a famousLady._
Madame _Philomena_ having finished her discourse, the Queeneperceiving, that her turne was the next, in regard of the priviledgegranted to _Dioneus_; with a smiling countenance thus she spake. Now ornever am I to maintaine the order which was instituted when we begannethis commendable exercise, whereto I yeeld with all humble obedience.And (worthy Ladies) I am to acquaint you with a Novell, in some sortanswerable to the precedent, not onely to let you know, how powerfullyyour kindnesses do prevaile, in such as have a free and gentle soule:but also to advise you, in being bountifull, where vertue doth justlychalenge it. And evermore, let your favours shine on worthy deservers,without the direction of chaunce or Fortune, who never bestoweth anygift by discretion; but rashly without consideration, even to the firstshe blindly meets withall.
You are to understand then, that _Coppo di Borghese Domenichi_, whowas of our owne City, and perhaps (as yet) his name remaineth in greatand reverend authority, now in these dayes of ours, as well deservingeternal memory; yet more for his vertues and commendable qualities,then any boast of Nobility from his predecessors. This man, beingwell entred into yeares, and drawing towards the finishing of hisdayes; it was his only delight and felicity, in conversation amonghis neighbours, to talke of matters concerning antiquity, and someother things within compasse of his owne knowledge: which he woulddeliver in such singular order, (having an absolute memory) and withthe best Language, as verie few or none could do the like. Among themultiplicity of his queint discourses, I remember he told us, thatsometime there lived in _Florence_ a yong Gentleman, named _Frederigo_,Sonne to Signior _Philippo Alberigho_, who was held and reputed, bothfor Armes, and all other actions beseeming a Gentleman, hardly to havehis equall through all _Tuscany_.
This _Frederigo_ (as it is no rare matter in yong Gentlemen) becameenamored of a Gentlewoman, named Madam _Giana_, who was esteemed (inher time) to be the fairest and most gracious Lady in all _Florence_.In which respect, and to reach the height of his desire, he made manysumptuous Feasts and Banquets, Joustes, Tiltes, Tournaments, and allother noble actions of Armes, beside, sending her infinite rich andcostly presents, making spare of nothing, but lashing all out in lavishexpence. Notwithstanding, shee being no lesse honest then faire, madeno reckoning of whatsoever he did for her sake, or the least respectof his owne person. So that _Frederigo_, spending thus daily more,then his meanes and ability could maintaine, and no supplies anyway redounding to him, or his faculties (as very easily they might)diminished in such sort, that he became so poore; as he had nothingleft him, but a small poore Farme to live upon, the silly reveneweswhereof were so meane, as scarcely allowed him meat and drinke; yethad he a Faire Hawke or Faulcon, hardly any where to be fellowed, soexpeditious and sure she was of flight. His low ebbe and poverty, noway quailing his love to the Lady, but rather setting a keener edgethereon; he saw the City life could no longer containe him, where mosthe coveted to abide: and therefore, betooke himselfe to his pooreCountrey Farme, to let his Faulcon get him his dinner and supper,patiently supporting his penurious estate, without suite or meanesmaking to one, for helpe or reliefe in any such necessity.
While thus he continued in this extremity, it came to passe, that theHusband to Madam _Giana_ fell sicke, and his debility of body beingsuch, as little, or no hope of life remained: he made his last willand testament, ordaining thereby, that his Sonne (already growne toindifferent stature) should be heire to all his Lands and riches,wherein hee abounded very greatly. Next unto him, if he chanced to diewithout a lawfull heire, hee substituted his Wife, whom most dearely heaffected, and so departed out of this life. Madam _Giana_ being thusleft a widow; as commonly it is the custome of our City Dames, duringthe Summer season, shee went to a House of her owne in the Countrey,which was somewhat neere to poore _Frederigoes_ Farme, and where helived in such an honest kind of contented poverty.
Hereupon, the young Gentleman her Sonne, taking great delight inHounds and Hawkes; grew into familiarity with poore _Frederigo_, andhaving seene many faire flights of his Faulcon, they pleased him soextraordinarily, that he earnestly desired to enjoy her as his owne;yet durst not move the motion for her, because he saw how choycely_Frederigo_ esteemed her. Within a short while after, the youngGentleman, became very sicke, whereat his Mother greeved exceedingly,(as having no more but he, and therefore loved him the more entirely)never parting from him either night or day, comforting him so kindlyas shee could, and demanding, if he had a desire to any thing, willinghim to reveale it, and assuring him withall, that (if it were withinthe compasse of possibility) he should have it. The youth hearing howmany times shee had made him these offers, and with such vehementprotestations of performance, at last thus spake.
Mother (quoth he) if you can doe so much for me, as that I may have_Frederigoes_ Faulcon, I am perswaded, that my sicknesse soone willcease. The Lady hearing this, sate some short while musing to herselfe, and began to consider, what shee might best doe to compasseher Sonnes desire: for well shee knew, how long a time _Frederigo_had most lovingly kept it, not suffering it ever to be out of hissight. Moreover, shee remembred, how earnest in affection he had beeneto her, never thinking himselfe happy, but onely when he was in hercompany; wherefore, shee entred into this private consultation withher owne thoughts. Shall I send, or goe my selfe in person, to requestthe Faulcon of him, it being the best that ever flew? It is his onelyJewell of delight, and that taken from him, no longer can he wish tolive in this World. How farre then voide of understanding shall I shewmy selfe, to rob a Gentleman of his sole felicity, having no otherjoy or comfort left him? These and the like considerations, wheeledabout her troubled braine, onely in tender care and love to her Sonne,perswading her selfe assuredly, that the Faulcon were her own, if sheewould but request it: yet not knowing whereon it were best to resolve,shee returned no answer to her Sonne, but sate still in her silentmeditations. At the length, love to the youth, so prevailed with her,that she concluded on his contentation, and (come of it what could)shee would not send for it; but goe her selfe in person to request it,and then returne home againe with it, whereupon thus she spake. Sonne,comfort thy selfe, and let languishing thoughts no longer offend thee:for here I promise thee, that the first thing I doe to morrow morning,shall be my journey for the Faulcon, and assure thy selfe, that I willbring it with me. Whereat the youth was so joyed, that he imagined, hissicknesse began instantly a little to leave him, and promised him aspeedy recovery.
Somewhat early the next morning, the Lady, in care of her sicke Sonshealth, was up and ready betimes, and taking another Gentlewoman withher; onely as a mornings recreation, shee walked to _Frederigoes_ pooreCountrey Farme, knowing that it would not a little glad him to see her.At the time of her arrivall there, he was (by chance) in a silly Garden,on the backe-side of his House, because (as yet) it was no convenienttime for flight: but when he heard, that Madam _Giana_, was comethither, and desired to have some conference with him; as one almostconfounded with admiration, in all haste he ran to her, and saluted herwith most humble reverence. Shee in all modest and gracious manner,requited him with the like salutations, thus speaking to him. _SigniorFrederigo_, your owne best wishes befriend you, I am now come hither,to recompence some part of your passed travailes, which heretofore youpretended to suffer for my sake, when your love was more to me,
thendid well become you to offer, or my selfe to accept. And such is thenature of my recompence, that I make my selfe your guest, and meanethis day to dine with you, as also this Gentlewoman, making no doubt ofour welcome: whereto, with lowly reverence, thus he replyed.
Madam, I doe not remember, that ever I sustained any losse orhinderance by you, but rather so much good, as if I was woorth anything, it proceeded from your great deservings, and by the service inwhich I did stand engaged to you. But my present happinesse can no waybee equalled, derived from your super-abounding gracious favour, andmore then common course of kindnesse, vouchsafing (of your owne liberalnature) to come and visit so poore a servant. Oh that I had as much tospend againe, as heeretofore riotously I have run thorow: what a welcomewold your poore Host bestow upon you, for gracing this homely housewith your divine presence? With these wordes, hee conducted her intohis house, and then into his simple Garden, where having no convenientcompany for her, he saide. Madam, the poverty of this place is such,that it affoordeth none fit for your conversation: this poore woman,wife to an honest Husbandman will attend on you, while I (with somespeede) shall make ready dinner.
Poore _Frederigo_, although his necessity was extreame, and his greefegreat, remembring his former inordinate expences, a moity whereofwould now have stood him in some sted; yet hee had a heart as free andforward as ever, not a jotte dejected in his minde, though utterlyoverthrowne by Fortune. Alas! how was his good soule afflicted, thathe had nothing wherewith to honour his Lady? Up and downe he runnes,one while this way, then againe another, exclaiming on his disastrousFate, like a man enraged, or bereft of senses: for he had not one penyof mony neither pawne or pledge, wherewith to procure any. The timehasted on, and he would gladly (though in meane measure) expresse hishonourable respect of the Lady. To begge of any, his nature denied it,and to borrow he could not, because his neighbours were all as needieas himselfe.
At last, looking round about, and seeing his Faulcon standing on herpearch, which he felt to be very plumpe and fat, being voide of allother helpes in his neede, and thinking her to be a Fowle meete forso Noble a Lady to feede on: without any further demurring or delay,he pluckt off her necke, and caused the poore woman presently to pullher Feathers: which being done, he put her on the spit, and in shorttime she was daintily roasted. Himselfe covered the table, set breadand salt on, and laid the Napkins, whereof he had but a few left him.Going then with chearfull lookes into the Garden, telling the Lady thatdinner was ready, and nothing now wanted, but her presence. Shee, andthe Gentlewoman went in, and being seated at the table, not knowingwhat they fed on, the Falcon was all their foode; and _Frederigo_not a little joyfull, that his credite was so well saved. When theywere risen from the table, and had spent some small time in familiarconference: the Lady thought it fitte, to acquaint him with the reasonof her comming thither, and therefore (in very kinde manner) thus began.
_Frederigo_, if you do yet remember your former carriage towards me,as also my many modest and chaste denials, which (perhaps) you thoughtto favour of a harsh, cruell, and un-womanly nature: I make no doubt,but you will wonder at my present presumption, when you understande theoccasion, which expressely mooved me to come hither. But if you werepossessed of children, or ever had any, whereby you might comprehendwhat love (in nature) is due unto them: then I durst assure my self,that you would partly hold mee excused.
Now, in regard that you never had any, and I my selfe (for my part)have but onely one, I stand not exempted from those Lawes, which are incommon to other mothers. And being compelled to obey the power of thoseLawes; contrary to mine owne will, and those duties which reason oughtto maintaine: I am to request such a gift of you, which I am certaine,that you do make most precious account of, as in manly equity you cando no lesse. For, Fortune hath bin so extreamly adverse to you, thatshe hath robbed you of all other pleasures, allowing you no comfort ordelight, but onely that poore one, which is your faire Faulcone. Ofwhich Bird, my Sonne is become so straungely desirous, as, if I doenot bring it to him at my comming home; I feare so much the extreamityof his sicknesse, as nothing can ensue thereon, but his losse of life.Wherefore I beseech you, not in regard of the love you have born me,for thereby you stand no way obliged: but in your owne true gentlenature (the which hath alwayes declared it selfe ready in you, to domore kinde offices generally, then any other Gentleman that I know)you will be pleased to give her me, or at the least, let me buy her ofyou. Which if you do, I shall freely then confesse, that onely by yourmeanes, my Sonnes life is saved, and wee both shall for ever remaineengaged to you.
When _Frederigo_ had heard the Ladies request, which was now quite outof his power to graunt, because it had bene her service at dinner: hestood like a man meerely dulled in his sences, the teares tricklingamaine downe his cheekes: and he not able to utter one word. Whichshee perceiving, began to conjecture immediately, that these tearesand passions proceeded rather from greefe of minde, as being loatherto part with his Faulcon, then any other kinde of matter: which madeher readie to say, that she would not have it. Neverthelesse shee didnot speake, but rather tarried to attend his answer. Which, after somesmall respite and pawse, he returned in this manner.
Madame, since the houre, when first mine affection became soly devotedto your service; Fortune hath bene crosse and contrary to mee, inmany occasions, as justly, and in good reason I may complain of her.Yet all seemed light and easie to be indured, in comparison of herpresent malicious contradiction, to my utter overthrow, and perpetuallmolestation. Considering, that you are come hither to my poore house,which (while I was rich and able) you would not so much as vouchsafe tolook on. And now you have requested a small matter of mee, wherein sheehath also most crookedly thwarted me, because she hath disabled mee, inbestowing so meane a gift, as your selfe will confesse, when it shallbe related to you in very few words.
So soone as I heard, that it was your gracious pleasure to dine withme, having regard to your excellency, and what (by merit) is justly dueunto you: I thought it a part of my bounden dutie, to entertaine youwith such exquisite viands, as my poore power could any way compas,and farre beyond respect or welcome, to other common and ordinariepersons. Whereupon, remembring my Faulcon, which nowe you aske for; andher goodnesse, excelling all other of her kinde; I supposed, that shewould make a dainty dish for your dyet, and having drest hir, so wellas I could devise to do: you have fed hartily on her, and I am proudthat I have so well bestowne her. But perceiving now, that you wouldhave her for your sicke Sonne; it is no meane affliction to mee, that Iam disabled of yeelding you contentment, which all my lifetime I havedesired to doe.
To approve his words, the feathers, feete, and beake were broughtin, which when she saw, she greatly blamed him for killing so rarea Falcon, to content the appetite of any woman whatsoever. Yet shecommended his height of spirit, which poverty had no power to abase.Lastly, her hopes being frustrate for enjoying the Faulcon, and fearingbesides the health of her Sonne: she thanked _Frederigo_ for hishonourable kindnesse, returning home againe sad and melancholly. Shortlyafter, her sonne either greeving that he could not have the Faulcone,or by extreamity of his disease, chanced to dye, leaving his mother amost wofull Lady.
After so much time was expired, as conveniently might agree with sorrowand mourning; her Brethren made many motions to her, to joyne herselfe in marriage againe, because she was extraordinarily rich, andas yet but yong in yeares. Now, although she was well contented neverto be married any more; yet being continually importuned by them, andremembring the honourable honesty of _Frederigo_, his last poore, yetmagnificent dinner, in killing his Faulcone for her sake, shee saide toher Brethren. This kinde of widdowed estate doth like me so well, aswillingly I would never leave it: but seeing you are so earnest for mysecond marriage, let me plainly tell you, that I will never accept ofany other husband, but onely _Frederigo di Alberino_.
Her brethren in scornfull manner reprooved her, telling her, that heewas a begger, and had nothing left to keepe him in the world. I knoweit well (quoth s
he) and am heartily sorry for it. But give me a man thathath neede of wealth, rather then wealth that hath neede of a man. TheBrethren hearing how shee stoode addicted, and knowing _Frederigo_to bee a worthy Gentleman, though poverty had disgraced him in theWorlde: consented thereto, so she bestowed her selfe and her riches onhim. He on the other side, having so noble a Lady to his Wife, and thesame whome he had so long and deerely loved: submitted all his fairestFortunes unto her, became a better husband (for the world) then before,and they lived and loved together in equall joy and happinesse.
Pedro di Vinciolo _went to sup at a friends House in the City. HisWife (in the meane while) had a young man (whom shee loved) at supperwith her._ Pedro _returning whom upon a sudden, the young man washidden under a Coope for Hennes._ Pedro, _in excuse of his so soonecomming home, declareth, how in the House of_ Herculano _(with whomhe should have supt) a friend of his Wives was found, which was thereason of the Suppers breaking off._ Pedroes _Wife reproving the errorof_ Herculanoes _Wife; An Asse (by chance) treads on the young mansfingers, that lay hidden under the Hen-Coope. Uppon his crying out,_Pedro _steppeth thither, sees him, knowes him, and findeth the fallacyof his Wife: with whom (neverthelesse) he groweth to agreement, inregard of some imperfections in himselfe._
The tenth Novell.
_Reprehending the cunning shifts, of light headed and immodest Women,who, by abusing themselves, doe throw evill aspersions on all the Sexe._
The Queenes Novell being ended, and all the company applauding thehappy fortune of _Frederigo_, as also the noble nature of Madam _Giana:Dioneus_, who never expected any command, prepairing to deliver hisdiscourse, began in this manner. I know not, whether I should termeit a vice accidental, and ensuing through the badnesse of complexionsuppon us mortals; or elsee an error in Nature, to joy and smile ratherat lewd accidents, then at deeds that justly deserve commendation,especially, when they doe not any way concerne our selves. Now, inregard that all the paines I have hitherto taken, and am also toundergoe at this present, aymeth at no other end, but onely to purgeyour mindes of melancholly, and entertaine the time with mirthfulmatter: pardon me I pray you (faire Ladies) if my Tale trip in somepart, and favour a little of immodesty; yet in hearing it, you mayobserve the same course, as you doe in pleasing and delightfullGardens, plucke a sweete Rose, and yet preserve your fingers frompricking. Which very easily you may doe, wincking at the imperfectionsof a foolish man, and smiling at the amorous subtilties of his Wife,compassionating the misfortune of others, where urgent necessity dothrequire it.
There dwelt (not long since) in _Perugia_, a wealthy man, named _Pedrodi Vinciolo_, who (perhaps) more to deceive some other, and restrainean evill opinion, which the _Perugians_ had conceived of him, in matterno way beseeming a man, then any beauty or good feature remaining inthe woman, entred into the estate of marriage. And Fortune was soconforme to him in his election, that the woman whom he had made hiswife, had a young, lusty, and well enabled body, a red hairde wench,hot and fiery spirited, standing more in neede of three Husbands, thenhe, who could not any way well content one Wife, because his minderan more on his money, then those offices and duties belonging towed-lock, which time acquainting his Wife withall, contrary to her owneexpectation, and those delights which the estate of marriage afforded,knowing her selfe also to be of a sprightly disposition, and not to beeasily tamed by houshold cares and attendances; shee waxed weary ofher Husbands unkind courses, upbraided him daily with harsh speeches,making his owne home meerely as a hell to him.
When shee saw that this domesticke disquietnesse returned her nobenefit, but rather tended to her owne consumption, then any amendmentin her miserable Husband; shee began thus to conferre with her privatethoughts. This Husband of mine liveth with me, as if he were noHusband, or I his Wife; the marriage bed, which should be a comfort tous both, seemeth hatefull to him, and as little pleasing to me, becausehis minde is on his money, his head busied with worldly cogitations,and early and late in his counting-house, admitting no familiarconversation with me. Why should not I be as respectlesse of him, ashe declares himselfe to be of me? I tooke him for an Husband, broughthim a good and sufficient dowry, thinking him to be a man, and affecteda woman as a man ought to doe, elsee he had never beene any Husband ofmine. If he be a Woman hater, why did he make choyce of me to be hisWife? If I had not intended to be of the World, I could have coopt myselfe up in a Cloyster, and shorne my selfe a Nunne, but that I was notborne to such severity of life. My youth shall be blasted with age,before I can truly understand what youth is, and I shall be brandedwith the disgracefull word barrennesse, knowing my selfe meete and ableto be a Mother, were my Husband but worthy the name of a Father, orexpected issue and posterity, to leave our memoriall to after times inour race, as all our predecessours formerly have done, and for whichmariage was chiefly instituted. Castles long besieged, doe yeeld atthe last, and women wronged by their owne Husbands, can hardly warranttheir owne frailty, especially living among so many temptations, whichflesh and bloud are not alwayes able to resist. Well, I meane to beadvised in this case, before I will hazard my honest reputation, eitherto suspition or scandall, then which, no woman can have two heavierenemies, and very few there are that can escape them.
Having thus a long while consulted with her selfe, and (perhaps)oftner then twice or thrice; shee became secretly acquainted with anaged woman, generally reputed to be more then halfe a Saint, walkingalwayes very demurely in the streetes, counting (over and over) her_Pater nosters_, and all the Cities holy pardons hanging at her girdle,never talking of any thing, but the lives of the holy Fathers, or thewounds of Saint _Frances_, all the World admiring her sanctity oflife, even as if shee were divinely inspired: this she Saint must beour distressed womans Councellour, and having found out a convenientseason, at large she imparted all her mind to her, in some such manneras formerly you have heard, whereto shee returned this answere.
Now trust me Daughter, thy case is to be pittied, and so much therather, because thou art in the floure and spring time of thy youth,when not a minute of time is to be left: for there is no greater anerror in this life, then the losse of time, because it cannot berecovered againe; and when the fiends themselves affright us, yet ifwe keepe our embers still covered with warme ashes on the hearth, theyhave nor any power to hurt us. If any one can truly speake thereof,then I am able to deliver true testimony; for I know, but not withoutmuch perturbation of minde, and piercing afflictions in the spirit;how much time I lost without any profit. And yet I lost not all, for Iwould not have thee thinke me to be so foolish, that I did altogetherneglect such an especiall benefit; which when I call to minde, andconsider now in what condition I am, thou must imagine, it is no smallhearts griefe to me, that age should make me utterly despised, and nofire afforded to light my tinder.
With men it is not so, they are borne apt for a thousand occasions, aswell for the present purpose we talke of, as infinite other beside;yea, and many of them are more esteemed being aged, then when theywere yong. But women serve onely for mens contentation, and to bringchildren, and therefore are they generally beloved, which if theyfaile of, either it is by unfortunate marriage, or some imperfectiondepending on nature, not through want of good will in themselves. Wehave nothing in this world but what is given us, in which regard, weare to make use of our time, and employ it the better while we haveit. For, when we grow to be old, our Husbands, yea, our very dearestand nearest friends, will scarcely looke on us. We are then fit fornothing, but to sit by the fire in the Kitchin, telling tales to theCat, or counting the pots and pannes on the shelves. Nay, which isworse, rimes and songs is made of us, even in meere contempt of ourage, and commendation of such as are young, the daintiest morselseare fittest for them, and we referred to feed on the scrappes fromtheir trenchers, or such reversion as they can spare us. I tell theeDaughter, thou couldst not make choyce of a meeter woman in all theCity, to whom thou mightest safely open thy minde, and knowes betterto advise thee then I doe. But remember withall, that I am poore, andit is your part
not to suffer poverty to be unsupplyed. I will makethee partaker of all these blessed pardons, at every Altar I will saya _Pater noster_, and an _Ave Maria_, that thou maist prosper in thyhearts desires, and be defended from foule sinne and shame, and so sheeended her Motherly counsell.
Within a while after, it came to passe, that her Husband was invitedfoorth to Supper, with one named _Herculano_, a kind friend of his,but his Wife refused to goe, because shee had appointed a friend tosupper with her, to whom the old woman was employed as her messenger,and was well recompenced for her labour. This friend was a gallantproper youth, as any all _Perugia_ yeelded, and scarcely was he seatedat the Table, but her Husband was returned backe, and called to belet in at the doore. Which when shee perceived, shee was almost halfedead with feare, and coveting to hide the young man, that her Husbandshould not have any sight of him, shee had no other meanes, but in anentry, hard by the Parlour where they purposed to have supt, stood aCoope or Hen-pen, wherein she used to keepe her Pullen, under which hecrept, and then shee covered it with an old empty sacke, and after ranto let her Husband come in. When he was entred into the House; as halfeoffended at his so sudden returne, angerly she saide: It seemes Sir youare a shaver at your meate, that you have made so short a supper. Introth Wife (quoth he) I have not supt at all, no, not so much as eatenone bit. How hapned that? said the woman. Mary wife (quoth he) I willtell you, and then thus he began.
As _Herculano_, his wife, and I were sitting downe at the Table, veryneere unto us we heard one sneeze, whereof at the first we made noreckoning, untill we heard it againe the second time, yea, a third,fourth, and fifth, and many more after, whereat we were not a littleamazed. Now Wife I must tell you, before we entred the roome where wewere to sup, _Herculanoes_ wife kept the doore fast shut against us,and would not let us enter in an indifferent while; which made himthen somewhat offended, but now much more, when he had heard one tosneeze so often. Demanding of her a reason for it, and who it was thatthus sneezed in his House: he started from the Table, and stepping toa little doore neere the staires head, necessarily there made, to setsuch things in, as otherwise would be troublesome to the roome, (as inall Houses we commonly see the like) he perceived, that the party washidden there, which wee had heard so often to sneeze before.
No sooner had he opened the doore, but such a smell of brimston camefoorth (whereof we felt not the least savour before) as made uslikewise to cough and sneeze, being no way able to refraine it. Sheseeing her Husband to be much moved, excused the matter thus, that (buta little while before) shee had whited certaine linnen with the smoakeof brimstone, as it is an usuall thing to doe, and then set the paninto that spare place, because it should not be offensive to us. Bythis time, _Herculano_ had espied him that sneezed, who being almoststifled with the smell, and closenesse of the small roome wherein helay, had not any power to helpe himselfe, but still continued coughingand sneezing, even as if his heart would have split in twaine. Foorthhe pluckt him by the heeles, and perceiving how matters had past, hesaide to her. I thanke you Wife, now I see the reason, why you kept usso long from comming into this roome, let me die, if I beare this wrongat your hands. When his Wife heard these words, and saw the discoveryof her shame; without returning either excuse or answere, foorth ofdoores she ran, but whither, we know not. _Herculano_ drew his Dagger,and would have slaine him that still lay sneezing; but I disswadedhim from it, as well in respect of his, as also mine owne danger,when the Law should censure on the deede. And after the young man wasindifferently recovered; by the perswasion of some Neighbours commingin: he was closely conveyed out of the house, and all the noyse quietlypacified. Onely (by this meanes, and the flight of _Herculanoes_ wife)we were disappointed of our Supper; and now you know the reason of myso soone returning.
When she had heard this whole discourse, then she perceived, that otherWomen were subject to the like infirmity, and as wise for themselves,as shee could be, though these and the like sinister accidents mightsometimes crosse them, and gladly she wished, that _Herculanoes_ Wifesexcuse, might now serve to acquite her: but because in blaming otherserrors, our owne may sometime chance to escape discovery, and cleareus, albeit we are as guilty; in a sharpe reprehending manner, thusshe began. See Husband, here is hansome behaviour, of an holy faireseeming, and Saint-like woman, to whom I durst have confest my sinnes,I conceived such a religious perswasion of her lives integrity, freefrom the least scruple of taxation. A woman, so farre stept intoyeeres, as shee is, to give such an evill example to other youngerwomen, is it not a sinne beyond all sufferance? Accursed be the houre,when she was borne into this World, and her selfe likewise, to be solewdly and incontinently given; an universall shame and slaunder, toall the good women of our City.
Shall I terme her a woman, or rather some savage monster in a womansshape? Hath shee not made am open prostitution of her honesty, brokenher plighted faith to her Husband, and all the womanly reputation sheehad in this World? Her Husband, being an honourable Citizen, entreatingher alwayes, as few men elsee in the City doe their wives; what anheart-breake must this needes be to him, good man? Neither I, nor anyhonest man elsee, ought to have any pity on her; but (with our ownehands) teare her in peeces, or dragge her along to a good fire in themarket place, wherein she and her minion should be consumed together,and their base ashes dispersed abroade in the winde, least the pureAire should be infected with them.
Then, remembring her owne case, and her poore affrighted friend, wholay in such distresse under the Hen-coope; shee began to advise herHusband, that he would be pleased to goe to bed, because the nightpassed on apace. But _Pedro_, having a better will to eate, then tosleepe, desired her to let him have some meate, else hee must goe tobed with an empty bellie; whereto shee answered. Why Husband (quothshee) do I make any large provision, when I am debard of your company?I would I were the wife of _Herculano_, seeing you cannot content yourselfe from one nights feeding, considering, it is now over-late to makeany thing ready.
It fortuned, that certaine Husbandmen, which had the charge of_Pedroes_ Farme house in the Countrey, and there followed his affairesof Husbandry, were returned home this instant night, having their Assesladen with such provision, as was to be used in his City-house. Whenthe Asses were unladen, and set up in a small Stable, without watering;one of them being (belike) more thirsty then the rest, brake loose,and wandering all about smelling to seeke water, happened into theentry, where the young man lay hidden under the Hen-pen. Now, he beingconstrained (like a Carpe) to lie flat on his belly, because the Coopewas over-weighty for him to carry, and one of his hands more extendedforth, then was requisite for him in so urgent a shift: it was his hap(or ill fortune rather) that the Asse set his foote on the young mansfingers, treading so hard, and the paine being very irkesome to him, ashe was enforced to cry out aloude, which _Pedro_ hearing, he wonderedthereat not a little.
Knowing that this cry was in his house, he tooke the candle in hishand, and going foorth of the Parlour, heard the cry to be louder andlouder; because the Asse removed not his foote, but rather trod themore firmely on his hand. Comming to the Coope, driving thence theAsse, and taking off the old sacke, he espyed the young man, who,beside the painfull anguish he felt of his fingers, arose up trembling,as fearing some outrage beside to be offered him by _Pedro_, whoknew the youth perfectly, and demanded of him, how he came thither.No answer did he make to that question, but humbly entreated (forcharities sake) that he would not doe him any harme. Feare not (quoth_Pedro_) I will not offer thee any violence: onely tel me how thoucamest hither, and for what occasion; wherein the youth fully resolvedhim.
_Pedro_ being no lesse joyfull for thus finding him, then his wife wassorrowfull, tooke him by the hand, and brought him into the Parlour,where shee sate trembling and quaking, as not knowing what to say inthis distresse. Seating himselfe directly before her, and holding theyouth still fast by the hand, thus he began. Oh Wife! what bitterspeeches did you use (even now) against the wife of _Herculano_,maintaining that shee had shamed all other women, and j
ustly deservedto be burned? Why did you not say as much of your selfe? Or, if youhad not the heart to speake it, how could you be so cruell againsther, knowing your offence as great as hers? Questionlesse, nothingelse urged you thereto, but that all women are of one and the samecondition, covering their owne grosse faults by farre inferiourinfirmities in others. You are a perverse generation, meerely false inyour fairest shewes.
When she saw that he offered her no other violence, but gave her suchvaunting and reproachfull speeches, holding still the young man beforeher face, meerely to vexe and despight her: shee began to take heart,and thus replied. Doest thou compare me with the wife of _Herculano_,who is an olde, dissembling hypocrite? yet she can have of himwhatsoever she desireth, and he useth her as a woman ought to be, whichfavour I could never yet find at thy hands. Put the case, that thoukeepest me in good garments, allowing me to goe neatly hosed and shod;yet well thou knowest, there are other meete matters belonging to awoman, and every way as necessarily required, both for the preservationof Houshold quietnesse, and those other rites betweene a Husband andWife. Let me be worser garmented, courser dieted, yea, debarred of allpleasure and delights; so I might once be worthy the name of a Mother,and leave some remembrance of woman-hood behind me. I tell thee plainly_Pedro_, I am a woman as others are, and subject to the same desires,as (by nature) attendeth on flesh and bloud: look how thou failest inkindnesse towards me, thinke it not amisse, if I doe the like to thee,and endeavour thou to win the worthy title of a Father, because I wasmade to be a Mother.
When _Pedro_ perceived, that his Wife had spoken nothing but reason,in regard of his over-much neglect towards her, and not using suchhoushold kindnesse, as ought to be between Man and Wife, he returnedher this answer. Well Wife (quoth he) I confesse my fault, andhereafter will labour to amend it; conditionally, that this youth,nor any other, may no more visite my House in mine absence. Get metherefore something to eate, for doubtlesse, this young man and thyselfe fell short of your supper, by reason of my so soone returninghome. In troth Husband, saide shee, we did not eate one bit ofanything, and I will be a true and loyall Wife to thee, so thou wiltbe the like to me. No more words then wife, replyed _Pedro_, all isforgotten and forgiven, let us to supper, and we are all friends.She seeing his anger was so well appeased, lovingly kissed him, andlaying the cloth, set on the supper, which shee had provided for herselfe & the youth, and so they supt together merrily, not one unkindword passing betweene them. After supper, the youth was sent away infriendly manner, and _Pedro_ was alwayes afterward more loving to hisWife, then formerly he had been, and no complaint passed on eitherside, but mutuall joy and houshold contentment, such as ought to bebetweene man and wife.
_Dioneus_ having ended his Tale, for which the Ladies returned him nothankes, but rather angerly frowned on him: the Queene, knowing thather government was now concluded, arose, and taking off her Crowne ofLawrell, placed it graciously on the head of Madam _Eliza_, saying. NowMadam, it is your turne to command. _Eliza_ having received the honour,did (in all respects) as others formerly had done, and after she hadenstructed the Master of the Houshold, concerning his charge during thetime of her regiment, for contentation of all the company; thus shespake.
We have long since heard, that with witty words, ready answers, andsudden jests or taunts, many have checkt & reproved great folly inothers, and to their owne no meane commendation. Now, because it isa pleasing kind of argument, ministring occasion of mirth and wit:my desire is, that all our discourse to morrow shall tend thereto. Imeane of such persons, either Men or Women, who with some sudden wittyanswer, have encountred a scorner in his owne intention, and layedthe blame where it justly belonged. Every one commended the Queenesappointment, because it savoured of good wit and judgement; and theQueene being risen, they were all discharged till supper time, fallingto such severall exercises as themselves best fancyed.
When supper was ended, and the instruments layed before them; by theQueenes consent, Madam _?millia_ undertooke the daunce, and the Songwas appointed to _Dioneus_, who began many, but none that proved to anyliking, they were so palpably obscene and idle, savouring altogetherof his owne wanton disposition. At the length, the Queene lookingstearnely on him, and commanding him to sing a good one, or none atall; thus he began.
_The Song.
Eyes, can ye not refraine your hourely weeping? Eares, how are you deprivde of sweete attention? Thoughts, have you lost your quiet silent sleeping? Wit, who hath robde thee of thy rare invention? The lacke of these, being life and motion giving: Are sencelesse shapes, and no true signes of living.
Eyes, when you gazde upon her Angell beauty; Eares, while you heard her sweete delicious straines, Thoughts (sleeping then) did yet performe their duty, Wit, then tooke sprightly pleasure in his paines. While shee did live, then none of these were scanting, But now (being dead) they all are gone and wanting._
After that _Dioneus_ (by proceeding no further) declared the finishingof his Song; many more were sung beside, and that of _Dioneus_ highlycommended. Some part of the night being spent in other delightfullexercises, and a fitting houre for rest drawing on: they betookethemselves to their Chambers, where we will leave them till to morrowmorning.
_The end of the Fifth Day._
FINIS.
The Decameron (Day 1 to Day 5) Page 57