10. Novell.

_Pedro di Vinciolo, went to sup at a friends house

in the City. His wife (in the meane while) had

a yong man whom she loved, at supper with her.

Pedro returning home upon a sodaine, the young

man was hidden under a Coope for Hens. Pedro,

in excuse of his so soone coming home, declareth;

how in the house of Herculano (with whome hee

should have supt) a friend of his wives was found,

which was the reason of the suppers breaking off.

Pedroes wife reproving the error of Herculanoes

wife: an Asse (by chance) treades on the young

mans fingers that lay hidden under the Henne-Coope.

Upon his crying out, Pedro steppeth thither,

sees him, knowes him, and findeth the fallacie of

his wife: with whom (neverthelesse) he groweth

to agreement, in regard of some imperfections in

himselfe._

The End of the Table.

THE DECAMERON, Containing, an Hundred pleasant NOVELLES.

_Wherein, after demonstration made by the Author, upon what occasion it

hapned, that the persons (of whom we shall speake heereafter) should

thus meete together, to make so queint a Narration of Novels: Hee

declareth unto you, that they first begin to devise and conferre, under

the government of Madam Pampinea, and of such matters as may be most

pleasing to them all._

The Induction of the Author, to the following Discourses.

Gracious Ladies, so often as I consider with my selfe, and observe

respectively, how naturally you are enclined to compassion; as many

times do I acknowledge, that this present worke of mine, will (in your

judgement) appeare to have but a harsh and offensive beginning, in

regard of the mournfull remembrance it beareth at the verie entrance

of the last Pestilentiall mortality, universally hurtfull to all that

beheld it, or otherwise came to knowledge of it. But for all that,

I desire it may not be so dreadfull to you, to hinder your further

proceeding in reading, as if none were to looke thereon, but with

sighes and teares. For, I could rather wish, that so fearefull a

beginning, should seeme but as an high and steepy hill appeares to them,

that attempt to travell farre on foote, and ascending the same with

some difficulty, come afterward to walk upon a goodly even plaine,

which causeth the more contentment in them, because the attaining

thereto was hard and painfull. For, even as pleasures are cut off by

griefe and anguish; so sorrowes cease by joyes most sweete and happie

arriving.

After this breefe molestation, briefe I say, because it is contained

within small compasse of Writing; immediately followeth the most sweete

and pleasant taste of pleasure, whereof (before) I made promise to you.

Which (peradventure) could not bee expected by such a beginning, if

promise stoode not thereunto engaged. And indeed, if I could wel have

conveyed you to the center of my desire, by any other way, then so

rude and rocky a passage as this is, I would gladly have done it. But

because without this Narration, we could not demonstrate the occasion

how and wherefore the matters hapned, which you shall reade in the

ensuing Discourses: I must set them downe (even as constrained thereto

by meere necessity) in writing after this manner.

The yeare of our blessed Saviours incarnation, 1348. that memorable

mortality happened in the excellent City, farre beyond all the rest in

_Italy_; which plague, by operation of the superiour bodies, or rather

for our enormous iniquities, by the just anger of God was sent upon us

mortals. Some few yeeres before, it tooke beginning in the Easterne

partes, sweeping thence an innumerable quantity of living soules:

extending it selfe afterward from place to place Westward, untill it

seized on the said City. Where neither humane skill or providence,

could use any prevention, notwithstanding it was cleansed of many

annoyances, by diligent Officers thereto deputed: besides prohibition

of all sickly persons enterance, and all possible provision dayly used

for conservation of such as were in health, with incessant prayers and

supplications of devoute people, for the asswaging of so dangerous a

sicknesse.

About the beginning of the yeare, it also began in very strange manner,

as appeared by divers admirable effects; yet not as it had done in the

East Countries, where Lord or Lady being touched therewith, manifest

signes of inevitable death followed thereon, by bleeding at the nose.

But here it began with yong children, male and female, either under

the armpits, or in the groine by certaine swellings, in some to the

bignesse of an Apple, in others like an Egge, and so in divers greater

or lesser, which (in their vulgar Language) they termed to be a Botch

or Byle. In very short time after, those two infected parts were grown

mortiferous, and would disperse abroad indifferently, to all parts of

the body; whereupon, such was the qualitie of the disease, to shew it

selfe by blacke or blew spottes, which would appeare on the armes of

many, others on their thighes, and everie part else of the body: in

some great and few, in others small and thicke.

Now as the Byle (at the beginning) was an assured signe of neere

approaching death; so prooved the spots likewise to such as had them:

for the curing of which sicknesse it seemed, that the Physitians

counsell, the vertue of Medicines, or any application else, could

not yeeld any remedy: but rather it plainely appeared, that either

the nature of the disease would not endure it, or ignorance in the

Physitians could not comprehend, from whence the cause proceeded, and

so by consequent, no resolution was to be determined. Moreover, beside

the number of such as were skilfull in Art, many more both women and

men, without ever having any knowledge in Physicke, became Physitians:

so that not onely few were healed, but (well-neere) all dyed, within

three dayes after the saide signes were seene; some sooner, and others

later, commonly without either Feaver, or any other accident.

And this pestilence was yet of farre greater power or violence; for,

not onely healthfull persons speaking to the sicke, comming to see

them, or ayring cloathes in kindnesse to comfort them, was an occasion

of ensuing death: but touching their garments, or any foode whereon

the sicke person fed, or any thing else used in his service, seemed to

transferre the disease from the sicke to the sound, in very rare and

miraculous manner. Among which matter of marvell, let me tell you one

thing, which if the eyes of many (as well as mine owne) had not seene,

hardly could I be perswaded to write it, much lesse to beleeve it,

albeit a man of good credit should report it. I say, that the quality

of this contagious pestilence was not onely of such efficacy, in taking

and catching it one of another, either men or women: but it extended

further, even in the apparant view of many, that the cloathes, or any

thing else, wherein one died of that disease, being toucht, or lyen

on by any beast, farre from the kind or quality of man, they did not

onely contaminate and infect the said beast, were it Dogge, Cat, or any

other; but also it died very soone after.

Mine owne eyes (as formerly I have said) among divers other, one day

had evident experience hereof, for some poore ragged cloathes of linnen

and wollen, torne from a wretched body dead of that disease, and hurled

in the open streete; two Swine going by, and (according to their

naturall inclination) seeking for foode on every dung-hill, tossed and

tumbled the cloathes with their snouts, rubbing their heads likewise

uppon them; and immediately, each turning twice or thrice about, they

both fell downe dead on the saide cloathes, as being fully infected

with the contagion of them: which accident, and other the like, if not

far greater, begat divers feares and imaginations in them that beheld

them, all tending to a most inhumane and uncharitable end; namely, to

flie thence from the sicke, and touching any thing of theirs, by which

meanes they thought their health should be safely warranted.

Some there were, who considered with themselves, that living soberly,

with abstinence from all superfluity; it would be a sufficient

resistance against all hurtfull accidents. So combining themselves in

a sociable manner, they lived as separatists from all other company,

being shut up in such houses, where no sicke body should be neere them.

And there, for their more security, they used delicate viands and

excellent wines, avoiding luxurie, and refusing speech to one another,

not looking forth at the windowes, to heare no cries of dying people,

or see any coarses carried to buriall; but having musicall instruments,

lived there in all possible pleasure. Others were of a contrary

opinion, who avouched, that there was no other physicke more certaine,

for a disease so desperate, then to drinke hard, be merry among

themselves, singing continually, walking every where, and satisfying

their appetites with whatsoever they desired, laughing, and mocking at

every mournefull accident, and so they vowed to spend day and night:

for now they would goe to one Taverne, then to another, living without

any rule or measure; which they might very easilie doe, because every

one of them, (as if he were to live no longer in this World) had even

forsaken all things that he had. By meanes whereof the most part of

the houses were become common, and all strangers, might doe the like

(if they pleased to adventure it) even as boldly as the Lord or owner,

without any let or contradiction.

Yet in all this their beastly behaviour, they were wise enough, to

shun (so much as they might) the weake and sickly: In which misery and

affliction of our City, the venerable authority of the Lawes, as well

divine as humane, was even destroyed, as it were, through want of the

awefull Ministers of them. For they being all dead, or lying sicke

with the rest, or else lived so solitary, in such great necessity of

servants and attendants, as they could not execute any office, whereby

it was lawfull for every one to doe as he listed.

Betweene these two rehearsed extremities of life, there were other of

a more moderate temper, not being so daintily dieted as the first, nor

drinking so dissolutely as the second; but used all things sufficient

for their appetites, and without shutting up themselves, walked

abroade, some carrying sweete nose-gayes of flowers in their hands;

others odoriferous herbes, and others divers kinds of spiceries,

holding them to their noses, and thinking them most comfortable for the

braine, because the ayre seemed to be much infected, by the noysome

smell of dead carkases, and other hurtfull savours. Some other there

were also of more inhumane minde (howbeit peradventure it might be

the surest) saying, that there was no better physicke against the

pestilence, nor yet so good; as to flie away from it, which argument

mainely moving them, and caring for no body but themselves, very

many, both men and women, forsooke the City, their owne houses, their

Parents, kindred, friends, and goods, flying to other mens dwellings

else-where. As if the wrath of God, in punishing the sinnes of men with

this plague, would fall heavily upon none, but such as were enclosed

within the City wals; or else perswading themselves, that not any one

should there be left alive, but that the finall ending of all things

was come.

Now albeit these persons in their diversity of opinions died not all,

so undoubtedly they did not all escape; but many among them becomming

sicke, and making a generall example of their flight and folly, among

them that could not stirre out of their beds, they languished more

perplexedly then the other did. Let us omit, that one Citizen fled

after another, and one neighbour had not any care of another, Parents

nor kinred never visiting them, but utterly they were forsaken on all

sides: this tribulation pierced into the hearts of men, and with such

a dreadfull terror, that one Brother forsooke another; the Unkle the

Nephew, the Sister the Brother, and the Wife her Husband: nay, a matter

much greater, and almost incredible; Fathers and Mothers fled away from

their owne Children, even as if they had no way appertained to them.

In regard whereof, it could be no otherwise, but that a countlesse

multitude of men and women fell sicke; finding no charity among their

friends, except a very few, and subjected to the avarice of servants,

who attended them constrainedly, for great and unreasonable wages, yet

few of those attendants to be found any where too. And they were men

or women but of base condition, as also of groser understanding, who

never before had served in any such necessities, nor indeed were any

way else to be imployed, but to give the sicke person such things as he

called for, or to awaite the houre of his death; in the performance of

which services, oftentimes for gaine, they lost their owne lives.

In this extreame calamity, the sicke being thus forsaken of neighbours,

kinred, and friends, standing also in such need of servants; a custome

came up among them, never heard of before, that there was not any

woman, how noble, young, or faire soever shee was, but falling sicke,

shee must of necessity have a man to attend her, were he young or

otherwise, respect of shame or modesty no way prevailing, but all parts

of her body must be discovered to him, which (in the like urgency)

was not to be seene by any but women: whereon ensued afterward, that

upon the parties healing and recovery, it was the occasion of further

dishonesty, which many being more modestly curious of, refused such

disgracefull attending, chusing rather to die, then by such helpe to

be healed. In regard whereof, as well through the want of convenient

remedies, (which the sicke by no meanes could attain unto) as also the

violence of the contagion, the multitude of them that died night and

day, was so great, that it was a dreadfull sight to behold, and as much

to heare spoken of. So that meere necesssity (among them that remained

living) begat new behaviours, quite contrary to all which had beene in

former times, and frequently used among the City Inhabitants.

The custome of precedent dayes (as now againe it is) was, that women,

kinred, neighbours, and friends, would meete together at the deceased

parties house, and there, with them that were of neerest alliance,

expresse their hearts sorrow for their friends losse. If not thus,

they would assemble before the doore, with many of the best Cittizens

and kindred, and (according to the quality of the deceased) the Clergy

met there likewise, and the dead body was carried (in comely manner)

on mens shoulders, with funerall pompe of Torch-light, and singing,

to the Church appointed by the deceased. But these seemely orders,

after that the fury of the pestilence began to encrease, they in like

manner altogether ceased, and other new customes came in their place;

because not onely people died, without having any women about them, but

infinites also past out of this life, not having any witnesse, how,

when, or in what manner they departed. So that few or none there were,

to deliver outward shew of sorrow and grieving: but insteed thereof,

divers declared idle joy and rejoycing, a use soone learned of immodest

women, having put off al feminine compassion, yea, or regard of their

owne welfare.

Very few also would accompany the body to the grave, and they not

any of the Neighbours, although it had beene an honourable Cittizen,

but onely the meanest kinde of people, such as were grave-makers,

coffin-bearers, or the like, that did these services onely for money,

and the beere being mounted on their shoulders, in all haste they would

runne away with it, not perhaps to the Church appointed by the dead,

but to the neerest at hand, having some foure or sixe poore Priests

following, with lights or no lights, and those of the silliest; short

service being said at the buriall, and the body unreverently throwne

into the first open grave they found. Such was the pittifull misery of

poore people, and divers, who were of better condition, as it was most

lamentable to behold; because the greater number of them, under hope of

healing, or compelled by poverty, kept still within their houses weake

and faint, thousands falling sick daily, and having no helpe, or being

succoured any way with foode or physicke, all of them died, few or none

escaping.

Great store there were, that died in the streetes by day or night,

and many more beside, although they died in their houses; yet first

they made it knowne to their neighbours, that their lives perished,

rather by the noysome smell of dead and putrified bodies, then by any

violence of the disease in themselves. So that of these and the rest,

dying in this manner every where, the neighbours observed one course

of behaviour, (moved thereto no lesse by feare, that the smell and

corruption of dead bodies should harme them, then charitable respect of

the dead) that themselves when they could, or being assisted by some

bearers of coarses, when they were able to procure them, wold hale the

bodies (alreadie dead) out of their houses, laying them before their

doores, where such as passed by, especially in the mornings, might see

them lying in no meane numbers. Afterward, Bieres were brought thither,

and such as might not have the helpe of Bieres, were glad to lay them

on tables, and Bieres have bin observed, not onely to be charged with

two or three dead bodies at once, but many times it was seene also,

that the wife with the husband, two or three Brethren together; yea,

the Father and the mother, have thus beene carried along to the grave

upon one Biere.

Moreover, oftentimes it hath bene seene, that when two Priests went

with one Crosse to fetch the body; there would follow (behind) three

or foure bearers with their Bieres, and when the Priests intended

the buriall but of one bodie, sixe or eight more have made up the

advantage, and yet none of them being attended by any seemly company,

lights, teares, or the very least decencie, but it plainly appeared,

that the verie like account was then made of men or Women, as if they

had bene Dogges or Swine. Wherein might manifestly bee noted, that that

which the naturall course of things could not shewe to the wise, with

rare and little losse, to wit, the patient support of miseries and

misfortunes, even in their greatest height: not onely the wise might

now learne, but also the verie simplest people; & in such sort, that

they should alwaies be prepared against all infelicities whatsoever.

Hallowed ground could not now suffice, for the great multitude of dead

bodies, which were daily brought to every Church in the City, and

every houre in the day; neither could the bodies have proper place of

buriall, according to our ancient custome: wherefore, after that the

churches and Church-yards were filled, they were constrained to make

use of great deepe ditches, wherein they were buried by hundreds at

once, ranking dead bodies along in graves, as Merchandizes are laide

along in ships, covering each after other with a small quantity of

earth, & so they filled at last up the whole ditch to the brim.

Now, because I would wander no further in everie particularity,

concerning the miseries happening in our Citie: I tell you, that

extremities running on in such manner as you have heard; little lesse

spare was made in the Villages round about; wherein (setting aside

enclosed Castles, which were now filled like to small Cities) poore

Labourers and Husband-men, with their whole Families, dyed most

miserably in out-houses, yea, and in the open fieldes also; without

any assistance of physicke, or helpe of servants; & likewise in the

high-wayes, or their ploughed landes, by day or night indifferently,

yet not as men, but like brute beasts.

By meanes whereof, they became lazie and slothfull in their daily

endeavours, even like to our Citizens; not minding or medling with their

wonted affaires: but, as awaiting for death every houre, imployed all

their paines, not in caring any way for themselves, their cattle, or

gathering the fruits of the earth, or any of their accustomed labours;

but rather wasted and consumed, even such as were for their instant

sustenance. Whereupon, it fell so out, that their Oxen, Asses, Sheepe,

and Goates, their Swine, Pullen, yea their verie Dogges, the truest

and faithfullest servants to men, being beaten and banished from their

houses, went wildly wandring abroad in the fields, where the Corne grew

still on the ground without gathering, or being so much as reapt or

cut. Many of the fore-said beasts (as endued with reason) after they

had pastured themselves in the day time, would returne full fed at

night home to their houses, without any government of Heardsmen, or any

other.

How many faire Palaces! How many goodly Houses! How many noble

habitations, filled before with families of Lords and Ladies, were

then to be seene emptie, without any one there dwelling, except some

silly servant? How many Kindreds, worthy of memory! How many great

inheritances! And what plenty of riches, were left without any true

successours? How many good men! How many woorthy Women! How many

valiant and comely yong men, whom none but _Galen, Hippocrates,_

and _Æsculapius_ (if they were living) could have reputed any way

unhealthfull; were seene to dine at morning, with their Parents,

Friends, and familiar confederates, and went to sup in another world

with their Predecessors?

It is no meane breach to my braine, to make repetition of so many

miseries; wherefore, being willing to part with them as easily as I

may: I say that our Citie being in this case, voide of inhabitants, it

came to passe (as afterward I understoode by some of good credite) that

in the venerable Church of S. _Marie la Neufue_, on a Tuesday morning,

there being then no other person, after the hearing of divine Service,

in mourning habits (as the season required) returned thence seven

discreet yong Gentlewomen, all allyed together, either by friendship,

neighbour-hood, or parentage. She among them that was most entred into

yeares, exceeded not eight and twenty, and the yongest was no lesse

then eighteene; being of Noble descent, faire forme, adorned with

exquisite behaviour, and gracious modesty.

Their names I could report, if just occasion did not forbid it, in

regard of the occasions following by them related, and because times

heereafter shall not taxe them with reproofe; the lawes of pleasure

being more straited now adayes (for the matters before revealed)

then at that time they were, not onely to their yeares, but to many

much riper. Neither will I likewise minister matter to rash heades

(over-readie in censuring commendable life) any way to impaire the

honestie of Ladies, by their idle detracting speeches. And therefore,

to the end that what each of them saith, may be comprehended without

confusion; I purpose to stile them by names, wholly agreeing, or (in

part) conformable to their qualities. The first and most aged, we will

name _Pampinea_; the second _Fiammetta_; the third _Philomena_; the

fourth _Æmilia_; the fift _Lauretta_; the sixt _Neiphila_; and the last

we terme (not without occasion) _Elissa_, or _Eliza_. All of them being

assembled at a corner of the Church, not by any deliberation formerly

appointed, but meerely by accident, and sitting as it were in a round

ring: after divers sighs severally delivered, they conferred on sundry

matters answerable to the sad qualitie of the time, and within a while

after, Madam _Pampinea_ began in this manner.

Faire Ladies, you may (no doubt as well as I) have often heard, that

no injury is offered to any one, by such as make use but of their owne

right. It is a thing naturall for everie one which is borne in this

World, to aide, conserve, and defend her life so long as shee can; and

this right hath bene so powerfully permitted, that although it hath

sometimes happened, that (to defend themselves) men have beene slaine

without any offence: yet Lawes have allowed it to be so, in whose

solicitude lieth the best living of all mortals. How much more honest

and just is it then for us, and for every other well-disposed person,

to seeke for (without wronging any) and to practise all remedies that

wee can, for the conservation of our lives? When I well consider,

what we have heere done this morning, and many other already past;

remembring (withall) what likewise is proper and convenient for us:

I conceive (as all you may do the like) that everie one of us hath a

due respect of her selfe, and then I mervaile not, but rather am much

amazed (knowing none of us to be deprived of a Womans best judgement)

that wee seeke not after some remedies for our selves, against that,

which every one among us, ought (in reason) to feare.

Heere we meete and remaine (as it seemeth to mee) in no other manner,

then as if we would or should be witnesses, to all the dead bodies at

rest in their graves; or else to listen, when the religious Sisters

here dwelling (whose number now are well-neere come to be none at all)

sing Service at such houres as they ought to do; or else to acquaint

all commers hither (by our mourning habites) with the quality and

quantitie of our hearts miseries. And when we part hence, we meete

with none but dead bodies; or sicke persons transported from one place

to another; or else we see running thorow the City (in most offensive

fury) such as (by authoritie of publike Lawes) were banished hence,

onely for their bad and brutish behaviour in contempt of those Lawes,

because now they know, that the executors of them are dead and sicke.

And if not these, more lamentable spectacles present themselves to us,

by the base rascality of the Citie; who being fatted with our blood,

tearme themselves Grave-makers, and in meere contemptible mockerie of

us, are mounted on horse-backe, gallopping everie where, reproaching

us with our losses and misfortunes, with lewd and dishonest songs: so

that we can hear nothing else but such and such are dead, and such and

such lie a dying; heere hands wringing, and everie where most pittifull

complaining.

If we returne home to our houses (I know not whether your case bee

answerable to mine) when I can finde none of all my Family, but onely

my poore waiting Chamber-maide; so great are my feares, that the verie

haire on my head declareth my amazement, and wheresoever I go or sit

downe, me thinkes I see the ghostes and shadowes of deceased friends,

not with such lovely lookes as I was wont to behold them, but with most

horrid and dreadfull regards, newly stolne upon them I know not how.

In these respects, both heere, else-where, and at home in my house,

methinkes I am alwaies ill, and much more (in mine owne opinion) then

any other bodie, not having meanes or place of retirement, as all we

have, and none to remaine heere but onely we.

Moreover, I have often heard it said, that in tarrying or departing, no

distinction is made in things honest or dishonest; onely appetite will

be served; and be they alone or in company, by day or night, they do

whatsoever their appetite desireth: not secular persons onely, but such

as are recluses, and shut up within Monasteries, breaking the Lawes of

obedience, and being addicted to pleasures of the flesh, are become

lascivious and dissolute, making the world beleeve, that whatsoever is

convenient for other women, is no way unbeseeming them, as thinking in

that manner to escape.

If it be so, as manifestlie it maketh shew of it selfe; What do we

here? What stay we for? And whereon do we dreame? Why are we more

respectlesse of our health, then all the rest of the Citizens? Repute

we our selves lesse precious then all the other? Or do we beleeve, that

life is linked to our bodies with stronger chaines, then to others, and

that therefore we should not feare any thing that hath power to offend

us? Wee erre therein, and are deceived. What brutishnesse were it in

us, if wee should urge any such beleefe? So often as wee call to minde,

what, and how many gallant yong men and women, have beene devoured by

this cruell pestilence; wee may evidently observe a contrary argument.

Wherefore, to the end, that by being over-scrupulous and carelesse, we

fall not into such danger, whence when we would (perhaps) we cannot

recover our selves by any meanes: I thinke it meete (if your judgement

therein shall jumpe with mine) that all of us as we are (at least, if

we will doe as divers before us have done, and yet daily endeavour

to doe) shunning death by the honest example of other, make our

retreate to our Countrey houses, wherewith all of us are sufficiently

furnished, and thereto delight our selves as best we may, yet without

transgressing (in any act) the limits of reason. There shall we heare

the pretty birds sweetly singing, see the hilles and plaines verdantly

flourishing; the Corne waving in the field like the billowes of the

Sea; infinite store of goodly trees, and the Heavens more fairely open

to us, then here we can behold them: And although they are justly

displeased, yet will they not there denie us better beauties to gaze

on, then the walles in our City (emptied of Inhabitants) can affoord us.

Moreover, the Ayre is much fresh and cleere, and generally, there is

farre greater abundance of all things whatsoever, needefull at this

time for preservation of our health, and lesse offence or molestation

then wee find here.

And although Countrey people die, as well as heere our Citizens doe,

the griefe notwithstanding is so much the lesse, as the houses and

dwellers there are rare, in comparison of them in our City. And beside,

if we well observe it, here wee forsake no particular person, but

rather wee may tearme our selves forsaken; in regard that our Husbands,

Kinred, and Friends, either dying, or flying from the dead, have left

us alone in this great affliction, even as if we were no way belonging

unto them. And therefore, by following this counsell, wee cannot fall

into any reprehension; whereas if we neglect and refuse it, danger,

distresse, and death, (perhaps) may ensue thereon.

Wherefore, if you thinke good, I would allow it for well done, to take

our waiting women, with all such things as are needfull for us, and (as

this day) betake our selves to one place, to morrow to another, taking

there such pleasure and recreation, as so sweete a season liberally

bestoweth on us. In which manner we may remaine, till we see (if death

otherwise prevent us not) what ende the gracious Heavens have reserved

for us. I would have you also to consider, that it is no lesse seemely

for us to part hence honestly, then a great number of other Women to

remaine here immodestly.

The other Ladies and Gentlewomen, having heard Madam _Pampinea_, not

onely commended her counsell, but desiring also to put it in execution;

had already particularly consulted with themselves, by what means they

might instantly depart from thence. Neverthelesse, Madam _Philomena_,

who was very wise, spake thus.

Albeit faire Ladies, the case propounded by Madam _Pampinea_ hath

beene very wel delivered; yet (for all that) it is against reason for

us to rush on, as we are over-ready to doe. Remember that we are all

women, and no one among us is so childish, but may consider, that when

wee shall be so assembled together, without providence or conduct of

some man, we can hardly governe our selves. We are fraile, offensive,

suspicious, weake spirited, and fearefull: in regard of which

imperfections, I greatly doubt (if we have no better direction then our

owne) this society will sooner dissolve it selfe, and (perchance) with

lesse honour to us, then if we never had begunne it. And therefore it

shall be expedient for us, to provide before wee proceede any further.

Madam _Elissa_ hereon thus replied.

Most true it is, that men are the chiefe or head of women, and

without their order, sildome times doe any matters of ours sort to

commendable ende. But what meanes shal we make for men? we all know

well enough, that the most part of our friends are dead, and such as

are living, some be dispearsed here, others there, into divers places

and companies, where we have no knowledge of their being. And to accept

of strangers, would seeme very inconvenient; wherefore as we have

such care of our health, so should wee be as respective (withall) in

ordering our intention: that wheresoever wee aime at our pleasure and

contentment, reproofe and scandall may by no meanes pursue us.

While this discourse thus held among the Ladies, three young Gentlemen

came forth of the Church (yet not so young, but the youngest had

attained to five and twenty yeeres) in whom, neither malice of

the time, loss of friends or kinred, nor any fearefull conceit in

themselves, had the power to quench affection; but (perhaps) might

a little coole it, in regard of the queazy season. One of them

called himselfe _Pamphilus_, the second _Philostratus_, and the

last _Dioneus_. Each of them was very affable and well conditioned,

and walked abroade (for their greater comfort in such a time of

tribulation) to trie if they could meete with their faire friends, who

(happily) might all three be among these seaven, and the rest kinne

unto them in one degree or other. No sooner were these Ladies espyed

by them, but they met with them also in the same advantage; whereupon

Madam _Pampinea_ (amiably smiling) saide.

See how graciously Fortune is favourable to our beginning, by

presenting our eyes with three so wise and worthy young Gentlemen, who

will gladly be our guides and servants, if we doe not disdaine them

the office. Madam _Neiphila_ beganne immediatly to blush, because one

of them had a love in the company, and saide; Good Madam _Pampinea_

take heed what you say, because (of mine owne knowledge) nothing can

be spoken but good of them all; and I thinke them all to be absolutely

sufficient, for a farre greater employment then is here intended: as

being well worthy to keepe company, not onely with us, but them of

more faire and precious esteeme then we are. But because it appeareth

plainely enough, that they beare affection to some here among us: I

feare, if wee should make the motion, that some dishonour or reproofe

may ensue thereby, and yet without blame either in us or them. That is

nothing at all, answered Madam _Philomena_, let mee live honestly, and

my conscience not checke me with any crime; speake then who can to the

contrary, God and truth shal enter armes for me. I wish that they were

as willing to come, as all wee are to bid them welcome: for truly (as

Madam _Pampinea_ saide) wee may very well hope that Fortune will bee

furtherous to our purposed journey.

The other Ladies hearing them speake in such manner, not onely were

silent to themselves, but all with one accord and consent saide,

that it were well done to call them, and to acquaint them with their

intention, entreating their company in so pleasant a voyage. Whereupon,

without any more words, Madam _Pampinea_ mounting on her feete (because

one of the three was her Kinsman) went towards them, as they stood

respectively observing them; and (with a pleasing countenance) giving

them a gracious salutation, declared to them their deliberation,

desiring (in behalfe of all the rest) that with a brotherly and modest

minde, they would vouchsafe to beare them company.

The Gentlemen imagined at the first apprehension, that this was

spoken in mockage of them, but when they better perceived, that her

words tended to solemne earnest; they made answer, that they were

all heartily ready to doe them any service. And without any further

delaying, before they parted thence, tooke order for their aptest

furnishing with all convenient necessaries, and sent word to the

place of their first appointment. On the morrow, being Wednesday,

about breake of day, the Ladies, with certaine of their attending

Gentlewomen, and the three Gentlemen, having three servants to waite

on them; left the City to beginne their journey, and having travelled

about a leagues distance, arrived at the place of their first purpose

of stay; which was seated on a little hill, distant (on all sides) from

any high way, plentifully stored with faire spreading Trees, affoording

no meane delight to the eye. On the top of all stood a stately Pallace,

having a large and spacious Court in the middest, round engirt with

galleries, hals and chambers, every one separate alone by themselves,

and beautified with pictures of admirable cunning. Nor was there any

want of Gardens, Meadowes, and other pleasant walkes, with welles

and springs of faire running waters, all encompassed with branching

vines, fitter for curious and quaffing bibbers, then women sober and

singularly modest.

This Pallace the company found fully fitted and prepared, the beddes in

the Chambers made and daintily ordered, thickly strewed with variety

of flowers, which could not but give them the greater contentment.

_Dioneus_, who (above the other) was a pleasant young gallant, and

full of infinite witty conceits, saide; Your wit (faire Ladies) hath

better guided us hither, then our providence. I know not how you have

determined to dispose of your cares; as for mine owne, I left them at

the City gate, when I came thence with you: and therefore let your

resolution be, to spend the time here in smiles and singing (I meane,

as may fittest agree with your dignity) or else give me leave to

goe seeke my sorrowes againe, and so to remaine discontented in our

desolate City. Madam _Pampinea_ having in like manner shaken off her

sorrowes, delivering a modest and bashfull smile, replied in this

manner.

_Dioneus_, well have you spoken, it is fit to live merrily, and no

other occasion made us forsake the sicke and sad Citie. But, because

such things as are without meane or measure, are subject to no long

continuance. I, who began the motion, whereby this society is thus

assembled, and ayme at the long lasting thereof: doe hold it very

convenient, that wee should all agree, to have one chiefe commaunder

among us, in whom the care and providence should consist, for direction

of our merriment, performing honour and obedience to the party, as

to our Patrone and sole Governour. And because every one may feele

the burthen of sollicitude, as also the pleasure of commaunding, and

consequently have a sensible taste of both, whereby no envie may arise

on any side: I could wish, that each one of us (for a day onely) should

feele both the burthen and honour, and the person so to be advanced,

shall receive it from the election of us all. As for such as are to

succeede, after him or her that hath had the dayes of dominion: the

party thought fit for succession, must be named so soone as night

approacheth. And being in this eminencie (according as he or she shall

please) hee may order and dispose, how long the time of his rule shall

last, as also of the place and manner, where best we may continue our

delight.

These words were highly pleasing to them all, and, by generall voyce,

Madame _Pampinea_ was chosen Queene for the first day. Whereupon,

Madame _Philomena_ ranne presently to a Bay-tree, because she had often

heard, what honour belonged to those branches, and how worthy of honour

they were, that rightfully were crowned with them, plucking off divers

branches, she made of them an apparant and honourable Chaplet, placing

it (by generall consent) upon her head, and this, so long as their

company continued, manifested to all the rest, the signall of dominion

and Royall greatnesse.

After that Madame _Pampinea_ was thus made Queene, she commanded

publique silence, and causing the Gentlemens three servants, and the

waiting women also (being foure in number) to be brought before her,

thus shee began. Because I am to give the first example to you all,

whereby (proceeding on from good to better) our company may live in

order and pleasure, acceptable to all, and without shame to any: I

create _Parmeno_ (servant to _Dioneus_) Maister of the Houshold, hee

taking the care and charge of all our trayne, and for whatsoever

appertaineth to our Hall service. I appoint also that _Silisco_

(servant to _Pamphilus_) shall be our Dispencer and Treasurer,

performing that which _Parmeno_ shall commaund him. And that _Tindaro_

serve as Groome of the Chamber, to _Philostratus_ his Maister, and the

other two, when his fellowes (impeached by their offices) cannot be

present. _Misia_ my Chambermaid, and _Licisca_ (belonging to Philomena)

shall serve continually in the Kitchin, and diligently make ready such

vyands, as shall be delivered them by _Parmeno. Chimera_, wayting-woman

to _Lauretta_, and _Stratilia_ (appertaining to _Fiammetta_) shall have

the charge and governement of the Ladies Chambers, and preparing all

places where we shall be present. Moreover, we will and commaund every

one of them (as they desire to deserve our grace) that wheresoever they

goe or come, or whatsoever they heare or see: they especially respect

to bring us tydings of them. After shee had summarily delivered them

these orders, very much commended of every one; shee arose fairely,

saying. Heere wee have Gardens, Orchards, Meadowes, and other places of

sufficient pleasure, where every one may sport & recreate themselves:

but so soone as the ninth houre striketh, then all to meete here

againe, to dine in the coole shade.

This jocund company having received licence from their Queene to

disport themselves, the Gentlemen walked with the Ladies into a goodly

Garden, making Chaplets and Nosegayes of divers flowers, and singing

silently to themselves. When they had spent the time limitted by the

Queene, they returned into the house, where they found that _Parmeno_

had effectually executed his office. For, when they entred into the

Hall, they saw the Tables covered with delicate white naperie, and the

Glasses looking like silver, they were so transparantly cleare, all the

roome beside streawed with floures of Juniper. When the Queene and all

the rest had washed; according as _Parmeno_ gave order, so every one

was seated at the Table: the vyands (delicately drest) were served in,

and excellent wines plentifully delivered, none attending but the three

servants, and little or no loud table-talke passing among them.

Dinner being ended, and the tables withdrawne (all the Ladies, and the

Gentlemen likewise, being skilfull both in singing and dauncing, and

playing on instruments artificially) the Queene commaunded, that divers

instruments should be brought, and (as she gave charge) _Dioneus_

tooke a Lute, and _Fiammetta_ a Violl _de gamba_, and began to play an

excellent daunce. Whereupon the Queene, with the rest of the Ladies,

and the other two young Gentlemen (having sent their attending servants

to dinner) paced foorth a daunce very majestically. And when the daunce

was ended, they sung sundry excellent Canzonets, out-wearing so the

time, untill the Queene commaunded them all to rest, because the houre

did necessarily require it. The Gentlemen having their Chambers farre

severed from the Ladies, curiously strewed with flowers, and their

beds adorned in exquisite manner, as those of the Ladies were not a

jote inferiour to them: the silence of the night bestowed sweet rest

on them all. In the morning, the Queene and all the rest being risen,

accounting overmuch sleepe to be very hurtfull: they walked abroade

into a goodly Meadowe, where the grasse grew verdantly, and the beames

of the Sunne heated not over-violently, because the shades of faire

spreading trees gave a temperate calmenesse, coole and gentle winds

fanning their sweet breath pleasingly among them. All of them being

there set downe in a round ring, and the Queene in the middest, as

being the appointed place of eminencie, she spake in this manner.

You see (faire company) that the Sunne is highly mounted, the heate

(else-where) too extreme for us, and therefore here is our fittest

refuge, the aire being so coole, delicate, and acceptable, and our

folly well worthie reprehension, if we should walke further, and speede

worse. Heere are Tables, Cards, and Chesse, as your dispositions may

be addicted. But if mine advice might passe for currant, I would admit

none of those exercises, because they are too troublesome both to them

that play, and such as looke on. I could rather wish, that some quaint

discourse might passe among us, a tale or fable related by some one,

to urge the attention of all the rest. And so wearing out the warmth

of the day, one prety Novell will draw on another, until the Sun be

lower declined, and the heates extremity more diminished, to solace

our selves in some other place, as to our minds shal seeme convenient.

If therefore what I have sayde be acceptable to you (I purposing to

follow in the same course of pleasure) let it appeare by your immediate

answer; for, til the Evening, I think we can devise no exercise more

commodious for us.

The Ladies & Gentlemen allowed of the motion, to spend the time in

telling pleasant tales; whereupon the Queene saide: Seeing you have

approoved mine advice, I grant free permission for this first day,

that every one shall relate, what to him or her is best pleasing. And

turning her selfe to _Pamphilus_ (who was seated on her right hand)

gave him favour, with one of his Novels, to begin the recreation: which

he not daring to deny, and perceiving generall attention prepared for

him, thus he began.

_Messire Chappelet du Prat, by making a false confession, beguyled an

holy Religious man, and after dyed. And having (during his life time)

bene a verie bad man, at his death was reputed to be a Saint, and

called S. Chappelet._

The first Novell.

_Wherein is contained, how hard a thing it is, to distinguish goodnesse

from hypocrisie; and how (under the shadow of holinesse) the wickednes

of one man, may deceive many._

It is a matter most convenient (deare Ladies) that a man ought to

begin whatsoever he doth, in the great and glorious name of him, who

was the Creator of all thinges. Wherefore, seeing that I am the man

appointed, to begin this your invention of discoursing Novelties: I

intend to begin also with one of his wonderfull workes. To the end,

that this beeing heard, our hope may remaine on him, as the thing

onely permanent, and his name for ever to be praised by us. Now, as

there is nothing more certaine, but that even as temporall things are

mortall and transitory, so are they both in and out of themselves,

full of sorrow, paine, and anguish, and subjected to infinite dangers:

So in the same manner, we live mingled among them, seeming as part of

them, and cannot (without some error) continue or defend ourselves,

if God by his especiall grace and favour, give us not strength and

good understanding. Which power we may not beleeve, that either it

descendeth to us, or liveth in us, by any merites of our owne; but of

his onely most gracious benignity. Mooved neverthelesse, and entreated

by the intercessions of them, who were (as we are) mortals; and having

diligently observed his commandements, are now with him in eternall

blessednes. To whom (as to advocates and procurators, informed by the

experience of our frailty) wee are not to present our prayers in the

presence of so great a Judge; but only to himselfe, for the obtaining

of all such things as his wisedome knoweth to be most expedient for

us. And well may we credit, that his goodnesse is more fully enclined

towards us, in his continuall bounty and liberality; then the subtilty

of any mortal eye, can reach into the secret of so divine a thought:

and sometimes therefore we may be beguiled in opinion, by electing such

and such as our intercessors before his high Majesty, who perhaps are

farre off from him, or driven into perpetuall exile, as unworthy to

appeare in so glorious a presence. For he, from whom nothing can be

hidden, more regardeth the sincerity of him that prayeth, then ignorant

devotion, committed to the trust of a heedlesse intercessor; and such

prayers have alwaies gracious acceptation in his sight. As manifestly

will appeare, by the Novell which I intend to relate; manifestly (I

say) not as in the judgement of God, but according to the apprehension

of men.

There was one named, _Musciatto Francesi_, who from beeing a most rich

and great merchant in _France_, was become a Knight, and preparing to

go into _Tuscany_, with Monsieur _Charles without Land_, Brother to

the King of _France_ (who was desired and incited to come thither by

Pope _Boniface_) found his affaires greatly intricated here and there

(as oftentimes the matters of Merchants fall out to bee) and that very

hardly hee should sodainly unintangle them, without referring the

charge of them to divers persons. And for all he tooke indifferent

good order, onely he remained doubtfull, whom he might sufficiently

leave, to recover his debts among many _Burgundians_. And the rather

was his care the more herein, because he knew the _Burgundians_ to be

people of badde nature, rioters, brablers, full of calumny, and without

any faithfulnesse; so that he could not bethinke himselfe of any man

(how wicked soever he was) in whom he might repose trust to meete

with their lewdnesse. Having a long while examined his thoughts upon

this point, at last hee remembred one master _Chappelet du Prat_, who

ofttimes had resorted to his house in _Paris_. And because he was a

man of little stature, yet handsome enough, the French not knowing what

this word _Chappelet_ might mean, esteeming he should be called rather

(in their tongue) _Chappell_; imagined, that in regard of his small

stature, they termed him _Chappelet_, and not _Chappell_, and so by

the name of _Chappelet_ he was every where known, and by few or none

acknowledged for _Chappel_.

This master _Chappelet_, was of so good and commendable life;

that, being a Notarie, he held it in high disdaine, that any of

his Contractes (although he made but few) should be found without

falshoode. And looke how many soever hee dealt withall, he would be

urged and required thereto, offering them his paines and travaile for

nothing, but to be requited otherwise then by money; which prooved to

bee his much larger recompencing, and returned to him the farre greater

benefit. Hee tooke the onely pleasure of the world, to beare false

witnesse, if hee were thereto entreated, and (oftentimes) when hee was

not requested at all. Likewise, because in those times, great trust

and beleefe was given to an oath, he making no care or conscience to

be perjured: greatly advantaged himselfe by Law suites, in regard that

many matters relyed upon his oath, and delivering the truth according

to his knowledge.

He delighted (beyond measure) and addicted his best studies, to cause

enmities & scandals between kindred and friends, or any other persons,

agreeing well together; and the more mischiefe he could procure in

this kind, so much the more pleasure and delight tooke he therein. If

he were called to kil any one, or to do any other villanous deede,

he never would make deniall, but go to it very willingly; and divers

times it was wel knowen, that many were cruelly beaten, ye slaine by

his hands. Hee was a most horrible blasphemer of God and his Saints,

upon the very least occasion, as being more addicted to choller,

then any other man could be. Never would he frequent the Church, but

basely contemned it, with the Sacraments and religious rites therein

administred, accounting them for vile and unprofitable things: but

very voluntarily would visit Tavernes, and other places of dishonest

accesse, which were continually pleasing unto him, to satisfie his

lust and inordinate lubricitie. Hee would steale both in publike and

private, even with such a conscience, as if it were given to him by

nature so to do. He was a great glutton and a drunkarde, even till he

was not able to take any more: being also a continuall gamester, and

carrier of false Dice, to cheate with them the verie best Friendes he

had.

But why do I waste time in such extent of words? When it may suffice to

say, that never was there a worse man borne; whose wickednesse was for

long time supported, by the favour, power, and Authoritie of Monsieur

_Musciatto_, for whose sake many wrongs and injuries were patiently

endured, as well by private persons (whom hee would abuse notoriously)

as others of the Court, betweene whom he made no difference at all in

his vile dealing. This Master _Chappelet_, being thus remembred by

_Musciatto_ (who very well knew his life and behaviour) he perfectly

perswaded himselfe, that this was a man apt in all respects, to meete

with the treachery of the Burgundians: whereupon, having sent for him,

thus he beganne.

_Chappelet_, thou knowest how I am wholly to retreate my selfe from

hence, and having some affaires among the Burgundians, men full of

wickednesse and deceite; I can bethinke my selfe of no meeter a man

then _Chappelet_, to recover such debts as are due to me among them.

And because it falleth out so well, that thou art not now hindered

by any other businesse; if thou wilt undergoe this office for me, I

will procure thee favourable Letters from the Court, and give thee a

reasonable portion in all thou recoverest. Master _Chappelet_, seeing

himselfe idle, and greedy after worldly goods, considering _Mounsieur

Musciatto_ (who had beene alwayes his best buckler) was now to depart

from thence, without any dreaming on the matter, and constrained

thereto (as it were) by necessity, set downe his resolution, and

answered that hee would gladly doe it.

Having made their agreement together, and received from _Musciatto_ his

expresse procuration, as also the Kings gracious Letters; after that

_Musciatto_ was gone on his journey, Master _Chappelet_ went to _Dijon_

[Sidenote: To Borgogna saith the Italian.], where he was unknowne

(well neere) of any. And there (quite from his naturall disposition)

he beganne benignely and graciously, in recovering the debts due;

which course he tooke the rather, because they should have a further

feeling of him in the ende. Being lodged in the house of two Florentine

brethren, that lived on their monies usance; and (for _Mounsieur

Musciattoes_ sake) using him with honour and respect: It fortuned that

he fell sicke, and the two brethren sent for Physicions to attend him,

allowing their servants to be diligent about him, making no spare of

any thing, which gave the best likelyhood of restoring his health. But

all their paines proved to no purpose, because he (honest man) being

now growne aged, and having lived all his life time very disordredly,

fell day by day (according to the Physicions judgement) from bad to

worse, as no other way appeared but death, whereat the brethren greatly

greeved.

Upon a day, neere to the Chamber where the sicke man lay, they entred

into this communication. What shall we doe (quoth the one to the other)

with this man? We are much hindered by him, for to send him away

(sicke as he is) we shall be greatly blamed thereby, and it will be a

manifest note of our weake wisedome: the people knowing that first of

all we gave him entertainement, and have allowed him honest physical

attendance, and he not having any way injuried or offended us, to let

him be suddenly expulsed our house (sicke to death as he is) it can be

no way for our credit.

On the other side, we are to consider also, that he hath bin so badde

a man, as he will not now make any confession thereof, neither receive

the blessed Sacrament of the Church, and dying so without confession;

there is no Church that will accept his body, but it must be buried

in prophane ground, like to a Dogge. And yet if he would confesse

himselfe, his sinnes are so many and monstrous; as the like case also

may happen, because there is not any Priest or Religious person, that

can or will absolve him. And being not absolved, he must be cast into

some ditch or pit, and then the people of the Towne, as well in regard

of the account we carry heere, (which to them appeareth so little

pleasing, as we are daily pursued with their worst words) as also

coveting our spoile and overthrow; upon this accident will cry out and

mutiny against us; _Beholde these Lombard dogs, which are not to be

received into the Church, why should we suffer them to live heere among

us?_ In furious madnesse will they come upon us, and our house, where

(peradventure) not contented with robbing us of our goods, our lives

will remaine in their mercy and danger; so that, in what sort soever it

happen, this mans dying heere, must needs be banefull to us.

Master _Chappelet_, who (as we have formerly saide) was lodged neere

to the place where they thus conferred, having a subtle attention (as

oftentimes we see sicke persons to bee possessed withall) heard all

these speeches spoken of him, and causing them to be called unto him,

thus hee spake.

I would not have you to be any way doubtfull of me; neither that you

shold receive the least damage by me: I have heard what you have

said, and am certaine, that it will happen according to your words,

if matters should fall out as you conceite; but I am minded to deale

otherwise. I have committed so many offences against our Lord God, in

the whole current of my life; that now I intend one action at the hour

of my death, which I trust will make amends for all. Procure therefore,

I pray you, that the most holy and religious man that is to be found

(if there bee any one at all) may come unto me, and referre the case

then to me, for I will deale in such sort for you and my selfe, that

all shall be well, and you no way discontented.

The two Brethren, although they had no great hope in his speeches, went

yet to a Monastery of Gray-Friars, and requested; that some one holy

and learned man, might come to heare the confession of a _Lombard_,

that lay verie weake and sicke in their house. And one was granted unto

them, beeing an aged religious Frier, a great read master in the sacred

Scriptures, a very venerable person, who beeing of good and sanctified

life, all the Citizens held him in great respect & esteem, and on he

went with them to their house. When he was come up into the Chamber

where Master _Chappelet_ lay, and being there seated downe by him; he

beganne first to comfort him very lovingly, demanding also of him, howe

many times he had bin at confession? Whereto master _Chappelet_ (who

never had bin shriven in all his life time) thus replied.

Holy Father, I alwayes used (as a common custome) to bee confessed once

(at the least) every weeke, albeit sometimes much more often, but true

it is, that being faln into this sicknesse, now eight dayes since;

I have not bene confest, so violent hath bene the extremity of my

weakenesse. My sonne (answered the good old man) thou hast done well,

and so keep thee still hereafter in that minde: but I plainly perceive,

seeing thou hast so often confessed thy selfe, that I shall take the

lesse labour in urging questions to thee.

Master _Chappelet_ replied: Say not so good Father, for albeit I have

bene so oftentimes confessed, yet am I willing now to make a generall

confession, even of all sinnes comming to my remembrance, from the very

day of my birth, until this instant houre of my shrift. And therefore I

intreate you (holy Father) to make a particular demand of every thing,

even as if I had never bene confessed at al, and to make no respect of

my sicknesse: for I had rather be offensive to mine owne flesh, then

by favouring or allowing it ease, to hazard the perdition of my soule,

which my Redeemer bought with so precious a price.

These words were highly pleasing to the holy Frier, and seemed to him

as an argument of a good conscience: Wherefore, after hee had much

commended this forwardnesse in him, he began to demand of him if he had

never offended with any Woman? Whereunto master _Chappelet_ (breathing

foorth a great sigh) answered.

Holy Father, I am halfe ashamed to tell you the truth in this case,

as fearing least I should sinne in vaine-glory. Whereto the Confessor

replyed: Speake boldly Sonne, and feare not; for in telling the truth,

be it in confession or otherwise, a man can never sinne. Then sayde

Maister _Chappelet_, Father, seeing you give me so good an assurance,

I will resolve you faithfully heerein. I am so true a Virgin-man in

this matter, even as when I issued forth of my Mothers wombe. O Sonne

(quoth the Frier) how happie and blessed of God art thou? Well hast

thou lived, and therein hast not meanly merited: having hadde so much

libertie to doo the contrary if thou wouldst, wherein very few of us

can so answer for our selves.

Afterward, he demanded of him, how much displeasing to God hee had

beene in the sinne of Gluttony? When (sighing againe greatly) he

answered: Too much, and too often, good Father. For, over and beside

the Fasts of our Lent season, which everie yeare ought to bee dulie

observed by devout people, I brought my selfe to such a customarie use,

that I could fast three dayes in every Weeke, with Bread and Water. But

indeede (holy Father) I confesse, that I have drunke water with such

a pleasing appetite and delight (especially in praying, or walking on

pilgrimages) even as greedy drunkards do, in drinking good Wine. And

many times I have desired such Sallades of small hearbes, as Women

gather abroad in the open fields, and feeding onely upon them, without

coveting after any other kinde of sustenance; hath seemed much more

pleasing to me, then I thought to agree with the nature of Fasting,

especially, when as it swerveth from devotion, or is not done as it

ought to bee.

Sonne, Sonne, replied the Confessour, these sinnes are naturall,

and very light, and therefore I would not have thee to charge thy

conscience with them, more then is needfull. It happeneth to every man

(how holy soever he be) that after he hath fasted over-long, feeding

will be welcome to him, and drinking good drinke after his travaile. O

Sir (said Maister _Chappelet_) never tell me this to comfort me, for

well you know, and I am not ignorant therein, that such things as are

done for the service of God, ought all to be performed purely, and

without any blemish of the minde; what otherwise is done, savoureth of

sinne. The Friar being well contented with his words, said: It is not

amisse that thou understandest it in this manner, and thy conscience

thus purely cleared, is no little comfort to me. But tell me now

concerning Avarice, hast thou sinned therein? by desiring more then was

reasonable, or withholding from others, such things as thou oughtst not

to detaine? whereto Maister _Chappelet_ answered. Good Father, I would

not have you to imagine, because you see me lodged here in the house

of two usurers, that therefore I am of any such disposition. No truly

Sir, I came hither to no other end, but onely to chastise and admonish

them in friendly manner, to cleanse their mindes from such abhominable

profit: And assuredly, I should have prevailed therein, had not this

violently sicknesse hindered mine intention. But understand (holy

Father) that my parents left me a rich man, and immediatly after my

fathers death, the greater part of his goods I gave away for Gods sake,

and then, to sustaine mine owne life, and to helpe the poore members

of Jesus Christ, I betooke my selfe to a meane estate of Merchandise,

desiring none other then honest gaine thereby, and evermore whatsoever

benefit came to me; I imparted halfe thereof to the poore, converting

mine owne small portion about my necessary affaires, which that other

part would scarcely serve to supply: yet alwayes God gave thereto such

a mercifull blessing, that my businesse dayly thrived more and more,

arising still from good to better.

Well hast thou done therein good Sonne, said the Confessour: but how

often times hast thou beene angry? Oh Sir (said Maister _Chappelet_)

therein I assure yee, I have often transgressed. And what man is able

to forbeare it, beholding the dayly actions of men to be so dishonest?

No care of keeping Gods commaundements, nor any feare of his dreadfull

judgements. Many times in a day, I have rather wished my selfe dead

then living, beholding youth pursuing idle vanities, to sweare and

forsweare themselves, tipling in Tavernes, and never haunting Churches;

but rather affecting the worlds follies, then any such duties as they

owe to God. Alas Sonne (quoth the Friar) this is a good and holy anger,

and I can impose no penance on thee for it. But tell me, hath not

rage or furie at any time so over-ruled thee, as to commit murther or

manslaughter, or to speake evill of any man, or to doe any other such

kinde of injurie? Oh Father (answered Maister _Chappelet_) you that

seeme to be a man of God, how dare you use any such vile words? If I

had had the very least thought, to doe any such act as you speake, doe

you thinke that God would have suffered me to live? These are deedes

of darknesse, fit for villaines and wicked livers; of which hellish

crue, when at any time I have happened to meete with some one of them;

I have said, Goe, God convert thee.

Worthy, and charitable words, replied the Friar; but tell me Sonne,

Didst thou ever beare false witnesse against any man, or hast spoken

falsly, or taken ought from any one, contrary to the will of the owner?

Yes indeede Father, said Maister _Chappelet_, I have spoken ill of

another, because I have sometime seene one of my neighbours, who with

no meane shame of the world, would doe nothing else but beate his wife:

and of him once I complained to the poore mans parents, saying, that

he never did it, but when he was overcome with drinke. Those were no

ill words, quoth the Friar; but I remember, you said that you were a

Merchant: Did you ever deceive any, as some Merchants use to doe? Truly

Father, answered Maister _Chappelet_, I thinke not any, except one man,

who one day brought me money which he owed me, for a certaine piece of

cloath I solde him, and I put it into a purse without accounting it:

about a moneth afterward, I found that there were foure small pence

more then was due to me. And never happening to meete with the man

againe, after I had kept them the space of a whole yeare, I then gave

them away to foure poore people for Gods sake.

A small matter, said the Friar, & truly payed back again to the owner,

in bestowing them upon the poore. Many other questions hee demaunded

of him, whereto still he answered in the same manner: but before he

proceeded to absolution, Maister _Chappelet_ spake thus. I have yet

one sinne more, which I have not revealed to you: when being urged by

the Friar to confesse it, he said. I remember, that I should afford

one day in the weeke, to cleanse the house of my soule, for better

entertainement to my Lord and Saviour, and yet I have done no such

reverence to the Sunday or Sabaoth, as I ought to have done. A small

fault Sonne, replied the Friar. O no (quoth Maister _Chappelet_) doe

not terme it a small fault, because Sunday being a holy day, is highly

to be reverenced: for, as on that day, our blessed Lord arose from

death to life. But (quoth the Confessour) hast thou done nothing else

on that day? Yes, said he, being forgetfull of my selfe, once I did

spet in Gods Church. The Friar smiling, said: Alas Sonne, that is

a matter of no moment, for wee that are Religious persons, doe use

to spet there every day. The more is your shame, answered Maister

_Chappelet_, for no place ought to be kept more pure and cleane then

the sacred Temple, wherein our dayly sacrifices are offered up to God.

In this manner he held on an houre and more, uttering the like

transgressions as these; and at last began to sigh very passionately,

and to shed a few teares, as one that was skilfull enough in such

dissembling prankes; whereat the Confessour being much mooved, said:

Alas Sonne, what aylest thou? Oh Father (quoth _Chappelet_) there

remaineth yet one sinne more upon my conscience, whereof I never at

any time made confession, so shamefull it appeareth to me to disclose

it; and I am partly perswaded, that God will never pardon me for that

sinne. How now Sonne? said the Friar, never say so; for if all the

sinnes that ever were committed by men, or shall be committed so long

as the World endureth, were onely in one man, and he repenting them,

and being so contrite for them, as I see thou art; the grace and mercy

of God is so great, that upon penitent confession, he will freely

pardon him, and therefore spare not to speak it boldly. Alas Father

(said _Chappelet_, still in pretended weeping) this sinne of mine is

so great, that I can hardly beleeve (if your earnest prayers doe not

assist me) that ever I shall obtaine remission for it. Speake it Sonne,

said the Friar, and feare not, I promise that I will pray to God for

thee.

Master _Chappelet_ still wept and sighed, and continued silent,

notwithstanding all the Confessors comfortable perswasions; but after

hee had helde him a long while in suspence, breathing forth a sighe,

even as if his very heart would have broken, he saide; Holy Father,

seeing you promise to pray to God for me, I will reveale it to you:

Know then, that when I was a little boy, I did once curse my Mother;

which he had no sooner spoken, but he wrung his hands, and greeved

extraordinarily. Oh good Son, saide the Friar, doth that seeme so great

a sinne to thee? Why, men doe daily blaspheme our Lord God, and yet

neverthelesse, upon their hearty repentance, he is alwayes ready to

forgive them; and wilt not thou beleeve to obtaine remission, for a

sinne so ignorantly committed? Weepe no more deare Sonne, but comfort

thy selfe, and rest resolved, that if thou wert one of them, who nayled

our blessed Saviour to his Crosse; yet being so truly repentant, as I

see thou art, he would freely forgive thee. Say you so Father? quoth

_Chappelet_. What? mine owne deare Mother? that bare me in her wombe

nine moneths, day and night, and afterwards fed me with her breasts a

thousand times, can I be pardoned for cursing her? Oh no, it is too

haynous a sinne, and except you pray to God very instantly for me, he

will not forgive me.

When the religious man perceived, that nothing more was to be confessed

by Master _Chappelet_; he gave him absolution, and his owne benediction

beside, reputing him to be a most holy man, as verily beleeving all

that he had said. And who would not have done the like, hearing a man

to speake in that manner, and being upon the very point of death?

Afterward, he saide unto him; Master _Chappelet_, by Gods grace you may

be soone restored to health, but if it so come to passe, that God doe

take your blessed and well disposed soule to his mercy, will it please

you to have your body buried in our Convent? Whereto Master _Chappelet_

answered; I thanke you Father for your good motion, and sorry should

I be, if my friends did bury me any where else, because you have

promised, to pray to God for me; and beside, I have alwayes carried a

religious devotion to your Order. Wherefore, I beseech you, so soone

as you are come home to your Convent, prevaile so much by your good

meanes, that the holy Eucharist, consecrated this morning on your high

Altar, may be brought unto me: for although I confesse my selfe utterly

unworthy, yet I purpose (by your reverend permission) to receive it,

as also your holy and latest unction; to this ende, that having lived a

greevous sinner, I may yet (at the last) die a Christian. These words

were pleasing to the good olde man, and he caused every thing to be

performed, according as Master _Chappelet_ had requested.

The two Brethren, who much doubted the dissembling of _Chappelet_,

being both in a small partition, which sundered the sicke mans Chamber

from theirs, heard and understood the passage of all, betweene him

and the ghostly Father, being many times scarcely able to refrain

from laughter, at the fraudulent course of his confession. And

often they said within themselves; what manner of man is this, whom

neither age, sicknesse, nor terror of death so neere approaching, and

sensible to his owne soule, nor that which is much more, God, before

whose judgement he knowes not how soone he shall appeare, or else be

sent to a more fearefull place; none of these can alter his wicked

disposition, but that he will needes die according as he hath lived?

Notwithstanding, seeing he had so ordered the matter, that he had

buriall freely allowed him, they cared for no more.

After that _Chappelet_ had received the Communion, and the other

ceremonies appointed for him; weakenesse encreasing on him more and

more, the very same day of his goodly confession, he died (not long

after) towards the evening. Whereupon the two Brethren tooke order,

that all needefull things should be in a readinesse, to have him buried

honourably; sending to acquaint the Fathers of the Convent therewith,

that they might come to say their _Vigilles_, according to precedent

custome, and then on the morrow to fetch the body. The honest Friar

that had confessed him, hearing he was dead, went to the Prior of the

Convent, and by sound of the house Bell, caused all the Brethren to

assemble together, giving them credibly to understand, that Master

_Chappelet_ was a very holy man, as appeared by all the parts of his

confession, and made no doubt, but that many miracles would be wrought

by his sanctified body, perswading them to fetch it thither with

all devoute solemnity and reverence; whereto the Prior, and all the

credulous Brethren presently condiscended very gladly.

When night was come, they went all to visit the dead body of Master

_Chappelet_, where they used an especiall and solemne _Vigill_; and on

the morrow, apparrelled in their richest Coapes and Vestiments, with

books in their hands, and the Crosse borne before them, singing in the

forme of a very devoute procession, they brought the body pompeously

into their Church, accompanied with all the people of the Towne, both

men and women. The Father Confessor, ascending up into the Pulpit,

preached wonderfull things of him, and the rare holinesse of his life;

his fastes, his virginity, simplicity, innocency, and true sanctity,

recounting also (among other especiall observations) what _Chappelet_

had confessed, as this most great and greevous sinne, and how hardly

he could be perswaded, that God would grant him pardon for it. Whereby

he tooke occasion to reprove the people then present, saying; And you

(accursed of God) for the verie least and trifling matter hapning,

will not spare to blaspheme God, his blessed Mother, and the whole

Court of heavenly Paradise: Oh, take example by this singular man, this

Saint-like man, nay, a verie Saint indeede.

Many additions more he made, concerning his faithfulnesse, truth, &

integrity; so that, by the vehement asseveration of his words (whereto

all the people there present gave credible beleefe) he provoked them

unto such zeale and earnest devotion; that the Sermon was no sooner

ended, but (in mighty crowds and throngs) they pressed about the Biere,

kissing his hands and feete, and all the garments about him were torne

in peeces, as precious Reliques of so holy a person, and happy they

thought themselves, that could get the smallest peece or shred or anie

thing that came neere to his body, and thus they continued all the day,

the body lying still open, to be visited in this manner.

When night was come, they buried him in a goodly Marble tombe, erected

in a faire Chappell purposely; and for many dayes after following, it

was most strange to see, how the people of the country came thither

on heapes, with holy Candles and other offerings, with Images of waxe

fastened to the Tombe, in signe of Sacred and solemne Vowes, to this

new created Saint. And so farre was spread the fame and renowne of his

sanctity, devotion, and integrity of life, maintained constantly by the

Fathers of the Convent; that if any one fell sicke in neede, distresse,

or adversity, they would make their Vowes to no other Saint but him:

naming him (as yet to this day they do) Saint _Chappelet_, affirming

upon their Oathes, that infinite miracles were there daily performed by

him, and especially on such, as came in devotion to visit his shrine.

In this manner lived and died Master _Chappelet du Prat_, who before

he became a Saint, was as you have heard: and I will not deny it to be

impossible, but that he may be at rest among other blessed bodies. For,

although he lived lewdly and wickedly, yet such might be his contrition

in the latest extreamity, that (questionlesse) he might finde mercie.

But, because such things remaine unknowne to us, and speaking by

outwarde appearance, vulgar judgement will censure otherwise of him,

and thinke him to be rather in perdition, then in so blessed a place

as Paradice. But referring that to the Omnipotent appointment, whose

clemencie hath alwayes beene so great to us, that he regards not our

errors, but the integrity of our Faith, making (by meanes of our

continuall Mediator) of an open enemy, a converted sonne and servant.

And as I began in his name, so will I conclude, desiring that it may

evermore be had in due reverence, and referre we our selves thereto in

all our necessities, with this setled assurance, that he is alwayes

readie to heare us. And so he ceased.

_Abraham a Jew, being admonished or advised by a friend of his, named

Jehannot de Chevigny, travailed from Paris unto Rome: And beholding

there the wicked behaviour of men in the Church, returned backe to

Paris again, where yet (neverthelesse) he became a Christian._

The Second Novell.

_Wherein is contained and expressed, the liberality and goodnesse of

God, extended to the Christian Faith._

The Novell recited by _Pamphilus_ was highly pleasing to the company,

and much commended by the Ladies: and after it had beene diligently

observed among them, the Queen commanded Madam _Neiphila_ (who was

seated neerest to _Pamphilus_) that, in relating another of hers, she

should follow on in the pastime thus begun. She being no lesse gracious

in countenance, then merrily disposed; made answer, that shee would

obey her charge, and began in this manner.

_Pamphilus_ hath declared to us by his Tale, how the goodnesse of

God regardeth not our errors, when they proceede from things which

wee cannot discerne. And I intend to approove by mine, what argument

of infallible truth, the same benignity delivereth of it selfe, by

enduring patiently the faults of them, that (both in word and worke)

should declare unfaigned testimony of such gracious goodnesse, and not

to live so dissolutely as they doe. To the end, that others illumined

by their light of life, may beleeve with the stronger constancy of

minde.

As I have heeretofore heard (Gracious Ladies) there lived a wealthy

Marchant in _Paris_, being a Mercer, or seller of Silkes, named

_Jehannot de Chevigny_, a man of faithful, honest, and upright

dealing; who held great affection and friendship with a very rich Jew,

named _Abraham_, that was a Merchant also, and a man of very direct

conversation. _Jehannot_ well noting the honesty and loyall dealing of

this Jew, began to have a Religious kind of compassion in his soule,

much pittying, that a man so good in behaviour, so wise and discreete

in all his actions, should be in danger of perdition thorow want of

Faith. In which regard, lovingly he began to entreate him, that he

would leave the errors of his Jewish beleefe, and follow the truth of

Christianity, which he evidently saw (as being good and holy) daily to

prosper and enlarge it selfe, whereas (on the contrary) his profession

decreased, and grew to nothing.

The Jew made answer, that he beleeved nothing to be so good & holy, as

the Jewish Religion, and having beene borne therein, therein also he

purposed to live and dye, no matter whatsoever, being able to remove

him from that resolution. For all this stiffe deniall, _Jehannot_ would

not so give him over; but pursued him still day by day, reitterating

continually his former speeches to him: delivering infinite excellent

and pregnant reasons, that Merchants themselves were not ignorant, how

farre the Christian faith excelled the Jewish falshoods. And albeit the

Jew was a very learned man in his owne law, yet notwithstanding, the

intire amity hee bare to _Jehannot_, or (perhaps) his words fortified

by the blessed Spirit, were so prevalent with him: that the Jew felt

a pleasing apprehension in them, though his obstinacie stood (as yet)

farre off from conversion. But as hee thus continued strong in opinion,

so _Jehannot_ left not hourely to labour him: in so much that the Jew,

being conquered by such earnest and continuall importunity, one day

spake to _Jehannot_ thus.

My worthy friend _Jehannot_, thou art extremely desirous, that I should

convert to Christianity, and I am well contended to doe it, onely upon

this condition. That first I will journey to Rome, to see him (whom

thou sayest) is Gods generall vicar here on earth, and to consider on

the course of his life and manners, and likewise of his Colledge of

Cardinals. If he and they doe appeare such men to me, as thy speeches

affirmes them to be, and thereby I may comprehend, that thy faith

and Religion is better then mine, as (with no meane paines) thou

endeavourest to perswade me: I will become a Christian as thou art, but

if I finde it otherwise, I will continue a Jew as I am.

When _Jehannot_ heard these words, he became exceeding sorrowfull,

saide within himselfe. I have lost all the paines, which I did thinke

to be well imployed, as hoping to have this man converted here: For,

if he goe to the Court of Rome, and behold there the wickednes of the

Priests lives; farewell all hope in me, of ever seeing him to become

a Christian. But rather, were he already a Christian, without all

question, he would turne Jew: And so (going neerer to _Abraham_) he

said. Alas my loving friend, why shouldst thou undertake such a tedious

travell, and so great a charge, as thy journey from hence to Rome will

cost thee? Consider, that to a rich man (as thou art) travaile by

land or sea is full of infinite dangers. Doest thou not thinke, that

here are Religious men enow, who will gladly bestowe Baptisme upon

thee. To me therefore it plainely appeareth, that such a voyage is to

no purpose. If thou standest upon any doubt or scruple, concerning the

faith whereto I wish thee; where canst thou desire conference with

greater Doctours, or men more learned in all respects, then this famous

Citie doth affoord thee, to resolve thee in any questionable case? Thou

must thinke, that the Prelates are such there, as here thou seest them

to be, and yet they must needes be in much better condition at Rome,

because they are neere to the principall Pastour. And therefore, if

thou wilt credit my counsell, reserve this journey to some time more

convenient, when the Jubilee of generall pardon happeneth, and then

(perchance) I will beare thee company, and goe along with thee as in

vowed pilgrimage.

Whereto the Jew replied. I beleeve _Jehannot_, that all which thou hast

said may be so. But, to make short with thee, I am fully determined

(if thou wouldst have me a Christian, as thou instantly urgest me to

be) to goe thither, for otherwise, I will continue as I am. _Jehannot_

perceiving his setled purpose, said: Goe then in Gods name. But

perswaded himselfe, that hee would never become a Christian, after hee

had once seene the Court of Rome: neverthelesse, he counted his labour

not altogether lost, in regard he bestowed it to a good end, and honest

intentions are to be commended.

The Jew mounted on horse-backe, and made no lingering in his journey

to Rome, where being arrived, he was very honourably entertained by

other Jewes dwelling in Rome. And during the time of his abiding there

(without revealing to any one, the reason of his comming thither) very

heedfully he observed, the manner of the Popes life, of the Cardinals,

Prelates, and all the Courtiers. And being a man very discreete and

judicious, he apparantly perceived, both by his owne eye, and further

information of friends; that from the highest to the lowest (without

any restraint, remorse of conscience, shame, or feare of punishment)

all sinned in abhominable luxurie, and not naturally onely, but in

foule Sodomie, so that the credit of Strumpets and Boyes was not small,

and yet might be too easily obtained. Moreover, drunkards, belly-Gods,

and servants of the paunch, more then of any thing else (even like

brutish beasts after their luxurie) were every where to be met withall.

And, upon further observation, hee saw all men so covetous and greedy

of coyne, that every thing was bought and solde for ready money, not

onely the blood of men, but (in plaine termes) the faith of Christians,

yea, and matters of divinest qualities, how, or to whomsoever

appertaining, were it for sacrifices or benefices, whereof was made no

meane Merchandize, and more Brokers were there to be found (then in

_Paris_ attending upon all Trades) of manifest Symonie, under the nice

name of Negotiation, and for gluttony, not sustentation: even as if God

had not knowne the signification of vocables, nor the intentions of

wicked hearts, but would suffer himselfe to be deceived by the outward

names of things, as wretched men commonly use to doe.

These things, and many more (fitter for silence, then publication)

were so deepely displeasing to the Jew, being a most sober and modest

man; that he had soone seene enough, resolving on his returne to

_Paris_, which very speedily he performed. And when _Jehannot_ heard

of his arrivall, crediting much rather other newes from him, then ever

to see him a converted Christian; he went to welcome him, and kindly

they feasted one another. After some fewe dayes of resting, _Jehannot_

demaunded of him; what he thought of our holy father the Pope and his

Cardinals, and generally of all the other Courtiers? Whereto the Jew

readily answered; It is strange _Jehannot_, that God should give them

so much as he doth. For I will truly tell thee, that if I had beene

able to consider all those things, which there I have both heard and

seene: I could then have resolved my selfe, never to have found in

any Priest, either sanctity, devotion, good worke, example of honest

life, or any good thing else beside. But if a man desire to see luxury,

avarice, gluttony, and such wicked things, yea, worse, if worse may be,

and held in generall estimation of all men; let him but goe to _Rome_,

which I thinke rather to be the forge of damnable actions, then any

way leaning to grace or goodnesse. And, for ought I could perceive,

me thinkes your chiefe Pastour, and (consequently) all the rest of

his dependants, doe strive so much as they may (with all their engine

arte and endeavour) to bring to nothing, or else to banish quite out of

the world, Christian Religion, whereof they should be the support and

foundation.

But because I perceive, that their wicked intent will never come to

passe, but contrariwise, that your faith enlargeth itselfe, shining

every day much more cleare and splendant: I gather thereby evidently,

that the blessed Spirit is the true ground and defence thereof, as

being more true and holy then any other. In which respect, whereas I

stood stiffe and obstinate against the good admonitions, and never

minded to become a Christian: now I freely open my heart unto thee,

that nothing in the world can or shall hinder me, but I will be a

Christian, as thou art. Let us therefore presently goe to the Church,

and there (according to the true custome of your holy faith) helpe me

to be baptized.

_Jehannot_, who expected a farre contrary conclusion, then this,

hearing him speake it with such constancy; was the very gladdest man in

the world, and went with him to the Church of _Nostre Dame_ in _Paris_,

where he requested the Priests there abiding, to bestow baptisme on

_Abraham_, which they joyfully did, hearing him so earnestly to desire

it. _Jehannot_ was his Godfather, and named him _John_, and afterward,

by learned Divines he was more fully instructed in the grounds of

our faith; wherein he grew of greatly understanding, and led a very

vertuous life.

_Melchisedech a Jew, by recounting a Tale of three Rings, to the great

Soldan, named Saladine, prevented a great danger which was prepared for

him._

The third Novell.

_Whereby the Author, approving the Christian Faith, sheweth, how

beneficiall a sodaine and ingenious answer may fall out to bee,

especially when a man finds himselfe in some evident danger._

Madame _Neiphila_ having ended her Discourse, which was well allowed

of by all the company; it pleased the Queene, that Madam _Philomena_

should next succeede in order, who thus began.

The Tale delivered by _Neiphila_, maketh mee remember a doubtfull

case, which sometime hapned to another Jew. And because that God, and

the truth of his holy Faith, hath bene already very wel discoursed

on: it shall not seeme unfitting (in my poore opinion) to descend now

into the accidents of men. Wherefore, I will relate a matter unto

you, which being attentively heard and considered; may make you much

more circumspect, in answering to divers questions and demands, then

(perhaps) otherwise you would be. Consider then (most woorthy assembly)

that like as folly or dulnesse, many times hath overthrowne some men

from place of eminencie, into most great and greevous miseries: even

so, discreet sense and good understanding, hath delivered many out

of irksome perils, and seated them in safest security. And to prove

it true, that folly hath made many fall from high authority, into

poore and despised calamity; may be avouched by infinite examples,

which now were needeless to remember: But, that good sense and able

understanding, may proove to be the occasion of great desolation,

without happy prevention, I will declare unto you in very few words,

and make it good according to my promise.

_Saladine_, was a man so powerfull and valiant, as not onely his very

valour made him Soldan of Babylon, but also gave him many signall

victories, over Kings of the Sarrazens, and of Christians likewise.

Having in divers Warres, and other magnificent employments of his

owne, wasted all his treasure, and (by reason of some sodaine accident

happening to him) standing in neede to use some great summe of money,

yet not readily knowing where, or how to procure it; he remembred a

rich Jew named _Melchisedech_, that lent out money to use or interest

in the City of _Alexandria_. This man he imagined best able to furnish

him, if he could be won to do it willingly: but he was knowne to be so

gripple and miserable, that hardly any meanes would drawe him to it.

In the end, constrained by necessity, and labouring his wits for some

apt device whereby he might have it: he concluded, though hee might not

compell him to do it, yet by a practise shadowed with good reason to

ensnare him. And having sent for him entertained him very familiarly in

his Court, and sitting downe by him, thus began.

Honest man, I have often heard it reported by many, that thou art very

skilfull, and in cases concerning God, thou goest beyond all other

of these times: wherefore, I would gladly be informed by thee, which

of those three Lawes or Religions, thou takest to be truest; that of

the Jew, the other of the Sarazen, or that of the Christian? The Jew,

being a very wise man, plainly perceived, that _Saladine_ sought to

entrap him in his answer, and so to raise some quarrell against him.

For, if he commended any one of those Lawes above the other, he knew

that _Saladine_ had what he aymed at. Wherefore, bethinking himselfe

to shape such an answer, as might no way trouble or entangle him:

summoning all his sences together, and considering, that dallying with

the Soldane might redound to his no meane danger, thus he replied.

My Lord, the question propounded by you, is faire and worthy, & to

answer mine opinion truly thereof, doth necessarily require some time

of consideration, if it might stand with your liking to allow it: but

if not, let me first make entrance to my reply, with a pretty tale,

and well worth the hearing. I have oftentimes heard it reported, that

(long since) there was a very wealthy man, who (among other precious

Jewels of his owne) had a goodly Ring of great valew; the beauty and

estimation whereof, made him earnestly desirous to leave it as a

perpetuall memory and honour to his successors. Whereupon, he willed

and ordained, that he among his male children, with whom this Ring

(being left by the Father) should be found in custody after his death;

hee and none other was to bee reputed his heire, and to be honoured and

reverenced by all the rest, as being the prime and worthiest person.

That Sonne, to whom this Ring was left by him, kept the same course to

his posterity, dealing (in all respects) as his predecessor had done;

so that (in short time) the Ring (from hand to hand) had many owners by

Legacie.

At length, it came to the hand of one, who had three sonnes, all of

them goodly and vertuous persons, and verie obedient to their Father:

in which regard, he affected them all equally, without any difference

or partiall respect. The custome of this ring being knowne to them,

each one of them (coveting to beare esteeme above the other) desired

(as hee could best make his meanes) his father, that in regard he

was now grown very old, he would leave that Ring to him, whereby he

should bee acknowledged for his heire. The good man, who loved no one

of them more then the other, knew not how to make his choise, nor to

which of them he should leave the Ring: yet having past his promise

to them severally, he studied by what meanes to satisfie them all

three. Wherefore, secretly having conferred with a curious and excellent

Goldsmith, hee caused two other Rings to bee made, so really resembling

the first made Ring, that himself (when he had them in his hand) could

not distinguish which was the right one.

Lying upon his death-bed, and his Sonnes then plying him by their best

opportunities, he gave to each of them a Ring. And they (after his

death) presuming severally upon their right to the inheritance & honour,

grew to great contradiction and square: each man producing then his

Ring, which were so truly all alike in resemblance, as no one could

know the right Ring from the other. And therefore, suite in Law, to

distinguish the true heire to his Father; continued long time, and so

it dooth yet to this very day. In like manner my good Lord, concerning

those three Lawes given by God the Father, to three such people as you

have propounded: each of them do imagine that they have the heritage of

God, and his true Law, and also duely to performe his Commandements;

but which of them do so indeede, the question (as of the three Ringes)

is yet remaining.

_Saladine_ well perceyving, that the Jew was too cunning to be caught

in his snare, and had answered so well, that to doe him further

violence, would redound unto his perpetuall dishonour; resolved to

reveale his neede and extremity, and try if he would therein friendly

sted him. Having disclosed the matter, and how he purposed to have

dealt with him, if he had not returned so wise an answer; the Jew lent

him so great a sum of money as hee demanded, and _Saladine_ repayed it

againe to him justly, giving him other great gifts beside: respecting

him as his especiall friend, and maintaining him in very honourable

condition, neere unto his owne person.

_A Monke, having committed an offence, deserving to be very grievously

punished; freede himselfe from the paine to be inflicted on him, by

wittily reprehending his Abbot, with the very same fault._

The fourth Novell.

_Wherein may be noted, that such men as will reprove those errors in

others, which remaine in themselves, commonly are the Authors of their

owne reprehension._

So ceased Madam _Philomena_, after the conclusion of her Tale, when

_Dioneus_ sitting next unto her, (without tarrying for any other

command from the Queene, knowing by the order formerly begunne, that he

was to follow in the same course) spake in this manner.

Gracious Ladies, if I faile not in understanding your generall

intention; we are purposely assembled here to tell Tales, and

especially such as may please our selves. In which respect, because

nothing should be done disorderly, I hold it lawfull for every one

(as our Queene decreed before her dignity) to relate such a novelty,

as (in their owne judgement) may cause most contentment. Wherefore

having heard, that by the good admonitions of _Jehannot de Chevigny_,

_Abraham_ the Jew was advised to the salvation of his soule, and

_Melchisedech_ (by his witty understanding) defended his riches from

the traines of _Saladine_: I now purpose to tell you in a few plaine

words, (without feare of receiving any reprehension) how cunningly a

Monke compassed his deliverance, from a punishment intended towards him.

There was in the Country of _Lunigiana_ (which is not farre distant

from our owne) a Monastery, which sometime was better furnished with

holinesse and Religion, then nowadayes they are; wherein lived (among

divers other) a young novice Monke, whose hot and lusty disposition

(being in the vigour of his yeeres) was such, as neither fastes nor

prayers had any great power over him. It chanced on a fasting day about

high noone, when all the other Monkes were asleepe in their Dormitaries

or Dorters, this frolicke Friar was walking alone in their Church,

which stood in a very solitary place, where ruminating on many matters

by himselfe, hee espied a pretty hansome wench (some Husbandmans

daughter in the Countrey, that had beene gathering rootes and hearbes

in the field) uppon her knees before an Altar, whom he had no sooner

seene, but immediately hee felt effeminate temptations, and such as ill

fitted with his profession.

Lascivious desire, and no religious devotion, made him draw neere

her, and whether under shrift (the onely cloake to compasse carnall

affections) or some other as close conference, to as pernicious

and vile a purpose, I know not: but so farre he prevailed upon her

frailety, and such a bargaine passed betweene them, that (from the

Church) he wonne her to his Chamber, before any person could perceive

it. Now, while this yong lusty Monke (transported with over-fond

affection) was more carelesse of his dalliance, then he should have

beene; the Lord Abbot, being newly arisen from sleepe, and walking

softly about the Cloyster, came to the Monkes Dorter doore, where

hearing what noyse was made between them, and a feminine voyce,

more strange then hee was wont to heare; he layed his eare close to

the Chamber doore, and plainly perceived, that a woman was within.

Wherewith being much moved, he intended suddenly to make him open the

doore; but (upon better consideration) hee conceived it farre more

fitting for him, to returne backe to his owne chamber, and tary untill

the Monke should come forth.

The Monke, though his delight with the Damosel was extraordinary, yet

feare and suspition followed upon it: for, in the very height of all

his wantonnesse, he heard a soft treading about the doore. And prying

thorow a small crevice in the same doore, perceived apparantly, that

the Abbot himselfe stood listening there, and could not be ignorant,

but that the Maide was with him in the Chamber. As after pleasure

ensueth paine, so the veneriall Monke knew well enough (though wanton

heate would not let him heede it before) that most greevous punishment

must be inflicted on him; which made him sad beyond all measure.

Neverthelesse, without disclosing his dismay to the young Maiden, he

began to consider with himselfe on many meanes, whereby to find out one

that might best fit his turne. And suddenly conceited an apt stratagem,

which sorted to such effect as he would have it: whereupon seeming

satisfied for that season, hee tolde the Damosell, that (being carefull

of her credit) as he had brought her in unseen of any, so he would free

her from thence again, desiring her to tarrie there (without making any

noyse at all) until such time as he returned to her.

Going forth of the Chamber, and locking it fast with the key, he went

directly to the Lord Abbots lodging, and delivering him the saide key

(as every Monke used to doe the like, when he went abroade out of the

Convent) setting a good countenance on the matter, boldly saide; My

Lord, I have not yet brought in all my part of the wood, which lieth

ready cut downe in the Forrest; and having now convenient time to doe

it, if you please to give me leave, I will goe and fetch it. The Abbot

perswading himselfe, that he had not beene discovered by the Monke, and

to be resolved more assuredly in the offence committed; being not a

little jocund of so happy an accident, gladly tooke the key, and gave

him leave to fetch the wood.

No sooner was he gone, but the Abbot beganne to consider with himselfe,

what he were best to doe in this case, either (in the presence of all

the other Monkes) to open the Chamber doore, that so the offence being

knowne to them all, they might have no occasion of murmuring against

him, when he proceeded in the Monkes punishment; or rather should first

understand of the Damosell her selfe, how, and in what manner shee was

brought thither. Furthermore, he considered, that shee might be a woman

of respect, or some such mans daughter, as would not take it well, to

have her disgraced before all the Monkes. Wherefore he concluded, first

to see (himselfe) what shee was, and then (afterward) to resolve upon

the rest. So going very softly to the Chamber, and entring in, locked

the doore fast with the key, when the poore Damosell thinking it had

beene the gallant young Monke; but finding it to be the Lord Abbot,

shee fell on her knees weeping, as fearing now to receive publike

shame, by being betrayed in this unkinde manner.

My Lord Abbot looking demurely on the Maide, and perceiving her to be

faire, feate, and lovely; felt immediately (although he was olde) no

lesse spurring on to fleshly desires, then the young Monke before had

done; whereupon he beganne to conferre thus privately with himselfe.

Why should I not take pleasure, when I may freely have it? Cares

and molestations I endure every day, but sildome find such delights

prepared for me. This is a delicate sweete young Damosell, and here is

no eye that can discover me. If I can enduce her to doe as I would have

her, I know no reason why I should gaine-say it. No man can know it, or

any tongue blaze it abroade; and sinne so concealed, is halfe pardoned.

Such a faire fortune as this is, perhaps hereafter will never befall

me; and therefore I hold it wisedome, to take such a benefit when a man

may enjoy it.

Upon this immodest meditation, and his purpose quite altered which

he came for; he went neerer to her, and very kindly began to comfort

her, desiring her to forbeare weeping, and (by further insinuating

speeches) acquainted her with his amorous intention. The Maide, who

was made neither of yron nor diamond, and seeking to prevent one shame

by another, was easily wonne to the Abbots will, which caused him to

embrace and kisse her often.

Our lusty young novice Monke, whom the Abbot imagined to be gone for

wood, had hid himselfe aloft upon the roofe of the Dorter, where, when

he saw the Abbot enter alone into the Chamber, hee lost a great part

of his former feare, promising to himselfe a kinde of perswasion, that

somewhat would ensue to his better comfort; but when he beheld him

lockt into the Chamber, then his hope grew to undoubted certainty. A

little chincke or crevice favoured him, whereat he could both heare and

see, whatsoever was done or spoken by them: so, when the Abbot thought

hee had staide long enough with the Damosell, leaving her still there,

and locking the doore fast againe, hee returned thence to his owne

Chamber.

Within some short while after, the Abbot knowing the Monke to be in

the Convent, and supposing him to be lately returned with the wood,

determined to reprove him sharpely, and to have him closely imprisoned,

that the Damosell might remaine solie to himselfe. And causing him

to be called presently before him, with a very stearne and angry

countenance giving him many harsh and bitter speeches, commanded, that

he should be clapt in prison.

The Monke very readily answered, saying. My good Lord, I have not yet

beene so long in the order of Saint _Benedict_, as to learne all the

particularities thereto belonging. And beside Sir, you never shewed

mee or any of my brethren, in what manner we young Monkes ought to

use women, as you have otherwise done for our custome of prayer and

fasting. But seeing you have so lately therein instructed mee, and by

your owne example how to doe it: I heere solemnely promise you, if you

please to pardon me but this one error, I will never faile therein

againe, but dayly follow what I have seene you doe.

The Abbot, being a man of quicke apprehension, perceived instantly by

this answere; that the Monke not onely knew as much as he did, but

also had seene (what was intended) that hee should not. Wherefore,

finding himselfe to be as faulty as the Monke, and that hee could

not shame him, but worthily had deserved as much himselfe; pardoning

him, and imposing silence on eithers offence: they convayed the poore

abused Damosell forth of their doores, she purposing (never after) to

transgresse in the like manner.

_The Lady Marquesse of_ Montferrat, _with a Banquet of Hennes, and

divers other gracious speeches beside, repressed the fond love of the

King of_ France.

The fift Novell.

_Declaring, that wise and vertuous Ladies, ought to hold their

chastitie in more esteeme, then the greatnesse and treasures of

Princes: and that a discreete Lord should not offer modestie violence._

The tale reported by _Dioneus_, at the first hearing of the Ladies,

began to rellish of some immodestie, as the bashfull blood mounting

up into their faces, delivered by apparant testimonie. And beholding

one another with scarse-pleasing lookes, during all the time it was

in discoursing, no sooner had hee concluded: but with a fewe milde

and gentle speeches, they gave him a modest reprehension, and meaning

to let him know, that such tales ought not to be tolde among women.

Afterward, the Queene commaunded Madame _Fiammetta_, (sitting on a

banke of flowers before her) to take her turne as next in order: and

she, smiling with such a virgin-blush, as very beautifully became her,

began in this manner.

It is no little joy to me, that wee understand so well (by the

discourses already past) what power consisteth in the delivery of

wise and ready answeres; And because it is a great part offence and

judgement in men, to affect women of great birth and quality, then

themselves, as also an admirable fore-sight in women, to keepe off from

being surprized in love, by Lords going beyond them in degree: a matter

offereth it selfe to my memory, well deserving my speech and your

attention, how a Gentlewoman (both in word and deede) should defend her

honour in that kind, when importunity laboureth to betray it.

The Marquesse of _Montferrat_ was a worthy and valiant Knight, who

being Captaine Generall for the Church, the necessary service required

his company on the Seas, in a goodly Army of the Christians against

the Turkes. Upon a day, in the Court of King _Philip_, sirnamed the

one eyed King (who likewise made preparation in _France_, for a royall

assistance to that expedition) as many speeches were delivered,

concerning the valour and manhood of this Marquesse: it fortuned, that

a Knight was then present, who knew him very familiarly, and hee gave

an addition to the former commendation, that the whole world contained

not a more equall couple in mariage, then the Marquesse & his Lady.

For, as among all Knights, the Marquesse could hardly be paraleld for

Armes and honour; even so his wife, in comparison of all other Ladies,

was scarcely matchable for beauty and vertue. Which words were so

waighty in the apprehension of King _Philip_, that suddainly (having as

yet never seene her) he began to affect her very earnestly, concluding

to embarque himselfe at _Gennes_ or _Genoua_, there to set forward on

the intended voyage, and journeying thither by land: hee would shape

some honest excuse to see the Lady Marquesse, whose Lord being then

from home, opinion perswaded him over-fondly, that he should easily

obtaine the issue of his amorous desire.

When hee was come within a dayes journey, where the Lady Marquesse

then lay; he sent her word, that she should expect his company on

the morrow at dinner. The Lady, being singularly wise and judicious;

answered the Messenger, that she reputed the Kings comming to her, as

an extraordinary grace and favour, and that hee should be most heartily

welcome. Afterward, entring into further consideration with her selfe,

what the King might meane by this private visitation, knowing her

husband to be from home, and it to be no meane barre to his apter

entertainement: at last she discreetly conceited (and therein was not

deceived) that babling report of her beauty and perfections, might

thus occasion the Kings comming thither, his journy lying else a quite

contrary way. Notwithstanding, being a Princely Lady, and so loyall a

wife as ever lived, shee intended to give him her best entertainement:

summoning the chiefest Gentlemen in the Country together, to take due

order (by their advise) for giving the King a gracious welcome. But

concerning the dinner, and diet for service to his table; that remained

onely at her owne disposing.

Sending presently abroade, and buying all the Hennes that the Country

afforded; shee commaunded her Cookes, that onely of them (without any

other provision beside) they should prepare all the services that they

could devise. On the morrow, the King came according to his promise,

and was most honourable welcommed by the Lady, who seemed in his eye

(farre beyond the Knights speeches of her) the fairest creature that

ever he had seene before; whereat he mervailed not a little, extolling

her perfections to be peerelesse, which much the more enflamed his

affections, and (almost) made his desires impatient. The King being

withdrawne into such Chambers, as orderly were prepared for him, and as

beseemed so great a Prince: the houre of dinner drawing on, the King

and the Lady Marquesse were seated at one Table, and his attendants

placed at other tables, answerable to their degrees of honour.

Plenty of dishes being served in, and the rarest wines that the

Countrey yeelded, the King had more minde to the faire Lady Marquesse,

then any meate that stood on the Table. Neverthelesse, observing each

service after other, and that all the Viands (though variously cooked,

and in divers kindes) were nothing else but Hennes onely; he began to

wonder, and so much the rather, because he knew the Countrey to be of

such quality, that it affoorded all plenty both of Fowles and Venyson:

beside, after the time of his comming was heard, they had respite

enough, both for hawking and hunting; and therefore it encreased his

marvell the more, that nothing was provided for him, but Hennes onely:

wherein to be the better resolved, turning a merry countenance to the

Lady, thus he spake. Madam, are Hennes onely bred in this Countrey,

and no Cockes? The Lady Marquesse, very well understanding his demand,

which fitted her with an apt opportunity, to thwart his idle hope, and

defend her owne honour; boldly returned the King this answere. Not so

my Lord, but women and wives, howsoever they differ in garments and

graces one from another; yet notwithstanding, they are all heere as

they be in other places.