[Day the Eighth]
THE PARISH PRIEST OF VARLUNGO LIETH WITH MISTRESS BELCOLORE
AND LEAVETH HER A CLOAK OF HIS IN PLEDGE; THEN, BORROWING A
MORTAR OF HER, HE SENDETH IT BACK TO HER, DEMANDING IN
RETURN THE CLOAK LEFT BY WAY OF TOKEN, WHICH THE GOOD WOMAN
GRUDGINGLY GIVETH HIM BACK
Men and ladies alike commended that which Gulfardo had done to the
sordid Milanese lady, and the queen, turning to Pamfilo, smilingly
charged him follow on; whereupon quoth he, "Fair ladies, it occurreth
to me to tell you a little story against those who continually offend
against us, without being open to retaliation on our part, to wit, the
clergy, who have proclaimed a crusade against our wives and who,
whenas they avail to get one of the latter under them, conceive
themselves to have gained forgiveness of fault and pardon of penalty
no otherwise than as they had brought the Soldan bound from
Alexandria to Avignon.[365] Whereof the wretched laymen cannot return
them the like, albeit they wreak their ire upon the priests' mothers
and sisters, doxies and daughters, assailing them with no less ardour
than the former do their wives. Wherefore I purpose to recount to you
a village love-affair, more laughable for its conclusion than long in
words, wherefrom you may yet gather, by way of fruit, that priests are
not always to be believed in everything.
[Footnote 365: Where the papal court then was. See p. 257, note.]
You must know, then, that there was once at Varlungo,--a village very
near here, as each of you ladies either knoweth or may have heard,--a
worthy priest and a lusty of his person in the service of the ladies,
who, albeit he knew not overwell how to read, natheless regaled his
parishioners with store of good and pious saws at the elmfoot on
Sundays and visited their women, whenas they went abroad anywhither,
more diligently than any priest who had been there aforetime, carrying
them fairings and holy water and a stray candle-end or so, whiles even
to their houses. Now it chanced that, among other his she-parishioners
who were most to his liking, one pleased him over all, by name
Mistress Belcolore, the wife of a husbandman who styled himself
Bentivegna del Mazzo, a jolly, buxom country wench, brown-favoured and
tight-made, as apt at turning the mill[366] as any woman alive.
Moreover, it was she who knew how to play the tabret and sing 'The
water runneth to the ravine' and lead up the haye and the round, when
need was, with a fine muckender in her hand and a quaint, better than
any woman of her neighbourhood; by reason of which things my lord
priest became so sore enamoured of her that he was like to lose his
wits therefor and would prowl about all day long to get a sight of
her. Whenas he espied her in church of a Sunday morning, he would say
a Kyrie and a Sanctus, studying to show himself a past master in
descant, that it seemed as it were an ass a-braying; whereas, when he
saw her not there, he passed that part of the service over lightly
enough. But yet he made shift to do on such wise that neither
Bentivegna nor any of his neighbours suspected aught; and the better
to gain Mistress Belcolore's goodwill, he made her presents from time
to time, sending her whiles a clove of garlic, which he had the finest
of all the countryside in a garden he tilled with his own hands, and
otherwhiles a punnet of peascods or a bunch of chives or scallions,
and whenas he saw his opportunity, he would ogle her askance and cast
a friendly gibe at her; but she, putting on the prude, made a show of
not observing it and passed on with a demure air; wherefore my lord
priest could not come by his will of her.
[Footnote 366: Or, as La Fontaine would say, "aussi bien faite pour
armer un lit."]
It chanced one day that as he sauntered about the quarter on the
stroke of noon, he encountered Bentivegna del Mazzo, driving an ass
laden with gear, and accosting him, asked whither he went. 'Faith,
sir,' answered the husbandman, 'to tell you the truth, I am going to
town about a business of mine and am carrying these things to Squire
Bonaccorri da Ginestreto, so he may help me in I know not what whereof
the police-court judge hath summoned me by his proctor for a
peremptory attendance.' The priest was rejoiced to hear this and
said, 'Thou dost well, my son; go now with my benison and return
speedily; and shouldst thou chance to see Lapuccio or Naldino, forget
not to bid them bring me those straps they wot of for my flails.'
Bentivegna answered that it should be done and went his way towards
Florence, whereupon the priest bethought himself that now was his time
to go try his luck with Belcolore. Accordingly, he let not the grass
grow under his feet, but set off forthright and stayed not till he
came to her house and entering in, said, 'God send us all well! Who is
within there?' Belcolore, who was gone up into the hay-loft, hearing
him, said, 'Marry, sir, you are welcome; but what do you gadding it
abroad in this heat?' 'So God give me good luck,' answered he, 'I came
to abide with thee awhile, for that I met thy man going to town.'
Belcolore came down and taking a seat, fell to picking over
cabbage-seed which her husband had threshed out a while before;
whereupon quoth the priest to her, 'Well, Belcolore, wilt thou still
cause me die for thee on this wise?' She laughed and answered, 'What
is it I do to you?' Quoth he, 'Thou dost nought to me, but thou
sufferest me not do to thee that which I would fain do and which God
commandeth.' 'Alack!' cried Belcolore, 'Go to, go to. Do priests do
such things?' 'Ay do we,' replied he, 'as well as other men; and why
not? And I tell thee more, we do far and away better work and knowest
thou why? Because we grind with a full head of water. But in good
sooth it shall be shrewdly to thy profit, an thou wilt but abide quiet
and let me do.' 'And what might this "shrewdly to my profit" be?'
asked she. 'For all you priests are stingier than the devil.' Quoth
he, 'I know not; ask thou. Wilt have a pair of shoes or a head-lace or
a fine stammel waistband or what thou wilt?' 'Pshaw!' cried Belcolore.
'I have enough and to spare of such things; but an you wish me so
well, why do you not render me a service, and I will do what you
will?' Quoth the priest, 'Say what thou wilt have of me, and I will do
it willingly.' Then said she, 'Needs must I go to Florence, come
Saturday, to carry back the wool I have spun and get my spinning-wheel
mended; and an you will lend me five crowns, which I know you have by
you, I can take my watchet gown out of pawn and my Sunday girdle[367]
that I brought my husband, for you see I cannot go to church nor to
any decent place, because I have them not; and after I will still do
what you would have me.' 'So God give me a good year,' replied the
priest, 'I have them not about me; but believe me, ere Saturday come,
I will contrive that thou shalt have them, and that very willingly.'
'Ay,' said Belcolore, 'you are all like this, great promisers, and
after perform nothing to any. Think you to do with me as you did with
Biliuzza, who went off with the ghittern-player?[368] Cock's faith,
then, you shall not, for that she is turned a common drab only for
that. If you have them not about you, go for them.' 'Alack,' cried the
priest, 'put me not upon going all the way home. Thou seest that I
have the luck just now to find thee alone, but maybe, when I return,
there will be some one or other here to hinder us; and I know not when
I shall find so good an opportunity again.' Quoth she, 'It is well; an
you choose to go, go; if not, go without.'
[Footnote 367: Or apron.]
[Footnote 368: _Se n'andò col ceteratojo_; a proverbial expression of
similar meaning to our "was whistled down the wind," _i.e._ was
lightly dismissed without provision, like a cast-off hawk.]
The priest, seeing that she was not in the humour to do his pleasure
without a _salvum me fac_, whereas he would fain have done it _sine
custodiâ_, said, 'Harkye, thou believest not that I will bring thee
the money; but, so thou mayst credit me, I will leave thee this my
blue-cloth cloak.' Belcolore raised her eyes and said, 'Eh what! That
cloak? What is it worth?' 'Worth?' answered the priest. 'I would have
thee know that it is cloth of Douay, nay, Threeay, and there be some
of our folk here who hold it for Fouray.[369] It is scarce a fortnight
since it cost me seven crowns of hard money to Lotto the broker, and
according to what Buglietto telleth me (and thou knowest he is a judge
of this kind of cloth), I had it good five shillings overcheap.'
'Indeed!' quoth Belcolore. 'So God be mine aid, I had never thought
it. But give it me first of all.' My lord priest, who had his arbalest
ready cocked, pulled off the cloak and gave it her; and she, after she
had laid it up, said, 'Come, sir, let us go into the barn, for no one
ever cometh there.' And so they did. There the priest gave her the
heartiest busses in the world and making her sib to God Almighty,[370]
solaced himself with her a great while; after which he took leave of
her and returned to the parsonage in his cassock, as it were he came
from officiating at a wedding.
[Footnote 369: A play of words upon the Italian equivalent of the
French word Douay (_Duagio, i.e. Twoay, Treagio, Quattragio_) invented
by the roguish priest to impose upon the simple goodwife.]
[Footnote 370: Or in modern parlance, "making her a connection by
marriage of etc.," Boccaccio feigning priests to be members of the
Holy Family, by virtue of their office.]
There, bethinking himself that all the candle-ends he got by way of
offertory in all the year were not worth the half of five crowns,
himseemed he had done ill and repenting him of having left the cloak,
he fell to considering how he might have it again without cost. Being
shrewd enough in a small way, he soon hit upon a device and it
succeeded to his wish; for that on the morrow, it being a holiday, he
sent a neighbour's lad of his to Mistress Belcolore's house, with a
message praying her be pleased to lend him her stone mortar, for that
Binguccio dal Poggio and Nuto Buglietti were to dine with him that
morning and he had a mind to make sauce. She sent it to him and
towards dinner-time, the priest, having spied out when Bentivegna and
his wife were at meat together, called his clerk and said to him,
'Carry this mortar back to Belcolore and say to her, 'His reverence
biddeth you gramercy and prayeth you send him back the cloak that the
boy left you by way of token.' The clerk accordingly repaired to her
house and there, finding her at table with Bentivegna, set down the
mortar and did the priest's errand. Belcolore, hearing require the
cloak again, would have answered; but her husband said, with an angry
air, 'Takest thou a pledge of his reverence? I vow to Christ, I have a
mind to give thee a good clout over the head! Go, give it quickly back
to him, pox take thee! And in future, let him ask what he will of
ours, (ay, though he should seek our ass,) look that it be not denied
him.' Belcolore rose, grumbling, and pulling the cloak out of the
chest, gave it to the clerk, saying, 'Tell her reverence from me,
Belcolore saith, she voweth to God you shall never again pound sauce
in her mortar; you have done her no such fine honour of this bout.'
The clerk made off with the cloak and did her message to the priest,
who said, laughing, 'Tell her, when thou seest her, that, an she will
not lend me her mortar, I will not lend her my pestle; and so we shall
be quits.' Bentivegna concluded that his wife had said this, because
he had chidden her, and took no heed thereof; but Belcolore bore the
priest a grudge and held him at arm's length till vintage-time; when,
he having threatened to cause her go into the mouth of Lucifer the
great devil, for very fear she made her peace with him over must and
roast chestnuts and they after made merry together time and again. In
lieu of the five crowns, the priest let put new parchment to her
tabret and string thereto a cast of hawk's bells, and with this she
was fain to be content."