“Worth!” ejaculated the priest: “I would have thee know that ’tis all Douai, not to say Trouai, make: nay, there are some of our folk here that say ’tis Quadrouai; and ’tis not a fortnight since I bought it of Lotto, the secondhand dealer, for seven good pounds, and then had it five good soldi under value, by what I hear from Buglietto, who, thou knowest, is an excellent judge of these articles.” “Oh! say you so?” exclaimed Belcolore.
“So help me God, I should not have thought it; however, let me look at it.” So Master Priest, being ready for action, doffed the cloak and handed it to her. And she, having put it in a safe place, said to him:—”Now, Sir, we will away to the hut; there is never a soul goes there;” and so they did. And there Master Priest, giving her many a mighty buss and straining her to his sacred person, solaced himself with her no little while.
Which done, he hied him away in his cassock, as if he were come from officiating at a wedding; but, when he was back in his holy quarters, he bethought him that not all the candles that he received by way of offering in the course of an entire year would amount to the half of five pounds, and saw that he had made a bad bargain, and repented him that he had left the cloak in pledge, and cast about how he might recover it without paying anything.
And as he did not lack cunning, he hit upon an excellent expedient, by which he compassed his end. So on the morrow, being a saint’s day, he sent a neighbour’s lad to Monna Belcolore with a request that she would be so good as to lend him her stone mortar, for that Binguccio dal Poggio and Nuto Buglietti were to breakfast with him that morning, and he therefore wished to make a sauce.
Belcolore having sent the mortar, the priest, about breakfast time, reckoning that Bentivegna del Mazzo and Belcolore would be at their meal, called his clerk, and said to him:—”Take the mortar back to Belcolore, and say:—’My master thanks you very kindly, and bids you return the cloak that the lad left with you in pledge.'” The clerk took the mortar to Belcolore’s house, where, finding her at table with Bentivegna, he set the mortar down and delivered the priest’s message. Whereto Belcolore would fain have demurred; but Bentivegna gave her a threatening glance, saying:—”So, then, thou takest a pledge from Master Priest? By Christ, I vow, I have half a mind to give thee a great clout o’ the chin.
Go, give it back at once, a murrain on thee! And look to it that whatever he may have a mind to, were it our very ass, he be never denied.” So, with a very bad grace, Belcolore got up, and went to the wardrobe, and took out the cloak, and gave it to the clerk, saying:—”Tell thy master from me:—Would to God he may never ply pestle in my mortar again, such honour has he done me for this turn!” So the clerk returned with the cloak, and delivered the message to Master Priest; who, laughing, made answer:—”Tell her, when thou next seest her, that, so she lend us not the mortar, I will not lend her the pestle: be it tit for tat.”
Bentivegna made no account of his wife’s words, deeming that ’twas but his chiding that had provoked them. But Belcolore was not a little displeased with Master Priest, and had never a word to say to him till the vintage; after which, what with the salutary fear in which she stood of the mouth of Lucifer the Great, to which he threatened to consign her, and the must and roast chestnuts that he sent her, she made it up with him, and many a jolly time they had together. And though she got not the five pounds from him, he put a new skin on her tabret, and fitted it with a little bell, wherewith she was satisfied.
(1) For this folk-song see Cantilene e Ballate, Strambotti e Madrigali, ed. Carducci (1871), p. 60. The fragment there printed maybe freely rendered as follows:—
The borage is full sappy,
And clusters red we see,
And my love would make me happy;
So that maiden give to me.
Ill set I find this dance,
And better might it be:
So, comrade mine, advance,
And, changing place with me,
Stand thou thy love beside.
NOVEL III.
— Calandrino, Bruno and Buffalmacco go in quest of the heliotrope beside the Mugnone. Thinking to have found it, Calandrino gets him home laden with stones. His wife chides him: whereat he waxes wroth, beats her, and tells his comrades what they know better than he. —
Ended Pamfilo’s story, which moved the ladies to inextinguishable laughter, the queen bade Elisa follow suit: whereupon, laughing, she thus began:—I know not, debonair my ladies, whether with my little story, which is no less true than entertaining, I shall give you occasion to laugh as much as Pamfilo has done with his, but I will do my best.
In our city, where there has never been lack of odd humours and queer folk, there dwelt, no long time ago, a painter named Calandrino, a simple soul, of uncouth manners, that spent most of his time with two other painters, the one Bruno, the other Buffalmacco, by name, pleasant fellows enough, but not without their full share of sound and shrewd sense, and who kept with Calandrino for that they not seldom found his singular ways and his simplicity very diverting. There was also at the same time at Florence one Maso del Saggio, a fellow marvellously entertaining by his cleverness, dexterity and unfailing resource; who having heard somewhat touching Calandrino’s simplicity, resolved to make fun of him by playing him a trick, and inducing him to believe some prodigy.
And happening one day to come upon Calandrino in the church of San Giovanni, where he sate intently regarding the paintings and intaglios of the tabernacle above the altar, which had then but lately been set there, he deemed time and place convenient for the execution of his design; which he accordingly imparted to one of his comrades: whereupon the two men drew nigh the place where Calandrino sate alone, and feigning not to see him fell a talking of the virtues of divers stones, of which Maso spoke as aptly and pertinently as if he had been a great and learned lapidary. Calandrino heard what passed between them, and witting that ’twas no secret, after a while got up, and joined them, to Maso’s no small delight.
He therefore continued his discourse, and being asked by Calandrino, where these stones of such rare virtues were to be found, made answer:—”Chiefly in Berlinzone, in the land of the Basques. The district is called Bengodi, and there they bind the vines with sausages, and a denier will buy a goose and a gosling into the bargain; and on a mountain, all of grated Parmesan cheese, dwell folk that do nought else but make macaroni and raviuoli,(1) and boil them in capon’s broth, and then throw them down to be scrambled for; and hard by flows a rivulet of Vernaccia, the best that ever was drunk, and never a drop of water therein.” “Ah! ’tis a sweet country!” quoth Calandrino; “but tell me, what becomes of the capons that they boil?”
“They are all eaten by the Basques,” replied Maso. Then:—”Wast thou ever there?” quoth Calandrino. Whereupon:—”Was I ever there, sayst thou?” replied Maso. “Why, if I have been there once, I have been there a thousand times.” “And how many miles is’t from here?” quoth Calandrino. “Oh!” returned Maso, “more than thou couldst number in a night without slumber.” “Farther off, then, than the Abruzzi?” said Calandrino. “Why, yes, ’tis a bit farther,” replied Maso.
Now Calandrino, like the simple soul that he was, marking the composed and grave countenance with which Maso spoke, could not have believed him more thoroughly, if he had uttered the most patent truth, and thus taking his words for gospel:—”‘Tis a trifle too far for my purse,” quoth he; “were it nigher, I warrant thee, I would go with thee thither one while, just to see the macaroni come tumbling down, and take my fill thereof. But tell me, so good luck befall thee, are none of these stones, that have these rare virtues, to be found in these regions?”
“Ay,” replied Maso, “two sorts of stone are found there, both of virtues extraordinary. The one sort are the sandstones of Settignano and Montisci, which being made into millstones, by virtue thereof flour is made; wherefore ’tis a common saying in those countries that blessings come from God and millstones from Montisci: but, for that these sandstones are in great plenty, they are held cheap by us, just as by them are emeralds, whereof they have mountains, bigger than Monte Morello, that shine at midnight, a God’s name!
And know this, that whoso should make a goodly pair of millstones, and connect them with a ring before ever a hole was drilled
