[Day the Third]
UNDER COLOUR OF CONFESSION AND OF EXCEEDING NICENESS OF
CONSCIENCE, A LADY, BEING ENAMOURED OF A YOUNG MAN, BRINGETH
A GRAVE FRIAR, WITHOUT HIS MISDOUBTING HIM THEREOF, TO
AFFORD A MEANS OF GIVING ENTIRE EFFECT TO HER PLEASURE
Pampinea being now silent and the daring and subtlety of the
horsekeeper having been extolled by several of the company, as also
the king's good sense, the queen, turning to Filomena, charged her
follow on; whereupon she blithely began to speak thus, "I purpose to
recount to you a cheat which was in very deed put by a fair lady upon
a grave friar and which should be so much the more pleasing to every
layman as these [--friars, to wit--], albeit for the most part very
dull fools and men of strange manners and usances, hold themselves to
be in everything both better worth and wiser than others, whereas they
are of far less account than the rest of mankind, being men who,
lacking, of the meanness of their spirit, the ability to provide
themselves, take refuge, like swine, whereas they may have what to
eat. And this story, charming ladies, I shall tell you, not only for
the ensuing of the order imposed, but to give you to know withal that
even the clergy, to whom we women, beyond measure credulous as we are,
yield overmuch faith, can be and are whiles adroitly befooled, and
that not by men only, but even by certain of our own sex.
In our city, the which is fuller of cozenage than of love or faith,
there was, not many years agone, a gentlewoman adorned with beauty and
charms and as richly endowed by nature as any of her sex with engaging
manners and loftiness of spirit and subtle wit, whose name albeit I
know, I purpose not to discover it, no, nor any other that pertaineth
unto the present story, for that there be folk yet alive who would
take it in despite, whereas it should be passed over with a laugh.
This lady, then, seeing herself, though of high lineage, married to a
wool-monger and unable, for that he was a craftsman, to put off the
haughtiness of her spirit, whereby she deemed no man of mean
condition, how rich soever he might be, worthy of a gentlewoman and
seeing him moreover, for all his wealth, to be apt unto nothing of
more moment than to lay a warp for a piece of motley or let weave a
cloth or chaffer with a spinster anent her yarn, resolved on no wise
to admit of his embraces, save in so far as she might not deny him,
but to seek, for her own satisfaction, to find some one who should be
worthier of her favours than the wool-monger appeared to her to be,
and accordingly fell so fervently in love with a man of very good
quality and middle age, that, whenas she saw him not by day, she could
not pass the ensuing night without unease. The gentleman, perceiving
not how the case stood, took no heed of her, and she, being very
circumspect, dared not make the matter known to him by sending of
women nor by letter, fearing the possible perils that might betide.
However, observing that he companied much with a churchman, who,
albeit a dull lump of a fellow, was nevertheless, for that he was a
man of very devout life, reputed of well nigh all a most worthy friar,
she bethought herself that this latter would make an excellent
go-between herself and her lover and having considered what means she
should use, she repaired, at a fitting season, to the church where he
abode, and letting call him to her, told him that, an he pleased, she
would fain confess herself to him. The friar seeing her and judging
her to be a woman of condition, willingly gave ear to her, and she,
after confession, said to him, 'Father mine, it behoveth me have
recourse to you for aid and counsel anent that which you shall hear. I
know, as having myself told you, that you know my kinsfolk and my
husband, who loveth me more than his life, nor is there aught I desire
but I have it of him incontinent, he being a very rich man and one who
can well afford it; wherefore I love him more than mine own self and
should I but think, let alone do, aught that might be contrary to his
honour and pleasure, there were no woman more wicked or more deserving
of the fire than I. Now one, whose name in truth I know not, but who
is, meseemeth, a man of condition, and is, if I mistake not, much in
your company,--a well-favoured man and tall of his person and clad in
very decent sad-coloured raiment,--unaware belike of the constancy of
my purpose, appeareth to have laid siege to me, nor can I show myself
at door or window nor go without the house, but he incontinent
presenteth himself before me, and I marvel that he is not here now;
whereat I am sore concerned, for that such fashions as these often
bring virtuous women into reproach, without their fault. I have whiles
had it in mind to have him told of this by my brothers; but then I
have bethought me that men oftentimes do messages on such wise that
ill answers ensue, which give rise to words and from words they come
to deeds; wherefore, lest mischief spring therefrom and scandal, I
have kept silence of the matter and have determined to discover it to
yourself rather than to another, at once because meseemeth you are his
friend and for that it beseemeth you to rebuke not only friends, but
strangers, of such things. I beseech you, therefore, for the one God's
sake, that you rebuke him of this and pray him leave these his
fashions. There be women enough, who incline belike to these toys and
would take pleasure in being dogged and courted by him, whereas to me,
who have no manner of mind to such matters, it is a very grievous
annoy.' So saying, she bowed her head as she would weep. The holy
friar understood incontinent of whom she spoke and firmly believing
what she said to be true, greatly commended her righteous intent and
promised her to do on such wise that she should have no farther annoy
from the person in question; and knowing her to be very rich, he
commended to her works of charity and almsdeeds, recounting to her his
own need. Quoth the lady, 'I beseech you thereof for God's sake, and
should he deny, prithee scruple not to tell him that it was I who told
you this and complained to you thereof.' Then, having made her
confession and gotten her penance, recalling the friar's exhortations
to works of almsgiving, she stealthily filled his hand with money,
praying him to say masses for the souls of her dead kinsfolk; after
which she rose from his feet and taking leave of him, returned home.
Not long after up came the gentleman, according to his wont, and after
they had talked awhile of one thing and another, the friar, drawing
his friend aside, very civilly rebuked him of the manner in which, as
he believed, he pursued and spied upon the lady aforesaid, according
to that which she had given him to understand. The other marvelled, as
well he might, having never set eyes upon her and being used very
rarely to pass before her house, and would have excused himself; but
the friar suffered him not to speak, saying, 'Now make no show of
wonderment nor waste words in denying it, for it will avail thee
nothing; I learnt not these matters from the neighbours; nay, she
herself told them to me, complaining sore of thee. And besides that
such toys beseem not a man of thine age, I may tell thee this much of
her, that if ever I saw a woman averse to these follies, it is she;
wherefore, for thine own credit and her comfort, I prithee desist
therefrom and let her be in peace.' The gentleman, quicker of wit than
the friar, was not slow to apprehend the lady's device and feigning to
be somewhat abashed, promised to meddle no more with her
thenceforward; then, taking leave of the friar, he betook himself to
the house of the lady, who still abode await at a little window, so
she might see him, should he pass that way. When she saw him come, she
showed herself so rejoiced and so gracious to him, that he might very
well understand that he had gathered the truth from the friar's words,
and thenceforward, under colour of other business, he began with the
utmost precaution to pass continually through the street, to his own
pleasure and to the exceeding delight and solace of the lady. After
awhile, perceiving that she pleased him even as he pleased her and
wishful to inflame him yet more and to certify him of the love she
bore him, she betook herself again, choosing her time and place, to
the holy friar and seating herself at his feet in the church, fell
a-weeping. The friar, seeing this, asked her affectionately what was
to do with her anew. 'Alack, father mine,' answered she, 'that which
aileth me is none other than yonder God-accursed friend of yours, of
whom I complained to you the other day, for that methinketh he was
born for my especial torment and to make me do a thing, such that I
should never be glad again nor ever after dare to seat myself at your
feet.' 'How?' cried the friar. 'Hath he not given over annoying thee?'
'No, indeed,' answered she; 'nay, since I complained to you of him, as
if of despite, maybe taking it ill that I should have done so, for
every once he used to pass before my house, I verily believe he hath
passed seven times. And would to God he were content with passing and
spying upon me! Nay, he is grown so bold and so malapert that but
yesterday he despatched a woman to me at home with his idle tales and
toys and sent me a purse and a girdle, as if I had not purses and
girdles galore; the which I took and take so ill that I believe, but
for my having regard to the sin of it and after for the love of you, I
had played the devil. However, I contained myself and would not do or
say aught whereof I should not first have let you know. Nay, I had
already returned the purse and the girdle to the baggage who brought
them, that she might carry them back to him, and had given her a rough
dismissal, but after, fearing she might keep them for herself and tell
him that I had accepted them, as I hear women of her fashion do
whiles, I called her back and took them, full of despite, from her
hands and have brought them to you, so you may return them to him and
tell him I want none of his trash, for that, thanks to God and my
husband, I have purses and girdles enough to smother him withal.
Moreover, if hereafter he desist not from this, I tell you, as a
father, you must excuse me, but I will tell it, come what may, to my
husband and my brothers; for I had far liefer he should brook an
affront, if needs he must, than that I should suffer blame for him;
wherefore let him look to himself.' So saying, still weeping sore, she
pulled out from under her surcoat a very handsome and rich purse and a
quaint and costly girdle and threw them into the lap of the friar,
who, fully crediting that which she told him and incensed beyond
measure, took them and said to her, 'Daughter, I marvel not that thou
art provoked at these doings, nor can I blame thee therefor; but I
much commend thee for following my counsel in the matter. I rebuked
him the other day and he hath ill performed that which he promised me;
wherefore, as well for that as for this that he hath newly done, I
mean to warm his ears[158] for him after such a fashion that
methinketh he will give thee no farther concern; but do thou, God's
benison on thee, suffer not thyself to be so overcome with anger that
thou tell it to any of thy folk, for that overmuch harm might ensue
thereof unto him. Neither fear thou lest this blame anywise ensue to
thee, for I shall still, before both God and men, be a most constant
witness to thy virtue.' The lady made believe to be somewhat comforted
and leaving that talk, said, as one who knew his greed and that of his
fellow-churchmen, 'Sir, these some nights past there have appeared to
me sundry of my kinsfolk, who ask nought but almsdeeds, and meseemeth
they are indeed in exceeding great torment, especially my mother, who
appeareth to me in such ill case and affliction that it is pity to
behold. Methinketh she suffereth exceeding distress to see me in this
tribulation with yonder enemy of God; wherefore I would have you say
me forty masses of Saint Gregory for her and their souls, together
with certain of your own prayers, so God may deliver them from that
penitential fire.' So saying, she put a florin into his hand, which
the holy father blithely received and confirming her devoutness with
fair words and store of pious instances, gave her his benison and let
her go. The lady being gone, the friar, never thinking how he was
gulled, sent for his friend, who, coming and finding him troubled, at
once divined that he was to have news of the lady and awaited what the
friar should say. The latter repeated that which he had before said to
him and bespeaking him anew angrily and reproachfully, rebuked him
severely of that which, according to the lady's report, he had done.
The gentleman, not yet perceiving the friar's drift, faintly enough
denied having sent her the purse and the girdle, so as not to
undeceive the friar, in case the lady should have given him to believe
that he had done this; whereat the good man was sore incensed and
said, 'How canst thou deny it, wicked man that thou art? See, here
they are, for she herself brought them to me, weeping; look if thou
knowest them.' The gentleman feigned to be sore abashed and answered,
'Yes, I do indeed know them and I confess to you that I did ill; but I
swear to you, since I see her thus disposed, that you shall never more
hear a word of this.' Brief, after many words, the numskull of a friar
gave his friend the purse and the girdle and dismissed him, after
rating him amain and beseeching him occupy himself no more with these
follies, the which he promised him. The gentleman, overjoyed both at
the assurance that himseemed he had of the lady's love and at the
goodly gift, was no sooner quit of the friar than he betook himself to
a place where he made shift to let his mistress see that he had the
one and the other thing; whereat she was mightily rejoiced, more by
token that herseemed her device went from good to better. She now
awaited nought but her husband's going abroad to give completion to
the work, and it befell not long after that it behoved him repair to
Genoa on some occasion or other. No sooner had he mounted to horse in
the morning and gone his way, than the lady betook herself to the holy
man and after many lamentations, said to him, weeping, 'Father mine,
I tell you now plainly that I can brook no more; but, for that I
promised you the other day to do nought, without first telling you, I
am come to excuse myself to you; and that you may believe I have good
reason both to weep and to complain, I will tell you what your friend,
or rather devil incarnate, did to me this very morning, a little
before matins. I know not what ill chance gave him to know that my
husband was to go to Genoa yestermorn; algates, this morning, at the
time I tell you, he came into a garden of mine and climbing up by a
tree to the window of my bedchamber, which giveth upon the garden, had
already opened the lattice and was for entering, when I of a sudden
awoke and starting up, offered to cry out, nay, would assuredly have
cried out, but that he, who was not yet within, besought me of mercy
in God's name and yours, telling me who he was; which when I heard, I
held my peace for the love of you and naked as I was born, ran and
shut the window in his face; whereupon I suppose he took himself off
(ill-luck go with him!), for I heard no more of him. Look you now if
this be a goodly thing and to be endured. For my part I mean to bear
with him no more; nay, I have already forborne him overmuch for the
love of you.' The friar, hearing this, was the wrathfullest man alive
and knew not what to say, except to ask again and again if she had
well certified herself that it was indeed he and not another; to which
she answered, 'Praised be God! As if I did not yet know him from
another! I tell you it was himself, and although he should deny it,
credit him not.' Then said the friar, 'Daughter, there is nothing to
be said for it but that this was exceeding effrontery and a thing
exceeding ill done, and in sending him off, as thou didst, thou didst
that which it behoved thee to do. But I beseech thee, since God hath
preserved thee from shame, that, like as thou hast twice followed my
counsel, even so do thou yet this once; to wit, without complaining to
any kinsman of thine, leave it to me to see an I can bridle yonder
devil broke loose, whom I believed a saint. If I can make shift to
turn him from this lewdness, well and good; if not, I give thee leave
henceforth to do with him that which thy soul shall judge best, and my
benison go with thee.' 'Well, then,' answered the lady, 'for this once
I will well not to vex or disobey you; but look you do on such wise
that he be ware of annoying me again, for I promise you I will never
again return to you for this cause.' Thereupon, without saying more,
she took leave of the friar and went away, as if in anger. Hardly was
she out of the church when up came the gentleman and was called by the
friar, who, taking him apart, gave him the soundest rating ever man
had, calling him disloyal and forsworn and traitor. The other, who had
already twice had occasion to know to what the monk's reprimands
amounted, abode expectant and studied with embarrassed answers to make
him speak out, saying, at the first, 'Why all this passion, Sir? Have
I crucified Christ?' Whereupon, 'Mark this shameless fellow!' cried
the friar. 'Hear what he saith! He speaketh as if a year or two were
passed and he had for lapse of time forgotten his misdeeds and his
lewdness! Hath it then escaped thy mind between this and matinsong
that thou hast outraged some one this very morning? Where wast thou
this morning a little before day?' 'I know not,' answered the
gentleman; 'but wherever it was, the news thereof hath reached you
mighty early.' Quoth the friar, 'Certes, the news hath reached me.
Doubtless thou supposedst because her husband was abroad, that needs
must the gentlewoman receive thee incontinent in her arms. A fine
thing, indeed! Here's a pretty fellow! Here's an honourable man! He's
grown a nighthawk, a garden-breaker, a tree-climber! Thinkest thou by
importunity to overcome this lady's chastity, that thou climbest up to
her windows anights by the trees? There is nought in the world so
displeasing to her as thou; yet must thou e'en go essaying it again
and again. Truly, thou hast profited finely by my admonitions, let
alone that she hath shown thee her aversion in many ways. But this I
have to say to thee; she hath up to now, not for any love she beareth
thee, but at my instant entreaty, kept silence of that which thou hast
done; but she will do so no more; I have given her leave to do what
seemeth good to her, an thou annoy her again in aught. What wilt thou
do, an she tell her brothers?' The gentleman having now gathered
enough of that which it concerned him to know, appeased the friar, as
best he knew and might, with many and ample promises, and taking leave
of him, waited till matinsong[159] of the ensuing night, when he made
his way into the garden and climbed up by the tree to the window. He
found the lattice open and entering the chamber as quickliest he
might, threw himself into the arms of his fair mistress, who, having
awaited him with the utmost impatience, received him joyfully, saying,
'Gramercy to my lord the friar for that he so well taught thee the way
hither!' Then, taking their pleasure one of the other, they solaced
themselves together with great delight, devising and laughing amain
anent the simplicity of the dolt of a friar and gibing at wool-hanks
and teasels and carding-combs. Moreover, having taken order for their
future converse, they did on such wise that, without having to resort
anew to my lord the friar, they foregathered in equal joyance many
another night, to the like whereof I pray God, of His holy mercy,
speedily to conduct me and all Christian souls who have a mind
thereto."
[Footnote 158: Lit. (_riscaldare gli orecchi_).]
[Footnote 159: _i.e._ three a.m. next morning.]