"_In illo tempore_--no--_in diebus illis_, che i frati sogliono
percorrere il contado delle terre e delle citta per far proviste alla
barba degli scimuniti d'ogni genere pappatorio, vale dir di grano,
formentone, legumi, mosto, cacio, olio, canape, lino, uova et
cetera--un certo fra Zeffiro, se ne gira alla volta d'un villagio e
tenevagli compagnia il suo ciucarello che carica gia a doppio
sacchetto."--_L'Asino e il suo Frate_, _Racconti Piacevoli_, 1864,
"Und sie war gar sehr erstannet uber die Adresse und List dieses
Munchleins."--_Lustige Thaten des Kloster-bruders Hannes von Lehnin_,
A.D. 1589.
"Monachus in claustro
Non valet ova dua,
Sed extra--bene valet triginta."--_Rabelais_.
Among the monks of Santa Maria Novella in ancient days was one known as
Frate Giocondo, who was truly of the kind who are of little use at home,
or at any steady or reputable calling, but who was profitable enough when
scouring the country on the loose, blarneying and begging from the good
wives, giving counsel to the peasants, and profitable advice, while he
ate their chickens and drank their wine, chucking all the pretty girls
under their chins, or _sub silentio_, and making himself sociable,
edifying, amusing, or holy--according to circumstances. Of whom it could
be truly said:
"Monaco in convento
Non vale niente,
Ma fuori vale venti."
"Monk in monastery
Is not worth a cherry;
But abroad when sent, he
Often is worth twenty."
As a preaching friar of Saint Dominic, truly Brother Giocondo was not a
success, but as a beggar he beat all the Zoccoloni out of Rome, {27} and
that is saying a great deal. For there never was a friar with such an
oiled and honeyed tongue, with which he could flatter and wheedle, tell
legends of the saints, witches, or goblins by the hour, give all the
gossip going; nor was he above selling his collections, or trading
donkeys, or taking a hand at a game of cards, or singing to a lute, or
even fiddling to a dance--so that, being a great, burly, handsome,
merry-eyed knave, he got on marvellously well in the world, his jests
being reported even in Siena.
Now one evening he was returning home to Santa Maria Novella _dalla
cercha_, "from the quest," and found himself still a few miles from
Florence. And good fortune had favoured him marvellously that day, for
his ass bore two panniers which were _ben carichi d'ogni sorta di grazia
di Dio_--"stuffed full with all sorts of mercies of God," such as bags of
wheat, maize, wheat-meal, chickens, oil, cheese, butter, wine, truffles,
onions, geese, turnips, sausages, bread, ducks; in short, Signore, as I
said, there was _ogni sorta di grazia di Dio_, and enough to support a
poor family for a month.
Now, darkness coming on, and rain falling, the Friar stopped at a lonely
house, where he neither knew the people nor was known to them, and begged
for a night's lodging. The master of the place was a well-to-do person,
but a great knave, and no sooner had he perceived that the monk had such
a plentiful stock of provisions, than he saw his way to give all his
neighbours a splendid feast at no expense to himself, at which he could
not fail to relieve some of his guests of their money.
Now this rogue had a daughter who was _scaltra e bene affilata_--shrewd
and sharp as a razor, one who could teach cats to see in the dark, and
who had grown to villainy from her babyhood, even as a reed shoots
upwards. And she only caught a wink from her good father, which glanced
off on to the load of the friar's donkey, to understand the whole game,
and what was expected of her.
You must know, Signore Carlo, that the wench was very good-looking--bad
wine in a silver cup, pretty to look at, but vile to sup--and had all the
sweet, innocent, simple look of a saint, and she made up to Frate
Giocondo like a kitten to a child, which he took in no wise amiss, being
used to such conquests. And who so flattering and fawning as they all
were on Brother Giocondo; how they laughed at his jests, and seemed to be
in the last agonies of delight; but winked at one another withal, for
there were six lusty brothers or cousins in the family, who, in case of
need, did the heavy dragging out, or advanced the last argument with
clubs.
By-and-by, as the night wore on, the black-eyed baggage stole away and
hid herself in the room allotted to the Friar, though with no intention
to break the seventh--but that against stealing--as you will see. For
when the good Giocondo went to bed, which he did in full dress, he knew
not that she was there. And as soon as he began to snore, she tapped
gently on the wall three times, and then went and laid herself down
softly by the Friar, who did not awake. At which all the band came
bursting in with torches and staves, and began to beat the victim,
reviling and cursing him for having deluded the poor child, so that there
was a fearful _fracasso_--a great riot--but they left the door open,
through which the pious Giocondo bolted, and none pursued, as they had
already secured his provisions.
Now Giocondo shrewdly noted this, and at once understood that he had been
as shrewdly robbed, and that by such a trick as left no door open to
return and claim his property. So he quietly mounted his ass and rode
away, and returning to the convent, thought it all over, till he came to
a device to revenge himself. For he was one of those who was never bit
by a wolf but what he had his skin.
So he let a long time pass by, and then went to work. First of all he
got two jars, and paid a contadino to catch for him as many living vipers
as would fill them both, saying it was for the apothecary of his convent
to make _teriaca_ or Venetian treacle, which is a cure for serpents'
bites. And then he disguised himself like a lord's messenger, darkening
his face, and putting on long curling locks, with a bold impudent air,
with cloak and feather, sword and dagger; truly no one would ever have
known him. And in this guise he went again to the _Albergo de' Ladri_,
or Thieves' Den, asking once more for lodging, which was cheerfully
granted.
Now the part which he played, and that to perfection, was that of a
foolish gasconading servant; nor had he been long in the house ere he
informed his host in confidence that he served a great lord who was in
love with a married lady in Florence, and to win her good graces had sent
her two jars full of honey or conserves, but that there was in each a
hundred crowns in gold, of which he was to privately inform the lady,
lest her husband should suspect the truth; adding artfully, "But i'
faith, if I were to steal the whole myself and run away, my lord would
never pursue me, so fearful is he lest the thing should be found out; and
even if I were to be robbed, one could do nothing."
And as he said this he saw the knave give a wink to his daughter, and
knew very well what it meant, but pretended to take no notice of it. So
all went as before, and the girl stole into his room and hid herself.
But he, who was prepared for everything, when he retired took from his
pocket two or three large screws and a screwdriver, and closed the great
strong door so that it would resist a hard assault, and left the window
open so that he could easily escape, and so went to bed.
Then the girl, when she thought he was asleep, gave the signal, and the
thieves tried to burst in, but could not. And Friar Giocondo, jumping
up, gave the girl such a beating as she had never heard of, abusing her
all the time as a song to the accompaniment of the thrashing, till at
last, when he saw they were really coming in, he jumped through the
window, ran to the stable, and finding there a fine horse, saddled it in
haste and rode away like the wind.
The thieves were so intent on the jars that they paid no heed to anything
else, not even to the girl, who was raging mad at her father for having
exposed her to such danger. So they got two deep plates, and opened both
jars at once to pour the honey out, when lo! there came swarming forth
the vipers, hissing, and squirming, and darting out their tongues like so
many devils. At which sight they all fled in fear, the girl first, nor
did she stop till she got to Fiesole, where, in great terror, she
(fearing for her soul) told the whole story to everybody and the monks.
The thief went to the stable, but found his horse gone, and so had to
content himself with Giocondo's donkey, on which, fearing the pursuit of
justice, he rode away, to be hanged somewhere else. And the Abbot of
Santa Maria Novella cheerfully absolved Brother Giocondo for stealing the
horse--and accepted it as a graceful gift, or in recompense for the load
of provisions which had been lost.
"Thus 'twas with all of them it sped,
And the Abbot came out one horse ahead!"