The Decameron of Giovanni Boccaccio

by Giovanni Boccaccio

  THE THIRD STORY

  [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 thehorsekeeper having been extolled by several of the company, as alsothe king's good sense, the queen, turning to Filomena, charged herfollow on; whereupon she blithely began to speak thus, "I purpose torecount to you a cheat which was in very deed put by a fair lady upona grave friar and which should be so much the more pleasing to everylayman as these [--friars, to wit--], albeit for the most part verydull fools and men of strange manners and usances, hold themselves tobe in everything both better worth and wiser than others, whereas theyare of far less account than the rest of mankind, being men who,lacking, of the meanness of their spirit, the ability to providethemselves, take refuge, like swine, whereas they may have what toeat. And this story, charming ladies, I shall tell you, not only forthe ensuing of the order imposed, but to give you to know withal thateven the clergy, to whom we women, beyond measure credulous as we are,yield overmuch faith, can be and are whiles adroitly befooled, andthat 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 andcharms and as richly endowed by nature as any of her sex with engagingmanners and loftiness of spirit and subtle wit, whose name albeit Iknow, I purpose not to discover it, no, nor any other that pertainethunto the present story, for that there be folk yet alive who wouldtake it in despite, whereas it should be passed over with a laugh.This lady, then, seeing herself, though of high lineage, married to awool-monger and unable, for that he was a craftsman, to put off thehaughtiness of her spirit, whereby she deemed no man of meancondition, how rich soever he might be, worthy of a gentlewoman andseeing him moreover, for all his wealth, to be apt unto nothing ofmore moment than to lay a warp for a piece of motley or let weave acloth or chaffer with a spinster anent her yarn, resolved on no wiseto 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 beworthier of her favours than the wool-monger appeared to her to be,and accordingly fell so fervently in love with a man of very goodquality and middle age, that, whenas she saw him not by day, she couldnot pass the ensuing night without unease. The gentleman, perceivingnot how the case stood, took no heed of her, and she, being verycircumspect, dared not make the matter known to him by sending ofwomen 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 aman of very devout life, reputed of well nigh all a most worthy friar,she bethought herself that this latter would make an excellentgo-between herself and her lover and having considered what means sheshould use, she repaired, at a fitting season, to the church where heabode, and letting call him to her, told him that, an he pleased, shewould fain confess herself to him. The friar seeing her and judgingher to be a woman of condition, willingly gave ear to her, and she,after confession, said to him, 'Father mine, it behoveth me haverecourse to you for aid and counsel anent that which you shall hear. Iknow, as having myself told you, that you know my kinsfolk and myhusband, who loveth me more than his life, nor is there aught I desirebut I have it of him incontinent, he being a very rich man and one whocan well afford it; wherefore I love him more than mine own self andshould I but think, let alone do, aught that might be contrary to hishonour and pleasure, there were no woman more wicked or more deservingof the fire than I. Now one, whose name in truth I know not, but whois, meseemeth, a man of condition, and is, if I mistake not, much inyour company,--a well-favoured man and tall of his person and clad invery decent sad-coloured raiment,--unaware belike of the constancy ofmy purpose, appeareth to have laid siege to me, nor can I show myselfat door or window nor go without the house, but he incontinentpresenteth himself before me, and I marvel that he is not here now;whereat I am sore concerned, for that such fashions as these oftenbring virtuous women into reproach, without their fault. I have whileshad it in mind to have him told of this by my brothers; but then Ihave bethought me that men oftentimes do messages on such wise thatill answers ensue, which give rise to words and from words they cometo deeds; wherefore, lest mischief spring therefrom and scandal, Ihave kept silence of the matter and have determined to discover it toyourself rather than to another, at once because meseemeth you are hisfriend and for that it beseemeth you to rebuke not only friends, butstrangers, of such things. I beseech you, therefore, for the one God'ssake, that you rebuke him of this and pray him leave these hisfashions. There be women enough, who incline belike to these toys andwould 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 grievousannoy.' So saying, she bowed her head as she would weep. The holyfriar understood incontinent of whom she spoke and firmly believingwhat she said to be true, greatly commended her righteous intent andpromised her to do on such wise that she should have no farther annoyfrom the person in question; and knowing her to be very rich, hecommended to her works of charity and almsdeeds, recounting to her hisown need. Quoth the lady, 'I beseech you thereof for God's sake, andshould he deny, prithee scruple not to tell him that it was I who toldyou this and complained to you thereof.' Then, having made herconfession and gotten her penance, recalling the friar's exhortationsto works of almsgiving, she stealthily filled his hand with money,praying him to say masses for the souls of her dead kinsfolk; afterwhich she rose from his feet and taking leave of him, returned home.Not long after up came the gentleman, according to his wont, and afterthey had talked awhile of one thing and another, the friar, drawinghis friend aside, very civilly rebuked him of the manner in which, ashe believed, he pursued and spied upon the lady aforesaid, accordingto that which she had given him to understand. The other marvelled, aswell he might, having never set eyes upon her and being used veryrarely to pass before her house, and would have excused himself; butthe friar suffered him not to speak, saying, 'Now make no show ofwonderment nor waste words in denying it, for it will avail theenothing; I learnt not these matters from the neighbours; nay, sheherself told them to me, complaining sore of thee. And besides thatsuch toys beseem not a man of thine age, I may tell thee this much ofher, that if ever I saw a woman averse to these follies, it is she;wherefore, for thine own credit and her comfort, I prithee desisttherefrom and let her be in peace.' The gentleman, quicker of wit thanthe friar, was not slow to apprehend the lady's device and feigning tobe somewhat abashed, promised to meddle no more with herthenceforward; then, taking leave of the friar, he betook himself tothe house of the lady, who still abode await at a little window, soshe might see him, should he pass that way. When she saw him come, sheshowed herself so rejoiced and so gracious to him, that he might verywell understand that he had gathered the truth from the friar's words,and thenceforward, under colour of other business, he began with theutmost precaution to pass continually through the street, to his ownpleasure and to the exceeding delight and solace of the lady. Afterawhile, perceiving that she pleased him even as he pleased her andwishful to inflame him yet more and to certify him of the love shebore him, she betook herself again, choosing her time and place, tothe holy friar and seating herself at his feet in the church, fella-weeping. The friar, seeing this, asked her affectionately what wasto do with her anew. 'Alack, father mine,' answered she, 'that whichaileth me is none other than yonder God-accursed friend of yours, ofwhom I complained to you the other day, for that methinketh he wasborn for my especial torment and to make me do a thing, such that Ishould never be glad again nor ever after dare to seat myself at yourfeet.' 'How?' cried the friar. 'Hath he not given over annoying thee?''No, indeed,' answered she; 'nay, since I complained to you of him, asif of despite, maybe tak
ing it ill that I should have done so, forevery once he used to pass before my house, I verily believe he hathpassed seven times. And would to God he were content with passing andspying upon me! Nay, he is grown so bold and so malapert that butyesterday he despatched a woman to me at home with his idle tales andtoys and sent me a purse and a girdle, as if I had not purses andgirdles galore; the which I took and take so ill that I believe, butfor my having regard to the sin of it and after for the love of you, Ihad played the devil. However, I contained myself and would not do orsay aught whereof I should not first have let you know. Nay, I hadalready returned the purse and the girdle to the baggage who broughtthem, that she might carry them back to him, and had given her a roughdismissal, but after, fearing she might keep them for herself and tellhim that I had accepted them, as I hear women of her fashion dowhiles, I called her back and took them, full of despite, from herhands and have brought them to you, so you may return them to him andtell him I want none of his trash, for that, thanks to God and myhusband, I have purses and girdles enough to smother him withal.Moreover, if hereafter he desist not from this, I tell you, as afather, you must excuse me, but I will tell it, come what may, to myhusband and my brothers; for I had far liefer he should brook anaffront, if needs he must, than that I should suffer blame for him;wherefore let him look to himself.' So saying, still weeping sore, shepulled out from under her surcoat a very handsome and rich purse and aquaint and costly girdle and threw them into the lap of the friar,who, fully crediting that which she told him and incensed beyondmeasure, took them and said to her, 'Daughter, I marvel not that thouart provoked at these doings, nor can I blame thee therefor; but Imuch commend thee for following my counsel in the matter. I rebukedhim 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, Imean to warm his ears[158] for him after such a fashion thatmethinketh he will give thee no farther concern; but do thou, God'sbenison on thee, suffer not thyself to be so overcome with anger thatthou tell it to any of thy folk, for that overmuch harm might ensuethereof unto him. Neither fear thou lest this blame anywise ensue tothee, for I shall still, before both God and men, be a most constantwitness to thy virtue.' The lady made believe to be somewhat comfortedand leaving that talk, said, as one who knew his greed and that of hisfellow-churchmen, 'Sir, these some nights past there have appeared tome sundry of my kinsfolk, who ask nought but almsdeeds, and meseemeththey are indeed in exceeding great torment, especially my mother, whoappeareth to me in such ill case and affliction that it is pity tobehold. Methinketh she suffereth exceeding distress to see me in thistribulation with yonder enemy of God; wherefore I would have you sayme forty masses of Saint Gregory for her and their souls, togetherwith certain of your own prayers, so God may deliver them from thatpenitential fire.' So saying, she put a florin into his hand, whichthe holy father blithely received and confirming her devoutness withfair words and store of pious instances, gave her his benison and lether go. The lady being gone, the friar, never thinking how he wasgulled, sent for his friend, who, coming and finding him troubled, atonce divined that he was to have news of the lady and awaited what thefriar should say. The latter repeated that which he had before said tohim and bespeaking him anew angrily and reproachfully, rebuked himseverely of that which, according to the lady's report, he had done.The gentleman, not yet perceiving the friar's drift, faintly enoughdenied having sent her the purse and the girdle, so as not toundeceive the friar, in case the lady should have given him to believethat he had done this; whereat the good man was sore incensed andsaid, 'How canst thou deny it, wicked man that thou art? See, herethey are, for she herself brought them to me, weeping; look if thouknowest 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 Iswear to you, since I see her thus disposed, that you shall never morehear a word of this.' Brief, after many words, the numskull of a friargave his friend the purse and the girdle and dismissed him, afterrating him amain and beseeching him occupy himself no more with thesefollies, the which he promised him. The gentleman, overjoyed both atthe assurance that himseemed he had of the lady's love and at thegoodly gift, was no sooner quit of the friar than he betook himself toa place where he made shift to let his mistress see that he had theone and the other thing; whereat she was mightily rejoiced, more bytoken that herseemed her device went from good to better. She nowawaited nought but her husband's going abroad to give completion tothe work, and it befell not long after that it behoved him repair toGenoa on some occasion or other. No sooner had he mounted to horse inthe morning and gone his way, than the lady betook herself to the holyman and after many lamentations, said to him, weeping, 'Father mine,I tell you now plainly that I can brook no more; but, for that Ipromised you the other day to do nought, without first telling you, Iam come to excuse myself to you; and that you may believe I have goodreason both to weep and to complain, I will tell you what your friend,or rather devil incarnate, did to me this very morning, a littlebefore matins. I know not what ill chance gave him to know that myhusband was to go to Genoa yestermorn; algates, this morning, at thetime I tell you, he came into a garden of mine and climbing up by atree to the window of my bedchamber, which giveth upon the garden, hadalready opened the lattice and was for entering, when I of a suddenawoke and starting up, offered to cry out, nay, would assuredly havecried out, but that he, who was not yet within, besought me of mercyin God's name and yours, telling me who he was; which when I heard, Iheld my peace for the love of you and naked as I was born, ran andshut 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 ifthis be a goodly thing and to be endured. For my part I mean to bearwith him no more; nay, I have already forborne him overmuch for thelove of you.' The friar, hearing this, was the wrathfullest man aliveand knew not what to say, except to ask again and again if she hadwell certified herself that it was indeed he and not another; to whichshe answered, 'Praised be God! As if I did not yet know him fromanother! I tell you it was himself, and although he should deny it,credit him not.' Then said the friar, 'Daughter, there is nothing tobe said for it but that this was exceeding effrontery and a thingexceeding ill done, and in sending him off, as thou didst, thou didstthat which it behoved thee to do. But I beseech thee, since God hathpreserved thee from shame, that, like as thou hast twice followed mycounsel, even so do thou yet this once; to wit, without complaining toany kinsman of thine, leave it to me to see an I can bridle yonderdevil broke loose, whom I believed a saint. If I can make shift toturn him from this lewdness, well and good; if not, I give thee leavehenceforth to do with him that which thy soul shall judge best, and mybenison go with thee.' 'Well, then,' answered the lady, 'for this onceI will well not to vex or disobey you; but look you do on such wisethat he be ware of annoying me again, for I promise you I will neveragain return to you for this cause.' Thereupon, without saying more,she took leave of the friar and went away, as if in anger. Hardly wasshe out of the church when up came the gentleman and was called by thefriar, who, taking him apart, gave him the soundest rating ever manhad, calling him disloyal and forsworn and traitor. The other, who hadalready twice had occasion to know to what the monk's reprimandsamounted, abode expectant and studied with embarrassed answers to makehim speak out, saying, at the first, 'Why all this passion, Sir? HaveI crucified Christ?' Whereupon, 'Mark this shameless fellow!' criedthe friar. 'Hear what he saith! He speaketh as if a year or two werepassed and he had for lapse of time forgotten his misdeeds and hislewdness! Hath it then escaped thy mind between this and matinsongthat thou hast outraged some one this very morning? Where wast thouthis morning a little before day?' 'I know not,' answered thegentleman; 'but wherever it was, the news thereof hath reached youmighty early.' Quoth the friar, 'Certes, the news hath reached me.Doubtless thou supposedst because her husband was abroad, that needsmust the gentlewoman receive thee incontinent in her arms. A finething, indeed! Here's a pretty fellow! Here's an hono
urable man! He'sgrown a nighthawk, a garden-breaker, a tree-climber! Thinkest thou byimportunity to overcome this lady's chastity, that thou climbest up toher windows anights by the trees? There is nought in the world sodispleasing to her as thou; yet must thou e'en go essaying it againand again. Truly, thou hast profited finely by my admonitions, letalone that she hath shown thee her aversion in many ways. But this Ihave to say to thee; she hath up to now, not for any love she beareththee, but at my instant entreaty, kept silence of that which thou hastdone; but she will do so no more; I have given her leave to do whatseemeth good to her, an thou annoy her again in aught. What wilt thoudo, an she tell her brothers?' The gentleman having now gatheredenough of that which it concerned him to know, appeased the friar, asbest he knew and might, with many and ample promises, and taking leaveof him, waited till matinsong[159] of the ensuing night, when he madehis way into the garden and climbed up by the tree to the window. Hefound the lattice open and entering the chamber as quickliest hemight, threw himself into the arms of his fair mistress, who, havingawaited him with the utmost impatience, received him joyfully, saying,'Gramercy to my lord the friar for that he so well taught thee the wayhither!' Then, taking their pleasure one of the other, they solacedthemselves together with great delight, devising and laughing amainanent the simplicity of the dolt of a friar and gibing at wool-hanksand teasels and carding-combs. Moreover, having taken order for theirfuture converse, they did on such wise that, without having to resortanew to my lord the friar, they foregathered in equal joyance manyanother night, to the like whereof I pray God, of His holy mercy,speedily to conduct me and all Christian souls who have a mindthereto."

  [Footnote 158: Lit. (_riscaldare gli orecchi_).]

  [Footnote 159: _i.e._ three a.m. next morning.]