The Decameron of Giovanni Boccaccio
hand.' The lady, hearing this, lifted her eyes and said, weeping,
'Good man, thou seemest to me a stranger pilgrim; what knowest thou of
my peace or of my affliction?' 'Madam,' answered Tedaldo, 'I am of
Constantinople and am but now come hither, being sent of God to turn
your tears into laughter and to deliver your husband from death.'
Quoth she, 'An thou be of Constantinople and newly come hither, how
knowest thou who I am or who is my husband?' Thereupon, the pilgrim
beginning from the beginning, recounted to her the whole history of
Aldobrandino's troubles and told her who she was and how long she had
been married and other things which he very well knew of her affairs;
whereat she marvelled exceedingly and holding him for a prophet, fell
on her knees at his feet, beseeching him for God's sake, an he were
come for Aldobrandino's salvation, to despatch, for that the time was
short.
The pilgrim, feigning himself a very holy man, said, 'Madam, arise and
weep not, but hearken well to that which I shall say to you and take
good care never to tell it to any. According to that which God hath
revealed unto me, the tribulation wherein you now are hath betided you
because of a sin committed by you aforetime, which God the Lord hath
chosen in part to purge with this present annoy and will have
altogether amended of you; else will you fall into far greater
affliction.' 'Sir,' answered the lady, 'I have many sins and know not
which one, more than another, God the Lord would have me amend;
wherefore, an you know it, tell me and I will do what I may to amend
it.' 'Madam,' rejoined the pilgrim, 'I know well enough what it is,
nor do I question you thereof the better to know it, but to the intent
that, telling it yourself, you may have the more remorse thereof. But
let us come to the fact; tell me, do you remember, ever to have had a
lover?'
The lady, hearing this, heaved a deep sigh and marvelled sore,
supposing none had ever known it, albeit, in the days when he was
slain who had been buried for Tedaldo, there had been some whispering
thereof, for certain words not very discreetly used by Tedaldo's
confidant, who knew it; then answered, 'I see that God discovereth
unto you all men's secrets, wherefore I am resolved not to hide mine
own from you. True it is that in my youth I loved over all the
ill-fortuned youth whose death is laid to my husband's charge, which
death I have bewept as sore as it was grievous to me, for that, albeit
I showed myself harsh and cruel to him before his departure, yet
neither his long absence nor his unhappy death hath availed to tear
him from my heart.' Quoth the pilgrim, 'The hapless youth who is dead
you never loved, but Tedaldo Elisei ay.[176] But tell me, what was the
occasion of your falling out with him? Did he ever give you any
offence?' 'Certes, no,' replied she; 'he never offended against me;
the cause of the breach was the prate of an accursed friar, to whom I
once confessed me and who, when I told him of the love I bore Tedaldo
and the privacy I had with him, made such a racket about my ears that
I tremble yet to think of it, telling me that, an I desisted not
therefrom, I should go in the devil's mouth to the deepest deep of
hell and there be cast into everlasting fire; whereupon there entered
into me such a fear that I altogether determined to forswear all
further converse with him, and that I might have no occasion
therefor, I would no longer receive his letters or messages; albeit I
believe, had he persevered awhile, instead of getting him gone (as I
presume) in despair, that, seeing him, as I did, waste away like snow
in the sun, my harsh resolve would have yielded, for that I had no
greater desire in the world.'
[Footnote 176: _i.e._ It was not the dead man, but Tedaldo Elisei whom
you loved. (_Lo sventurato giovane che fu morto non amasti voi mai, ma
Tedaldo Elisei si._)]
'Madam,' rejoined the pilgrim, 'it is this sin alone that now
afflicteth you. I know for certain that Tedaldo did you no manner of
violence; whenas you fell in love with him, you did it of your own
free will, for that he pleased you; and as you yourself would have it,
he came to you and enjoyed your privacy, wherein both with words and
deeds you showed him such complaisance that, if he loved you before,
you caused his love redouble a thousandfold. And this being so (as I
know it was) what cause should have availed to move you so harshly to
withdraw yourself from him? These things should be pondered awhile
beforehand and if you think you may presently have cause to repent
thereof, as of ill doing, you ought not to do them. You might, at your
pleasure, have ordained of him, as of that which belonged to you, that
he should no longer be yours; but to go about to deprive him of
yourself, you who were his, was a theft and an unseemly thing, whenas
it was not his will. Now you must know that I am a friar and am
therefore well acquainted with all their usances; and if I speak
somewhat at large of them for your profit, it is not forbidden me, as
it were to another; nay, and it pleaseth me to speak of them, so you
may henceforward know them better than you appear to have done in the
past.
Friars of old were very pious and worthy men, but those who nowadays
style themselves friars and would be held such have nothing of the
monk but the gown; nor is this latter even that of a true friar, for
that,--whereas of the founders of the monastic orders they[177] were
ordained strait and poor and of coarse stuff and demonstrative[178] of
the spirit of the wearers, who testified that they held things
temporal in contempt whenas they wrapped their bodies in so mean a
habit,--those of our time have them made full and double and glossy
and of the finest cloth and have brought them to a quaint pontifical
cut, insomuch that they think it no shame to flaunt it withal
peacock-wise, in the churches and public places, even as do the laity
with their apparel; and like as with the sweep-net the fisher goeth
about to take many fishes in the river at one cast, even so these,
wrapping themselves about with the amplest of skirts, study to
entangle therein great store of prudish maids and widows and many
other silly women and men, and this is their chief concern over any
other exercise; wherefore, to speak more plainly, they have not the
friar's gown, but only the colours thereof.
[Footnote 177: _i.e._ friars' gowns. Boccaccio constantly uses this
irregular form of enallage, especially in dialogue.]
[Footnote 178: Or, as we should nowadays say, "typical."]
Moreover, whereas the ancients[179] desired the salvation of mankind,
those of our day covet women and riches and turn their every thought
to terrifying the minds of the foolish with clamours and
depicturements[180] and to making believe that sins may be purged with
almsdeeds and masses, to the intent that unto themselves (who, of
poltroonery, not of devoutness, and that they may not suffer
fatigue,[181] have, as a last resort, turned friars) one may bring
bread, another send wine and a third give them a dole of money for the
souls of their departed friends. Certes, it is true that almsdeeds and
prayers purge away sins; but, if those who give alms knew on what
manner folks they bestow them, they would or keep them for themselves
or cast them before as many hogs. And for that these[182] know that,
the fewer the possessors of a great treasure, the more they live at
ease, every one of them studieth with clamours and bugbears to detach
others from that whereof he would fain abide sole possessor. They
decry lust in men, in order that, they who are chidden desisting from
women, the latter may be left to the chiders; they condemn usury and
unjust gains, to the intent that, it being entrusted to them to make
restitution thereof, they may, with that which they declare must bring
to perdition him who hath it, make wide their gowns and purchase
bishopricks and other great benefices.
[Footnote 179: _i.e._ the founders of the monastic orders.]
[Footnote 180: Lit. pictures, paintings (_dipinture_), but evidently
here used in a tropical sense, Boccaccio's apparent meaning being that
the hypocritical friars used to terrify their devotees by picturing to
them, in vivid colours, the horrors of the punishment reserved for
sinners.]
[Footnote 181: _i.e._ may not have to labour for their living.]
[Footnote 182: _i.e._ the false friars.]
And when they are taken to task of these and many other unseemly
things that they do, they think that to answer, "Do as we say and not
as we do," is a sufficient discharge of every grave burden, as if it
were possible for the sheep to be more constant and stouter to resist
temptation[183] than the shepherds. And how many there be of those to
whom they make such a reply who apprehend it not after the
fashion[184] in which they say it, the most part of them know. The
monks of our day would have you do as they say, to wit, fill their
purses with money, trust your secrets to them, observe chastity,
practise patience and forgiveness of injuries and keep yourselves from
evil speaking,--all things good, seemly and righteous; but why would
they have this? So they may do that, which if the laity did,
themselves could not do. Who knoweth not that without money idleness
may not endure? An thou expend thy monies in thy pleasures, the friar
will not be able to idle it in the monastery; an thou follow after
women, there will be no room for him, and except thou be patient or a
forgiver of injuries, he will not dare to come to thy house to corrupt
thy family. But why should I hark back after every particular? They
condemn themselves in the eyes of the understanding as often as they
make this excuse. An they believe not themselves able to abstain and
lead a devout life, why do they not rather abide at home? Or, if they
will e'en give themselves unto this,[185] why do they not ensue that
other holy saying of the Gospel, "Christ began to do and to
teach?"[186] Let them first do and after teach others. I have in my
time seen a thousand of them wooers, lovers and haunters, not of lay
women alone, but of nuns; ay, and of those that make the greatest
outcry in the pulpit. Shall we, then, follow after these who are thus
fashioned? Whoso doth it doth that which he will, but God knoweth if
he do wisely.
[Footnote 183: Lit. more of iron (_più di ferro_).]
[Footnote 184: Sic (_per lo modo_); but _quære_ not rather "in the
sense."]
[Footnote 185: _i.e._ if they must enter upon this way of life, to
wit, that of the friar.]
[Footnote 186: The reference is apparently to the opening verse of the
Acts of the Apostles, where Luke says, "The former treatise have I
made, O Theophilus, of all that Jesus began to do and to teach." It
need hardly be remarked that the passage in question does not bear the
interpretation Boccaccio would put upon it.]
But, granted even we are to allow that which the friar who chid you
said to you, to wit, that it is a grievous sin to break the marriage
vow, is it not a far greater sin to rob a man and a greater yet to
slay him or drive him into exile, to wander miserably about the world?
Every one must allow this. For a woman to have converse with a man is
a sin of nature; but to rob him or slay him or drive him into exile
proceedeth from malignity of mind. That you robbed Tedaldo I have
already shown you, in despoiling him of yourself, who had become his
of your spontaneous will, and I say also that, so far as in you lay,
you slew him, for that it was none of your fault,--showing yourself,
as you did, hourly more cruel,--that he slew not himself with his own
hand; and the law willeth that whoso is the cause of the ill that is
done be held alike guilty with him who doth it. And that you were the