[004]
Know then that there was in
Florence a young noble, his name Tedaldo Elisei, who being beyond
measure enamoured of a lady hight Monna Ermellina, wife of one
Aldobrandino Palermini, and by reason of his admirable qualities
richly deserving to have his desire,
[005]
found Fortune nevertheless adverse,
as she is wont to be to the prosperous. Inasmuch as, for some reason
or another, the lady, having shewn herself gracious towards Tedaldo
for a while, completely altered her mien, and not only shewed him no
further favour, but would not so much as receive a message from him
or suffer him to see her face; whereby he fell a prey to a grievous
and distressful melancholy; but so well had he concealed his love
that the cause of his melancholy was surmised by none.
[006]
He tried
hard in divers ways to recover the love which he deemed himself to
have lost for no fault of his, and finding all his efforts unavailing, he
resolved to bid the world adieu, that he might not afford her
who was the cause of his distress the satisfaction of seeing him
languish. So he got together as much money as he might, and
secretly, no word said to friend or kinsman except only a familiar
gossip, who knew all, he took his departure for Ancona. Arrived
there, he assumed the name of Filippo Santodeccio, and having
forgathered with a rich merchant, entered his service. The merchant
took him with him to Cyprus aboard one of his ships,
[007]
and was so well
pleased with his bearing and behaviour that he not only gave him a
handsome salary but made him in a sort his companion, and entrusted
him with the management of no small part of his affairs: wherein he
proved himself so apt and assiduous, that in the course of a few years
he was himself established in credit and wealth and great repute as a
merchant. Seven years thus passed, during which, albeit his thoughts
frequently reverted to his cruel mistress, and sorely love smote him,
and much he yearned to see her again, yet such was his firmness that
he came off conqueror,
[008]
until one day in Cyprus it so befell that
there was sung in his hearing a song that he had himself composed,
and of which the theme was the mutual love that was between his
lady and him, and the delight that he had of her; which as he heard,
he found it incredible that she should have forgotten him, and burned
with such a desire to see her once more, that, being able to hold out
no longer, he made up his mind to return to Florence.
[009]
So, having
set all his affairs in order, he betook him, attended only by a single
servant, to Ancona; whence he sent all his effects, as they arrived,
forward to Florence, consigning them to a friend of his Ancontan
partner, and followed with his servant in the disguise of a pilgrim
returned from the Holy Sepulchre. Arrived at Florence, he put
up at a little hostelry kept by two brothers hard by his lady's house,
[010]
whither he forthwith hied him, hoping that, perchance, he might
have sight of her from the street; but, finding all barred and
bolted, doors, windows and all else, he doubted much, she must be
dead, or have removed thence. So, with a very heavy heart, he
returned to the house of the two brothers, and to his great surprise
found his own four brothers standing in front of it, all in black. He
knew that he was so changed from his former semblance, both in dress
and in person, that he might not readily be recognized, and he had
therefore no hesitation in going up to a shoemaker and asking him
why these men were all dressed in black.
[011]
The shoemaker answered:
"'Tis because 'tis not fifteen days since a brother of theirs, Tedaldo
by name, that had been long abroad, was slain; and I understand
that they have proved in court that one Aldobrandino Palermini,
who is under arrest, did the deed, because Tedaldo, who loved his
wife, was come back to Florence incognito to forgather with her."
[012]
Tedaldo found it passing strange that there should be any one so
like him as to be mistaken for him, and deplored Aldobrandino's evil
plight. He had learned, however, that the lady was alive and well.
So, as 'twas now night, he hied him, much perplexed in mind, into
the inn, and supped with his servant. The bedroom assigned him
was almost at the top of the house,
[013]
and the bed was none of the
best. Thoughts many and disquieting haunted his mind, and his
supper had been but light. Whereby it befell that midnight came and
went, and Tedaldo was still awake. As thus he watched, he heard
shortly after midnight, a noise as of persons descending from the roof
into the house, and then through the chinks of the door of his room
he caught the flicker of an ascending light.
[014]
Wherefore he stole
softly to the door, and peeping through a chink to make out what
was afoot, he saw a very fine young woman bearing a light, and three
men making towards her, being evidently those that had descended
from the roof. The men exchanged friendly greetings with the
young woman, and then one said to her:
[015]"Now, God be praised,
we may make our minds easy, for we are well assured that judgment
for the death of Tedaldo Elisei is gotten by his brothers against
Aldobrandino Palermini, and he has confessed, and the sentence is
already drawn up; but still it behoves us to hold our peace; for,
should it ever get abroad that we were guilty, we shall stand in the
like jeopardy as Aldobrandino." So saying, they took leave of the
woman, who seemed much cheered, and went to bed.
[016]
What he
had heard set Tedaldo musing on the number and variety of the
errors to which men are liable: as, first, how his brothers had
mourned and interred a stranger in his stead, and then charged an
innocent man upon false suspicion, and by false witness brought him
into imminent peril of death: from which he passed to ponder the
blind severity of laws and magistrates, who from misguided zeal to
elicit the truth not unfrequently become ruthless, and, adjudging that
which is false, forfeit the title which they claim of ministers of
God and justice, and do but execute the mandates of iniquity and
the Evil One. And so he came at last to consider the possibility
of saving Aldobrandino, and formed a plan for the purpose.
[017]
Accordingly,
on the morrow, when he was risen, he left his servant at the
inn, and hied him alone, at what he deemed a convenient time, to
his lady's house, where, finding, by chance, the door open, he entered,
and saw his lady sitting, all tears and lamentations, in a little parlour
on the ground-floor. Whereat he all but wept for sympathy; and
drawing near her, he said:
"Madam, be not troubled in spirit: your peace is nigh you."
[018]
Whereupon the lady raised her head, and said
between her sobs: "Good man, what dost thou, a pilgrim, if I
mistake not, from distant parts, know either of my peace or of my
affliction?"
[019]
"Madam," returned the pilgrim, "I am of Constantinople,
and am but now come hither, at God's behest, that I may give
you laughter for tears, and deliver your husband from death."
[020]
"But,"
said the lady, "if thou art of Constantinople, and but now arrived,
how is 't that thou knowest either who my husband is, or who I
am?"
[021]
Whereupon the pilgrim gave her the whole narrative, from
the very beginning, of Aldobrandino's sufferings; he also told her,
who she was, how long she had been married, and much besides that
was known to him of her affairs: whereat the lady was lost in
wonder, and, taking him to be a prophet, threw herself on her knees
at his feet, and besought him for God's sake, if he were come to save
Aldobrandino, to lose no time, for the matter brooked no delay.
[022]
Thus
adjured, the pilgrim assumed an air of great sanctity, as he said:
"Arise, Madam, weep not, but hearken diligently to what I shall
say to you, and look to it that you impart it to none. I have it by
revelation of God that the tribulation wherein you stand is come
upon you in requital of a sin which you did once commit, of which
God is minded that this suffering be a partial purgation, and that you
make reparation in full, if you would not find yourself in a far
more grievous plight."
[023]
"Sir," replied the lady, "many sins have I
committed, nor know I how among them all to single out that
whereof, more than another, God requires reparation at my hands:
wherefore, if you know it, tell it me, and what by way of reparation
I may do, that will I do."
[024]
"Madam," returned the pilgrim, "well
wot I what it is, nor shall I question you thereof for my better
instruction, but that the rehearsal may give you increase of remorse
therefor. But pass we now to fact. Tell me, mind you ever to
have had a lover?"
[025]
Whereat the lady heaved a deep sigh; then,
marvelling not a little, for she had thought 'twas known to none,
albeit on the day when the man was slain, who was afterwards buried
as Tedaldo, there had been some buzz about it, occasioned by some
indiscreet words dropped by Tedaldo's gossip and confidant, she made
answer:
[026]
"I see that there is nought that men keep secret but God
reveals it to you; wherefore I shall not endeavour to hide my secrets
from you. True it is that in my youth I was beyond measure
enamoured of the unfortunate young man whose death is imputed to
my husband; whom I mourned with grief unfeigned, for, albeit I
shewed myself harsh and cruel towards him before his departure, yet
neither thereby, nor by his long absence, nor yet by his calamitous
death was my heart estranged from him."
[027]
Then said the pilgrim:
"'Twas not the unfortunate young man now dead that you did love,
but Tedaldo Elisei. But let that pass; now tell me: wherefore lost
he your good graces? Did he ever offend you?"
[028]
"Nay verily,"
answered the lady, "he never offended me at all. My harshness was
prompted by an accursed friar, to whom I once confessed, and who,
when I told him of the love I bore Tedaldo, and my intimacy with
him, made my ears so tingle and sing that I still shudder to think of
it, warning me that, if I gave it not up, I should fall into the jaws of
the Devil in the abyss of hell, and be cast into the avenging fire.
[029]
Whereby I was so terrified that I quite made my mind up to discontinue
my intimacy with him, and, to trench the matter, I would
thenceforth have none of his letters or messages; and so, I suppose,
he went away in despair, though I doubt not, had he persevered a
while longer, I should not have seen him wasting away like snow in
sunshine without relenting of my harsh resolve; for in sooth there
was nothing in the world I would so gladly have done."
[030]
Then said
the pilgrim: "Madam, 'tis this sin, and this only, that has brought
upon you your present tribulation. I know positively that Tedaldo
did never put force upon you: 'twas of your own free will, and for
that he pleased you, that you became enamoured of him: your
constant visitor, your intimate friend he became, because you yourself
would have it so; and in the course of your intimacy you shewed
him such favour by word and deed that, if he loved you first, you
multiplied his love full a thousandfold.
[031]
And if so it was, and well
yourself from him? You should have considered the whole matter
before the die was cast, and not have entered upon it, if you deemed
you might have cause to repent you of it as a sin. As soon as he
became yours, you became his.
[032]
Had he not been yours, you might
have acted as you had thought fit, at your own unfettered discretion;
but, as you were his, 'twas robbery, 'twas conduct most disgraceful,
to sever yourself from him against his will.
[033]
Now you must know
that I am a friar; and therefore all the ways of friars are familiar to
me; nor does it misbecome me, as it might another, to speak for
your behoof somewhat freely of them; as I am minded to do that
you may have better understanding of them in the future than you
would seem to have had in the past.
[034]
Time was when the friars were
most holy and worthy men, but those who to-day take the name and
claim the reputation of friars have nought of the friar save only the
habit: nay, they have not even that: for, whereas their founders
ordained that their habits should be strait, of a sorry sort, and of
coarse stuff, apt symbols of a soul that in arraying the body in so mean
a garb did despite to all things temporal, our modern friars will have
them full, and double, and resplendent, and of the finest stuff, and of
a fashion goodly and pontifical, wherein without shame they flaunt it
like peacocks in the church, in the piazza, even as do the laity in their
robes.
[035]
And as the fisherman casts his net into the stream with
intent to take many fish at one throw: so 'tis the main solicitude and
study, art and craft of these friars to embrace and entangle within
the ample folds of their vast swelling skirts beguines, widows and
other foolish women, ay, and men likewise in great number. Wherefore,
to speak with more exactitude, the friars of to-day have nought
of the habit of the friar save only the colour thereof.
[036]
And, whereas
the friars of old time sought to win men to their salvation, those of
to-day seek to win their women and their wealth; wherefore they
have made it and make it their sole concern by declamation and
imagery to strike terror into the souls of fools, and to make believe
that sins are purged by alms and masses; to the end that they, base
wretches that have fled to friarage not to ensue holiness but to escape
hardship, may receive from this man bread, from that man wine, and
from the other man a donation for masses for the souls of his dead.
[037]
True indeed it is that sins are purged by almsgiving and prayer; but,
did they who give the alms know, did they but understand to whom
or throw them to so many pigs. And, knowing that the fewer be
they that share great riches, the greater their ease, 'tis the study of
each how best by declamation and intimidation to oust others from
that whereof he would fain be the sole owner.
[038]
They censure lust in
men, that, they turning therefrom, the sole use of their women may
remain to the censors: they condemn usury and unlawful gains,
that, being entrusted with the restitution thereof, they may be able
to enlarge their habits, and to purchase bishoprics and other great
preferments with the very money which they have made believe must
bring its possessor to perdition.
[039]
And when they are taxed with these
and many other discreditable practices, they deem that there is no
censure, however grave, of which they may not be quit by their glib
formula: 'Follow our precepts, not our practice:' as if'twere possible
that the sheep should be of a more austere and rigid virtue than the
shepherds. And how many of these, whom they put off with this
formula, understand it not in the way in which they enunciate it, not
a few of them know.
[040]
The friars of to-day would have you follow
their precepts, that is to say, they would have you fill their purses
with coin, confide to them your secrets, practise continence, be
long-suffering,
forgive those that trespass against you, keep yourselves from
evil speaking; all which things are good, seemly, holy. But to what
end? To the end that they may be able to do that which, if the
laity do it, they will not be able to do.
[041]
Who knows not that idleness
cannot subsist without money? Spend thy money on thy pleasures,
and the friar will not be able to live in sloth in his order. Go after
women, and there will be no place for the friar. Be not long-suffering,
pardon not the wrong-doer, and the friar will not dare to
cross thy threshold to corrupt thy family. But wherefore pursue I
the topic through every detail?
[042]
They accuse themselves as often
as they so excuse themselves in the hearing of all that have understanding.
Why seclude they not themselves, if they misdoubt
their power to lead continent and holy lives? Or if they must
needs not live as recluses, why follow they not that other holy
text of the Gospel: Christ began to do and to teach?
[043]
Let
them practise first, and school us with their precepts afterwards. A
thousand such have I seen in my day, admirers, lovers, philanderers,
not of ladies of the world alone, but of nuns; ay, and they too such as
made the most noise in the pulpits. Is it such as they that we are to
follow? He that does so, pleases himself; but God knows if he do
wisely.
[044]
But assume that herein we must allow that your censor, the
friar, spoke truth, to wit, that none may break the marriage-vow
without very grave sin. What then? to rob a man, to slay him, to
make of him an exile and a wanderer on the face of the earth, are not
these yet greater sins?
[045]
None will deny that so they are. A woman
that indulges herself in the intimate use with a man commits but a
sin of nature; but if she rob him, or slay him, or drive him out into
exile, her sin proceeds from depravity of spirit. That you did rob
Tedaldo, I have already shewn you, in that, having of your own free
will become his, you reft you from him.
[046]
I now go further and say
that, so far as in you lay, you slew him, seeing that, shewing yourself
ever more and more cruel, you did your utmost to drive him to take
his own life; and in the law's intent he that is the cause that wrong
is done is as culpable as he that does it.
[047]
Nor is it deniable that you
were the cause that for seven years he has been an exile and a
wanderer upon the face of the earth. Wherefore upon each of the
said three articles you are found guilty of a greater crime than you
committed by your intimacy with him. But consider we the matter
more closely: perchance Tedaldo merited such treatment: nay, but
assuredly 'twas not so. You have yourself so confessed: besides
which I know that he loves you more dearly than himself.
[048]
He
would laud, he would extol, he would magnify you above all other
ladies so as never was heard the like, wheresoever 'twas seemly for
him to speak of you, and it might be done without exciting suspicion.
All his bliss, all his honour, all his liberty he avowed was entirely in
your disposal.
[049]
Was he not of noble birth? And for beauty might
he not compare with the rest of his townsfolk? Did he not excel in
all the exercises and accomplishments proper to youth? Was he not
beloved, held dear, well seen of all men?
[050]
You will not deny it.
How then could you at the behest of a paltry friar, silly, brutish and
envious, bring yourself to deal with him in any harsh sort?
[051]
I cannot
estimate the error of those ladies who look askance on men and hold
them cheap; whereas, bethinking them of what they are themselves,
and what and how great is the nobility with which God has endowed
man above all the other animals, they ought rather to glory in the
love which men give them, and hold them most dear, and with all
zeal study to please them, that so their love may never fail.
[052]
In what
sort you did so, instigated by the chatter of a friar, some broth-guzzling,
pastry-gorging knave without a doubt, you know; and peradventure
his purpose was but to instal himself in the place whence he sought
to oust another.
[053]
This then is the sin which the Divine justice,
which, ever operative, suffers no perturbation of its even balance,
or arrest of judgment, has decreed not to leave unpunished: wherefore,
as without due cause you devised how you might despoil
Tedaldo of yourself, so without due cause your husband has been
placed and is in jeopardy of his life on Tedaldo's account, and to
your sore affliction.
[054]
Wherefrom if you would be delivered, there
is that which you must promise, ay, and (much more) which you
must perform: to wit, that, should it ever betide that Tedaldo return
hither from his long exile, you will restore to him your favour, your
love, your tender regard, your intimacy, and reinstate him in the
position which he held before you foolishly hearkened to the half-witted
friar."
