3-3 lady confessing

NOVEL III. 

A lady, under pretence of confessing, and a pure conscience, being in love with a young gentleman, makes a sanctified friar bring them together, without his knowing anything of her intention. 

The boldness and great subtlety of the groom having been as much commended as the king's extraordinary discretion, Filomena, at the queen's desire, next began as follows: 

- I design to acquaint you with a trick, that a certain lady put upon a grave friar, which will be so much the more agreeable to us lay-people, as such folk think themselves both better and wiser than the rest of mankind, whereas they are quite the reverse, being for the most part persons who are unable to raise themselves in the world, and therefore fall back upon a profession which insures their being fed like swine. I shall tell this story then, ladies, in compliance with the order I have received, and show you, that even the clergy themselves, to whom we over-credulous women yield too implicit a faith, may be, and often are, tricked and imposed on, not by men only, but even by our own sex. 

In our city (more full of craft and deceit than of friendship and faithful dealing) there lived not long since a lady, who, in point of beauty, high bred deportment, and subtle wit, was not inferior to any of her sex; her name, as well as that of every other person concerned in this novel, I shall beg leave to conceal, out of regard to some persons who might be offended, but who may now let the story pass with a smile. This lady, knowing herself to be nobly descended, and being married to a clothier, could by no means bring down her spirit, which made her look upon a tradesman, however rich he might be, as unworthy to mate with a gentlewoman. She saw with disgust that her husband, for all his wealth, had not the least understanding in anything out of his own business, and she determined not to admit of his embraces any farther than she was obliged, but to make choice of a gallant that should be more worthy of her. Accordingly she fell in love with a gentleman, of suitable years, to that degree, that unless she saw him every day, she could get no rest at night. But he, knowing nothing of the matter, had not the least regard to her; whilst she was so cautious, that she would trust neither to letters nor messages for fear of danger. Finding, however, that the object of her choice was much acquainted with a certain friar, one of a gross person, yet esteemed by all as a very religious man, she judged that he would be the fittest agent to go between her and her lover. After maturely considering which would be the best method to take, she went one day to that church to which the friar belonged, and having called him aside, she told him that, when he was at leisure, she had a mind to confess. 

The friar, seeing her to be a person of distinction, immediately heard her confession, and when that was over, she said, "Father, I require your advice and assistance upon a matter I will explain to you. I have told you of my relations and my husband, who loves me more than his own life, and who, as he is very rich, obliges me in everything that I ask for; for which reason I love him more than I do myself; and were I capable so much as of harbouring a thought, not to speak of doing an act, which should be contrary to his wishes and his honour, I should deem no woman more deserving of death than myself. Now there is a person whose name I am a stranger to, but who seems to be of some figure, and is, if I mistake not, an acquaintance of yours, a tall handsome man, very elegantly dressed in brown, who, being unacquainted, perhaps, with my upright intentions, seems to lay constant wait for me. I can never stir out of doors, or so much as go to the window, but he is always there: I wonder he is not after me now; which gives me infinite concern, because such things often bring unmerited scandal upon virtuous ladies. Sometimes I have thought of letting my brothers know; but then I considered that men frequently deliver messages in such a manner, that words ensue, and from words, blows; therefore, to prevent both scandal and mischief, I have hitherto held my tongue, resolving to acquaint you, rather than any other person, both because you are his friend, and because it is your duty to correct such abuses, not only in friends, but also in strangers. I entreat you then, for God's sake, that you would exhort him to leave off those ways; there are other ladies enough, who may be of that stamp, and would be proud of a gallant; but I am another sort of person, and such a thing gives me the greatest uneasiness." Having said this, she hung down her head, as if she was going to weep. 

The holy father immediately understood who was the person she meant; and having commended her for her good disposition, believing it was all true that she said, he promised to take care that she should have no more disturbance of that kind; and knowing her to be rich, he concluded by recommending to her works of charity and alms-giving, not forgetting to mention his own particular necessities. The lady then said, "I beg of you, sir, if he should deny it, to tell him without any scruple, that I informed you myself, and am very uneasy about it." Having now confessed, and remembering what he had told her concerning charity, she put a sum of money into his hand, desiring he would say mass for the souls of her deceased friends; and rising from before his feet, she departed to her own house. In some little time the gentleman came according to custom, to the friar, who, after talking awhile to him upon indifferent matters, took him aside, and reproved him in a gentle manner for his design upon the lady. The other was much surprised, having never taken any notice of her, and but seldom passed by the house, and he would have excused himself, but the friar would not suffer him. "Never pretend to be surprised," he said, "nor spend your breath in denying it, for it is to no manner of purpose: this is no common report; I had it from her own lips. Such behaviour is very unbecoming in you; and, let me tell you, if there is a woman in the world averse to such follies, it is she: therefore, for her comfort, and your own credit, I exhort you to refrain, and let her live in quiet." The gentleman, more quick of apprehension than the friar, easily took the lady's meaning, and pretending to be out of countenance, promised to concern himself with her no more. He then left the friar, and went straightway towards the lady's house. There she was, looking out for him at the window, as usual, and she appeared so gracious and well pleased at the sight of him, that he found himself not mistaken: and from that time he used frequently to pass that way under pretence of business, to her great satisfaction. 

After some time, when the lady perceived that she was as agreeable to him as he was to her, she had a mind to give him some farther proofs of her affection. To the friar she went again, and throwing herself at his feet in the church, began to lament most grievously. Thereupon he asked, with a great deal of concern, what new unpleasantness had happened? She replied, "It is only that accursed friend of yours, of whom I complained to you the other day: I think, in my conscience, he is born to be a perpetual plague to me, and to make mc do what I should never think of otherwise; nor shall I ever dare afterwards to lay myself at your feet." - "What," said the friar, "does he continue still to give you trouble?" - "Indeed, sir," quoth she, 'since I made my complaint to you, he seems to do it out of mere spite; and for once that he used to come our way before, he now passes at least seven times. And would to God those walks and wanton gazings would content him; but he is now growing so audacious and impudent that no longer since than yesterday, he sent a woman to my house with his nonsense, and a present of a purse and girdle, as if I had wanted purses and girdles; at which I was, and am still, so much offended, that, had not the fear of God, and regard to you, prevented me, I had certainly done some wicked thing or other. But I kept my temper, nor would I do or say anything till I had first made you acquainted. Moreover, I returned those things to the woman that brought them, bidding her carry them back, and I sent her away with a flea in her ear; but fearing afterwards lest she might keep them herself, and tell him I had received them, as I am told those people often do, I called her back, and took them out of her hand in a passion, and here I have now brought them to you, that you may give them to him again, and tell him, that I want nothing that belongs to him; for, thank God and my husband, I have purses and girdles enough. Therefore, good father, I now tell you, that if he does not desist, I will immediately acquaint my husband and my brothers; for, happen what may, I had much rather that he should suffer, if it must be so, than that I myself should bear any blame on his account." 

Having said this, she took a rich purse and a very pretty girdle from under her gown, shedding abundance of tears, and threw them into the friar's lap; and he, believing all she had told him, was incensed beyond measure. "I do not wonder, daughter," said he, "that you make yourself uneasy for these things, nor can I blame you; but I much commend you for following my instructions. I reproved him the other day, and he has ill performed what he promised; however, I will give him such a reprimand for what he has done before, and now also, that he shall be no more a plague to you. For Heaven's sake then, do not suffer yourself to be hurried away by passion, so as to tell any one; because it may be of bad consequence. Never fear any blame to yourself, for I will bear testimony to your virtue before God and man." 

The lady seemed to be a little comforted; and changing the subject, as one who well knew the covetousness of him and his brethern, "Holy father," she said, "for some nights past many of my relations have appeared to me in a vision, demanding alms; especially my mother, who seemed to be in such affliction, that it was terrible to behold. I believe it comes of her concern to see me in all this trouble, through this most wicked fellow. Therefore I desire, for the sake of their souls, that you would say the forty masses of St. Gregory, that God may deliver them from that fiery penance;" and having said this, she put a gold florin into his hand. The holy father received it very cheerfully, confirmed her devotion by good words, and divers examples, and, having given her his blessing, let her depart. 

When she was gone, never thinking how he was imposed upon, he sent for his friend, who, finding him a little out of temper, supposed he had been discoursing with the lady, and waited to hear what he would say. The friar accordingly reiterated his former reproofs, chiding him severely for what the lady had now complained of concerning his offered present. The honest gentleman, who as yet could not tell to what all this tended, but faintly affected to deny his sending a purse and girdle, that he might pot be entirely discredited by the good man, if it should have happened that the lady had given him any such thing. But the friar cried out in a passion, "How can you deny it, you wicked man? Behold, here it is; she herself brought it me with tears: see if you know it again." The gentleman appeared quite ashamed, and said, "Yes, indeed, I know it: I confess that I have done very ill, and, I promise you, now I know her disposition, that you shall hear no more complaints upon that score." After many such words, the simple friar gave him the purse and girdle; and, exhorting him to do so no more, let him go about his business. 

The gentleman, now convinced of the lady's good will towards him, and that this was her present, went overjoyed to a place where he cautiously contrived to let the lady see both the purse and girdle in his possession, which gave her great satisfaction, as her scheme seemed now to take effect. Nothing was wanting now to complete it but the husband's absence, and it fell out soon after, that he was obliged to go to Genoa. 

No sooner had he mounted his horse, and departed, than she went again to the holy man, and, after making great complaints and lamentations, she said, "Good father, I tell you plainly that I can no longer suffer this; but, as I promised to do nothing without first consulting you, I am come to excuse myself to you; and, to convince you that I have great reason to be uneasy, I will tell you what your friend, that devil incarnate, did this very morning. I know not by what ill fortune he came to know that my husband went to Genoa yesterday, but so it is, this morning he came into my garden, and got up by a tree to my window, that looks into the garden, opened it, and would have come into the chamber, only I jumped up, and was beginning to cry out, and certainly should have done so, had he not begged of me, for Heaven's sake and yours, to be merciful; telling me who he was: upon which I ran and shut the window. Now judge you if these things are to be endured; it is upon your account only, that I have suffered them so long." 

The friar was the most uneasy man in the world at hearing this: - "And are you sure," said he, "that it was that person, and no other?" - "Bless me!" quoth she, "do you think I could be so mistaken? I tell you it was he; and if he should deny it, don't believe him." 

- "Daughter," quoth the friar, "I can say no more than that it was a most vile, audacious action, and you have done your duty: but I beg of you, as God has preserved you hitherto from dishonour, and you have followed my advice twice before, that you would do so now: leave it then to me, without saying a word to any of your relations, and see if I cannot manage this devil unchained, whom I always took for a saint. If I can reclaim him from this lewdness, it will be well; if not, along with my best benedictions, I shall give you leave to do as you shall think most proper." - "For this once, then," quoth she, "I will give you no trouble; but do you take care that he be not offensive for the time to come, for I promise you I will come no more to you upon his account;"and, without more words, she went away, apparently very angry. 

She was scarcely got out of the church, when in came the gentleman. The friar instantly took him aside, and assailed him with all the opprobrious language that could be used to a man, calling him villain, perjurer, traitor; whilst he, who had twice before found himself none the worse for these rebukes, listened very attentively, and endeavoured, by affecting great perplexity, to draw out the friar, and make him come to the point. "Why, what have I done," he said, "to deserve this treatment?" "Done! "cried the friar, "Mark the impudence of the fellow! he speaks for all the world as though these things had happened years ago, and were now quite out of his mind. Pray, have you forgotten whom you insulted this morning? Where were you a little before day-break?" -"That I cannot tell," replied the other; "but you soon heard of it, wherever I was." - "You say right," quoth he, "I did hear of it: I suppose you thought yourself sure, now the husband is from home? A very pretty fellow, truly! he gets into people's gardens in the night, and climbs up the walls by the help of the trees! You think, I suppose, that you will be able to seduce the lady by your importunity, that you get up to the windows at nights in that manner. There is nothing she so much detests as yourself, and yet you will persist. Truly, you are much the better for what has been said to you; but I assure you, she has hitherto held her peace purely at my request, and not out of the least regard to you: but she will conceal it no longer; and I have now consented, if you give her any farther disturbance, to let her take her own course. What would become of you, should she tell her brothers?" The gallant now perceived what he had to do, and, having quieted the friar with large promises, he bade him adieu. That night he got into the garden, and so up by the tree to the window, which was open, and where the lady stood expecting him. She received him with much joy, giving many thanks to the holy father for showing him the way; and from that time forth they had frequent opportunities of being together, without standing any farther in need of such a mediator. 

[This story is related in Henry Stephens' introduction to the "Apology of Herodotus.” 

It is told of a lady of Orleans, who in like manner employed the intervention of her confessor, to lure to her arms a scholar of whom she was enamoured. The tale of Boccaccio has suggested to Moliere his play of "L'École des Maris,” where Isabella enters into correspondence, and at length effects a marriage with her lover, by complaining to her guardian, Sganarelle, in the same manner as the clothier's wife to her confessor. Otway's comedy of the "Soldier's Fortune,” in which Lady Dunce employs her husband to deliver the ring and letter to her admirer, Captain Belguard, also derives its origin from this tale.]