though he be but of meane and base condition, yet it plainely
appeareth, that he is of no deject or common understanding. And
seeing, that without further clamour and noyse, he could not find
out the party he looked for, he concluded, not to win eternall
shame, by compassing a poore revenge: but rather (by way of
admonition) to let the offender know in a word, that he was both noted
and observed. So turning to them all, he saide; He that hath done
it, let him be silent, and doe so no more, and now depart about your
businesse.
Some other turbulent spirited man, no imprisonments, tortures,
examinations, and interrogations, could have served his turne; by
which course of proceeding, he makes the shame to be publikely knowne,
which reason requireth to keepe concealed. But admit that condigne
vengeance were taken, it diminisheth not one tittle of the shame,
neither qualifieth the peoples bad affections, who will lash out as
liberally in scandal, and upon the very least babling rumor. Such
therfore as heard the Kings words, few though they were, yet truly
wise; marvelled much at them, and by long examinations among
themselves, questioned, but came far short of his meaning; the man
onely excepted whom indeed they concerned, and by whom they were never
discovered, so long as the King lived, neither did he dare at any time
after, to hazard his life in the like action, under the frownes or
favour of Fortune.
THE THIRD DAY, THE THIRD NOVELL
DECLARING, THAT THE LEWD QUALITIES OF SOME PERSONS, OFTENTIMES
MISGUIDE GOOD PEOPLE, INTO GREAT AND GREEVOUS ERRORS.
Under colour of Confession, and of a most pure conscience, a faire
yong Gentlewoman, being amourously affected to an honest man,
induced a devoute and solemne religious Friar, to advise her in the
meanes (without his suspition or perceiving) how to enjoy the
benefit of her friend, and bring her desires to their full effect.
When Madam Pampinea sate silent, and the Querries boldnesse equalled
with his crafty cunning, and great wisedom in the King had passed
amongst them with a generall applause; the Queene turning her selfe to
Madam Philomena, appointed her to follow next in order as the rest had
done before her: whereupon Philomena began after this maner.
It is my purpose, to acquaint you with a notable mockerie, which was
performed (not in jest, but earnest) by a faire Gentlewoman, to a
grave and devoute Religious Friar, which will yeelde so much the
more pleasure and recreation, to every secular understander, if but
diligently he or she doe observe, how commonly those Religious persons
(at least the most part of them) like notorious fooles, are the
inventers of new courses and customes, as thinking themselves more
wise and skilful in all things then any other; yet prove to be of no
worth or validity, addicting the verie best of all their devices, to
expresse their owne vilenesse of mind, and fatten themselves in
their styes like to pampered Swine. And assure your selves worthy
Ladies, that I doe not tell this tale onely to follow the order
enjoyned me; but also to informe you that such Saint-like holy Sirs,
of whom we are too opinionate and credulous, may be, yea and are
(divers times) cunningly met withall, in theyr craftinesse, not
onely by men, but likewise some of our owne sexe, as shall make it
apparant to you.
In our owne City (more full of craft and deceit, then love or
faithfull dealing) there lived not many yeeres since, a Gentlewoman of
good spirit, highly minded, endued with beauty and all commendable
qualities, as any other woman (by nature) could be. Her name, or any
others, concerned in this Novel, I meane not to make manifest,
albeit I know them, because some are yet living, and thereby may be
scindalized; and therefore it shall suffice to passe them over with
a smile. This Gentlewoman, seeing her selfe to be descended of very
great parentage, and (by chance) married to an Artezan, a Cloathyer or
Draper, that lived by the making and selling of cloth. Shee could
not (because he was a Tradesman) take downe the height of her minde;
conceiving, that no man of meane condition (how rich soever) was
worthy to enjoy a Gentlewoman in marriage. Observing moreover, that
with all his wealth and treasure, he understood nothing better, then
to open skeines of yarne, fill shuttles lay webbes in his Loomes, or
dispute with his Spinsters, about their businesse.
Being thus over-swayed with her proud opinion, she would no longer
be embraced or regarded by him in any manner, saving only because
she could not refuse him, but would find some other for her better
satisfaction, who might seeme more worthy of her respect, then the
Draper her Husband did. Heereupon shee fell so deepe in love with a
verie honest man of our City also, and of indifferent yeeres, as
what day shee saw him not, shee could take no rest the night
ensuing. The man himselfe knew nothing hereof, and therefore was the
more carelesse: and she being curious, nice, yet wisely considerate,
durst not let him understand it, neither by any womans close
conveyed message, nor yet by Letters, as fearing the perils which
happen in such cases. But her eye observing his dayly walkes and
resorts, gave her notice of his often conversing with a religious
Friar, who albeit he was a fat and corpulent man, yet notwithstanding,
because he seemed to leade a sanctimonious life, and was reported to
be a most honest man, she perswaded her selfe, that he might be the
best meanes betweene her and her friend.
Having considered with her selfe, what course was best to be
observed in this case; uppon a day apt and convenient, she went to the
Convent where he kept, and having caused him to be called, shee told
him, that if his leysure so served, very gladly would she be
confessed, and onely had made her choice of him. The holy man seeing
her to be a Gentlewoman (as indeed she was) willingly heard her; and
when she had confessed what she could, she had yet another matter to
acquaint him withall, and thereupon thus she began.
Holy Father, it is no more then convenient that I should have
recourse to you, to be assisted by your helpe and counsell, in a
matter which I will impart unto you. I know, that you are not ignorant
of my parents and husband, of whom I am affected as deerely as his
life, for proofe whereof, there is not any thing that I can desire,
but immediately I have it of him, he being a most rich man, and may
very sufficiently affoord it. In regard whereof, I love him equally as
my selfe, and (setting aside my best endevours for him) I must tell
you one thing quite contrary to his liking and honour: no woman
could more worthily deserve death, then my selfe. Understand then
(good Father) that there is a man, whose name I know not, but he
seemeth to be honest, and of good worth; moreover (if I am not
deceived) he resorteth oftentimes to you, being faire and comely of
person, going alwayes in blacke garments of good price and value. This
man, imagining (perhaps) no such minde in mee, as truely there is;
hath often attempted mee, and never can I be at my doore, or window,
but hee is alwayes present in my sight, which is not a little
displeasing to me; he watcheth my walks, and much I mervaile, that
he is not now heere.
Let me tell you holy Sir, that such behaviours doe many times lay
bad imputations upon very honest women, yet without any offence in
them. It hath often run in my mind, to let him have knowledge
thereof my min by my brethren: but afterward I considered, that men
(many times) deliver messages in such sort, as draw on very ungentle
answers, whereon grow words, and words beget actions. In which regard,
because no harme or scandall should ensue, I thought it best to be
silent; determining, to acquaint you rather therewith, then to any
other, as wel because you seem to be his friend, as also in regard
of your office, which priviledgeth you to correct such abuses, not
onely in friends, but also in strangers. Enow other women there are,
(more is the pitty) who perhaps are better disposed to such suites
then I am, and can both like and allow of such courting, otherwise
then I can doe; as being willing to embrace such offers, and (happily)
loath to yeeld deniall. Wherefore, most humbly I entreate you good
Father (even for our blessed Ladies sake) that you would give him a
friendly reprehension, and advise him to use such unmanly meanes no
more heereafter. With which words, she hung downe her bead in her
bosome, cunningly dissembling, as if shee wept, wiping her eyes with
her Handkerchife, when not a teare fel from them, but indeed were
dry enough.
The holy Religious man, so soone as he heard her description of
the man, presently knew whom shee meant, and highly commending the
Gentlewoman for her good and vertuous seeming disposition, beleeved
faithfully all that shee had said: promising her, to order the
matter so well and discreetly, as shee should not any more bee
offended. And knowing her to be a woman of great wealth (after all
their usuall manner, when they cast forth their fishing nets for
gaine:) liberally he commeuned Almesdeeds, and dayly workes of
Charity, recounting to her beside his owne particular necessities.
Then, giving him two peeces of Gold, she said: I pray you (good
Father) to be mindfull of me, and if he chance to make any deniall,
tell him, that I spake it my selfe to you, and by the way of a sad
complaint her confession being ended, and penance easie enough
enjoyned her, she promised to make her parents bountifull
Benefactors to the Convent, and put more money into his hand, desiring
him in his Masses, to remember the soules of her deceased friends, and
so returned home to her house.
Within a short while after her departure, the Gentleman, of whome
she made this counterfeit complaint, came thither, as was his usuall
manner, and having done his duty to the holy Father, they sate downe
together privately, falling out of one discourse into another. At
the length, the Friar (in very loving and friendly sort) mildly
reproved him for such amorous glaunces, and other pursuites, which (as
he thought) he dayly used to the Gentlewoman, according to her owne
speeches. The Gentleman mervalled greatly thereat, as one that had
never seene her, and very sildome passed by the way where shee
dwelt, which made him the bolder in his answeres; wherein the
Confessour interrupting him, saide. Never make such admiration at
the matter, neyther waste more words in deniall, because they cannot
serve thy turne; I tell thee plainely, I heard these words even from
her owne selfe, in a very sorowfull and sad complaint. And though
(perhaps) heereafter, thou canst very hardly refraine such follies;
yet let me tell thee so much of her (and under the seale of absolute
assurance) that she is the onely woman of the world, who to my
judgement, doth abhorre all such base behaviour. In regard therefore
of thine owne honour, as also not to vex and prejudice so vertuous a
Gentlewoman, I pray thee refraine such idlenesse henceforward, and
suffer her to live in peace.
The Gentleman being a little wiser then his ghostly Father,
perceived immediately, the notable pollicy of the Woman. Whereupon,
making somewhat bashfull appearance of any error already committed, he
said; He would afterward be better advised. So departing from the
Friar, hee went on directly, to passe by the house where the
Gentlewoman dwelt, and shee stood alwayes ready on her watch, at a
little Window, to observe when he would walke that way. And seeing him
comming, shee shewed her selfe so joyfull and gracious to him, as he
easily understood, whereto the substance of the holy Fathers chiding
tended. And from that time forward, he used dayly though in covert
manner (to the no litle liking of the Gentlewoman and himselfe) to
make his passage thorough that street, under colour of some
important occasions there concerning him.
Soone after, it being plainely discerned on either side, that the
one was as well contented with these walkes, as the other could be:
she desired to enflame him a little further, by a more liberall
illustration of her affection towards him, when time and place
affoorded convenient opportunity. To the holy Father againe she
went, (for she had beene too long from shrift) and kneeling downe at
his feete, intended to begin her confession in teares; which the Friar
perceiving, sorrowfully demanded of her; what accident had happened?
Holy Father (quoth shee) no novell accident, only your wicked and
ungracious friend, by whom (since I was heere with you, yea, no longer
agoe then yesterday) I have been so wronged, as I verily beleeve
that he was borne to bee my mortall enemy, and to make me do
somthing to my utter disgrace for ever; and whereby I shall not dare
to be seene any more of you my deare Father. How is this? answered the
Friar, hath he not refrained from afflicting you so abusively?
Pausing a while, and breathing foorth many a dissembled sighe,
thus shee replyed. No truely, holy Father, there is no likelyhood of
his abstaining; for since I made my complaint to you, he belike taking
it in evil part, to bee contraried in his wanton humours, hath
(meerely in despight) walked seaven times in a day by my doore,
whereas formerly he never used it above once or twice. And well were
it (good Father) if he could be contented with those walkes, and
gazing glances which hee dartes at me: but growne he is so bolde and
shamelesse, that even yesterday, (as I tolde you) hee sent a woman
to me, one of his Pandoraes, as it appeared, and as if I had wanted
either Purses or Girdies, hee sent me by her, a Purse and a Girdle.
Whereat I grew so greevously offended, as had it not bene for my due
respect and feare of God, and next the sacred reverence I beare to you
my ghostly Father, doubtlesse I had done some wicked deede.
Neverthelesse, happily I withstood it, and wil neither say or do any
thing in this case, till first I have made it knowne to you.
Then I called to minde, that having redelivered the Purse and Girdle
