"In God's name, welcome, my lady!"
"Mercy, sir," she replied, "for I have sinned."
The monk was delighted at the prospect of ministering to so fine a woman. She knelt to begin her confession, and was careful to conceal nothing, but told him everything that bore on her conscience.
"My lady," he said, when she had done, "for your sins, I impose upon you the penance of admitting me to your house and suffering me to have my way with you. Now, don't protest--I'll give you thirty marks."
Quite shocked, she tried anxiously to think of some way out of the situation.
"My dear sir," she replied slowly, "I don't know whether that will be possible. I must first see how things are at home, and then I will let you know what I can arrange. Wait until you hear from me."
The monk leered hungrily, but she had no intentions of complying with his desires. She got up quickly and left.
Once outside, she was more troubled than ever about how the monk had abused her. Now indeed she sorely wanted confession, so she went straight to the monastery of the barefoot Franciscans, who are so diligent at prayers and chanting. One of the monks welcomed her as she came in.
"Mercy, kind sir," she said, for her mind was filled with many a heavy thought.
The lady confessed to him and told him everything that had happened, but the Franciscan behaved no better than had the preaching friar. "I'll give you sixty marks," he promised.
Again the lady said she would see what could be arranged and would send word. Then she got up and left.
When she came out into the street, she was in some anguish. "Dear God," she thought, "what shall I do? I must be confessed!"
She hurried to yet another monastery, where the Augustinian friars went about serving God in their way. Entering, she was greeted cordially by one of the brothers.
"Oh, sir," she said, "hear my confession!"
"With pleasure, I will," he replied, and she spilled out everything at once to him. He prescribed the same penance as had the others, but offered her a hundred marks to perform it, a good sum, considering his order's reputation for austerity. She answered him as she had answered before, and quickly took her leave.
She returned home, went to her chamber, threw off her cloak and began to weep in great confusion and dismay. She cared nothing for the monks with their false doctrines who were after her; she desired only her husband.
He had heard her crying, and came to see what was the matter. "Good wife," he said, "what is troubling you? I have never heard you weep so."
She quickly dried her tears, because she did not want to tell him what had happened, but he would not be put off. "I know tears when I see them," he said. At last she poured out the story, telling him what the monks had demanded, and how she had said that she would try to arrange it.
"Aha!" muttered the husband to himself, "I think my bad fortune is about to change for the better." Then he comforted his wife. "Now, everything is going to be all right. Tell the first monk to come when the vespers ring, and to bring his silver. Get the second one to bring the cash very quietly at midnight, and have the third be here with his hundred marks in the morning, at the matins. Say that I have ridden away on a long trip."
The good woman quickly did as her husband told her, sending three messengers to invite the friars at the appointed times. Each of them received the news with lustful anticipation.
When evening fell, the good man and his wife sent the servants to fetch water for the night. Then they put the kettle on and filled a large tub with boiling water. No sooner had they dragged the tub to the side of the room than the Dominican rapped on the door.
"Who is there?" called the wife, as her husband snatched up his walking stick and ran into the next room.
"It's me," said the friar. She let him in. "Ah, my dear lady," he grunted, "get ready to give me what I came for. No man, I'm sure, ever had such pleasure as I'm about to have."
"Very well," she replied. "Pay me, as you promised, and then I will satisfy you."
When the husband heard by what his wife said that she had received the silver, he began to whack madly on the floor and walls with his stick, as they had prearranged, making a noise as though an army were coming.
"Oh, sir," she cried in mock alarm, "that's my husband! I've got to get up to our bedroom--he is tired, and when he finds me asleep, he will lie down also, and soon leave us to do as we please. Quick, hide in the tub over there!"
All the while, the husband kept up the racket, so that the monk could hardly wait. He jumped into the tub and was thoroughly cooked.
The man and his wife hurried to take out the soaked carcass and lay it aside, for already the bells were sounding midnight. And sure enough, just as they finished, there came another knock at the door.
"Who's there?" called the lady. "Is that you, dear sir?"
"It is indeed," hissed the Franciscan. "Let me in!"
She admitted him, and received the money from him also. When the husband, in the next room, heard the coins change hands, he again began to pound on the walls. The monk, startled, at once sought to flee or hide, and taking refuge in the tub, he too was boiled. They extracted the body and laid it with the first one.
By this time, the matins were already being rung, and the Augustinian arrived. The lady heard him, and let him in. When she had his price in hand, the husband, in the next room, did as before. And so the third monk also landed in the tub, where the water seethed around him and scalded him to death.
Then the man took one of the corpses by the hair and dragged it outside. A vagrant student, quite drunk, was just passing by.
"You, there," the man called to the student. "Want to earn some change?"
"Sure," mumbled the student. "Whadd'I hafta do?"
"Take this monk and throw him in the Rhein."
The student, wasting no time, seized the commissioned load and dragged it away. Meanwhile, the man fetched the second corpse and threw it out in front of the house. The student soon returned and demanded his pay. But the man professed surprise.
"Pay? Well, what's that, lying right there?"
The student looked around, saw the corpse, and pounced on it. "A plague an' a drought onya!" he muttered.
When the good husband heard the student drag the second body away, he went and fetched the third, and threw it out, as he had the others. And soon the student was back again to get his money.
"What, you again?" snorted the man. "There's what I told you to haul away, right there against the wall."
The student protested. "But I threw him in! Twice! And 'less the Devil took 'im, that's were he is, at the bottom of the Rhein!"
"No, no," said the man. "Just look. He's still propped up right there."
"Goddamn you," snarled the student at the carcass. "You musta run all the way back here!" He grabbed it by the hair and dragged it away toward the river, as he had the other two.
On the way back to collect his pay, he met a friar going to matins. The student ran after him, seized him by the hair, and began to haul him away.
"Stop!" cried the friar. "What are you trying to do?"
"Chase around after me all night, huh?" exclaimed the student. "I can't get rid of ya--Devil take ya!"
"Oh, no, sir, what are you saying?" the friar howled. "God help me, I was only going to the morning service to confess my sins!" He broke away and ran, but the student caught him by the cowl.
"No, ya don't, Brother Blockhead," said the student, jabbing and shoving him ahead toward the river.
"Dear God," bawled the friar, "I haven't done anything to this man! What is he doing to me?"
But the student, heeding his cries not in the slightest, dragged him down to the river and threw him in, just as he had done with the three cooked bodies.
Then he went back to collect his pay, which at a few pennies per monk was little enough. He complained bitterly to his employer about how he had caught the errant monk returning and had had to subdue him finally with blows.
Listening to this account, the man realized what had happened. "Miserable student," he exclaimed in horror, "you have sinned greatly!"
And how often do we see that the innocent must pay for the misdeeds of the guilty!
THE THREE MONKS OF COLMAR
Woodcut from Eygentliche Beschreibung aller Stände
We monks devout, in days of yore
("Actual Catalog of All Callings"), Frankfurt, 1568.
This series of 112 woodcuts by Jost Ammann (1539-1592),
with verses by the celebrated Hans Sachs (1494-1576),
amounts to a little socio-technical encyclopedia
of the professions and crafts.
did righteousness of God implore--
by prayer and vigil sought to gain
divine release from earthly pain.
But hardly is this so today,
when each pursues his selfish way.
Midst crowding sects and orders vaunting
the holy spirit oft is wanting.
In the city of Colmar there lived a man, kind and generous, who owned considerable wealth, although a persistent streak of bad luck had recently afflicted him, costing him heavy losses. Now, this man had a wife blessed with all that one could look for in a lovely woman. Only twenty years old or so, she was perfectly formed and devoutly loved God, to whose will she was obedient in all things.
As the Lenten season came on, she wanted to make a proper confession, and so dressed herself and made her way to the Dominican monastery. As she came into the church, the brother confessor saw her and greeted her.