Excerpt 9: The Description of Women by Genius before Nature

In a loud voice, instead of any other Mass, before the goddess Nature, the priest, who was in full agreement, recited before his audience the representable shapes of all corruptible things that he had written in his book, just as Nature had given them to him.

or which it even pleases you to tell, whatever the subject may be, of joy or sorrow, you can indeed confess to me entirely at your leisure whatever you wish; at your pleasure,' said Genius, 'I wish to give all the advice that I can. And if there is anything to keep silent, I shall certainly keep your affair secret. And if you need absolution I should not deprive you of it. But cease your weeping.' 'Certainly,' she said, 'it is no wonder, fair Genius, if I weep.' 'In any case, lady,' he said, 'I advise you to wish to abandon this weeping, if you indeed want to confess, and to be very attentive to the subject that you have undertaken to tell me. I believe that the misdeed is a great one, for I well know that a noble heart is not moved for a small thing. He who dares trouble you is a great fool.  
 
 
  'But it is also true, without fail, that a woman is easily inflamed with wrath. Virgil himself bears witness — and he knew a great deal about their difficulties — that no woman was ever so stable that she might not be varied and changeable.

And thus she remains a very irritable animal. Solomon says that there was never a head more cruel than the head of a serpent and nothing more wrathful than a woman, and that nothing, he says, has so much malice. Briefly, there is so much vice in woman that no one can recount her perverse ways in rhyme or in verse. Titus Livius, who knew well what the habits and ways of women are, says that women are so easily deceived, so silly and of such pliable natures that with their ways entreaties are not worth as much as blandishments. Again, Scripture says elsewhere that the basis of all feminine vice is avarice.  
  Whoever tells his secrets to his wife makes of her his mistress. No man born of woman, unless he is drunk or demented, should reveal anything to a woman that should be kept hidden, if he doesn't want to hear it from someone else. No matter how loyal or good-natured she is, it would be better to flee the country than tell a woman something that should be kept silent. He should never do any secret deed if he sees a woman come,

for even if there is bodily danger, you may be sure that she will tell it, no matter how long she may wait. Even if no one asks her anything about it, she will certainly tell it without any unusual coaxing; for nothing would she keep silent. To her thinking she would be dead if the secret did not jump out of her mouth, even if she is in danger or reproached. And if the one who told her is such a person that, after she knows, dares strike her or beat her just once, not three or four times, then no sooner than he touches her will she reproach him with his secret, and she will do so right out in the open. He who confides in a woman loses her. And do you know what the wretch who confides in her does to himself? He binds his hands and cuts his throat; for if, just one single time he ever dares grouch at her or scold her or get angry, he puts his life in such danger - if he deserved death for his deed - that she will have him hanged by the neck, if the judges can catch him, or secretly murdered by friends. Such is the unfortunate harbor at which he has arrived.

But when the fool goes to bed at night and lies near his wife in his bed, he neither can nor dare be at rest. Perhaps he has done something or wishes to commit some murder or some other unlawful act as a result of which he is afraid for his life if he is caught; so he turns and complains and sighs. His wife, who sees very well that he is uneasy, draws him toward her, caresses him, embraces him and kisses him,

As far as revealing our secrets is concerned; furthermore no man living has the power to open them, any more than the wind can, without breaking them. In short this place has no earhole whatsoever, and no one can hear your voice, except for me alone. Therefore, I beg you piteously by our love that you have enough confidence in me to tell me what it is.' 'Lady,' he says, 'may God be my witness, not for anything would I tell it, for it is not a thing to tell.' 'Aha!' she says, 'my fair sweet lord, do you suspect something of me, your faithful wife? When we came together in marriage, Jesus Christ, whom we have not found mean or stingy of His grace, made one flesh of us two, and when we have only one flesh by the right of common law, there can be only a single heart on the left side of one flesh. Our hearts are then both one; you have mine and I yours. You can then have nothing in yours that mine should not know. Therefore I pray you to tell it to me both as a reward and because I deserve it,

"for I shall never have joy in my heart until I know what it is. And if you don't want to tell it to me, I see well that you are deceiving me, and I know with what kind of heart you love me, you who call me sweet lover, sweet sister, and sweet companion. For whom are you peeling this chestnut? Certainly if you don't reveal it to me, it appears indeed that you are betraying me, for I have confided myself to you so much since you married me that I have told you everything that I have enclosed within my heart. And for you I left father and mother, uncle, nephew, sister and brother, and all my friends and relatives, as is very clear. I have certainly made a very bad exchange when I find you so distant toward me. I love you more than anyone living, and it's all not worth a shallot to me. You think that I would misbehave toward you to the extent of telling your secrets, but that is a thing that could not happen. By Jesus Christ, the celestial king, who better than I should protect you? May it please you at least to consider, if you know anything about loyalty, the pledge that you have of my body.

Doesn't this pledge suffice you? Do you want a better hostage? Then I am worse than all others if you dare not tell me your secrets. I see all these other women who are sufficiently mistresses of their houses so that their husbands confide in them enough to tell them all their secrets. They all take counsel with their wives when they lie awake together in their beds, and they confess themselves privately so that there is nothing left to tell. Truth it is, they even do so more often than they do to the priest. I know it well from them themselves, for many times I have heard them; they have revealed to me everything, whatever they have heard and seen and even all that they think. In this way they purge and empty themselves. However, I am not like them. None of them is comparable to me, for I am no loose, quarrelsome gossip, and at least, however it may be with my soul and God, I am an honest woman in my body. You have never heard it said that I have committed any adultery unless the fools who told you such a tale invented it maliciously.

Have you tested me well? Have you found me false? Next, fair sir, consider how you keep your faith with me. Certainly you made a bad mistake when you put a ring on my finger and pledged your faith to me. I don't know how you dared do so. If you dare not confide in me, who made you marry me?  
 
 
Therefore I beg that your faith may be safe with me at least this time, and I assure you loyally, and promise and pledge and swear, by blessed Saint Peter, that this will be a thing buried under stone. Now certainly I would be a big fool if from my mouth came any speech that would shame or do harm to you. I would be shaming my own family, which I have never defamed on any occasion, and myself first of all. There is a customary saying that is true without fail: He who is fool enough to cut off his nose dishonors his face forever. Tell me, and may God help you, what troubles your heart. If not, you will have me dead.'  
 
Then she uncovers her chest and head, kisses him again and again

and between the feints at kissing she weeps many tears over him. Then the unfortunate wretch tells her his great sorrow and shame and with his words hangs himself. When he has said it he repents; but once a speech has flown away it cannot be called back. Then he begs her to keep quiet, for he is more uneasy than he had ever been before, when his wife knew nothing about it. She in turn tells him without fail that she will keep quiet, no matter what happens. But what does the wretch think he can do? He cannot keep his own tongue silent. Is he going to try now to restrain another's? What result does he think to arrive at?  
  Now the lady sees that she has the upper hand, and she knows that at no time whatever will he dare get angry at her or grumble at her about anything. Since she has something definite to work with, she will make him keep mute and quiet. Perhaps she will hold to her agreement until they get angry with each other. She will have his heart in balance still more if she waits that long, but she will scarcely ever wait so much that it will not be a great burden to him.

If anyone loved men he would preach this sermon to them and would do well to say it in all places so that every man might see himself mirrored in it and be drawn back from his great danger. But such a man could perhaps be displeasing to women, with their gossip. Truth, however, does not seek corners. Fair lords, protect yourselves from women if you love your bodies and souls. At least never go to work so badly that you reveal the secrets that you keep hidden inside your hearts.  
Flee, flee, flee, flee, flee, my children; I advise you and urge you without deception or guile to flee from such an animal. Note these verses of Virgil, but know them in your heart so that they cannot be drawn out from there: O child who gather flowers and fresh, clean strawberries, here lies the cold serpent in the grass. Flee, child, for he poisons and envenoms every person that comes near. O child, seeking along the earth for flowers and new strawberries, the evil chilling serpent, who goes about here hiding himself,

the malicious adder who covers up and conceals his venom, and hides it under the tender grass until he can pour it out to deceive and harm you; O child, give thought to avoiding him. Don't let yourself be seized if you want to escape death, for it is such a venomous animal in body, tail, and head, that if you approach it, you will find yourself completely poisoned, for it treacherously corrodes and pierces whatever it reaches, without remedy. No treacle may cure the burning of that venom. No herb or root is worth anything against it. The only medicine is flight.  
 
  However, I do not say, and it was never my intent to say, that you should not hold women dear or that you should flee from them and not lie with them. Instead I recommend that you value them highly and improve their lot with reason. See that they are well clothed and well shod, and labor always to serve and honor them in order to continue your kind so that death does not destroy it.

But never trust them so much that you tell them anything to keep quiet about. Certainly allow them to go and come, to keep up the household and the house if they know how to take care of it; or if it happens by chance that they know how to buy or sell they can busy themselves with such activity; or if they know any trade let them do it if they need to; and let them know about the things that are open and that don't need to be hidden. But if you abandon yourself so much that you give them too much power, you will repent later, when you feel their malice. Even Scripture cries out to us that if the woman has lordship she opposes her husband when he wants to say or do anything. Take care in any case that the house does not go to ruin, for one shows to better advantage when it is well kept. He who is wise takes care of his things.  
 
  You, too, who have your sweethearts, be good companions to them. It is a good thing for each of them to know enough about matters of mutual concern. But if you are wise and intelligent you will keep quiet when you hold them in your arms

and hug them and kiss them. Be still, still, still. Think about holding your tongue, for nothing can come to any conclusion when they share secrets, so proud and haughty are they, with such corrosive, venomous, and harmful tongues. But when fools come to be held in their arms and hug and kiss them in the games that are so pleasing to them, then nothing can be hidden from them. There the secrets are revealed; there husbands reveal themselves and afterward they are sorry and chagrined. All of them reveal their thoughts except the wise men who have pondered well.  
 
  Malicious Dalila, through her poisonous flattery, cut off Samson's hair with her scissors as she held him softly close, sleeping in her lap. As a result, this man who was so valiant, worthy, strong, and fierce in battle, lost all his strength when she thus sheared off his locks. She revealed all his secrets, which the fool, not knowing how to hide anything, had told her.

But I don't want to tell you any more examples; one can very well suffice you for all of them. Even Solomon speaks of it, and because I love you I will tell you quickly what he says: 'In order to flee from danger and reproach, guard the gates of your mouth against her who sleeps in your bosom.' Whoever hold men dear should preach this sermon so that they may guard against women and never confide in them.  
 
Now I have not said these things on your account, for without contradiction you have always been loyal and steadfast. Even Scripture affirms that God has given you such pure sense that you are wise without end. Thus Genius comforted her and exhorted her by any means that he could to abandon her sorrow entirely.  
 
 
It is a thing, he said, that wounds and has no advantage. When he had said what he wanted to, without making a longer plea, he sat down upon a seat placed next to his altar. Nature immediately kneeled down before the priest

However, it was undoubtedly true that she could not forget her sorrow. And he, for his part, did not want to plead with her any longer, since he would have wasted all his trouble. Instead, he kept quiet and listened to the lady, who, with great devotion