Giovanni walked over and sat down on the high-backed chair.
The back was tall.
Adjusting his posture, he rested his crossed hands on his knees, assuming the stance of a listener.
Before long, a figure wrapped in a coarse cloth headscarf walked in through the side door.
It was a woman.
Her head was bowed, her footsteps light, as if afraid to disturb the dust in the sanctuary.
She approached Giovanni and knelt submissively before him.
“Father, I wish to confess my sins.” Giovanni lowered his eyelids slightly, looking down at the woman kneeling at his feet.
Her shoulders trembled beneath a headscarf covered in patches.
He immediately slipped into character.
“May the grace of God be with you, child.” “In the presence of the Lord, there is nothing that cannot be spoken.
Speak your faults bravely, for true repentance brings forgiveness.” The woman fell silent for a moment, as though gathering her courage.
“I…
I have committed the sin of adultery.” Giovanni’s eyebrows twitched slightly.
*An interesting story is about to begin.* “Go on, child.” “My husband…
he passed away two years ago,” the woman said, her voice laced with suppressed tears.
“The villagers all said I should remain a widow for him…
for the rest of my life.” “I wanted to.
I swore an oath to God.” “But…
but I was so lonely.
At night, the house was so cold, so dark.
I was alone, and I was terrified.” “There’s a man in the village…
he…
he was very good to me.” “He would help fix my roof, bring me firewood.” “He’s a good man.
Truly.” “He has a wife.
And children.” “We…
we ended up together.” “The first time was in my woodshed.
It was pouring rain that night, and he came over to help me reinforce the windows.” “After that…
it happened many times.” “In his barn.
In the grove by the river.
Sometimes in my house, after the village had gone to sleep.” “I know it’s wrong.
I know it’s a mortal sin.
I defiled my body, betrayed my late husband, and wronged that man’s wife.” “Every time afterward, I hated myself.
I felt so filthy.” “But…
but I couldn’t control myself.” The woman finally broke down, covering her face with both hands as tears spilled through her fingers, dripping onto the cold flagstones.
“Father, am I a bad woman?
Am I going to Hell when I die?” She laid out all her ugliness, her desires, and her weaknesses without reservation, exposing them raw before this man seated on the high chair.
Giovanni listened quietly, watching her back heave with sobs and her body shrink in shame.
A young widow.
Driven by loneliness and necessity, entangling herself with a married man.
In rural Italy in 1345, this was common enough.
Yet extremely dangerous.
If caught, she would be stoned by the villagers.
The man would likely get his face scratched up by his wife.
To the world, it wasn’t a monumental scandal, but to the woman kneeling before him, it was a ruinous weight capable of crushing her soul.
Giovanni spoke at the right moment, his voice acting like a warm hand gently caressing her wounded spirit.
“You feel pain and remorse.
That proves your soul has not been entirely consumed by sin.
It proves you are still a child of the Lord.” “Tell me, child, why did you fall into this sin?
Was it merely out of loneliness?” “No…
not entirely…” The woman sobbed, her frame unsteady from kneeling on the cold stone for so long.
“I…
I needed him.
Without him, my fields would go fallow.
In the winter, I might freeze to death.” “When my husband died, he left me nothing.
Just a broken hut and a plot of barren land.” “A woman alone…
I couldn’t survive.” Giovanni nodded slightly.
The root cause wasn’t lust; it was survival.
“Do you love him?
That man,” Giovanni asked again.
The woman was silent for a long time.
“I don’t know…” she murmured in confusion.
“I depend on him.
I’m grateful to him.
When I’m with him, I feel like I’m alive again.
Is that…
love?” “And what about him?
Does he love you?” “He says he does.
He said he fell in love with me the moment he saw me.
He said his wife is like a cold, hard stone, but I’m like a flower.” Giovanni sneered internally.
The lines men used to deceive women hadn’t changed at all throughout history.
“Do you want to end this relationship now?” That was the key question.
“Yes!” The woman jerked her head up, her red, swollen eyes filled with longing as she looked directly at Giovanni.
“I want to end it!
I want to be clean again.
I want to go to Heaven when I die and see my husband.
Father, I swear I will never commit this sin again!
Please, grant me absolution!
I beg you!” She shuffled half a step forward on her knees, reaching out to grasp the hem of Giovanni’s robe, but pulled back as if struck by lightning.
She felt dirty.
“The Lord has seen your remorse.” “The Lord has heard your oath.” “Raise your head, my child.
Do not wallow in past sins any longer.
The Lord is merciful, and He is willing to forgive every sinner who truly repents.” He began to assign her penance.
“Your penance is not to scourge your body, nor is it to fast and starve.” “Your penance is to go to that man’s house and tell his wife everything between you two.” Hearing this, the kneeling woman nearly collapsed.
“No!
Father, I can’t!” She looked up in terror, her face deathly pale.
“She will kill me!
She will tell the whole village!
I’ll be stoned to death!” “Hear me out, child.” Giovanni leaned forward slightly, his blue eyes locking onto hers.
“You don’t need to give your name.
You can write an anonymous letter.
Or, in the dead of night, say what you need to say outside her window and run.” “This is not to punish you.
It is to save you.” “Once his wife knows, there will no longer be any possibility between you and that man.
It will be a lock to seal away your weakness.” “Do you dare to do it?
For the purity of your soul, do you have the courage?” The woman fell silent.
She was trembling.
It was a brutal penance, but an effective one.
Cutting the problem at the root.
After a long pause, the woman spoke in a voice barely louder than a mosquito’s hum.
“I…
I dare.” “Very good.” “When you have done this, your sin shall be thoroughly washed away.” Giovanni sat upright again and made the Sign of the Cross over his chest.
“I absolve you of your sins, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.
Amen.” Those ancient words acted like a ray of holy light illuminating the darkness in her heart.
She felt the crushing mountain weighing upon her lifted away.
She wept once more.
This time, not out of pain, but out of liberation.
Prostrating on the floor, she kowtowed repeatedly toward Giovanni’s sandals.
“Thank you, Father.
Thank you.” “It is the Lord who forgives you, not I,” Giovanni said.
“Go now, do what you must, and begin a new life.” The woman struggled to pull herself up from the floor.
Having knelt so long, her legs wobbled.
She bowed deeply to Giovanni, turned, and limped away.
Giovanni remained seated on the high-backed chair, unmoving.
Watching her retreating back, he recalled the societal norms of this era.
Especially in the countryside.
People held almost draconian standards regarding a widow’s chastity.
If a widow did not remarry, raised her children alone, and spent her life guarding the memory of her deceased husband, she would be praised by all as a moral paragon.
Lifelong widowhood was seen as a supreme virtue.
Conversely, if a widow remarried quickly, people would gossip behind her back, calling her unchaste and claiming she had long forgotten her husband.
It was an immense societal pressure.
Many widows were forced by this pressure to spend their lives in solitude and poverty.
Just like the woman before him.
She had desires and needs, yet dared not take a proper path, resorting to sneaking around with a married man until she barely felt human anymore.
How foolish.
Giovanni stood up to leave.
Then he abruptly sat back down.
A thought flashed through his mind.
He stood up again and followed her.
At that moment, the woman was kneeling before the statue of the Virgin Mary, offering a final prayer.
Sensing someone nearby, she raised her head.
When she saw the abbot himself approaching her, she was stunned.
Her face flushed instantly.
“My child.” Giovanni’s voice was even gentler and more sacred than before.
His eyes were clear blue, like a pure lake filled with compassion and benevolence.
The woman’s body quivered, and she buried her head even lower, overwhelmed with shame.
“Do not be afraid.” “I have not come to scold you.” “I wish to tell you something—a divine will of the Lord that you might not know.” The woman raised her head, looking at him in confusion.
“In the Scriptures, the Apostle Paolo wrote in his letter to Timothy:” “‘So I counsel younger widows to marry, to bear children, to manage their homes and to give the enemy no opportunity for slander.'” He recited the verse from 1 Timothy chapter 5, verse 14.
Then he locked eyes with the woman.
“Did you hear that, child?” “Marry, bear children, manage homes.” “This is no sin.” “This is the Lord’s will—a teaching written by the Apostle Paolo himself.” “Lifelong widowhood may earn the praise of some, but that is not the life the Lord wishes for you to live.” “The Lord does not wish for His child to live in loneliness and pain.” “The Lord wishes for your life to be whole and abundant.” The woman’s eyes widened bigger and bigger.
Her mouth parted slightly.
She was completely stunned by Giovanni’s words.
Since childhood, everything she had ever heard was that widows must preserve their chastity.
That was the natural order of things.
She had never heard anyone tell her that scripture encouraged young widows to remarry.
And the person saying this was the Abbot of Santa Lucia Monastery—a man who looked like a living saint.
Was this…
was this true?
“But…
but the villagers will gossip…” she stammered.
“Let them talk,” Giovanni said with utter disdain.
“Is the idle gossip of those people more important than the Lord’s will?” “Are you living for them, or are you living for the Lord?” “From now on, if anyone gossips or criticizes you behind your back because you wish to start a new life,” “tell them to come to me.” “I will teach them what the true word of the Lord is.” With that, Giovanni offered the woman an encouraging smile.
Then he turned and walked away at a measured pace.
Leaving the young widow kneeling alone before the statue of the Virgin Mary.
She stared blankly at Giovanni’s receding figure.
In her eyes, that simple monk’s habit shone brighter than a king’s mantle.
She felt her entire world had been turned upside down.
She had always believed she was walking down a dark, sin-filled dead end.
Now, this man—this priest, this Lord Abbot—had personally pushed open a door for her.
Beyond that door was sunlight.
It was the normal life of a woman, something she had never dared to dream of before.
He had not only absolved her of her sin.
He had given her the right to live again.
And the courage.
At this moment, her feelings toward Giovanni could no longer be expressed in words.
It was not gratitude.
It was not admiration.
It was a faith bordering on madness.
She felt that Giovanni was an angel sent by God to save her.
Every word he spoke was a divine oracle.
She bowed her head and pressed a long, deep kiss onto the cold flagstones in the direction where Giovanni had walked away.
As if the footprints of a saint were still etched upon the stone.