THE TALES OF

THE HEPTAMERON

OF

Margaret, Queen of Navarre

_Newly Translated into English from the Authentic Text_

OF M. LE ROUX DE LINCY WITH

AN ESSAY UPON THE HEPTAMERON

BY

GEORGE SAINTSBURY, M. A. 

Also the Original Seventy-three Full Page Engravings

Designed by S. FREUDENBERG

And One Hundred and Fifty Head and Tail Pieces

By DUNKER

_IN FIVE VOLUMES_

VOLUME THE THIRD

LONDON: PRINTED FOR THE SOCIETY OF ENGLISH BIBLIOPHILISTS

MDCCCXCIV

[Illustration: Frontispiece]

[Margaret, Queen of Navarre, from a crayon drawing by Clouet, preservedat the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris]

[Illustration: Titlepage]

CONTENTS OF VOLUME III. 

SECOND DAY--Continued. 

Tale XIX. The honourable love of a gentleman, who, when his sweetheartis forbidden to speak with him, in despair becomes a monk of theObservance, while the lady, following in his footsteps, becomes a nun ofSt. Clara

Tale XX. How the Lord of Riant is cured of his love fora beautiful widowthrough surprising her in the arms of a groom

THIRD DAY. 

Prologue

Tale XXI. The affecting history of Rolandine, who, debarred frommarriage by her father's greed, betrothes herself to a gentleman towhom, despite his faithlessness, she keeps her plighted word, and doesnot marry until after his death

Tale XXII. How Sister Marie Heroet virtuously escapes the attempts ofthe Prior of St. Martin in-the-Fields

Tale XXIII. The undeserved confidence which a gentleman of Perigordplaces in the monks of the Order of St. Francis, causes the death ofhimself, his wife and their little child

Tale XXIV. Concerning the unavailing love borne to the Queen of Castileby a gentleman named Elisor, who in the end becomes a hermit

Tale XXV. How a young Prince found means to conceal his intrigue withthe wife of a lawyer of Paris

Tale XXVI. How the counsels of a discreet lady happily withdrew theyoung Lord of Avannes from the perils of his foolish love for a lady ofPampeluna

Tale XXVII. How the wife of a man who was valet to a Princess ridherself of the solicitations of one who was among the same Princess'sservants, and at the same time her husband's guest

Tale XXVIII. How a Gascon merchant, named Bernard du Ha, whilesojourning at Paris, deceived a Secretary to the Queen of Navarre whohad thought to obtain a pasty from him

Tale XXIX. How the Priest of Carrelles, in Maine, when surprised withthe wife of an old husbandman, gets out of the difficulty by pretendingto return him a winnowing fan

Tale XXX. How a gentleman marries his own daughter and sister unawares

Appendix to Vol. III. 

PAGE ENGRAVINGS CONTAINED IN VOLUME III. 

Tale XIX. The Parting between Pauline and The Gentlemen. 

Tale XX. The Lord de Riant finding the Widow with her Groom. 

Tale XXI. Rolandine Conversing With Her Husband. 

Tale XXII. Sister Marie and the Prior. 

Tale XXIII. The Grey Friar deceiving the Gentleman Of Périgord. 

Tale XXIV. Elisor showing the Queen her own Image. 

Tale XXV. The Advocate's Wife attending on the Prince. 

Tale XXVI. The Lord of Avannes paying His Court in Disguise. 

Tale XXVII. The Secretary imploring the Lady not To Tell Of HisWickedness. 

Tale XXVIII. The Secretary Opening the Pasty. 

Tale XXIX. The Husbandman surprised by the Fall of the Winnowing Fan. 

Tale XXX. The Young Gentleman embracing his Mother. 

[Illustration: 001a. Jpg The Parting between Pauline and The Gentlemen]

[The Parting between Pauline and The Gentlemen]

[Illustration: 001. Jpg Page Image]

_TALE XIX_. 

_Pauline, being in love with a gentleman no less than he was with her, and finding that he, because forbidden ever again to speak with her, hadentered the monastery of the Observance, gained admittance for herown part into the convent of St. Clara, where she took the veil; thusfulfilling the desire she had conceived to bring the gentleman's loveand her own to a like ending in respect of raiment, condition and mannerof life. (1)_

In the time of the Marquis of Mantua, (2) who had married the sisterof the Duke of Ferrara, there lived in the household of the Duchessa damsel named Pauline, who was greatly loved by a gentleman in theMarquis's service, and this to the astonishment of every one; for beingpoor, albeit handsome and greatly beloved by his master, he ought, intheir estimation, to have wooed some wealthy dame, but he believed thatall the world's treasure centred in Pauline, and looked to his marriagewith her to gain and possess it. 

 1 The incidents related in this tale appear to have taken place at Mantua and Ferrara. M. De Montaiglon, however, believes that they happened at Lyons, and that Margaret laid the scene of her story in Italy, so that the personages she refers to might not be identified. The subject of the tale is similar to that of the poem called _L'Amant rendu Cordelier à l'Observance et Amour_, which may perhaps have supplied the Queen of Navarre with the plot of her narrative. --M. And Ed. 

 2 This was John Francis II. Of Gonzaga, who was born in 1466, and succeeded his father, Frederic I. , in 1484. He took an active part in the wars of the time, commanding the Venetian troops when Charles VIII. Invaded Italy, and afterwards supporting Ludovico Sforza in the defence of Milan. When Sforza abandoned the struggle against France, the Marquis of Mantua joined the French king, for whom he acted as viceroy of Naples. Ultimately, however, he espoused the cause of the Emperor Maximilian, when the latter was at war with Venice in 1509, and being surprised and defeated while camping on the island of La Scala, he fled in his shirt and hid himself in a field, where, by the treachery of a peasant who had promised him secrecy, he was found and taken prisoner. By the advice of Pope Julius II. , the Venetians set him at liberty after he had undergone a year's imprisonment. In 1490 John Francis married Isabella d'Esté, daughter of Hercules I. Duke of Ferrara, by whom he had several children. He died at Mantua in March 1519, his widow surviving him until 1539. Among the many dignities acquired by the Marquis in the course of his singularly chequered life was that of gonfalonier of the Holy Church, conferred upon him by Julius II. --L. And En. 

The Marchioness, who desired that Pauline should through her favourmake a more wealthy marriage, discouraged her as much as she could fromwedding the gentleman, and often hindered the two lovers from talkingtogether, pointing out to them that, should the marriage take place, they would be the poorest and sorriest couple in all Italy. But suchargument as this was by no means convincing to the gentleman, and thoughPauline, on her side, dissembled her love as well as she could, she nonethe less thought about him as often as before. 

With the hope that time would bring them better fortune, this love oftheirs continued for a long while, during which it chanced that a warbroke out (3) and that the gentleman was taken prisoner along with aFrenchman, whose heart was bestowed in France even as was his own inItaly. 

 3 This would be the expedition which Louis XII. Made into Italy in 1503 in view of conquering the Kingdom of Naples, and which was frustrated by the defeats that the French army sustained at Seminara, Cerignoles, and the passage of the Garigliano. --D. 

Finding themselves comrades in misfortune, they began to tell theirsecrets to one another, the Frenchman confessing that his heart was afast prisoner, though he gave not the name of its prison-house. However, as they were both in the service of the Marquis of Mantua, this Frenchgentleman knew right well that his companion loved Pauline, and in allfriendship for him advised him to lay his fancy aside. This the Italiangentleman swore was not in his power, and he declared that if theMarquis of Mantua did not requite him for his captivity and his faithfulservice by giving him his sweetheart to wife, he would presently turnfriar and serve no master but God. This, however, his companion couldnot believe, perceiving in him no token of devotion, unless it were thatwhich he bore to Pauline. 

At the end of nine months the French gentleman obtained his freedom, andby his diligence compassed that of his comrade also, who thereupon usedall his efforts with the Marquis and Marchioness to bring about hismarriage with Pauline. But all was of no avail; they pointed out to himthe poverty wherein they would both be forced to live, as well as theunwillingness of the relatives on either side; and they forbade himever again to speak with the maiden, to the end that absence and lack ofopportunity might quell his passion. 

Finding himself compelled to obey, the gentleman begged of theMarchioness that he might have leave to bid Pauline farewell, promisingthat he would afterwards speak to her no more, and upon his requestbeing granted, as soon as they were together he spoke to her asfollows:--

"Heaven and earth are both against us, Pauline, and hinder us not onlyfrom marriage but even from having sight and speech of one another. Andby laying on us this cruel command, our master and mistress may wellboast of having with one word broken two hearts, whose bodies, perforce, must henceforth languish; and by this they show that they have neverknown love or pity, and although I know that they desire to marry eachof us honourably and to worldly advantage, --ignorant as they are thatcontentment is the only true wealth, --yet have they so afflicted andangered me that never more can I do them loyal service. I feel sure thathad I never spoken of marriage they would not have shown themselves soscrupulous as to forbid me from speaking to you; but I would have youknow that, having loved you with a pure and honourable love, and wooedyou for what I would fain defend against all others, I would rather diethan change my purpose now to your dishonour. And since, if I continuedto see you, I could not accomplish so harsh a penance as to restrainmyself from speech, whilst, if being here I saw you not, my heart, unable to remain void, would fill with such despair as must end in woe, I have resolved, and that long since, to become a monk. I know, indeed, full well that men of all conditions may be saved, but would gladly havemore leisure for contemplating the Divine goodness, which will, I trust, forgive me the errors of my youth, and so change my heart that it maylove spiritual things as truly as hitherto it has loved temporal things. And if God grant me grace to win His grace, my sole care shall be topray to Him without ceasing for you; and I entreat you, by the true andloyal love that has been betwixt us both, that you will remember mein your prayers, and beseech Our Lord to grant me as full a measureof steadfastness when I see you no more, as he has given me of joyin beholding you. Finally, I have all my life hoped to have of you inwedlock that which honour and conscience allow, and with this hope havebeen content; but now that I have lost it and can never have youto wife, I pray you at least, in bidding me farewell, treat me as abrother, and suffer me to kiss you. "

When the hapless Pauline, who had always treated him somewhatrigorously, beheld the extremity of his grief and his uprightness, which, amidst all his despair, would suffer him to prefer but thismoderate request, her sole answer was to throw her arms around his neck, weeping so bitterly that speech and strength alike failed her, andshe swooned away in his embrace. Thereupon, overcome by pity, loveand sorrow, he must needs swoon also, and one of Pauline's companions, seeing them fall one on one side and one on the other, called aloud foraid, whereupon remedies were fetched and applied, and brought them tothemselves. 

Then Pauline, who had desired to conceal her love, was ashamed at havingshown such transports; yet were her pity for the unhappy gentleman ajust excuse. He, unable to utter the "Farewell for ever!" hastened awaywith heavy heart and set teeth, and, on entering his apartment, felllike a lifeless corpse upon his bed. There he passed the night in suchpiteous lamentations that his servants thought he must have lost all hisrelations and friends, and whatsoever he possessed on earth. 

In the morning he commended himself to Our Lord, and having dividedamong his servants what little worldly goods he had, save a small sumof money which he took, he charged his people not to follow him, anddeparted all alone to the monastery of the Observance, (4) resolved totake the cloth there and never more to quit it his whole life long. 

 4 The monastery of the Observance here referred to would appear to be that at Ferrara, founded by Duke Hercules I. , father of the Marchioness of Mantua. The name of "Observance" was given to those conventual establishments where the rules of monastic life were scrupulously observed, however rigorous they might be. The monastery of the Observance at Ferrara belonged to the Franciscan order, reformed by the Pope in 1363. --D. And L. 

The Warden, who had known him in former days, at first thought he wasbeing laughed at or was dreaming, for there was none in all the landthat less resembled a Grey Friar than did this gentleman, seeing thathe was endowed with all the good and honourable qualities that onewould desire a gentleman to possess. Albeit, after hearing his words andbeholding the tears that flowed (from what cause he knew not) down hisface, the Warden compassionately took him in, and very soon afterwards, finding him persevere in his desire, granted him the cloth: whereoftidings were brought to the Marquis and Marchioness, who thought it allso strange that they could scarcely believe it. 

Pauline, wishing to show herself untrammelled by any passion, strove asbest she might to conceal her sorrow, in such wise that all said she hadright soon forgotten the deep affection of her faithful lover. And sofive or six months passed by without any sign on her part, but in themeanwhile some monk had shown her a song which her lover had made ashort time after he had taken the cowl. The air was an Italian one andpretty well known; as for the words, I have put them into our own tongueas nearly as I can, and they are these:--

 What word shall be Hers unto me, When I appear in convent guise Before her eyes?

 Ah! sweet maiden, Lone, heart-laden, Dumb because of days that were; When the streaming Tears are gleaming 'Mid the streaming of thy hair, Ah! with hopes of earth denied thee, Holiest thoughts will heavenward guide thee To the hallowing cloister's door. What word shall be, &c. 

 What shall they say, Who wronged us, they Who have slain our heart's desire, Seeing true love Doth flawless prove, Thus tried as gold in fire? When they see my heart is single, Their remorseful tears shall mingle, Each and other weeping sore. What word shall be, &c. 

 And should they come To will us home, How vain were all endeavour! "Nay, side by side, "We here shall bide "Till soul from soul shall sever. "Though of love your hate bereaves us "Yet the veil and cowl it leaves us, "We shall wear till life be o'er. " What word shall be, &c. 

 And should they move Our flesh to love Once more the mockers, singing Of fruits and flowers In golden hours For mated hearts upspringing; We shall say: "Our lives are given, Flower and fruit, to God in Heaven, Who shall hold them evermore. " What word shall be, &c. 

 O victor Love! Whose might doth move My wearied footsteps hither, Here grant me days Of prayer and praise, Grant faith that ne'er shall wither; Love of each to either given, Hallowed by the grace of Heaven, God shall bless for evermore. What word shall be, &c. 

 Avaunt Earth's weal! Its bands are steel To souls that yearn for Heaven; Avaunt Earth's pride! Deep Hell shall hide Hearts that for fame have striven. Far be lust of earthly pleasure, Purity, our priceless treasure, Christ shall grant us of His store. What word shall be, &c. 

 Swift be thy feet, My own, my sweet, Thine own true lover follow; Fear not the veil, The cloister's pall Keeps far Earth's spectres hollow. Sinks the fire with fitful flashes, Soars the Phoenix from his ashes, Love yields Life for evermore. What word shall be, &c. 

 Love, that no power Of dreariest hour, Could change, no scorn, no rage, Now heavenly free From Earth shall be, In this, our hermitage. Winged of love that upward, onward, Ageless, boundless, bears us sunward, To the heavens our souls shall soar. What word shall be, &c. 

On reading these verses through in a chapel where she was alone, Paulinebegan to weep so bitterly that all the paper was wetted with her tears. Had it not been for her fear of showing a deeper affection than wasseemly, she would certainly have withdrawn forthwith to some hermitage, and never have looked upon a living being again; but her nativediscretion moved her to dissemble for a little while longer. Andalthough she was now resolved to leave the world entirely, she feignedthe very opposite, and so altered her countenance, that in company shewas altogether unlike her real self. For five or six months did shecarry this secret purpose in her heart, making a greater show of mirththan had ever been her wont. 

But one day she went with her mistress to the Observance to hear highmass, and when the priest, the deacon and the sub-deacon came out of thevestry to go to the high altar, she saw her hapless lover, who had notyet fulfilled his year of novitiate, acting as acolyte, carrying thetwo vessels covered with a silken cloth, and walking first with hiseyes upon the ground. When Pauline saw him in such raiment as did ratherincrease than diminish his comeliness, she was so exceedingly moved anddisquieted, that to hide the real reason of the colour that came intoher face, she began to cough. Thereupon her unhappy lover, who knew thissound better than that of the cloister bells, durst not turn his head;still on passing in front of her he could not prevent his eyes fromgoing the road they had so often gone before; and whilst he thuspiteously gazed on Pauline, he was seized in such wise by the fire whichhe had considered well-nigh quelled, that whilst striving to conceal itmore than was in his power, he fell at full length before her. However, for fear lest the cause of his fall should be known, he was led to saythat it was by reason of the pavement of the church being broken in thatplace. 

When Pauline perceived that the change in his dress had not wrought anychange in his heart, and that so long a time had gone by since he hadbecome a monk, that every one believed her to have forgotten him, sheresolved to fulfil the desire she had conceived to bring their love toa like ending in respect of raiment, condition and mode of life, evenas these had been akin at the time when they abode together in thesame house, under the same master and mistress. More than four monthspreviously she had carried out all needful measures for taking the veil, and now, one morning she asked leave of the Marchioness to go and hearmass at the convent of Saint Clara, (5) which her mistress granted her, not knowing the reason of her request. But in passing by the monasteryof the Grey Friars, she begged the Warden to summon her lover, sayingthat he was her kinsman, and when they met in a chapel by themselves, she said to him:--

 5 There does not appear to have been a church of St. Clara at Mantua, but there was one attached to a convent of that name at Ferrara. --M. And D. 

"Had my honour suffered me to seek the cloister as soon as you, I shouldnot have waited until now; but having at last by my patience baffledthe slander of those who are more ready to think evil than good, I amresolved to take the same condition, raiment and life as you have taken. Nor do I inquire of what manner they are; if you fare well, I shallpartake of your welfare, and if you fare ill, I would not be exempt. Bywhatsoever path you are journeying to Paradise I too would follow; for Ifeel sure that He who alone is true and perfect, and worthy to be calledLove, has drawn us to His service by means of a virtuous and reasonableaffection, which He will by His Holy Spirit turn wholly to Himself. Letus both, I pray you, put from us the perishable body of the old Adam, and receive and put on the body of our true Spouse, who is the LordJesus Christ. "

The monk-lover was so rejoiced to hear of this holy purpose, that hewept for gladness and did all that he could to strengthen her in herresolve, telling her that since the pleasure of hearing her words wasthe only one that he might now seek, he deemed himself happy to dwell ina place where he should always be able to hear them. He further declaredthat her condition would be such that they would both be the better forit; for they would live with one love, with one heart and with one mind, guided by the goodness of God, whom he prayed to keep them in His hand, wherein none can perish. So saying, and weeping for love and gladness, he kissed her hands; but she lowered her face upon them, and then, in all Christian love, they gave one another the kiss of hallowedaffection. 

And so, in this joyful mood Pauline left him, and came to the convent ofSaint Clara, where she was received and took the veil, whereof she senttidings to her mistress, the Marchioness, who was so amazed that shecould not believe it, but came on the morrow to the convent to seePauline and endeavour to turn her from her purpose. But Pauline repliedthat she, her mistress, had had the power to deprive her of a husband inthe flesh, the man whom of all men she had loved the best, and withthat she must rest content, and not seek to sever her from One who wasimmortal and invisible, for this Was neither in her power nor in that ofany creature upon earth. 

The Marchioness, finding her thus steadfast in her resolve, kissed herand left her, with great sorrow. 

And thenceforward Pauline and her lover lived such holy and devoutlives, observing all the rules of their order, that we cannot doubt thatHe whose law is love told them when their lives were ended, as He hadtold Mary Magdalene: "Your sins are forgiven, for ye have lovedmuch;" and doubtless He removed them in peace to that place where therecompense surpasses all the merits of man. 

"You cannot deny, ladies, that in this case the man's love was thegreater of the two; nevertheless, it was so well requited that I wouldgladly have all lovers equally rewarded. "

"Then, " said Hircan, "there would be more manifest fools among men andwomen than ever there were. "

"Do you call it folly, " said Oisille, "to love virtuously in youth andthen to turn this love wholly to God?"

"If melancholy and despair be praiseworthy, " answered Hircan, laughing, "I will acknowledge that Pauline and her lover are well worthy ofpraise. "

"True it is, " said Geburon, "that God has many ways of drawing us toHimself, and though they seem evil in the beginning, yet in the end theyare good. "

"Moreover, " said Parlamente, "I believe that no man can ever love Godperfectly that has not perfectly loved one of His creatures in thisworld. "

"What do you mean by loving perfectly?" asked Saffredent. "Do youconsider that those frigid beings who worship their mistresses insilence and from afar are perfect lovers?"

"I call perfect lovers, " replied Parlamente, "those who seek perfectionof some kind in the objects of their love, whether beauty, or goodness, or grace, ever tending to virtue, and who have such noble and uprighthearts that they would rather die than do base things, contrary andrepugnant to honour and conscience. For the soul, which was created fornothing but to return to its sovereign good, is, whilst enclosed in thebody, ever desirous of attaining to it. But since the senses, throughwhich the soul receives knowledge, are become dim and carnal through thesin of our first parent, they can show us only those visible things thatapproach towards perfection; and these the soul pursues, thinking tofind in outward beauty, in a visible grace and in the moral virtues, thesupreme, absolute beauty, grace and virtue. But when it has sought andtried these external things and has failed to find among them that whichit really loves, the soul passes on to others; wherein it is like achild, which, when very young, will be fond of dolls and other trifles, the prettiest its eyes can see, and will heap pebbles together in theidea that these form wealth; but as the child grows older he becomesfond of living dolls, and gathers together the riches that are needfulfor earthly life. And when he learns by greater experience that in allthese earthly things there is neither perfection nor happiness, heis fain to seek Him who is the Creator and Author of happiness andperfection. Albeit, if God should not give him the eye of Faith, he willbe in danger of passing from ignorance to infidel philosophy, since itis Faith alone that can teach and instil that which is right; for this, carnal and fleshly man can never comprehend. " (6)

 6 The whole of this mystical dissertation appears to have been inspired by some remarks in Castiglione's _Libro del Cortegiano_--which Margaret was no doubt well acquainted with, as it was translated into French in 1537 by Jacques Colin, her brother's secretary. This work, which indeed seems to have suggested several passages in the _Heptameron_, was at that time as widely read in France as in Italy and Spain. --B. J. And D. 

"Do you not see, " said Longarine, "that uncultivated ground which bearsplants and trees in abundance, however useless they may be, is valued bymen, because it is hoped that it will produce good fruit if this be sownin it? In like manner, if the heart of man has no feeling of love forvisible things, it will never arrive at the love of God by the sowing ofHis Word, for the soul of such a heart is barren, cold and worthless. "

"That, " said Saffredent, "is the reason why most of the doctors arenot spiritual. They never love anything but good wine and dirty, ill-favoured serving-women, without making trial of the love ofhonourable ladies. "

"If I could speak Latin well, " said Simontault, "I would quote you St. John's words: 'He that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how canhe love God whom he hath not seen?' (7) From visible things we are ledon to love those that are invisible. "

"If, " said Ennasuite, "there be a man as perfect as you say, _quis estille et laudabimus eum?_" (8)

 7 I St. John, iv. 20. 

 8 We have been unable to find this anywhere in the Scriptures. --Ed. 

"There are men, " said Dagoucin, "whose love is so strong and true thatthey would rather die than harbour a wish contrary to the honour andconscience of their mistress, and who at the same time are unwillingthat she or others should know what is in their hearts. "

"Such men, " said Saffredent, "must be of the nature of the chameleon, which lives on air. (9) There is not a man in the world but would faindeclare his love and know that it is returned; and further, I believethat love's fever is never so great, but it quickly passes off when oneknows the contrary. For myself, I have seen manifest miracles of thiskind. "

 9 A popular fallacy. The chameleon undoubtedly feeds upon small insects. --D. 

"I pray you then, " said Ennasuite, "take my place and tell us about someone that was recalled from death to life by having discovered in hismistress the very opposite of his desire. "

"I am, " said Saffredent, "so much afraid of displeasing the ladies, whose faithful servant I have always been and shall always be, thatwithout an express command from themselves I should never have dared tospeak of their imperfections. However, in obedience to them, I will hidenothing of the truth. "

[Illustration: 020. Jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 021a. Jpg The Lord de Riant finding the Widow with her Groom]

[The Lord de Riant finding the Widow with her Groom]

[Illustration: 021. Jpg Page Image]

_TALE XX_. 

_The Lord of Riant, being greatly in love with a widow lady and findingher the contrary of what he had desired and of what she had oftendeclared herself to be, was so affected thereby that in a momentresentment had power to extinguish the flame which neither length oftime nor lack of opportunity had been able to quench. _ (1)

 1 The unpleasant discovery related in this tale is attributed by Margaret to a gentleman of Francis I. 's household, but a similar incident figures in the introduction to the _Arabian Nights_. Ariosto also tells much the same tale in canto xxviii. Of his _Rolando Furioso_, and another version of it will be found in No. 24 of Morlini's _Novella_, first issued at Naples in 1520. Subsequent to the _Heptameron_ it supplied No. 29 of the _Comptes du Monde Adventureux_, figured in a rare imitation of the _Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles_ printed at Rouen early in the seventeenth century, and was introduced by La Fontaine into his well-known tale _Joconde_. On the other hand, there is certainly a locality called Rians in Provence, just beyond the limits of Dauphiné, and moreover among Francis I. 's "equerries of the stable" there was a Monsieur dc Rian who received a salary of 200 livres a year from 1522 to 1529. --See the roll of the officers of the King's Household in the French National Archives, _Sect. Histor_. , K. 98. Some extracts from Brantôme bearing on the story will be found in the Appendix to this vol. (A). --L. And En. 

In the land of Dauphiné there lived a gentleman named the Lord of Riant;he belonged to the household of King Francis the First, and was ashandsome and worshipful a gentleman as it was possible to see. Hehad long been the lover of a widow lady, whom he loved and revered soexceedingly that, for fear of losing her favour, he durst not solicitof her that which he most desired. Now, since he knew himself to bea handsome man and one worthy to be loved, he fully believed what sheoften swore to him--namely, that she loved him more than any living man, and that if she were led to do aught for any gentleman, it would be forhim alone, who was the most perfect she had ever known. She at the sametime begged him to rest satisfied with this virtuous love and to seeknothing further, and assured him that if she found him unreasonablyaiming at more, he would lose her altogether. The poor gentleman was notonly satisfied, but he deemed himself very fortunate in having gainedthe heart of a lady who appeared to him so full of virtue. 

It would take too long to tell you his love-speeches, his lengthenedvisits to her, and the journeys he took in order to see her; it isenough to say that this poor martyr, consumed by so pleasing a fire thatthe more one burns the more one wishes to burn, continually sought forthe means of increasing his martyrdom. 

One day the fancy took him to go post-haste to see the lady whom heloved better than himself, and whom he prized beyond every other womanin the world. On reaching her house, he inquired where she was, and wastold that she had just come from vespers, and was gone into the warrento finish her devotions there. He dismounted from his horse and wentstraight to the warren where she was to be found, and here he met withsome of her women, who told him that she had gone to walk alone in alarge avenue. 

He was more than ever beginning to hope that some good fortune awaitedhim, and continued searching for her as carefully and as quietly as hecould, desiring above all things to find her alone. He came in this wayto a summer-house formed of bended boughs, the fairest and pleasantestplace imaginable, (2) and impatient to see the object of his love, hewent in; and there beheld the lady lying on the grass in the arms of agroom in her service, who was as ill-favoured, foul and disreputable asthe Lord of Riant was handsome, virtuous and gentle. 

 2 For a description of a summer-house of the kind referred to, see Cap's edition of Palissy's _Dessein du Jardin Délectable_, p. 69. Palissy there describes some summer- houses formed of young elmtrees, with seats, columns, friezes, and a roofing so cunningly contrived of bent boughs that the rain could not penetrate into the interior. It is to some such construction that Queen Margaret refers. --M. 

I will not try to depict to you his resentment, but it was so great thatin a moment it had power to extinguish the flame which neither length oftime nor lack of opportunity had been able to impair. 

"Madam, " he said to her, being now as full of indignation as once hehad been of love, "much good may this do you! (3) The revelation of yourwickedness has to-day cured me, and freed me from the continual anguishthat was caused by the virtue I believed to be in you. " (4)

 3 The French words here are "prou face, " which in Margaret's time were very generally used in lieu of "Amen" or "So be it. "--M. 

 4 In _Joconde_ La Fontaine gives the end of the adventure as follows:--

 "Sans rencontrer personne et sans etre entendu Il monte dans sa chambre et voit près de la dame Un lourdaud de valet sur son sein étendu. Tous deux dormaient. Dans cet abord Joconde Voulut les envoyer dormir en l'autre monde, Mais cependant il n'en fit rien Et mon avis est qu'il fit bien. "

 Both in La Fontaine's _Conte_ and in Ariosto's _Rolando_ the lady is the Queen, and the favoured lover the King's dwarf. --Ed. 

And with this farewell he went back again more quickly than he had come. 

The unhappy woman made him no other reply than to put her hand to herface; for being unable to hide her shame, she covered her eyes that shemight not see him who in spite of her deceit now perceived it only tooclearly. 

"And so, ladies, if you are not minded to love perfectly, do not, Ipray you, seek to deceive and annoy an honest man for vanity's sake; forhypocrites are rewarded as they deserve, and God favours those who lovewith frankness. "

"Truly, " said Oisille, "you have kept us a proper tale for the end ofthe day. But that we have all sworn to speak the truth, I could notbelieve that a woman of that lady's condition could be so wicked bothin soul and in body, and leave so gallant a gentleman for so vile amuleteer. "

"Ah, madam, " said Hircan, "if you knew what a difference there isbetween a gentleman who has worn armour and been at the wars all hislife, and a well-fed knave that has never stirred from home, you wouldexcuse the poor widow. "

"I do not believe, " said Oisille, "whatever you may say, that you couldadmit any possible excuse for her. "

"I have heard, " said Simontault, "that there are women who like tohave apostles to preach of their virtue and chastity, and treat them askindly and familiarly as possible, saying that but for the restraints ofhonour and conscience they would grant them their desire. And so thesepoor fools, when speaking in company of their mistresses, swear thatthey would thrust their fingers into the fire without fear of burning inproof that these ladies are virtuous women, since they have themselvesthoroughly tested their love. Thus are praised by honourable men, thosewho show their true nature to such as are like themselves; and theychoose such as would not have courage to speak, or, if they did, wouldnot be believed by reason of their low and degraded position. "

"That, " said Longarine, "is an opinion which I have before now heardexpressed by jealous and suspicious men, but it may indeed be calledpainting a chimera. And even although it be true of one wretched woman, the same suspicion cannot attach to all. "

"Well, " said Parlamente, "the longer we talk in this way, the longerwill these good gentlemen play the critics over Simontault's tale, andall at our own expense. So in my opinion we had better go to vespers, and not cause so much delay as we did yesterday. "

The company agreed to this proposal, and as they were going Oisillesaid:--

"If any one gives God thanks for having told the truth to-day, Saffredent ought to implore His forgiveness for having raked up so vilea story against the ladies. "

"By my word, " replied Saffredent, "what I told you was true, albeit Ionly had it upon hearsay. But were I to tell you all that I have myselfseen of women, you would have need to make even more signs of the crossthan the priests do in consecrating a church. "

"Repentance is a long way off, " said Geburon, "when confession onlyincreases the sin. "

"Since you have so bad an opinion of women, " said Parlamente, "theyought to deprive you of their honourable society and friendship. "

"There are some women, " he returned, "who have acted towards me so muchin accordance with your advice, in keeping me far away from things thatare honourable and just, that could I do and say worse to them, I shouldnot neglect doing so, in order that I might stir them up to revenge meon her who does me so much wrong. "

Whilst he spoke these words, Parlamente put on her mask (5) and wentwith the others into the church, where they found that although the bellhad rung for vespers, there was not a single monk, present to say them. 

 5 Little masks hiding only the upper part of the face, and called _tourets-de-nez_, were then frequently worn by ladies of rank. Some verses by Christine de Pisan show them to have been in vogue already in the fourteenth century. In the MS. Copy of Margaret's poem of _La Coche_ presented to the Duchess of Etampes, the ladies in the different miniatures are frequently shown wearing masks of the kind referred to. Some curious particulars concerning these _tourets_ will be found in M. Léon do Laborde's _Le Palais Mazarin et les grandes habitations de ville et de campagne au XVIIe Siècle_, Paris, 1846, 8vo, p. 314. --L. 

The monks, indeed, had heard that the company assembled in the meadow totell the pleasantest tales imaginable, and being fonder of pleasure thanof their prayers, they had gone and hidden themselves in a ditch, wherethey lay flat on their bellies behind a very thick hedge; and they hadthere listened so eagerly to the stories that they had not heard theringing of the monastery bell, as was soon clearly shown, for theyreturned in such great haste that they almost lacked breath to begin thesaying of vespers. 

After the service, when they were asked why they had been so late andhad chanted so badly, they confessed that they had been to listen to thetales; whereupon, since they were so desirous of hearing them, it wasgranted that they might sit and listen at their ease every day behindthe hedge. 

Supper-time was spent joyously in discoursing of such matters as theyhad not brought to an end in the meadow. And this lasted through theevening, until Oisille begged them to retire so that their minds mightbe the more alert on the morrow, after a long, sound sleep, one hourof which before midnight was, said she, better than three after it. Accordingly the company parted one from another, betaking themselves totheir respective rooms; and in this wise ended the Second Day. 

[Illustration: 029. Jpg Tailpiece]

THIRD DAY. 

_On the Third Day are recounted Tales of theLadies who have only sought what washonourable in Love, and of thehypocrisy and wickednessof the Monks_. 

PROLOGUE. 

Though it was yet early when the company entered the hall on the morrow, they found Madame Oisille there before them. She had been meditating formore than half-an-hour upon the lesson that she was going to read; andif she had contented them on the first and second days, she assuredlydid no less on the third; indeed, but that one of the monks came insearch of them they would not have heard high mass, for so intent werethey upon listening to her that they did not even hear the bell. 

When they had piously heard mass, and had dined with temperance tothe end that the meats might in no sort hinder the memory of each fromacquitting itself as well as might be when their several turns came, they withdrew to their apartments, there to consult their note-booksuntil the wonted hour for repairing to the meadow was come. When it hadarrived they were not slow to make the pleasant excursion, and those whowere prepared to tell of some merry circumstance already showed mirthfulfaces that gave promise of much laughter. When they were seated, theyasked Saffredent to whom he would give his vote for the beginning of theThird Day. 

"I think, " said he, "that since my offence yesterday was as you say verygreat, and I have knowledge of no story that might atone for it, I oughtto give my vote to Parlamente, who, with her sound understanding, willbe able to praise the ladies sufficiently to make you forget such truthas you heard from me. "

"I will not undertake, " said Parlamente, "to atone for your offences, but I will promise not to imitate them. Wherefore, holding to the truththat we have promised and vowed to utter, I propose to show you thatthere are ladies who in their loves have aimed at nought but virtue. Andsince she of whom I am going to speak to you came of an honourable line, I will just change the names in my story but nothing more; and I prayyou, ladies, believe that love has no power to change a chaste andvirtuous heart, as you will see by the tale I will now begin to tell. "

[Illustration: 035a. Jpg Rolandine Conversing With Her Husband]

[Rolandine Conversing With Her Husband]

[Illustration: 035. Jpg Page Image]

_TALE XXI_. 

 _Having remained unmarried until she was thirty years of age, Rolandine, recognising her father's neglect and her mistress's disfavour, fell so deeply in love with a bastard gentleman that she promised him marriage; and this being told to her father he treated her with all the harshness imaginable, in order to make her consent to the dissolving of the marriage; but she continued steadfast in her love until she had received certain tidings of the Bastard's death, when she was wedded to a gentleman who bore the same name and arms as did her own family_. 

There was in France a Queen (1) who brought up in her household severalmaidens belonging to good and noble houses. Among others there was onecalled Rolandine, (2) who was near akin to the Queen; but the latter, being for some reason unfriendly with the maiden's father, showed her nogreat kindness. 

Now, although this maiden was not one of the fairest--nor yet indeed wasshe of the ugliest--she was nevertheless so discreet and virtuous thatmany persons of great consequence sought her in marriage. They had, however, but a cold reply; for the father (3) was so fond of his moneythat he gave no thought to his daughter's welfare, while her mistress, as I have said, bore her but little favour, so that she was sought bynone who desired to be advanced in the Queen's good graces. 

 1 This is evidently Anne of Brittany, elder daughter of Duke Francis II. And wife in turn of Charles VIII. And Louis XII. Brantôme says: "She was the first to form that great Court of ladies which we have seen since her time until now; she always had a very great suite of ladies and maids, and never refused fresh ones; far from it, indeed, for she would inquire of the noblemen at Court if they had daughters, and would ask that they might be sent to her. "--Lalanne's _OEuvres de Brantôme_, vol. Vii. P. 314--L. 

 2 This by the consent of all the commentators is Anne de Rohan, elder daughter of John II. Viscount de Rohan, Count of Porhoët, Léon and La Garnache, by Mary of Brittany, daughter of Duke Francis I. The date of Anne de Rohan's birth is not exactly known, but she is said to have been about thirty years of age at the time of the tale, though the incidents related extend over a somewhat lengthy period. However, we know that Anne was ultimately married to Peter de Rohan in 1517, when, according to her marriage contract, she was over thirty-six years old (_Les Preuves de Histoire ecclésiastique et civile de Bretagne_, 1756, vol. V. Col. 940). From this we may assume that she was thirty in or about 1510. The historical incidents alluded to in the tale would, however, appear to have occurred (as will be shown by subsequent notes) between 1507 and 1509, and we are of opinion that the Queen of Navarre has made her heroine rather older than she really was, and that the story indeed begins in or about 1505, when Rolandine can have been little more than five or six and twenty. --Ed. 

 3 See notes to Tale XL. (vol. Iv). 

Thus, owing to her father's neglect and her mistress's disdain, the poormaiden continued unmarried for a long while; and this at last made hersad at heart, not so much because she longed to be married as becauseshe was ashamed at not being so, wherefore she forsook the vanities andpomps of the Court and gave herself up wholly to the worship of God. Hersole delight consisted in prayer or needlework, and thus in retirementshe passed her youthful years, living in the most virtuous and holymanner imaginable. 

Now, when she was approaching her thirtieth year, there was at Court agentleman who was a Bastard of a high and noble house; (4) he was one ofthe pleasantest comrades and most worshipful men of his day, but he waswholly without fortune, and possessed of such scant comeliness that nolady would have chosen him for her lover. 

 4 One cannot absolutely identify this personage; but judging by what is said of him in the story--that he came of a great house, that he was very brave but poor, neither rich enough to marry Rolandine nor handsome enough to be made a lover of, and that a lady, who was a near relative of his, came to the Court after his intrigue had been going on for a couple of years--he would certainly appear to be John, Bastard of Angoulôme, a natural son of Count John the Good, and consequently half-brother to Charles of Angoulôme ( who married Louise of Savoy) and uncle to Francis I. And Queen Margaret. In Père Anselme's _Histoire Généalogique de la Maison de France_, vol. I. P. 210 B. There is a record of the letters of legitimisation granted to the Bastard of Angoulême at his father's request in June 1458, and M. Paul Lacroix points out that if Rolandine's secret marriage to him took place in or about 1508, he would then have been about fifty years old, hardly the age for a lover. The Bastard is, however, alluded to in the tale as a man of mature years, and as at the outset of the intrigue (1505) he would have been but forty-seven, we incline with M. De Lincy to the belief that he is the hero of it. --Eu. 

Thus this poor gentleman had continued unmated, and as one unfortunateoften seeks out another, he addressed himself to Rolandine, whosefortune, temper and condition were like his own. And while they wereengaged in mutually lamenting their woes, they became very fond of eachother, and finding that they were companions in misfortune, sought outone another everywhere, so that they might exchange consolation, in thiswise setting on foot a deep and lasting attachment. 

Those who had known Rolandine so very retiring that she would speakto none, were now greatly shocked on seeing her unceasingly with thewell-born Bastard, and told her governess that she ought not to suffertheir long talks together. The governess, therefore, remonstrated withRolandine, and told her that every one was shocked at her conversing sofreely with a man who was neither rich enough to marry her nor handsomeenough to be her lover. 

To this Rolandine, who had always been rebuked rather for austerenessthan for worldliness, replied--

"Alas, mother, you know that I cannot have a husband of my owncondition, and that I have always shunned such as are handsome andyoung, fearing to fall into the same difficulties as others. And sincethis gentleman is discreet and virtuous, as you yourself know, and tellsme nothing that is not honourable and right, what harm can I have doneto you and to those that have spoken of the matter, by seeking from himsome consolation in my grief?"

The poor old woman, who loved her mistress more than she loved herself, replied--

"I can see, my lady, that you speak the truth, and know that you are nottreated by your father and mistress as you deserve to be. Nevertheless, since people are speaking about your honour in this way, you ought toconverse with him no longer, even were he your own brother. "

"Mother, " said Rolandine, "if such be your counsel I will observe it;but 'tis a strange thing to be wholly without consolation in the world. "

The Bastard came to talk with her according to his wont, but she toldhim everything that her governess had said to her, and, shedding tears, besought him to have no converse with her for a while, until the rumourshould be past and gone; and to this he consented at her request. 

Being thus cut off from all consolation, they both began, however, tofeel such torment during their separation as neither had ever knownbefore. For her part she did not cease praying to God, journeying andfasting; for love, heretofore unknown to her, caused her such exceedingdisquiet as not to leave her an hour's repose. The well-born Bastard wasno better off; but, as he had already resolved in his heart to loveher and try to wed her, and had thought not only of his love but ofthe honour that it would bring him if he succeeded in his design, hereflected that he must devise a means of making his love known to herand, above all, of winning the governess to his side. This last he didby protesting to her the wretchedness of her poor mistress, who wasbeing robbed of all consolation. At this the old woman, with many tears, thanked him for the honourable affection that he bore her mistress, andthey took counsel together how he might speak with her. They plannedthat Rolandine should often feign to suffer from headache, to whichnoise is exceedingly distressful; so that, when her companions went intothe Queen's apartment, she and the Bastard might remain alone, and inthis way hold converse together. 

The Bastard was overjoyed at this, and, guiding himself wholly by thegoverness's advice, had speech with his sweetheart whensoever he would. However, this contentment lasted no great while, for the Queen, who hadbut little love for Rolandine, inquired what she did so constantlyin her room. Some one replied that it was on account of sickness, butanother, who possessed too good a memory for the absent, declared thatthe pleasure she took in speaking with the Bastard must needs cause herheadache to pass away. 

The Queen, who deemed the venial sins of others to be mortal ones inRolandine, sent for her and forbade her ever to speak to the Bastardexcept it were in the royal chamber or hall. The maiden gave no sign, but replied--

"Had I known, madam, that he or any one beside were displeasing to you, I should never have spoken to him. "

Nevertheless she secretly cast about to find some other plan of whichthe Queen should know nothing, and in this she was successful. OnWednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays she was wont to fast, and would thenstay with her governess in her own room, where, while the others wereat supper, she was free to speak with the man whom she was beginning tolove so dearly. 

The more they were compelled to shorten their discourse, the morelovingly did they talk; for they stole the time even as a robber stealssomething that is of great worth. But, in spite of all their secrecy, aserving-man saw the Bastard go into the room one fast day, and reportedthe matter in a quarter where it was not concealed from the Queen. Thelatter was so wroth that the Bastard durst enter the ladies' room nomore. Yet, that he might not lose the delight of converse with his love, he often made a pretence of going on a journey, and returned in theevening to the church or chapel of the castle (5) dressed as a GreyFriar or a Jacobin, or disguised so well in some other way that nonecould know him; and thither, attended by her governess, Rolandine wouldgo to have speech with him. 

 5 This would be either the château of Amboise or that of Blois, we are inclined to think the latter, as Louis XII. More frequently resided there. --Ed. 

Then, seeing how great was the love she bore him, he feared not to say--

"You see, fair lady, what risk I run in your service, and how the Queenhas forbidden you to speak with me. You see, further, what manner ofman is your father, who has no thought whatsoever of bestowing you inmarriage. He has rejected so many excellent suitors, that I know ofnone, whether near or far, that can win you. I know that I am poor, andthat you could not wed a gentleman that were not richer than I; yet, if love and good-will were counted wealth, I should hold myself for therichest man on earth. God has given you great wealth, and you are liketo have even more. Were I so fortunate as to be chosen for your husband, I would be your husband, lover and servant all my life long; whereas, if you take one of equal consideration with yourself--and such a oneit were hard to find--he will seek to be the master, and will havemore regard for your wealth than for your person, and for the beautyof others than for your virtue; and, whilst enjoying the use of yourwealth, he will fail to treat you, yourself, as you deserve. And now mylonging to have this delight, and my fear that you will have none suchwith another, impel me to pray that you will make me a happy man, andyourself the most contented and best treated wife that ever lived. "

When Rolandine heard the very words that she herself had purposedspeaking to him, she replied with a glad countenance--

"I am well pleased that you have been the first to speak such words asI had a long while past resolved to say to you. For the two years thatI have known you I have never ceased to turn over in my mind all thearguments for you and against you that I was able to devise; but nowthat I am at last resolved to enter into the married state, it is timethat 1 should make a beginning and choose some one with whom I may lookto dwell with tranquil mind. And I have been able to find none, whetherhandsome, rich, or nobly born, with whom my heart and soul could agreeexcepting yourself alone. I know that in marrying you I shall not offendGod, but rather do what He enjoins, while as to his lordship my father, he has regarded my welfare so little, and has rejected so many offers, that the law suffers me to marry without fear of being disinherited;though, even if I had only that which is now mine, I should, in marryingsuch a husband as you, account myself the richest woman in the world. Asto the Queen, my mistress, I need have no qualms in displeasing herin order to obey God, for never had she any in hindering me from anyblessing that I might have had in my youth. But, to show you that thelove I bear you is founded upon virtue and honour, you must promise thatif I agree to this marriage, you will not seek its consummation until myfather be dead, or until I have found a means to win his consent. "

To this the Bastard readily agreed, whereupon they exchanged rings intoken of marriage, and kissed each other in the church in the presenceof God, calling upon Him to witness their promise; and never afterwardswas there any other familiarity between them save kissing only. 

This slender delight gave great content to the hearts of these twoperfect lovers; and, secure in their mutual affection, they lived forsome time without seeing each other. There was scarcely any place wherehonour might be won to which the Bastard did not go, rejoicing that hecould not now continue a poor man, seeing that God had bestowed on hima rich wife; and she during his absence steadfastly cherished theirperfect love, and made no account of any other living man. And althoughthere were some who asked her in marriage, the only answer they had ofher was that, since she had remained unwedded for so long a time, shedesired to continue so for ever. (6)

 6 The speeches of Rolandine and the Bastard should be compared with some of Clement Marot's elegies, notably with one in which he complains of having been surprised while conversing with his mistress in a church. --B. J. 

This reply came to the ears of so many people, that the Queen heard ofit and asked her why she spoke in that way. Rolandine replied that itwas done in obedience to herself, who had never been pleased to marryher to any man who would have well and comfortably provided for her;accordingly, being taught by years and patience to be content with herpresent condition, she would always return a like answer whensoever anyone spoke to her of marriage. 

When the wars were over, (7) and the Bastard had returned to Court, shenever spoke to him in presence of others, but always repaired tosome church and there had speech with him under pretence of going toconfession; for the Queen had forbidden them both, under penalty ofdeath, to speak together except in public. But virtuous love, whichrecks naught of such a ban, was more ready to find them means of speechthan were their enemies to spy them out; the Bastard disguised himselfin the habit of every monkish order he could think of, and thus theirvirtuous intercourse continued, until the King repaired to a pleasurehouse he had near Tours. (8)

 7 The wars here referred to would be one or another of Louis XII. 's Italian expeditions, probably that of 1507, when the battle of Aignadel was fought. --Ed. 

 8 This would no doubt be the famous château of Plessis-lez- Tours, within a mile of Tours, and long the favourite residence of Louis XI. Louis XII. Is known to have sojourned at Plessis in 1507, at the time when the States-general conferred upon him the title of "Father of the People. " English tourists often visit Plessis now adays in memory of Scott's "Quentin Durward, " but only a few shapeless ruins of the old structure are left. --M. And Ed. 

This, however, was not near enough for the ladies to go on foot to anyother church but that of the castle, which was built in such a fashionthat it contained no place of concealment in which the confessor wouldnot have been plainly recognised. 

But if one opportunity failed them, love found them another and aneasier one, for there came to the Court a lady to whom the Bastardwas near akin. This lady was lodged, together with her son, (9) in theKing's abode; and the young Prince's room projected from the rest of theKing's apartments in such a way that from his window it was possible tosee and to speak to Rolandine, for his window and hers were just at theangle made by the two wings of the house. 

 9 This lady would be Louise of Savoy. She first came to the Court at Amboise in 1499, a circumstance which has led some commentators to place the incidents of this story at that date. But she was at Blois on various occasions between 1507 and 1509, to negotiate and attend the marriage of her daughter Margaret with the Duke of Alençon. Louis XII. Having gone from Blois to Plessis in 1507, Louise of Savoy may well have followed him thither. Her son was, of course, the young Duke de Valois, afterwards Francis I. --Ed. 

In this room of hers, which was over the King's presence-chamber, allthe noble damsels that were Rolandine's companions were lodged with her. She, having many times observed the young Prince at his window, madethis known to the Bastard through her governess; and he, having madecareful observation of the place, feigned to take great pleasure inreading a book about the Knights of the Round Table (10) which was inthe Prince's room. 

 10 Romances of chivalry were much sought after at this time. Not merely were there MS. Copies of these adorned with miniatures, but we find that _L'Histoire du Saint Gréai, La Vie et les Prophéties de Merlin, and Les Merveilleux Faits et Gestes du Noble Chevalier Lancelot du Lac_ were printed in France in the early years of the sixteenth century. --B. J. 

And when every one was going to dinner, he would beg a valet to let himfinish his reading, shut up in the room, over which he promised to keepgood guard. The servants knew him to be a kinsman of his master and oneto be trusted, let him read as much as he would. Rolandine, on her part, would then come to her window; and, so that she might be able to makea long stay at it, she pretended to have an infirmity in the leg, andaccordingly dined and supped so early that she no longer frequented theladies' table. She likewise set herself to work a coverlet of crimsonsilk, (11) and fastened it at the window, where she desired to be alone;and, when she saw that none was by, she would converse with her husband, who contrived to speak in such a voice as could not be overheard; andwhenever any one was coming, she would cough and make a sign, so thatthe Bastard might withdraw in good time. 

 11 In the French, "_Ung lût de reseul:" reticella--i. E. _, a kind of open work embroidery very fashionable in those days, and the most famous designers of which were Frederic Vinciolo, Dominic de Sara, and John Cousin the painter. Various sixteenth and seventeenth century books on needlework, still extant, give some curious information concerning this form of embroidery. --M. 

Those who kept watch upon them felt sure that their love was past, forshe never stirred from the room in which, as they thought, he couldassuredly never see her, since it was forbidden him to enter it. 

One day, however, the young Prince's mother, (12) being in her son'sroom, placed herself at the window where this big book lay, and hadnot long been there when one of Rolandine's companions, who was at thewindow in the opposite room, greeted her and spoke to her. The ladyasked her how Rolandine did; whereon the other replied that she mightsee her if she would, and brought her to the window in her nightcap. Then, when they had spoken together about her sickness, they withdrewfrom the window on either side. 

 12 Louise of Savoy. 

The lady, observing the big book about the Round Table, said to theservant who had it in his keeping--

"I am surprised that young folk can waste their time in reading suchfoolishness. "

The servant replied that he marvelled even more that people accountedsensible and of mature age should have a still greater liking for itthan the young; and he told her, as matter for wonderment, how hercousin the Bastard would spend four or five hours each day in readingthis fine book. Straightway there came into the lady's mind thereason why he acted thus, and she charged the servant to hide himselfsomewhere, and take account of what the Bastard might do. This the mandid, and found that the Bastard's book was the window to which Rolandinecame to speak with him, and he, moreover, heard many a love-speech whichthey had thought to keep wholly secret. 

On the morrow he related this to his mistress, who sent for the Bastard, and after chiding him forbade him to return to that place again; and inthe evening she spoke of the matter to Rolandine, and threatened, if shepersisted in this foolish love, to make all these practices known to theQueen. 

Rolandine, whom nothing could dismay, vowed that in spite of all thatfolks might say she had never spoken to him since her mistress hadforbidden her to do so, as might be learned both from her companions andfrom her servants and attendants. And as for the window, she declaredthat she had never spoken at it to the Bastard. He, however, fearingthat the matter had been discovered, withdrew out of harm's way, and wasa long time without returning to Court, though not without writing toRolandine, and this in so cunning a manner that, in spite of the Queen'svigilance, never a week went by but she twice heard from him. 

When he no longer found it possible to employ monks as messengers, ashe had done at first, he would send a little page, dressed now in onecolour and now in another; and the page used to stand at the doorwaysthrough which the ladies were wont to pass, and deliver his letterssecretly in the throng. But one day, when the Queen was going out intothe country, it chanced that one who was charged to look after thismatter recognised the page, and hastened after him; but he, beingkeen-witted and suspecting that he was being pursued, entered the houseof a poor woman who was boiling her pot on the fire, and there forthwithburned his letters. The gentleman who followed him stripped him nakedand searched through all his clothes; but he could find nothing, and solet him go. And the boy being gone, the old woman asked the gentlemanwhy he had so searched him. 

"To find some letters, " he replied, "which I thought he had upon him. "

"You could by no means have found them, " said the old woman, "they weretoo well hidden for that. "

"I pray you, " said the gentleman, in the hope of getting them beforelong, "tell me where they were. "

However, when he heard that they had been thrown into the fire, heperceived that the page had proved more crafty than himself, andforthwith made report of the matter to the Queen. 

From that time, however, the Bastard no longer employed the page or anyother child, but sent an old servant of his, who, laying aside all fearof the death which, as he well knew, was threatened by the Queen againstall such as should interfere in this matter, undertook to carry hismaster's letters to Rolandine. And having come to the castle where shewas, he posted himself on the watch at the foot of a broad staircase, beside a doorway through which all the ladies were wont to pass. But aserving-man, who had aforetime seen him, knew him again immediately andreported the matter to the Queen's Master of the Household, who quicklycame to arrest him. However, the discreet and wary servant, seeing thathe was being watched from a distance, turned towards the wall asthough he desired to make water, and tearing the letter he had intothe smallest possible pieces, threw them behind a door. Immediatelyafterwards he was taken and thoroughly searched, and nothing being foundon him, they asked him on his oath whether he had not brought letters, using all manner of threats and persuasions to make him confess thetruth; but neither by promises nor threats could they draw anything fromhim. 

Report of this having been made to the Queen, some one in the companybethought him that it would be well to look behind the door near whichthe man had been taken. This was done, and they found what they sought, namely the pieces of the letter. Then the King's confessor was sent for, and he, having put the pieces together on a table, read the whole of theletter, in which the truth of the marriage, that had been so carefullyconcealed, was made manifest; for the Bastard called Rolandine nothingbut "wife. " The Queen, who was in no mind, as she should have been, tohide her neighbour's transgressions, made a great ado about the matter, and commanded that all means should be employed to make the poor manconfess the truth of the letter. And indeed, when they showed it to him, he could not deny it; but for all they could say or show, he would sayno more than at first. Those who had him in charge thereupon brought himto the brink of the river, and put him into a sack, declaring that hehad lied to God and to the Queen, contrary to proven truth. But he wasminded to die rather than accuse his master, and asked for a confessor;and when he had eased his conscience as well as might be, he said tothem--

"Good sirs, I pray you tell the Bastard, my master, that I commend thelives of my wife and children to him, for right willingly do I yield upmy own in his service. You may do with me what you will, for never shallyou draw from me a word against my master. "

Thereupon, all the more to affright him, they threw him in the sack intothe water, calling to him--

"If you will tell the truth, you shall be saved. "

Finding, however, that he answered nothing, they drew him out again, andmade report of his constancy to the Queen, who on hearing of it declaredthat neither the King nor herself were so fortunate in their followersas was this gentleman the Bastard, though he lacked even the means torequite them. She then did all that she could to draw the servant intoher own service, but he would by no means consent to forsake his master. However, by the latter's leave, he at last entered the Queen's service, in which he lived in happiness and contentment. 

The Queen, having learnt the truth of the marriage from the Bastard'sletter, sent for Rolandine, whom with a wrathful countenance she severaltimes called "wretch" instead of "cousin, " reproaching her with theshame that she had brought both upon her father's house and her mistressby thus marrying without her leave or commandment. 

Rolandine, who had long known what little love her mistress bore her, gave her but little in return. Moreover, since there was no love betweenthem, neither was there fear; and as Rolandine perceived that thisreprimand, given her in presence of several persons, was prompted lessby affection than by a desire to put her to shame, and that the Queenfelt more pleasure in chiding her than grief at finding her in fault, she replied with a countenance as glad and tranquil as the Queen's wasdisturbed and wrathful--

"If, madam, you did not know your own heart, such as it is, I would setforth to you the ill-will that you have long borne my father (13) andmyself; but you do, indeed, know this, and will not deem it strange thatall the world should have an inkling of it too. For my own part, madam, I have perceived it to my dear cost, for had you been pleased to favourme equally as you favour those who are not so near to you as myself, Iwere now married to your honour as well as to my own; but you passedme over as one wholly a stranger to your favour, and so all the goodmatches I might have made passed away before my eyes, through myfather's neglect and the slenderness of your regard. By reason of thistreatment I fell into such deep despair, that, had my health been strongenough in any sort to endure a nun's condition, I would have willinglyentered upon it to escape from the continual griefs your harshnessbrought me. 

 13 Of all those with pretensions to the Duchy of Brittany, the Viscount de Rohan had doubtless the best claim, though he met with the least satisfaction. It was, however, this reason that led the Queen [Anne of Brittany] to treat him with such little regard. It was with mingled grief and resentment that this proud princess realised how real were the Viscount's rights; moreover, she never forgave him for having taken up arms against her in favour of France; and seeking an opportunity to avenge herself, she found one in giving the Viscount but little satisfaction in the matter of his pretensions. "--Dora Morice's _Histoire ecclésiastique et civile de Bretagne_, Paris, 1756, vol. Ii. P. 231. --L. 

"Whilst in this despair I was sought by one whose lineage would be asgood as my own if mutual love were rated as high as a marriage ring; foryou know that his father would walk before mine. He has long wooed andloved me; but you, madam, who have never forgiven me the smallest faultnor praised me for any good deed, you--although you knew from experiencethat I was not wont to speak of love or worldly things, and that I led amore retired and religious life than any other of your maids--forthwithdeemed it strange that I should speak with a gentleman who is asunfortunate in this life as I am myself, and one, moreover, in whosefriendship I thought and looked to have nothing save comfort to my soul. When I found myself wholly baffled in this design, I fell into greatdespair, and resolved to seek my peace as earnestly as you longed to robme of it; whereupon we exchanged words of marriage, and confirmed themwith promise and ring. Wherefore, madam, methinks you do me a grievouswrong in calling me wicked, seeing that in this great and perfect love, wherein opportunity, had I so desired, would not have been lacking, nogreater familiarity has passed between us than a kiss. I have waited inthe hope that, before the consummation of the marriage, I might by thegrace of God win my father's heart to consent to it. I have given nooffence to God or to my conscience, for I have waited till the age ofthirty to see what you and my father would do for me, and have kept myyouth in such chastity and virtue that no living man can bring up aughtagainst me. But when I found that I was old and without hope of beingwedded suitably to my birth and condition, I used the reason that Godhas given me, and resolved to marry a gentleman after my own heart. Andthis I did not to gratify the lust of the eye, for you know that he isnot handsome; nor the lust of the flesh, for there has been no carnalconsummation of our marriage; nor the ambition and pride of life, for heis poor and of small rank; but I took account purely and simply of theworth that is in him, for which every one is constrained to praise him, and also of the great love that he bears me, and that gives me hopeof having a life of quietness and kindness with him. Having carefullyweighed all the good and the evil that may come of it, I have done whatseems to me best, and, after considering the matter in my heart for twoyears, I am resolved to pass the remainder of my days with him. And sofirm is my resolve that no torment that may be inflicted upon me, noreven death itself, shall ever cause me to depart from it. Wherefore, madam, I pray you excuse that which is indeed very excusable, as youyourself must realise, and suffer me to dwell in that peace which I hopeto find with him. "

The Queen, finding her so steadfast of countenance and so true ofspeech, could make no reply in reason, but continued wrathfully rebukingand reviling her, bursting into tears and saying--

"Wretch that you are! instead of humbling yourself before me, andrepenting of so grievous a fault, you speak hardily with never a tearin your eye, and thus clearly show the obstinacy and hardness of yourheart. But if the King and your father give heed to me, they will putyou into a place where you will be compelled to speak after a differentfashion. "

"Madam, " replied Rolandine, "since you charge me with speaking toohardily, I will e'en be silent if you give me not permission to reply toyou. "

Then, being commanded to speak, she went on--

"'Tis not for me, madam, to speak to you, my mistress and the greatestPrincess in Christendom, hardily and without the reverence that I owe toyou, nor have I purposed doing so; but I have no defender to speak forme except the truth, and as this is known to me alone, I am forced toutter it fearlessly in the hope that, when you know it, you will nothold me for such as you have been pleased to name me. I fear not thatany living being should learn how I have comported myself in the matterthat is laid to my charge, for I know that I have offended neitheragainst God nor against my honour. And this it is that enables me tospeak without fear; for I feel sure that He who sees my heart is on myside, and with such a Judge in my favour, I were wrong to fear such asare subject to His decision. Why should I weep? My conscience and myheart do not at all rebuke me, and so far am I from repenting of thismatter, that, were it to be done over again, I should do just the same. But you, madam, have good cause to weep both for the deep wrong that youhave done me throughout my youth, and for that which you are now doingme, in rebuking me publicly for a fault that should be laid at your doorrather than at mine. Had I offended God, the King, yourself, my kinsfolkor my conscience, I were indeed obstinate and perverse if I didnot greatly repent with tears; but I may not weep for that whichis excellent, just and holy, and which would have received onlycommendation had you not made it known before the proper time. Indoing this, you have shown that you had a greater desire to compass mydishonour than to preserve the honour of your house and kin. But, sincesuch is your pleasure, madam, I have nothing to say against it; commandme what suffering you will, and I, innocent though I am, will be asglad to endure as you to inflict it. Wherefore, madam, you may chargemy father to inflict whatsoever torment you would have me undergo, forI well know that he will not fail to obey you. It is pleasant to knowthat, to work me ill, he will wholly fall in with your desire, and thatas he has neglected my welfare in submission to your will, so will hebe quick to obey you to my hurt. But I have a Father in Heaven, and Hewill, I am sure, give me patience equal to all the evils that I foreseeyou preparing for me, and in Him alone do I put my perfect trust. "

The Queen, beside herself with wrath, commanded that Rolandine shouldbe taken from her sight and put into a room alone, where she might havespeech with no one. However, her governess was not taken from her, andthrough her Rolandine acquainted the Bastard with all that had befallenher, and asked him what he would have her do. He, thinking that hisservices to the King might avail him something, came with all speed tothe Court. Finding the King at the chase, he told him the whole truth, entreating him to favour a poor gentleman so far as to appease the Queenand bring about the consummation of the marriage. 

The King made no reply except to ask--

"Do you assure me that you have wedded her?"

"Yes, sire, " said the Bastard, "but by word of mouth alone; however, ifit please you, we'll make an ending of it. "

The King bent his head, and, without saying anything more, returnedstraight towards the castle, and when he was nigh to it summoned theCaptain of his Guard, and charged him to take the Bastard prisoner. 

However, a friend who knew and could interpret the King's visage, warnedthe Bastard to withdraw and betake himself to a house of his that washard by, saying that if the King, as he expected, sought for him, heshould know of it forthwith, so that he might fly the kingdom; whilstif, on the other hand, things became smoother, he should have word toreturn. The Bastard followed this counsel, and made such speed that theCaptain of the Guards was not able to find him. 

The King and Queen took counsel together as to what they should do withthe hapless lady who had the honour of being related to them, and bythe Queen's advice it was decided that she should be sent back to herfather, and that he should be made acquainted with the whole truth. 

But before sending her away they caused many priests and councillors tospeak with her and show her that, since her marriage consisted in wordsonly, it might by mutual agreement readily be made void; and this, theyurged, the King desired her to do in order to maintain the honour of thehouse to which she belonged. 

She made answer that she was ready to obey the King in all such thingsas were not contrary to her conscience, but that those whom God hadbrought together man could not put asunder. She therefore begged themnot to tempt her to anything so unreasonable; for if love and goodwillfounded on the fear of God were the true and certain marriage ties, shewas linked by bonds that neither steel nor flame nor water could sever. Death alone might do this, and to death alone would she resign her ringand her oath. She therefore prayed them to gainsay her no more; for sostrong of purpose was she that she would rather keep faith and die thanbreak it and live. 

This steadfast reply was repeated to the King by those whom he hadappointed to speak with her, and when it was found that she could by nomeans be brought to renounce her husband, she was sent to her father, and this in so pitiful a plight that all who beheld her pass wept to seeher. And although she had done wrong, her punishment was so grievous andher constancy so great, that her wrongdoing was made to appear a virtue. 

When her father heard the pitiful tale, he would not see her, but senther away to a castle in a forest, which he had aforetime built for areason well worthy to be related. (14) There he kept her in prison for along time, causing her to be told that if she would give up her husbandhe would treat her as his daughter and set her free. 

 14 The famous château of Josselin in Morbihan. See notes to Tale XL. , vol. Lv. --Ed. 

Nevertheless she continued firm, for she preferred the bonds of prisontogether with those of marriage, to all the freedom in the world withouther husband. And, judging from her countenance, all her woes seemed butpleasant pastimes to her, since she was enduring them for one she loved. 

And now, what shall I say of men? The Bastard, who was so deeplybeholden to her, as you have seen, fled to Germany where he had manyfriends, and there showed by his fickleness that he had sought Rolandineless from true and perfect love than from avarice and ambition; for hefell deeply in love with a German lady, and forgot to write to the womanwho for his sake was enduring so much tribulation. However cruel Fortunemight be towards them, they were always able to write to each other, until he conceived this foolish and wicked love. And Rolandine's heartgaining an inkling of it, she could no longer rest. 

And afterwards, when she found that his letters were colder anddifferent from what they had been before, she suspected that some newlove was separating her from her husband, and doing that which all thetorments and afflictions laid upon herself had been unable to effect. Nevertheless, her perfect love would not pass judgment on meresuspicion, so she found a means of secretly sending a trusty servant, not to carry letters or messages to him, but to watch him and discoverthe truth. When this servant had returned from his journey, he told herthat the Bastard was indeed deeply in love with a German lady, and thataccording to common report he was seeking to marry her, for she was veryrich. 

These tidings brought extreme and unendurable grief to Rolandine'sheart, so that she fell grievously sick. Those who knew the cause ofher sickness, told her on behalf of her father that, with this greatwickedness on the part of the Bastard before her eyes, she might nowjustly renounce him. They did all they could to persuade her to thatintent, but, notwithstanding her exceeding anguish, she could not bebrought to change her purpose, and in this last temptation again gaveproof of her great love and surpassing virtue. For as love grew less andless on his part, so did it grow greater on hers, and in this way makegood that which was lost. And when she knew that the entire and perfectlove that once had been shared by both remained but in her heart alone, she resolved to preserve it there until one or the other of them shoulddie. And the Divine Goodness, which is perfect charity and true love, took pity upon her grief and long suffering, in such wise that a fewdays afterwards the Bastard died while occupied in seeking after anotherwoman. Being advised of this by certain persons who had seen him laid inthe ground, she sent to her father and begged that he would be pleasedto speak with her. 

Her father, who had never spoken to her since her imprisonment, camewithout delay. He listened to all the pleas that she had to urge, andthen, instead of rebuking her or killing her as he had often threatened, he took her in his arms and wept exceedingly. 

"My daughter, " he said, "you are more in the right than I, for if therehas been any wrongdoing in this matter, I have been its principal cause. But now, since God has so ordered it, I would gladly atone for thepast. "

He took her home and treated her as his eldest daughter. A gentlemanwho bore the same name and arms as did her own family sought her inmarriage; he was very sensible and virtuous, (15) and he thought so muchof Rolandine, whom he often visited, that he gave praise to whatothers blamed in her, perceiving that virtue had been her only aim. The marriage, being acceptable both to Rolandine and to her father, wasconcluded without delay. 

It is true, however, that a brother she had, the sole heir of theirhouse, would not grant her a portion, for he charged her with havingdisobeyed her father. And after his father's death he treated her soharshly that she and her husband (who was a younger son) had much ado tolive. (16)

 15 Peter de Rohan-Gié, Lord of Frontenay, third son of Peter de Rohan, Lord of Gié, Marshal of Prance and preceptor to Francis I. As previously stated, the marriage took place in 1517, and eight years later the husband was killed at Pavia. --Ed. 

 16 Anne de Rohan (Rolandine) had two brothers, James and Claud. Both died without issue. Some particulars concerning them will be found in the notes to Tale XL. The father's death, according to Anselme, took place in 1516, that is, prior to Anne's marriage. --Ed. 

However, God provided for them, for the brother that sought to keepeverything died suddenly one day, leaving behind him both her wealth, which he was keeping back, and his own. 

Thus did she inherit a large and rich estate, whereon she lived piouslyand virtuously and in her husband's love. And after she had brought upthe two sons that God gave to them, (17) she yielded with gladness hersoul to Him in whom she had at all times put her perfect trust. 

 17 Anne's sons were René and Claud. Miss Mary Robinson (_The Fortunate Lovers_, London, 1887) believes René to be "Saffredent, " and his wife Isabel d'Albret, sister of Queen Margaret's husband Henry of Navarre, to be "Nomerfide. "--Ed. 

"Now, ladies, let the men who would make us out so fickle come forwardand point to an instance of as good a husband as this lady was a goodwife, and of one having like faith and steadfastness. I am sure theywould find it so difficult to do this, that I will release them fromthe task rather than put them to such exceeding toil. But as for you, ladies, I would pray you, for the sake of maintaining your own fairfame, either to love not at all, or else to love as perfectly as shedid. And let none among you say that this lady offended against herhonour, seeing that her constancy has served to heighten our own. "

"In good sooth, Parlamente, " said Oisille, "you have indeed told usthe story of a woman possessed of a noble and honourable heart; but herconstancy derives half its lustre from the faithlessness of a husbandthat could leave her for another. "

"I think, " said Longarine, "that the grief so caused must have beenthe hardest to bear. There is none so heavy that the love of two unitedlovers cannot support it; but when one fails in his duty, and leavesthe whole of the burden to the other, the load becomes too heavy to beendured. "

"Then you ought to pity us, " said Geburon, "for we have to bear thewhole burden of love, and you will not put out the tip of a finger torelieve us. "

"Ah, Geburon, " said Parlamente, "the burdens of men and of women areoften different enough. The love of a woman, being founded on godlinessand honour, is just and reasonable, and any man that is false to it mustbe reckoned a coward, and a sinner against God and man. On the otherhand, most men love only with reference to pleasure, and women, beingignorant of their ill intent, are sometimes ensnared; but when God showsthem how vile is the heart of the man whom they deemed good, they maywell draw back to save their honour and reputation, for soonest ended isbest mended. "

"Nay, that is a whimsical idea of yours, " said Hircan, "to hold that anhonourable woman may in all honour betray the love of a man; but thata man may not do as much towards a woman. You would make out that theheart of the one differs from that of the other; but for my part, inspite of their differences in countenance and dress, I hold them tobe alike in inclination, except indeed that the guilt which is bestconcealed is the worst. "

Thereto Parlamente replied with some heat--

"I am well aware that in your opinion the best women are those whoseguilt is known. "

"Let us leave this discourse, " said Simontault; "for whether we takethe heart of man or the heart of woman, the better of the twain is worthnothing. And now let us see to whom Parlamente is going to give hervote, so that we may hear some fine tale. "

"I give it, " she said, "to Geburon. "

"Since I began, " (18) he replied, "by talking about the Grey friars, Imust not forget those of Saint Benedict, nor an adventure in which theywere concerned in my own time. Nevertheless, in telling you the story ofa wicked monk, I do not wish to hinder you from having a good opinion ofsuch as are virtuous; but since the Psalmist says 'all men are liars, 'and in another place, 'there is none that doeth good, no not one, ' (19)I think we are bound to look upon men as they really are. If there beany virtue in them, we must attribute it to Him who is its source, andnot to the creature. Most people deceive themselves by giving overmuchpraise or glory to the latter, or by thinking that there is somethinggood in themselves. That you may not deem it impossible for exceedinglust to exist under exceeding austerity, listen to what befel in thedays of King Francis the First. "

 18 See the first tale he tells, No. 5, vol. I. --Ed. 

 19 Psalms cxvi. 11 and xiv. 3. 

[Illustration: 071. Jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 073a. Jpg Sister Marie and the Prior]

[Sister Marie and the Prior]

[Illustration: 073. Jpg Page Image]

_TALE XXII_. 

 _Sister Marie Heroet, being unchastely solicited by a Prior of Saint-Martin-in-the-Fields, was by the grace of God enabled to overcome his great temptations, to the Prior's exceeding confusion and her own glory_. (1)

 1 This story is historical, and though M. Frank indicates points of similarity between it and No. Xxvii. Of St. Denis' _Comptes du Monde Adventureux_, and No. Vi. Of Masuccio de Solerac's _Novellino_, these are of little account when one remembers that the works in question were written posterior to the _Heptameron_. The incidents related in the tale must have occurred between 1530 and 1535. The Abbey of Saint- Martin-in-the-Fields stood on the site of the present Conservatoire des Arts et Métiers, Paris. --Ed. 

In the city of Paris there was a Prior of Saint-Martin-in-the-Fields, whose name I will keep secret for the sake of the friendship I bore him. Until he reached the age of fifty years, his life was so austere thatthe fame of his holiness was spread throughout the entire kingdom, andthere was not a prince or princess but showed him high honour when hecame to visit them. There was further no monkish reform that was notwrought by his hand, so that people called him the "father of truemonasticism. " (2)

He was chosen visitor to the illustrious order of the "Ladies ofFontevrault, " (3) by whom he was held in such awe that, when he visitedany of their convents, the nuns shook with very fear, and to soften hisharshness towards them would treat him as though he had been the Kinghimself in person. At first he would not have them do this, but at last, when he was nearly fifty-five years old, he began to find the treatmenthe had formerly contemned very pleasant; and reckoning himself themainstay of all monasticism, he gave more care to the preservation ofhis health than had heretofore been his wont. Although the rules ofhis order forbade him ever to partake of flesh, he granted himself adispensation (which was more than he ever did for another), declaringthat the whole burden of conventual affairs rested upon him; for whichreason he feasted himself so well that, from being a very lean monk hebecame a very fat one. 

 2 This prior was Stephen Gentil, who succeeded Philip Bourgoin on December 15, 1508, and died November 6, 1536. The _Gallia Christiana_ states that in 1524 he reformed an abbey of the diocese of Soissons, but makes no mention of his appointment as visitor to the abbey of Fontevrault. Various particulars concerning him will be found in Manor's _Monasterii Regalis S. Martini de Campis, &c. Parisiis_, 1636, and in _Gallia Christiana_, vol. Vii. Col. 539. --L. 

 3 The abbey of Fontevrault, near Saumur, Maine-et-Loire, was founded in 1100 by Robert d'Arbrissel, and comprised two conventual establishments, one for men and the other for women. Prior to his death, d'Arbrissel abdicated his authority in favour of Petronilla de Chemillé, and from her time forward monks and nuns alike were always under the sway of an abbess--this being the only instance of the kind in the history of the Roman Catholic Church. Fourteen of the abbesses were princesses, and several of these were of the blood royal of France. In the abbey church were buried our Henry II. , Eleanor of Guienne, Richard Coeur-de-Lion, and Isabella of Angoulême; their tombs are still shown, though the abbey has become a prison, and its church a refectory. -- Ed. 

Together with this change of life there was wrought also a great changeof heart, so that he now began to cast glances upon countenances whichaforetime he had looked at only as a duty; and, contemplating charmswhich were rendered even more desirable by the veil, he began to hankerafter them. Then, to satisfy this longing, he sought out such cunningdevices that at last from being a shepherd he became a wolf, so that inmany a convent, where there chanced to be a simple maiden, he failednot to beguile her. But after he had continued this evil life for along time, the Divine Goodness took compassion upon the poor, wanderingsheep, and would no longer suffer this villain's triumph to endure, asyou shall hear. 

One day he went to visit the convent of Gif, (4) not far from Paris, and while he was confessing all the nuns, it happened that there was oneamong them called Marie Heroet, whose speech was so gentle and pleasingthat it gave promise of a countenance and heart to match. 

 4 Gif, an abbey of the Benedictine order, was situated at five leagues from Paris, in the valley of Chevreuse, on the bank of the little river Yvette. A few ruins of it still remain. It appears to have been founded in the eleventh century. --See Le Beuf s _Histoire du Diocèse de Paris_, vol. Viii. Part viii. P. 106, and _Gallia Christiana_, vol. Vii. Col. 596. --L. And D. 

The mere sound of her voice moved him with a passion exceeding any thathe had ever felt for other nuns, and, while speaking to her, he bentlow to look at her, and perceiving her rosy, winsome mouth, could notrefrain from lifting her veil to see whether her eyes were in keepingtherewith. He found that they were, and his heart was filled with soardent a passion that, although he sought to conceal it, his countenancebecame changed, and he could no longer eat or drink. When he returnedto his priory, he could find no rest, but passed his days and nights indeep disquiet, seeking to devise a means whereby he might accomplish hisdesire, and make of this nun what he had already made of many others. But this, he feared, would be difficult, seeing that he had found herto be prudent of speech and shrewd of understanding; moreover, he knewhimself to be old and ugly, and therefore resolved not to employ wordsbut to seek to win her by fear. 

Accordingly, not long afterwards, he returned to the convent of Gifaforesaid, where he showed more austerity than he had ever done before, and spoke wrathfully to all the nuns, telling one that her veil was notlow enough, another that she carried her head too high, and anotherthat she did not do him reverence as a nun should do. So harsh was he inrespect of all these trifles, that they feared him as though he had beena god sitting on the throne of judgment. 

Being gouty, he grew very weary in visiting all the usual parts of theconvent, and it thus came to pass that about the hour for vespers, anhour which he had himself fixed upon, he found himself in the dormitory, when the Abbess said to him--

"Reverend father, it is time to go to vespers. "

"Go, mother, " he replied, "do you go to vespers. I am so weary that Iwill remain here, yet not to rest but to speak to Sister Marie, ofwhom I have had a very bad report, for I am told that she prates like aworldly-minded woman. "

The Abbess, who was aunt to the maiden's mother, begged him toreprove her soundly, and left her alone with him and a young monk whoaccompanied him. 

When he found himself alone with Sister Marie, he began to lift up herveil, and to tell her to look at him. She answered that the rule of herorder forbade her to look at men. 

"It is well said, my daughter, " he replied, "but you must not considerus monks as men. "

Then Sister Marie, fearing to sin by disobedience, looked him in theface; but he was so ugly that she though it rather a penance than a sinto look at him. 

The good father, after telling her at length of his goodwill towardsher, sought to lay his hand upon her breasts; but she repulsed him, aswas her duty; whereupon, in great wrath, he said to her--

"Should a nun know that she has breasts?"

"I know that I have, " she replied, "and certes neither you nor any othershall ever touch them. I am not so young and ignorant that I do not knowthe difference between what is sin and what is not. "

When he saw that such talk would not prevail upon her, he adopted adifferent plan, and said--

"Alas, my daughter, I must make known to you my extreme need. I have aninfirmity which all the physicians hold to be incurable unless I havepleasure with some woman whom I greatly love. For my part, I wouldrather die than commit a mortal sin; but, when it comes to that, I knowthat simple fornication is in no wise to be compared with the sin ofhomicide. So, if you love my life, you will preserve it for me, as wellas your own conscience from cruelty. "

She asked him what manner of pleasure he desired to have. He repliedthat she might safely surrender her conscience to his own, and that hewould do nothing that could be a burden to either. 

Then, to let her see the beginning of the pastime that he sought, hetook her in his arms and tried to throw her upon a bed. She, recognisinghis evil purpose, defended herself so well with arms and voice that hecould only touch her garments. Then, when he saw that all his devicesand efforts were being brought to naught, he behaved like a madman andone devoid not only of conscience but of natural reason, for, thrustinghis hand under her dress, he scratched wherever his nails could reachwith such fury that the poor girl shrieked out, and fell swooning atfull length upon the floor. 

Hearing this cry, the Abbess came into the dormitory; for while atvespers she had remembered that she had left her niece's daughter alonewith the good father, and feeling some scruples of conscience, she hadleft the chapel and repaired to the door of the dormitory in order tolearn what was going on. On hearing her niece's voice, she pushed openthe door, which was being held by the young monk. 

And when the Prior saw the Abbess coming, he pointed to her niece as shelay in a swoon, and said--

"Assuredly, mother, you are greatly to blame that you did not inform meof Sister Marie's condition. Knowing nothing of her weakness, I causedher to stand before me, and, while I was reproving her, she swooned awayas you see. "

They revived her with vinegar and other remedies, and found that she hadwounded her head in her fall. When she was recovered, the Prior, fearingthat she would tell her aunt the reason of her indisposition, took heraside and said to her--

"I charge you, my daughter, if you would be obedient and hope forsalvation, never to speak of what I said to you just now. You must knowthat it was my exceeding love for you that constrained me, but sinceI see that you do not wish to love me, I will never speak of it to youagain. However, if you be willing, I promise to have you chosen Abbessof one of the three best convents in the kingdom. "

She replied that she would rather die in perpetual imprisonment thanhave any lover save Him who had died for her on the cross, for shewould rather suffer with Him all the evils the world could inflict thanpossess without Him all its blessings. And she added that he must neveragain speak to her in such a manner, or she would inform the Abbess;whereas, if he kept silence, so would she. 

Thereupon this evil shepherd left her, and in order to make himselfappear quite other than he was, and to again have the pleasure oflooking upon her he loved, he turned to the Abbess and said--

"I beg, mother, that you will cause all your nuns to sing a _SalveRegina_ in honour of that virgin in whom I rest my hope. "

While this was being done, the old fox did nothing but shed tears, notof devotion, but of grief at his lack of success. All the nuns, thinkingthat it was for love of the Virgin Mary, held him for a holy man, butSister Marie, who knew his wickedness, prayed in her heart that onehaving so little reverence for virginity might be brought to confusion. 

And so this hypocrite departed to St. Martin's, where the evil fire thatwas in his heart did not cease burning night and day alike, promptinghim to all manner of devices in order to compass his ends. As he aboveall things feared the Abbess, who was a virtuous woman, he hit upon aplan to withdraw her from the convent, and betook himself to Madame deVendôme, who was at that time living at La Fère, where she had foundedand built a convent of the Benedictine order called Mount Olivet. (5)

 5 This is Mary of Luxemburg, Countess of St. Paul-de- Conversan, Marie and Soissons, who married, first, James of Savoy, and secondly, Francis de Bourbon, Count of Vendôme. The latter, who accompanied Charles VIII. To Italy, was killed at Vercelli in October 1495, when but twenty-five years old. His widow did not marry again, but retired to her château of La Fère near Laon (Aisne), where late in 1518 she founded a convent of Benedictine nuns, which, according to the _Gallia Christiana_, she called the convent of Mount Calvary. This must be the establishment alluded to by Queen Margaret, who by mistake has called it Mount Olivet, i. E. , the Mount of Olives. Madame de Vendôme died at a very advanced age on April 1, 1546. --See Anselme's _Histoire Généalogique_, vol. I. P. 326. --L. 

Speaking in the quality of a prince of reformers, he gave her tounderstand that the Abbess of the aforesaid Mount Olivet lacked thecapacity to govern such a community. The worthy lady begged him togive her another that should be worthy of the office, and he, who askednothing better, counselled her to have the Abbess of Gif, as being themost capable in France. Madame de Vendôme sent for her forthwith, andset her over the convent of Mount Olivet. 

As the Prior of St. Martin's had every monastic vote at his disposal, hecaused one who was devoted to him to be chosen Abbess of Gif, and thisbeing accomplished, he went to Gif to try once more whether he might winSister Marie Heroet by prayers or honied words. Finding that he couldnot succeed, he returned in despair to his priory of St. Martin's, andin order to achieve his purpose, to revenge himself on her who was socruel to him, and further to prevent the affair from becoming known, hecaused the relics of the aforesaid convent of Gif to be secretly stolenat night, and accusing the confessor of the convent, a virtuous andvery aged man, of having stolen them, he cast him into prison at St. Martin's. 

Whilst he held him captive there, he stirred up two witnesses who inignorance signed what the Prior commanded them, which was a statementthat they had seen the confessor in a garden with Sister Marie, engagedin a foul and wicked act; and this the Prior sought to make the old monkconfess. But he, who knew all the Prior's misdoings, entreated him tobring him before the Chapter, saying that there, in presence of all themonks, he would tell the truth of all that he knew. The Prior, fearingthat the confessor's justification would be his own condemnation, wouldin no wise grant this request; and, finding him firm of purpose, hetreated him so ill in prison that some say he brought about his death, and others that he forced him to lay aside his robe and betake himselfout of the kingdom of France. Be that as it may, the confessor was neverseen again. 

The Prior, thinking that he had now a sure hold upon Sister Marie, repaired to the convent, where the Abbess, chosen for this purpose, gainsaid him in nothing. There he began to exercise his authority asvisitor, and caused all the nuns to come one after the other into a roomthat he might hear them, as is the fashion at a visitation. When theturn of Sister Marie, who had now lost her good aunt, had come, he beganspeaking to her in this wise--

"Sister Marie, you know of what crime you are accused, and that yourpretence of chastity has availed you nothing, since you are well knownto be the very contrary of chaste. "

"Bring here my accuser, " replied Sister Marie, with steadfastcountenance, "and you will see whether in my presence he will abide byhis evil declaration. "

"No further proof is needed, " he said, "since the confessor has beenfound guilty. "

"I hold him for too honourable a man, " said Sister Marie, "to haveconfessed so great a lie; but even should he have done so, bring himhere before me, and I will prove the contrary of what he says. "

The Prior, finding that he could in no wise move her, thereupon said--

"I am your father, and seek to save your honour. For this reason I willleave the truth of the matter to your own conscience, and will believewhatever it bids you say. I ask you and conjure you on pain of mortalsin to tell me truly whether you were indeed a virgin when you wereplaced in this house?"

"My father, " she replied, "I was then but five years old, and that agemust in itself testify to my virginity. "

"Well, my daughter, " said the Prior, "have you not since that time lostthis flower?"

She swore that she had kept it, and that she had had no hindrance indoing so except from himself. Whereto he replied that he could notbelieve it, and that the matter required proof. 

"What proof, " she asked, "would you have?"

"The same as from the others, " said the Prior; "for as I am visitor ofsouls, even so am I visitor of bodies also. Your abbesses and prioresseshave all passed through my hands, and you need have no fear if I visityour virginity. Wherefore throw yourself upon the bed, and lift theforepart of your garments over your face. "

"You have told me so much of your wicked love for me, " Sister Mariereplied in wrath, "that I think you seek rather to rob me of myvirginity than to visit it. So understand that I shall never consent. "

Thereupon he said to her that she was excommunicated for refusing himthe obedience which Holy Church commanded, and that, if she did notconsent, he would dishonour her before the whole Chapter by declaringthe evil that he knew of between herself and the confessor. 

But with fearless countenance she replied--

"He that knows the hearts of His servants shall give me as much honourin His presence as you can give me shame in the presence of men; andsince your wickedness goes so far, I would rather it wreaked its crueltyupon me than its evil passion; for I know that God is a just judge. "

Then the Prior departed and assembled the whole Chapter, and, causingSister Marie to appear on her knees before him, he said to her withwondrous malignity--

"Sister Marie, it grieves me to see that the good counsels I have givenyou have been of no effect, and to find you fallen into such evil waysthat, contrary to my wont, I must needs lay a penance upon you. I haveexamined your confessor concerning certain crimes with which he ischarged, and he has confessed to me that he has abused your person inthe place where the witnesses say that they saw him. And so I commandthat, whereas I had formerly raised you to honourable rank as Mistressof the Novices, you shall now be the lowest placed of all, and further, shall eat only bread and water on the ground, and in presence of allthe Sisters, until you have shown sufficient penitence to receiveforgiveness. "

Sister Marie had been warned by one of her companions, who wasacquainted with the whole matter, that if she made any reply displeasingto the Prior, he would put her _in pace_--that is, in perpetualimprisonment--and she therefore submitted to this sentence, raising hereyes to heaven, and praying Him who had enabled her to withstand sin, to grant her patience for the endurance of tribulation. The Prior of St. Martin's further commanded that for the space of three years she shouldneither speak with her mother or kinsfolk when they came to see her, norsend any letters save such as were written in community. 

The miscreant then went away and returned no more, and for a long timethe unhappy maiden continued in the tribulation that I have described. But her mother, who loved her best of all her children, was muchastonished at receiving no tidings from her; and told one of her sons, who was a prudent and honourable gentleman, (6) that she thought herdaughter was dead, and that the nuns were hiding it from her in orderthat they might receive the yearly payment. She, therefore, begged himto devise some means of seeing his sister. 

 6 It is conjectured by M. Lacroix that this "prudent and honourable gentleman, " Mary Heroet's brother, was Antoine Heroet or Hérouet, alias La Maisonneuve, who at one time was a valet and secretary to Queen Margaret, and so advanced himself in life that he died Bishop of Digne in 1544. He was the author of _La Parfaite Amie, L'Androgyne, and De n'aimer point sans être aimé_, poems of a semi-metaphysical, semi- amorous character such as might have come from Margaret's own pen. Whether he was Mary Heroet's brother or not, it is at least probable that he was her relative. -B. J. And L. 

He went forthwith to the convent, where he met with the wonted excuses, being told that for three years his sister had not stirred from her bed. But this did not satisfy him, and he swore that, if he did not seeher, he would climb over the walls and force his way into the convent. Thereupon, being in great fear, they brought his sister to him at thegrating, though the Abbess stood so near that she could not tell herbrother aught that was not heard. But she had prudently set down inwriting all that I have told you, together with a thousand others of thePrior's devices to deceive her, which 'twould take too long to relate. 

Yet I must not omit to mention that at the time when her aunt wasAbbess, the Prior, thinking that his ugliness was the cause of herrefusal, had caused Sister Marie to be tempted by a handsome young monk, in the hope that if she yielded to this man through love, he himselfmight afterwards obtain her through fear. The young monk aforesaid spoketo her in a garden with gestures too shameful to be mentioned, whereatthe poor maiden ran to the Abbess, who was talking with the Prior, andcried out--

"Mother, they are not monks, but devils, who visit us here!"

Thereupon the Prior, in great fear of discovery, began to laugh, andsaid--

"Assuredly, mother, Sister Marie is right. "

Then, taking Sister Marie by the hand, he said to her in presence of theAbbess--

"I had heard that Sister Marie spoke very well, and so constantly thatshe was deemed to be worldly-minded. For this reason I constrainedmyself, contrary to my natural inclination, to speak to her in the waythat worldly men speak to women--at least in books, for in pointof experience I am as ignorant as I was on the day when I was born. Thinking, however, that only my years and ugliness led her to discoursein so virtuous a fashion, I commanded my young monk to speak to her asI myself had done, and, as you see, she has virtuously resisted him. So highly, therefore, do I think of her prudence and virtue, thathenceforward she shall rank next after you and shall be Mistress of theNovices, to the intent that her excellent disposition may ever increasein virtue. "

This act, with many others, was done by this worthy monk during thethree years that he was in love with the nun. She, however, as I havesaid, gave her brother in writing, through the grating, the whole storyof her pitiful fortunes; and this her brother brought to her mother, whocame, overwhelmed with despair, to Paris. Here she found the Queen ofNavarre, only sister to the King, and showing her the piteous story, said--

"Madam, trust no more in these hypocrites. I thought that I had placedmy daughter within the precincts of Paradise, or on the high roadthither, whereas I have placed her in the precincts of Hell, and in thehands of the vilest devils imaginable. The devils, indeed, do not temptus unless temptation be our pleasure, but these men will take by forcewhen they cannot win by love. "

The Queen of Navarre was in great concern, for she trusted wholly inthe Prior of St. Martin's, to whose care she had committed hersisters-inlaw, the Abbesses of Montivilliers and Caen. (7) On theother hand, the enormity of the crime so horrified her and made herso desirous of avenging the innocence of this unhappy maiden, that shecommunicated the matter to the King's Chancellor, who happened also tobe Legate in France. (8)

 7 The abbess of Montivilliers was Catherine d'Albret, daughter of John d'Albret, King of Navarre and sister of Queen Margaret's husband, Henry. At first a nun at the abbey of St. Magdalen at Orleans, she became twenty-eighth abbess of Montivilliers near Havre. She was still living in 1536. (_Gallia Christ_. , vol. Xi. Col. 285). The abbess of Caen was Magdalen d'Albret, Catherine's sister. She took the veil at Fontevrault in 1527, subsequently became thirty-third abbess of the Trinity at Caen, and died in November 1532. (_Gallia Christ_. , vol. Xi. Col. 436). --L. 

 8 This is the famous Antony Duprat, Francis I. 's favourite minister. Born in 1463, he became Chancellor in 1515, and his wife dying soon afterwards, he took orders, with the result that he was made Archbishop of Sens and Cardinal. It was in 1530 that he was appointed Papal Legate in France, so that the incidents related in this tale cannot have occurred at an earlier date. Duprat died in July 1535, of grief, it is said, because Francis I. Would not support him in his ambitious scheme to secure possession of the papal see, as successor to Clement VII. -B. J. And Ed. 

The Prior was sent for, but could find nothing to plead except that hewas seventy years of age, and addressing himself to the Queen of Navarrehe begged that, for all the good she had ever wished to do him, and intoken of all the services he had rendered or had desired to render her, she would be pleased to bring these proceedings to a close, and he wouldacknowledge that Sister Marie was a pearl of honour and chastity. 

On hearing this, the Queen of Navarre was so astonished that she couldmake no reply, but went off and left him there. The unhappy man thenwithdrew in great confusion to his monastery, where he would suffernone to see him, and where he lived only one year afterwards. And SisterMarie Heroet, now reputed as highly as she deserved to be, by reason ofthe virtues that God had given her, was withdrawn from the convent ofGif, where she had endured so much evil, and was by the King made Abbessof the the convent of Giy (9) near Montargis. 

 9 Giy-les-Nonains, a little village on the river Ouanne, at two leagues and a half from Montargis, department of the Loiret. --L. 

This convent she reformed, and there she lived like one filled with theSpirit of God, whom all her life long she ever praised for having of Hisgood grace restored to her both honour and repose. 

"There, ladies, you have a story which clearly proves the words of theGospel, that 'God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confoundthe things which are mighty, and things which are despised of men hathGod chosen to bring to nought the glory of those who think themselvessomething but are in truth nothing. ' (10) And remember, ladies, thatwithout the grace of God there is no good at all in man, just as thereis no temptation that with His assistance may not be overcome. Thisis shown by the abasement of the man who was accounted just, and theexaltation of her whom men were willing to deem a wicked sinner. Thusare verified Our Lord's words, 'Whosoever exalteth himself shall beabased; and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted. '" (11)

 10 I Corinthians i. 27, 28, slightly modified. 

 11 St. Luke xiv. 11 and xviii. 14. 

"Alas, " said Oisille, "how many virtuous persons did that Prior deceive!For I saw people put more trust in him than even in God. "

"_I_ should not have done so, " said Nomerfide, "for such is my horror ofmonks that I could not confess to one. I believe they are worse thanall other men, and never frequent a house without leaving disgrace ordissension behind them. "

"There are good ones among them, " said Oisille, "and they ought notto be judged by the bad alone; but the best are those that least oftenvisit laymen's houses and women. "

"You are right, " said Ennasuite. "The less they are seen, the lessthey are known, and therefore the more highly are they esteemed; forcompanionship with them shows what they really are. "

"Let us say no more about them, " said Nomerfide, "and see to whomGeburon will give his vote. "

"I shall give it, " said he, "to Madame Oisille, that she may tell ussomething to the credit of Holy Church. " (12)

 12 In lieu of this phrase, the De Thou MS. Of the _Heptameron_ gives the following: "To make amends for his fault, if fault there were in laying bare the wretched and abominable life of a wicked Churchman, so as to put others on their guard against the hypocrisy of those resembling him, Geburon, who held Madame Oysille in high esteem, as one should hold a lady of discretion, who was no less reluctant to speak evil than prompt to praise and publish the worth which she knew to exist in others, gave her his vote, begging her to tell something to the honour of our holy religion. "--L. 

"We have sworn, " said Oisille, "to speak the truth, and I cannottherefore undertake such a task. Moreover, in telling your tale you havereminded me of a very pitiful story which I feel constrained to relate, seeing that I am not far from the place where, in my own time, thething came to pass. I shall tell it also, ladies, to the end that thehypocrisy of those who account themselves more religious than theirneighbours, may not so beguile your understanding as to turn your faithout of the right path, and lead you to hope for salvation from any otherthan Him who has chosen to stand alone in the work of our creation andredemption. He is all powerful to save us unto life eternal, and, in this temporal life, to comfort us and deliver us from all ourtribulations. And knowing that Satan often transforms himself into anangel of light so that the outward eye, blinded by the semblance ofholiness and devotion, cannot apprehend that from which we ought toflee, I think it well to tell you this tale, which came to pass in ourown time. "

[Illustration: 095. Jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 097a. Jpg The Grey Friar deceiving the Gentleman Of Périgord]

[The Grey Friar deceiving the Gentleman Of Périgord]

[Illustration: 097. Jpg Page Image]

_TALE XXIII_. 

 _The excessive reverence shown by a gentleman of Périgord to the Order of St. Francis, brought about the miserable death of his wife, his little child and himself_. (1)

 1 Etienne introduces this tale into his _Apologie pour Hérodote_, ch. Xxi. --B. J. 

In the county of Périgord dwelt a gentleman whose devotion to St. Francis was such that in his eyes all who wore the saint's robe mustneeds be as holy as the saint himself. To do honour to the latter, he had caused rooms and closets to be furnished in his house for thelodgment of the brethren, and he regulated all his affairs by theiradvice, even to the most trifling household matters, believing that hemust needs pursue the right path if he followed their good counsels. 

Now it happened that this gentleman's wife, who was a beautiful womanand as discreet as she was virtuous, was brought to bed of a fine boy, whereat the love which her husband bore her was increased twofold. One day, in order to entertain his dear, he sent for one of hisbrothers-in-law, and just as the hour for supper was drawing nigh, therearrived also a Grey Friar, whose name I will keep secret out of regardfor his Order. The gentleman was well pleased to see his spiritualfather, from whom he had no secrets, and after much talk among his wife, his brother-in-law and the monk, they sat down to supper. While theywere at table the gentleman cast his eyes upon his wife, who was indeedbeautiful and graceful enough to be desired of a husband, and thereuponasked this question aloud of the worthy father--

"Is it true, father, that a man commits mortal sin if he lies with hiswife at the time of her lying-in?" (2)

 2 Meaning the period between her delivery and her churching. --Ed. 

The worthy father, whose speech and countenance belied his heart, answered with an angry look--

"Undoubtedly, sir, I hold this to be one of the very greatest sins thatcan be committed in the married state. The blessed Virgin Mary would notenter the temple until the days of her purification were accomplished, although she had no need of these; and if she, in order to obey the law, refrained from going to the temple wherein was all her consolation, you should of a surety not fail to abstain from such slight pleasure. Moreover, physicians say that there is great risk to the offspring sobegotten. "

When the gentleman heard these words, he was greatly downcast, for hehad hoped that the good Friar would give him the permission he sought;however, he said no more. Meanwhile the worthy father, who had drunkmore than was needful, looked at the lady, (3) thinking to himself that, if he were her husband, he would ask no Friar's advice before lyingwith her; and just as a fire kindles little by little until at last itenvelops the whole house, so this monk began to burn with such exceedinglust that he suddenly resolved to satisfy a desire which for three yearshe had carried hidden in his heart. 

 3 The French word here is _damoiselle_, by which appellation the lady is called throughout the story. Her husband, being a petty nobleman, was a _damoiseau_, whence the name given to his wife. The word _damoiselle_ is frequently employed in the _Heptameron_, and though sometimes it merely signifies an attendant on a lady, the reference is more frequently to a woman of gentle birth, whether she be spinster, wife or widow. Only women of high nobility and of the blood royal were at that time called _Madame_. --Ed. 

After the tables had been withdrawn, he took the gentleman by thehand, and, leading him to his wife's bedside, (4) said to him in herpresence--

"It moves my pity, sir, to see the great love which exists between youand this lady, and which, added to your extreme youth, torments you sosore. I have therefore determined to tell you a secret of our sacredtheology which is that, although the rule be made thus strict by reasonof the abuses committed by indiscreet husbands, it does not sufferthat such as are of good conscience like you should be balked of allintercourse. If then, sir, before others I have stated in all itsseverity the command of the law, I will now reveal to you, who are aprudent man, its mildness also. Know then, my son, that there are womenand women, just as there are men and men. In the first place, mylady here must tell us whether, three weeks having gone by since herdelivery, the flow of blood has quite ceased?"

 4 The supper would appear to have been served in the bedroom, and the tables were taken away as soon as the repast was over. It seems to us very ridiculous when on the modern stage we see a couple of lackeys bring in a table laden with viands and carry it away again as soon as the _dramatis personæ_ have dined or supped. Yet this was the common practice in France in Queen Margaret's time. --Ed. 

The lady replied that it had. 

"Then, " said the Friar, "I permit you to lie with her without scruple, provided that you are willing to promise me two things. "

The gentleman replied that he was willing. 

"The first, " said the good father, "is that you speak to no oneconcerning this matter, but come here in secret. The second is thatyou do not come until two hours after midnight, so that the good lady'sdigestion be not hindered. "

These things the gentleman promised; and he confirmed his promise withso strong an oath that the other, knowing him to be foolish rather thanfalse, was quite satisfied. 

After much converse the good father withdrew to his chamber, giving themgood-night and an abundant blessing. But, as he was going, he took thegentleman by the hand, and said to him--

"You too, sir, i' faith must come, nor keep your poor lady longerawake. "

Thereupon the gentleman kissed her. "Sweetheart, " said he, and the goodfather heard him plainly, "leave the door of your room open for me. "

And so each withdrew to his own chamber. 

On leaving them the Friar gave no heed to sleep or to repose, and, assoon as all the noises in the house were still, he went as softly aspossible straight to the lady's chamber, at about the hour when he waswont to go to matins, and finding the door open in expectation of themaster's coming, he went in, cleverly put out the light, and speedilygot into bed with the lady, without speaking a single word. 

The lady, believing him to be her husband, said--

"How is this, love? you have kept but poorly the promise you gavelast evening to our confessor that you would not come here before twoo'clock. "

The Friar, who was more eager for action than for contemplation, andwho, moreover, was fearful of being recognised, gave more thought tosatisfying the wicked desires that had long poisoned his heart than togiving her any reply; whereat the lady wondered greatly. When the friarfound the husband's hour drawing near, he rose from the lady's side andreturned with all speed to his own chamber. 

Then, just as the frenzy of lust had robbed him of sleep, so now thefear that always follows upon wickedness would not suffer him to rest. Accordingly, he went to the porter of the house and said to him--

"Friend, your master has charged me to go without delay and offer upprayers for him at our convent, where he is accustomed to perform hisdevotions. Wherefore, I pray you, give me my horse and open the doorwithout letting any one be the wiser; for the mission is both pressingand secret. "

The porter knew that obedience to the Friar was service acceptable tohis master, and so he opened the door secretly and let him out. 

Just at that time the gentleman awoke. Finding that it was close on thehour which the good father had appointed him for visiting his wife, hegot up in his bedgown and repaired swiftly to that bed whither by God'sordinance, and without need of the license of man, it was lawful for himto go. 

When his wife heard him speaking beside her, she was greatly astonished, and, not knowing what had occurred, said to him--

"Nay, sir, is it possible that, after your promise to the good father tobe heedful of your own health and of mine, you not only come before thehour appointed, but even return a second time? Think on it, sir, I prayyou. "

On hearing this, the gentleman was so much disconcerted that he couldnot conceal it, and said to her--

"What do these words mean? I know of a truth that I have not lain withyou for three weeks, and yet you rebuke me for coming too often. If youcontinue to talk in this way, you will make me think that my company isirksome to you, and will drive me, contrary to my wont and will, to seekelsewhere that pleasure which, by the law of God, I should have withyou. "

The lady thought that he was jesting, and replied--

"I pray you, sir, deceive not yourself in seeking to deceive me; foralthough you said nothing when you came, I knew very well that you werehere. "

Then the gentleman saw that they had both been deceived, and solemnlyvowed to her that he had not been with her before; whereat the lady, weeping in dire distress, besought him to find out with all despatchwho it could have been, seeing that besides themselves only hisbrother-in-law and the Friar slept in the house. 

Impelled by suspicion of the Friar, the gentleman forthwith went inall haste to the room where he had been lodged, and found it empty;whereupon, to make yet more certain whether he had fled, he sent for theman who kept the door, and asked him whether he knew what had become ofthe Friar. And the man told him the whole truth. 

The gentleman, being now convinced of the Friar's wickedness, returnedto his wife's room, and said to her--

"Of a certainty, sweetheart, the man who lay with you and did such finethings was our Father Confessor. "

The lady, who all her life long had held her honour dear, wasoverwhelmed with despair, and laying aside all humanity and womanlynature, besought her husband on her knees to avenge this foul wrong;whereupon the gentleman immediately mounted his horse and went inpursuit of the Friar. 

The lady remained all alone in her bed, with no counsel or comfort nearher but her little newborn child. She reflected upon the strange andhorrible adventure that had befallen her, and, without making any excusefor her ignorance, deemed herself guilty as well as the unhappiest womanin the world. She had never learned aught of the Friars, save to haveconfidence in good works, and seek atonement for sins by austerity oflife, fasting and discipline; she was wholly ignorant of the pardongranted by our good God through the merits of His Son, the remission ofsins by His blood, the reconciliation of the Father with us through Hisdeath, and the life given to sinners by His sole goodness and mercy; andso, assailed by despair based on the enormity and magnitude of her sin, the love of her husband and the honour of her house, she thought thatdeath would be far happier than such a life as hers. And, overcome bysorrow, she fell into such despair that she was not only turned asidefrom the hope which every Christian should have in God, but she forgother own nature, and was wholly bereft of common sense. 

Then, overpowered by grief, and driven by despair from all knowledge ofGod and herself, this frenzied, frantic woman took a cord from the bedand strangled herself with her own hands. 

And worse even than this, amidst the agony of this cruel death, whilsther body was struggling against it, she set her foot upon the faceof her little child, whose innocence did not avail to save it fromfollowing in death its sorrowful and suffering mother. While dying, however, the infant uttered so piercing a cry that a woman who sleptin the room rose in great haste and lit the candle. Then, seeing hermistress hanging strangled by the bed-cord, and the child stifled anddead under her feet, she ran in great affright to the apartment of hermistress's brother, and brought him to see the pitiful sight. 

The brother, after giving way to such grief as was natural and fittingin one who loved his sister with his whole heart, asked the serving-womanwho it was that had committed this terrible crime. 

She replied that she did not know; but that no one had entered the roomexcepting her master, and he had but lately left it. The brother thenwent to the gentleman's room, and not finding him there, felt sure thathe had done the deed. So, mounting his horse without further inquiry, he hastened in pursuit and met with him on the road as he was returningdisconsolate at not having been able to overtake the Grey Friar. 

As soon as the lady's brother saw his brother-in-law, he cried out tohim--

"Villain and coward, defend yourself, for I trust that God will by thissword avenge me on you this day. "

The gentleman would have expostulated, but his brother-in-law's swordwas pressing so close upon him that he found it of more importance todefend himself than to inquire the reason of the quarrel; whereuponeach dealt the other so many wounds that they were at last compelled byweariness and loss of blood to sit down on the ground face to face. 

And while they were recovering breath, the gentleman asked--

"What cause, brother, has turned our deep and unbroken friendship tosuch cruel strife as this?"

"Nay, " replied the brother-in-law, "what cause has moved you to slaymy sister, the most excellent woman that ever lived, and this in socowardly a fashion that under pretence of sleeping with her you havehanged and strangled her with the bed-cord?"

On hearing these words the gentleman, more dead than alive, came to hisbrother, and putting his arms around him, said--

"Is it possible that you have found your sister in the state you say?"

The brother-in-law assured him that it was indeed so. 

"I pray you, brother, " the gentleman thereupon replied, "hearken to thereason why I left the house. "

Forthwith he told him all about the wicked Grey Friar, whereat hisbrother-in-law was greatly astonished, and still more grieved that heshould have unjustly attacked him. 

Entreating pardon, he said to him--

"I have wronged you; forgive me. "

"If you were ever wronged by me, " replied the gentleman, "I havebeen well punished, for I am so sorely wounded that I cannot hope torecover. "

Then the brother-in-law put him on horseback again as well as he might, and brought him back to the house, where on the morrow he died. And thebrother-in-law confessed in presence of all the gentleman's relativesthat he had been the cause of his death. 

However, for the satisfaction of justice, he was advised to go andsolicit pardon from King Francis, first of the name; and accordingly, after giving honourable burial to husband, wife and child, he departedon Good Friday to the Court in order to sue there for pardon, whichhe obtained through the good offices of Master Francis Olivier, thenChancellor of Alençon, afterwards chosen by the King, for his merits, tobe Chancellor of France. (5)

 5 M. De Montaiglon has vainly searched the French Archives for the letters of remission granted to the gentleman. There is no mention of them in the registers of the Trésor des Chartes. Francis Olivier, alluded to above, was one of the most famous magistrates of the sixteenth century. Son of James Olivier, First President of the Parliament of Paris and Bishop of Angers, he was born in 1493 and became successively advocate, member of the Grand Council, ambassador, Chancellor of Alençon, President of the Paris Parliament, Keeper of the Seals and Chancellor of France. This latter dignity was conferred upon him through Queen Margaret's influence in April 1545. The above tale must have been written subsequent to that date. Olivier's talents were still held in high esteem under both Henry II. And Francis II. ; he died in 1590, aged 67. --(Blanchard's _Éloges de tous les Présidents du Parlement, &c_. , Paris, 1645, in-fol. P. 185. )

 Ste. Marthe, in his funeral oration on Queen Margaret, refers to Olivier in the following pompous strain: "When Brinon died Chancellor of this duchy of Alençon, Francis Olivier was set in his place, and so greatly adorned this dignity by his admirable virtues, and so increased the grandeur of the office of Chancellor, that, like one of exceeding merit on whom Divine Providence, disposing of the affairs of France, has conferred a more exalted office, he is today raised to the highest degree of honour, and, even as Atlas upholds the Heavens upon his shoulders, so he by his prudence doth uphold the entire Gallic commonwealth. "-- M. L. And Ed. 

"I am of opinion, ladies, that after hearing this true story there isnone among you but will think twice before lodging such knaves in herhouse, and will be persuaded that hidden poison is always the mostdangerous. "

"Remember, " said Hircan, "that the husband was a great fool to bringsuch a gallant to sup with his fair and virtuous wife. "

"I have known the time, " said Geburon, "when in our part of the countrythere was not a house but had a room set apart for the good fathers; butnow they are known so well that they are dreaded more than bandits. "

"It seems to me, " said Parlamente, "that when a woman is in bedshe should never allow a priest to enter the room, unless it be toadminister to her the sacraments of the Church. For my own part, when Isend for them, I may indeed be deemed at the point of death. "

"If every one were as strict as you are, " said Ennasuite, "the poorpriests would be worse than excommunicated, in being wholly shut offfrom the sight of women. "

"Have no such fear on their account, " said Saffredent; "they will neverwant for women. "

"Why, " said Simontault, "'tis the very men that have united us to ourwives by the marriage tie that wickedly seek to loose it and bring aboutthe breaking of the oath which they have themselves laid upon us. "

"It is a great pity, " said Oisille, "that those who administer thesacraments should thus trifle with them. They ought to be burned alive. "

"You would do better to honour rather than blame them, " said Saffredent, "and to flatter rather than revile them, for they are men who have it intheir power to burn and dishonour others. Wherefore '_sinite eos_, ' andlet us see to whom Oisille will give her vote. "

"I give it, " said she, "to Dagoucin, for he has become so thoughtfulthat I think he must have made ready to tell us something good. "

"Since I cannot and dare not reply as I would, " said Dagoucin, "I willat least tell of a man to whom similar cruelty at first brought hurt butafterwards profit. Although Love accounts himself so strong and powerfulthat he will go naked, and finds it irksome, nay intolerable, togo cloaked, nevertheless, ladies, it often happens that those who, following his counsel, are over-quick in declaring themselves, findthemselves the worse for it. Such was the experience of a Castiliangentleman, whose story you shall now hear. "

[Illustration: 112. Jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 113a. Jpg Elisor showing the Queen her own Image]

[Elisor showing the Queen her own Image]

[Illustration: 113. Jpg Page Image]

_TALE XXIV_. 

 _Elisor, having unwisely ventured to discover his love to the Queen of Castile, was by her put to the test in so cruel a fashion that he suffered sorely, yet did he reap advantage therefrom_. 

In the household of the King and Queen of Castile, (1) whose namesshall not be mentioned, there was a gentleman of such perfection in allqualities of mind and body, that his like could not be found in all theSpains. All wondered at his merits, but still more at the strangeness ofhis temper, for he had never been known to love or have connection withany lady. There were very many at Court that might have set his icynature afire, but there was not one among them whose charms had power toattract Elisor; for so this gentleman was called. 

 1 M. Lacroix conjectures that the sovereigns referred to are Ferdinand and Isabella, but this appears to us a baseless supposition. The conduct of the Queen in the story is in no wise in keeping with what we know of Isabella's character. Queen Margaret doubtless heard this tale during her sojourn in Spain in 1525. We have consulted many Spanish works, and notably collections of the old ballads, in the hope of being able to throw some light on the incidents related, but have been no more successful than previous commentators. --Ed. 

The Queen, who was a virtuous woman but by no means free from thatflame which proves all the fiercer the less it is perceived, was muchastonished to find that this gentleman loved none of her ladies; and oneday she asked him whether it were possible that he could indeed love aslittle as he seemed to do. 

He replied that if she could look upon his heart as she did his face, she would not ask him such a question. Desiring to know his meaning, shepressed him so closely that he confessed he loved a lady whom he deemedthe most virtuous in all Christendom. The Queen did all that she couldby entreaties and commands to find out who the lady might be, but invain; whereupon, feigning great wrath, she vowed that she would neverspeak to him any more if he did not tell her the name of the lady he sodearly loved. At this he was greatly disturbed, and was constrained tosay that he would rather die, if need were, than name her. 

Finding, however, that he would lose the Queen's presence and favour indefault of telling her a thing in itself so honourable that it ought notto be taken in ill part by any one, he said to her in great fear--

"I cannot and dare not tell you, madam, but the first time you gohunting I will show her to you, and I feel sure that you will deem herthe fairest and most perfect lady in the world. "

This reply caused the Queen to go hunting sooner than she wouldotherwise have done. 

Elisor, having notice of this, made ready to attend her as was his wont, and caused a large steel mirror after the fashion of a corselet to bemade for him, which he placed upon his breast and covered with a cloakof black frieze, bordered with purflew and gold braid. He was mountedon a coal-black steed, well caparisoned with everything needful to theequipment of a horse, and such part of this as was metal was wholly ofgold, wrought with black enamel in the Moorish style. (2)

 2 Damascened. --Ed. 

His hat was of black silk, and to it was fastened a rich medal on whichby way of device was engraved the god of Love subdued by Force, thewhole enriched with precious stones. His sword and dagger were noless handsomely and choicely ordered. In a word, he was most bravelyequipped, while so skilled was his horsemanship that all who saw himleft the pleasures of the chase to watch the leaps and paces of hissteed. 

After bringing the Queen in this fashion to the place where the netswere spread, he dismounted from his noble horse and went to assist theQueen to alight from her palfrey. And whilst she was stretching out herhands to him, he threw his cloak back from before his breast, and takingher in his arms, showed her his corselet-mirror, saying--

"I pray you, madam, look here. "

Then, without waiting for her reply, he set her down gently upon theground. 

When the hunt was over, the Queen returned to the castle withoutspeaking to Elisor, but after supper she called him to her and told himthat he was the greatest liar she had ever seen; for he had promised toshow her at the hunt the lady whom he loved the best, but had not doneso, for which reason she was resolved to hold him in esteem no more. 

Elisor, fearing that the Queen had not understood the words he hadspoken to her, answered that he had indeed obeyed her, for he had shownher not merely the woman but the thing also, that he loved best in allthe world. 

Pretending that she did not understand him, she replied that he had not, to her knowledge, shown her a single one among her ladies. 

"That is true, madam, " said Elisor, "but what did I show you when Ihelped you off your horse?"

"Nothing, " said the Queen, "except a mirror on your breast. "

"And what did you see in the mirror?" said Elisor. 

"I saw nothing but myself, " replied the Queen. 

"Then, madam, " said Elisor, "I have kept faith with you and obeyed yourcommand. There is not, nor ever will there be, another image in my heartsave that which you saw upon my breast. Her alone will I love, reverenceand worship, not as a woman merely, but as my very God on earth, inwhose hands I place my life or my death, entreating her withal thatthe deep and perfect affection, which was my life whilst it remainedconcealed, may not prove my death now that it is discovered. And thoughI be not worthy that you should look on me or accept me for your lover, at least suffer me to live, as hitherto, in the happy consciousness thatmy heart has chosen so perfect and so worthy an object for its love, wherefrom I can have no other satisfaction than the knowledge that mylove is deep and perfect, seeing that I must be content to love withouthope of return. And if, now knowing this great love of mine, you shouldnot be pleased to favour me more than heretofore, at least do notdeprive me of life, which for me consists wholly in the delight ofseeing you as usual. I now have from you nought but what my utmost needrequires, and should I have less, you will have a servant the less, foryou will lose the best and most devoted that you have ever had or couldever look to have. "

The Queen--whether to show herself other than she really was, or tothoroughly try the love he bore her, or because she loved another whomshe would not cast off, or because she wished to hold him in reserve toput him in the place of her actual lover should the latter give her anyoffence--said to him, with a countenance that showed neither anger norcontent--"Elisor, I will not feign ignorance of the potency of love, andsay aught to you concerning your foolishness in aiming at so high andhard a thing as the love of me; for I know that man's heart is so littleunder his own control, that he cannot love or hate at will. But, sinceyou have concealed your feelings so well, I would fain know how long itis since you first entertained them. "

Elisor, gazing at her beauteous face and hearing her thus inquireconcerning his sickness, hoped that she might be willing to afford hima remedy. But at the same time, observing the grave and staid expressionof her countenance, he became afraid, feeling himself to be in thepresence of a judge whose sentence, he suspected, would be against him. Nevertheless he swore to her that this love had taken root in his heartin the days of his earliest youth, though it was only during the pastseven years that it had caused him pain, --and yet, in truth, not pain, but so pleasing a sickness that its cure would be his death. 

"Since you have displayed such lengthened steadfastness, " said theQueen, "I must not show more haste in believing you, than you have shownin telling me of your affection. If, therefore, it be as you say, I willso test your sincerity that I shall never afterwards be able to doubtit; and having proved your pain, I will hold you to be towards me suchas you yourself swear you are; and on my knowing you to be what you say, you, for your part, shall find me to be what you desire. "

Elisor begged her to test him in any way she pleased, there beingnothing, he said, so difficult that it would not appear very easyto him, if he might have the honour of proving his love to her; andaccordingly he begged her once more to command him as to what she wouldto have him do. 

"Elisor, " she replied, "if you love me as much as you say, I am surethat you will deem nothing hard of accomplishment if only it may bringyou my favour. I therefore command you, by your desire of winning it andyour fear of losing it, to depart hence to-morrow morning without seeingme again, and to repair to some place where, until this day seven years, you shall hear nothing of me nor I anything of you. You, who have hadseven years' experience of this love, know that you do indeed love me;and when I have had a like experience, I too shall know and believe whatyour words cannot now make me either believe or understand. "

When Elisor heard this cruel command, he on the one hand suspected thatshe desired to remove him from her presence, yet, on the other, he hopedthat this proof would plead more eloquently for him than any words hecould utter. He therefore submitted to her command, and said--

"For seven years I have lived hopeless, bearing in my breast a hiddenflame; now, however, that this is known to you, I shall spend theseother seven years in patience and trust. But, madam, while I obey yourcommand, which robs me of all the happiness that I have heretofore hadin the world, what hope will you give me that at the end of the sevenyears you will accept me as your faithful and devoted lover?"

"Here is a ring, " said the Queen, drawing one from her finger, "which wewill cut in two. I will keep one half, and you shall keep the other, (3)so that I may know you by this token, if the lapse of time should causeme to forget your face. "

 3 This was a common practice at the time between lovers, and even between husbands and wives. There is the familiar but doubtful story of Frances de Foix, Countess of Châteaubriant, who became Francis I. 's mistress, and who is said to have divided a ring in this manner with her husband, it being understood between them that she was not to repair to Court, or even leave her residence in Brittany, unless her husband sent her as a token the half of the ring which he had kept. Francis I. , we are told, heard of this, and causing a ring of the same pattern to be made, he sent half of it to the Countess, who thereupon came to Court, imagining that it was her husband who summoned her. Whether the story be true or not, it should be mentioned that the sole authority for it is Varillas, whose errors and inventions are innumerable. --Ed. 

Elisor took the ring and broke it in two, giving one half of it to theQueen, and keeping the other himself. Then, more corpse-like than thosewho have given up the ghost, he took his leave, and went to hislodging to give orders for his departure. In doing this he sent all hisattendants to his house, and departed alone with one servingman toso solitary a spot that none of his friends or kinsfolk could obtaintidings of him during the seven years. 

Of the life that he led during this time, and the grief that he enduredthrough this banishment, nothing is recorded, but lovers cannot beignorant of their nature. At the end of the seven years, just as theQueen was one day going to mass, a hermit with a long beard came to her, kissed her hand, and presented her with a petition. This she did notlook at immediately, although it was her custom to receive in her ownhands all the petitions that were presented to her, no matter how poorthe petitioners might be. 

When mass was half over, however, she opened the petition, and found init the half-ring which she had given to Elisor. At this she was notless glad than astonished, and before reading the contents she instantlycommanded her almoner to bring her the tall hermit who had presented herthe petition. 

The almoner looked for him everywhere, but could obtain no tidings ofhim, except that some one said that he had seen him mount a horse, butknew not what road he had taken. 

Whilst she was waiting for the almoner's return, the Queen read thepetition, which she found to be an epistle in verse, written in the beststyle imaginable; and were it not that I would have you acquaintedwith it, I should never have dared to translate it; for you must know, ladies, that, for grace and expression, the Castilian is beyond comparethe tongue which is best fitted to set forth the passion of love. Thematter of the letter was as follows:--

 "Time, by his puissance stern, his sov'reign might, Hath made me learn love's character aright; And, bringing with him, in his gloomy train, The speechless eloquence of bitter pain, Hath caused the unbelieving one to know What words of love were impotent to show. Time made my heart, aforetime, meekly bow Unto the mastery of love; but now Time hath, at last, revealed love to be Far other than it once appeared to me; And Time the frail foundation hath made clear Whereon I purposed, once, my love to rear-- To wit, your beauty, which but served as sheath To hide the cruelty that lurked beneath. 

 Yea, Time hath shown me beauty's nothingness And taught me e'en your cruelty to bless, That cruelty which banished me the place Where I, at least, had gazed upon your face. And when no more I saw your beauty beam The harsher yet your cruelty did seem; Yet in obedience failed I not, and this Hath been the means of compassing my bliss. For Time, love's parent, pitiful at last, Upon my woe commiserate eyes hath cast, And done to me so excellent a turn, That, if I now come back, think not I yearn To sigh and dally, and renew the spell-- I only come to bid a last farewell. 

 Time, the revealer, hath not failed to prove How base and sorry is all human love, So that through Time, I now that time regret When all my fancy upon love was set, For then Time wasted was, lost in love's chains, Sorrow whereof is all that now remains. And Time in teaching me _that_ love's deceit Hath brought another, far more pure and sweet, To dwell within me, in the lonely spot Where tears and silence long have been my lot. Time, to my heart, that higher love hath brought With which the lower can no more be sought; Time hath the latter into exile driven, And, to the first, myself hath wholly given, And consecrated to its service true The heart and hand I erst had given to you. 

 When I was yours you nothing showed of grace, And I that nothing loved, for your fair face; Then, death for loyalty, you sought to give, And I, in fleeing it, have learnt to live. For, by the tender love that Time hath brought The other vanquished is, and turned to nought; Once did it lure and lull me, but I swear It now hath wholly vanished in thin air. And so your love and you I gladly leave, And, needing neither, will forbear to grieve; The other perfect, lasting love is mine, To it I turn, nor for the lost one pine. 

 My leave I take of cruelty and pain, Of hatred, bitter torment, cold disdain, And those hot flames which fill you, and which fire Him, that beholds your beauty, with desire. Nor can I better part from ev'ry throe, From ev'ry evil hap, and stress of woe, And the fierce passion of love's awful hell, Than by this single utterance: _Farewell_. Learn therefore, that whate'er may be in store, Each other's faces we shall see no more. "

This letter was not read without many tears and much astonishment on theQueen's part, together with regret surpassing belief; for the loss ofa lover filled with so perfect a love must needs have been keenly felt;and not all her treasures, nor even her kingdom itself, could hinder theQueen from being the poorest and most wretched lady in the world, seeingthat she had lost that which all the world's wealth could not replace. And having heard mass to the end and returned to her apartment, shethere made such mourning as her cruelty had provoked. And there was nota mountain, a rock or a forest to which she did not send in quest of thehermit; but He who had withdrawn him out of her hands preserved him fromfalling into them again, and took him away to Paradise before she couldgain tidings of him in this world. 

"This instance shows that a lover should never acknowledge that whichmay do him harm and in no wise help him. And still less, ladies, shouldyou in your incredulity demand so hard a test, lest in getting yourproof you lose your lover. "

"Truly, Dagoucin, " said Geburon, "I had all my life long deemed the ladyof your story to be the most virtuous in the world, but now I hold herfor the most cruel woman that ever lived. "

"Nevertheless, " said Parlamente, "it seems to me that she did him nowrong in wishing to try him for seven years, in order to see whetherhe did love her as much as he said. Men are so wont to speak falselyin these matters that before trusting them, if indeed one trust them atall, one cannot put them to the proof too long. "

"The ladies of our day, " said Hircan, "are far wiser than those of pasttimes, for they are as sure of a lover after a seven days' trial as theothers were after seven years. "

"Yet there are those in this company, " said Longarine, "who have beenloved with all earnestness for seven years and more, and albeit have notbeen won. "

"'Fore God, " said Simontault, "you speak the truth; but such as theyought to be ranked with the ladies of former times, for they cannot berecognised as belonging to the present. "

"After all, " said Oisille, "the gentleman was much beholden to the lady, for it was owing to her that he devoted his heart wholly to God. "

"It was very fortunate for him, " said Saffredent, "that he found Godupon the way, for, considering the grief he was in, I am surprised thathe did not give himself to the devil. "

"And did you give yourself to such a master, " asked Ennasuite, "whenyour lady ill used you?"

"Yes, thousands of times, " said Saffredent, "but the devil, seeing thatall the torments of hell could bring me no more suffering than thosewhich she caused me to endure, never condescended to take me. He knewfull well that no devil is so bad as a lady who is deeply loved and willmake no return. "

"If I were you, " said Parlamente to Saffredent, "and held such anopinion as that, I would never make love to woman. "

"My affection, " said Saffredent, "and my folly are always so great, thatwhere I cannot command I am well content to serve. All the ill-will ofthe ladies cannot subdue the love that I bear them. But, I pray you, tell me on your conscience, do you praise this lady for such greatharshness?"

"Ay, " said Oisille, "I do, for I think that she wished neither toreceive love nor to bestow it. "

"If such was her mind, " said Simontault, "why did she hold out to himthe hope of being loved after the seven years were past?"

"I am of your opinion, " said Longarine, "for ladies who are unwillingto love give no occasion for the continuance of the love that is offeredthem. "

"Perhaps, " said Nomerfide, "she loved some one else less worthy thanthat honourable gentleman, and so forsook the better for the worse. "

"'T faith, " said Saffredent, "I think that she meant to keep him inreadiness and take him whenever she might leave the other whom for thetime she loved the best. "

"I can see, " said Oisille, (4) "that the more we talk in this way, themore those who would not be harshly treated will do their utmost tospeak ill of us. Wherefore, Dagoucin, I pray you give some lady yourvote. "

 4 Prior to this sentence the following passage occurs in the De Thou MS. : "When Madame Oysille saw that the men, under pretence of censuring the Queen of Castille for conduct which certainly cannot be praised either in her or in any other, continued saying so much evil of women, that the most discreet and virtuous were spared no more than the most foolish and wanton, she could endure it no longer, but spoke and said, " &c. --L. 

"I give it, " he said, "to Longarine, for I feel sure that she willtell us no melancholy story, and that she will speak the truth withoutsparing man or woman. "

"Since you deem me so truthful, " said Longarine, "I will be so bold asto relate an adventure that befel a very great Prince, who surpassesin worth all others of his time. Lying and dissimulation are, indeed, things not to be employed save in cases of extreme necessity; they arefoul and infamous vices, more especially in Princes and great lords, on whose lips and features truth sits more becomingly than on those ofother men. But no Prince in the world however great he be, even thoughhe have all the honours and wealth he may desire, can escape beingsubject to the empire and tyranny of Love; indeed it would seem thatthe nobler and more high-minded the Prince, the more does Love strive tobring him under his mighty hand. For this glorious God sets no storeby common things; his majesty rejoices solely in the daily working ofmiracles, such as weakening the strong, strengthening the weak, givingknowledge to the simple, taking intelligence from the most learned, favouring the passions, and overthrowing the reason. In suchtransformations as these does the Deity of Love delight. Now sincePrinces are not exempt from love's thraldom, so also are they not freefrom its necessities, and must therefore perforce be permitted to employfalsehood, hypocrisy and deceit, which, according to the teaching ofMaster Jehan de Mehun, (5) are the means to be employed for vanquishingour enemies. And, since such conduct is praiseworthy on the part of aPrince in such a case as this (though in any other it were deservingof blame), I will relate to you the devices to which a young Princeresorted, and by which he contrived to deceive those who are wont todeceive the whole world. "

 5 John dc Melun, who continued the _Roman de la Rose_ begun by Lorris. --D. 

[Illustration: 130. Jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 131a. Jpg The Advocate's Wife attending on the Prince]

[The Advocate's Wife attending on the Prince]

[Illustration: 131. Jpg Page Image]

_TALE XXV_. 

 _A young Prince, whilst pretending to visit his lawyer and talk with him of his affairs, conversed so freely with the lawyer's wife, that he obtained from her what he desired_. 

In the city of Paris there dwelt an advocate who was more highly thoughtof than any other of his condition, (1) and who, being sought after byevery one on account of his excellent parts, had become the richest ofall those who wore the gown. 

 1 In five of the oldest MSS. Of the _Heptameron_, and in the original editions of 1558, 1559, and 1560, the words are "than nine others of his condition. " The explanation of this is, that the advocate's name, as ascertained by Baron Jerome Pichon, was Disome, which, written Dix-hommes, would literally mean "ten men. " Baron Pichon has largely elucidated this story, and the essential points of his notice, contributed to the _Mélanges de la Société des Bibliophiles Français_, will be found summarized in the Appendix to this volume, B. --Ed. 

Now, although he had had no children by his first wife, he was in hopesof having some by a second; for, although his body was no longer hearty, his heart and hopes were as much alive as ever. Accordingly, he madechoice of one of the fairest maidens in the city; she was betweeneighteen and nineteen years of age, very handsome both in features andcomplexion, and still more handsome in figure. He loved her and treatedher as well as could be; but he had no children by her any more than byhis first wife, and this at last made her unhappy. And as youth cannotendure grief, she sought diversion away from home, and betook herselfto dances and feasts; yet she did this in so seemly a fashion that herhusband could not take it ill, for she was always in the company ofwomen in whom he had trust. 

One day, when she was at a wedding, there was also present a Prince ofvery high degree, who, when telling me the story, forbade me to discoverhis name. I may, however, tell you that he was the handsomest and mostgraceful Prince that has ever been or, in my opinion, ever will be inthis realm. (2)

 2 Francis L, prior to his accession. --Ed. 

The Prince, seeing this fair and youthful lady whose eyes andcountenance invited him to love her, came and spoke to her with sucheloquence and grace that she was well pleased with his discourse. 

Nor did she seek to hide from him that she had long had in her heart thelove for which he prayed, but entreated that he would spare all pains topersuade her to a thing to which love, at first sight, had brought herto consent. Having, by the artlessness of love, so promptly gained whatwas well worth the pains of being won by time, the young Prince thankedGod for His favour, and forthwith contrived matters so well that theyagreed together in devising a means for seeing each other in private. 

The young Prince failed not to appear at the time and place that hadbeen agreed upon, and, that he might not injure his lady's honour, hewent in disguise. On account, however, of the evil fellows (3) who werewont to prowl at night through the city, and to whom he cared notto make himself known, he took with him certain gentlemen in whom hetrusted. 

 3 The French expression here is _mauvais garsons_, a name generally given to foot-pads at that time, but applied more particularly to a large band of brigands who, in the confusion prevailing during Francis I. 's captivity in Spain, began to infest the woods and forests around Paris, whence at night-time they descended upon the city. Several engagements were fought between them and the troops of the Queen-Regent, and although their leader, called King Guillot, was captured and hanged, the remnants of the band continued their depredations for several years. --B. J. 

And on entering the street in which the lady lived, he parted from them, saying--

"If you hear no noise within a quarter of an hour, go home again, andcome back here for me at about three or four o'clock. "

They did as they were commanded, and, hearing no noise, withdrew. 

The young Prince went straight to his advocate's house, where he foundthe door open as had been promised him. But as he was ascending thestaircase he met the husband, carrying a candle in his hand, and wasperceived by him before he was aware. However Love, who provides wit andboldness to contend with the difficulties that he creates, prompted theyoung Prince to go straight up to him and say--

"Master advocate, you know the trust which I and all belonging to myhouse have ever put in you, and how I reckon you among my best andtruest servants. I have now thought it well to visit you here inprivate, both to commend my affairs to you, and also to beg you to giveme something to drink, for I am in great thirst. And, I pray you, tellnone that I have come here, for from this place I must go to anotherwhere I would not be known. "

The worthy advocate was well pleased at the honour which the Prince paidhim in coming thus privately to his house, and, leading him to hisown room, he bade his wife prepare a collation of the best fruits andconfections that she had. 

Although the garments she wore, a kerchief and mantle, made her appearmore beautiful than ever, the young Prince affected not to look at heror notice her, but spoke unceasingly to her husband about his affairs, as to one who had long had them in his hands. And, whilst the lady waskneeling with the confections before the Prince, and her husband wasgone to the sideboard in order to serve him with drink, she told himthat on leaving the room he must not fail to enter a closet which hewould find on the right hand, and whither she would very soon come tosee him. 

As soon as he had drunk, he thanked the advocate, who was all eagernessto attend him; but the Prince assured him that in the place whither hewas going he had no need of attendance, and thereupon turning to thewife, he said--

"Moreover, I will not do so ill as to deprive you of your excellenthusband, who is also an old servant of mine. Well may you render thanksto God since you are so fortunate as to have such a husband, well mayyou render him service and obedience. If you did otherwise, you would beblameworthy indeed. "

With these virtuous words the young Prince went away, and, closing thedoor behind him so that he might not be followed to the staircase, he entered the closet, whither also came the fair lady as soon as herhusband had fallen asleep. 

Thence she led the Prince into a cabinet as choicely furnished as mightbe, though in truth there were no fairer figures in it than he and she, no matter what garments they may have been pleased to wear. And here, Idoubt not, she kept word with him as to all that she had promised. 

He departed thence at the hour which he had appointed with hisgentlemen, and found them at the spot where he had aforetime bidden themwait. 

As this intercourse lasted a fairly long time, the young Prince chosea shorter way to the advocate's house, and this led him through amonastery of monks. (4) And so well did he contrive matters with thePrior, that the porter used always to open the gate for him aboutmidnight, and do the like also when he returned. And, as the house whichhe visited was hard by, he used to take nobody with him. 

 4 If at this period Jane Disome, the heroine of the story, lived in the Rue de la Pauheminerie, where she is known to have died some years afterwards, this monastery, in Baron Jerome Pichon's opinion, would be the Blancs-Manteaux, in the Marais district of Paris. We may further point out that in the Rue Barbette, near by, there was till modern times a house traditionally known as the "hôtel de la belle Féronnière. " That many writers have confused the heroine of this tale with La Belle Féronnière (so called because her husband was a certain Le Féron, an advocate) seems manifest; the intrigue in which the former took part was doubtless ascribed in error to the latter, and the proximity of their abodes may have led to the mistake. It should be pointed out, however, that the amour here recorded by Queen Margaret took place in or about the year 1515, before Francis I. Ascended the throne, whereas La Féronnière was in all her beauty between 1530 and 1540. The tradition that the King had an intrigue with La Féronnière reposes on the flimsiest evidence (see Appendix B), and the supposition, re-echoed by the Bibliophile Jacob, that it was carried on in the Rue de l'Hirondelle, is entirely erroneous. The house, adorned with the salamander device and corneted initials of Francis I. , which formerly extended from that street to the Rue Git-le- Coeur, never had any connection with La Féronnière. It was the famous so-called Palace of Love which the King built for his acknowledged mistress, Anne de Pisseleu, Duchess of Étampes. --Ed. 

Although he led the life that I have described, he was nevertheless aPrince that feared and loved God, and although he made no pause whengoing, he never failed on his return to continue for a long time prayingin the church. And the monks, who when going to and fro at the hour ofmatins used to see him there on his knees, were thereby led to considerhim the holiest man alive. 

This Prince had a sister (5) who often visited this monastery, and asshe loved her brother more than any other living being, she used tocommend him to the prayers of all whom she knew to be good. 

 5 This of course is Queen Margaret, then Duchess of Alençon. On account of her apparent intimacy with the prior, M. De Montaiglon conjectures that the monastery may have been that of St. Martin-in-the-Fields. --See ante, Tale XXII. --Ed. 

One day, when she was in this manner commending him lovingly to thePrior of the monastery, the Prior said to her--

"Ah, madam, whom are you thus commending to me? You are speaking to meof a man in whose prayers, above those of all others, I would myselffain be remembered. For if he be not a holy man and a just"--here hequoted the passage which says, "Blessed is he that can do evil and doethit not"--"_I_ cannot hope to be held for such. "

The sister, wishing to learn what knowledge this worthy father couldhave of her brother's goodness, questioned him so pressingly that he atlast told her the secret under the seal of the confessional, saying--

"Is it not an admirable thing to see a young and handsome Prince forsakepleasure and repose in order to come so often to hear our matins? Norcomes he like a Prince seeking honour of men, but quite alone, like asimple monk, and hides himself in one of our chapels. Truly such pietyso shames both the monks and me, that we do not deem ourselves worthy ofbeing called men of religion in comparison with him. "

When the sister heard these words she was at a loss what to think. Sheknew that, although her brother was worldly enough, he had a tenderconscience, as well as great faith and love towards God; but she hadnever suspected him of a leaning towards any superstitions or rites savesuch as a good Christian should observe. (6) She therefore went to himand told him the good opinion that the monks had of him, whereat hecould not hold from laughing, and in such a manner that she, knowinghim as she did her own heart, perceived that there was something hiddenbeneath his devotion; whereupon she rested not until she had made himtell her the truth. 

 6 In Boaistuau's edition this sentence ends, "But she had never suspected him of going to church at such an hour as this. "--L. 

And she has made me here set it down in writing, for the purpose, ladies, of showing you that there is no lawyer so crafty and no monkso shrewd, but love, in case of need, gives the power of tricking themboth, to those whose sole experience is in truly loving. And since lovecan thus deceive the deceivers, well may we, who are simple and ignorantfolk, stand in awe of him. 

"Although, " said Geburon, "I can pretty well guess who the young Princeis, I must say that in this matter he was worthy of praise. We meet withfew great lords who reck aught of a woman's honour or a public scandal, if only they have their pleasure; nay, they are often well pleased tohave men believe something that is even worse than the truth. "

"Truly, " said Oisille, "I could wish that all young lords would followhis example, for the scandal is often worse than the sin. "

"Of course, " said Nomerfide, "the prayers he offered up at the monasterythrough which he passed were sincere. "

"That is not a matter for you to judge, " said Parlamente, "for perhapshis repentance on his return was great enough to procure him the pardonof his sin. "

"'Tis a hard matter, " said Hircan, "to repent of an offence so pleasing. For my own part I have many a time confessed such a one, but seldom haveI repented of it. "

"It would be better, " said Oisille, "not to confess at all, if one donot sincerely repent. "

"Well, madam, " said Hircan, "sin sorely displeases me, and I am grievedto offend God, but, for all that, such sin is ever a pleasure to me. "

"You and those like you, " said Parlamente, "would fain have neither Godnor law other than your own desires might set up. "

"I will own to you, " said Hircan, "that I would gladly have God take asdeep a pleasure in my pleasures as I do myself, for I should then oftengive Him occasion to rejoice. "

"However, you cannot set up a new God, " said Geburon, "and so we muste'en obey the one we have. Let us therefore leave such disputes totheologians, and allow Longarine to give some one her vote. "

"I give it, " she said, "to Saffredent, but I will beg him to tell us thefinest tale he can think of, and not to be so intent on speaking evilof women as to hide the truth when there is something good of them torelate. "

"In sooth, " said Saffredent, "I consent, for I have here in hand thestory of a wanton woman and a discreet one, and you shall take exampleby her who pleases you best. You will see that just as love leads wickedpeople to do wicked things, so does it lead a virtuous heart to dothings that are worthy of praise; for love in itself is good, althoughthe evil that is in those that are subject to it often makes it take anew title, such as wanton, light, cruel or vile. However, you will seefrom the tale that I am now about to relate that love does not changethe heart, but discovers it to be what it really is, wanton in thewanton and discreet in the discreet. "

[Illustration: 142. Jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 143a. Jpg The Lord of Avannes paying His Court in Disguise]

[The Lord of Avannes paying His Court in Disguise]

[Illustration: 143. Jpg Page Image]

_TALE XXVI_. 

 _By the counsel and sisterly affection of a virtuous lady, the Lord of Avannes was drawn from the wanton love that he entertained for a gentlewoman dwelling at Pampeluna_. 

In the days of King Louis the Twelfth there lived a young lord calledMonsieur d'Avannes, (1) son of the Lord of Albret [and] brother toKing John of Navarre, with whom this aforesaid Lord of Avannes commonlyabode. 

 1 This is Gabriel d'Albret, Lord of Avesnes and Lesparre, fourth son of Alan the Great, Sire d'Albret, and brother of John d'Albret, King of Navarre, respecting whom see _post_, note 4 to Tale XXX. Queen Margaret is in error in dating this story from the reign of Louis XII. The incidents she relates must have occurred between 1485 and 1490, under the reign of Charles VIII. , by whom Gabriel d'Albret, on reaching manhood, was successively appointed counsellor and chamberlain, Seneschal of Guyenne and Viceroy of Naples. Under Louis XII. He took a prominent part in the Italian campaigns of 1500-1503, in which latter year he is known to have made his will, bequeathing all he possessed to his brother, Cardinal d'Albret. He died a bachelor in 1504. --See Anselme's _Histoire Généalogique_, vol. Vi. P. 214. --L. And Ed. 

Now this young lord, who was fifteen years of age, was so handsome andso fully endowed with every excellent grace that he seemed to have beenmade solely to be loved and admired, as he was indeed by all who sawhim, and above all by a lady who dwelt in the town of Pampeluna (2) inNavarre. She was married to a very rich man, with whom she lived in allvirtue, inasmuch that, although her husband was nearly fifty years oldand she was only three and twenty, she dressed so plainly that she hadmore the appearance of a widow than of a married woman. Moreover, shewas never known to go to weddings or feasts unless accompanied by herhusband, whose worth and virtue she prized so highly that she set thembefore all the comeliness of other men. And her husband, finding her sodiscreet, trusted her and gave all the affairs of his household into herhands. 

 2 Pampeluna or Pamplona, the capital of Navarre, wrested from King John in 1512 by the troops of Ferdinand the Catholic. --Ed. 

One day this rich man was invited with his wife to a wedding among theirkinsfolk; and among those who were present to do honour to the bridalwas the young Lord of Avannes, who was exceedingly fond of dancing, aswas natural in one who surpassed therein all others of his time. Whendinner was over and the dances were begun, the rich man begged the Lordof Avannes to do his part, whereupon the said lord asked him with whomhe would have him dance. 

"My lord, " replied the gentleman, "I can present to you no lady fairerand more completely at my disposal than my wife, and I therefore beg youto honour me so far as to lead her out. "

This the young Prince did; and he was still so young that he took fargreater pleasure in frisking and dancing than in observing the beautyof the ladies. But his partner, on the contrary, gave more heed to hisgrace and beauty than to the dance, though in her prudence she took goodcare not to let this appear. 

The supper hour being come, the Lord of Avannes bade the companyfarewell, and departed to the castle, (3) whither the rich manaccompanied him on his mule. And as they were going, the rich man saidto him--

"My lord, you have this day done so much honour to my kinsfolk and tome, that I should indeed be ungrateful if I did not place myself withall that belongs to me at your service. I know, sir, that lords likeyourself, who have stern and miserly fathers, are often in greater needof money than we, who, with small establishments and careful husbandry, seek only to save up wealth. Now, albeit God has given me a wife aftermy own heart, it has not pleased Him to give me all my Paradise in thisworld, for He has withheld from me the joy that fathers derive fromhaving children. I know, my lord, that it is not for me to adopt you asa son, but if you will accept me for your servant and make known to meyour little affairs, I will not fail to assist you in your need so faras a hundred thousand crowns may go. "

 3 Evidently the castle of Pampeluna, where Gabriel d'Albret resided with his brother the King. --Ed. 

The Lord of Avannes was in great joy at this offer, for he had just sucha father as the other had described; accordingly he thanked him, andcalled him his adopted father. 

From that hour the rich man evinced so much love towards the Lord ofAvannes, that morning and evening he failed not to inquire whether hehad need of anything, nor did he conceal this devotion from his wife, who loved him for it twice as much as before. Thenceforward the Lord ofAvannes had no lack of anything that he desired. He often visited therich man, and ate and drank with him; and when he found the husbandabroad, the wife gave him all that he required, and further spoke tohim so sagely, exhorting him to live discreetly and virtuously, that hereverenced and loved her above all other women. 

Having God and honour before her eyes, she remained content with thusseeing him and speaking to him, for these are sufficient for virtuousand honourable love; and she never gave any token whereby he might haveimagined that she felt aught but a sisterly and Christian affectiontowards him. 

While this secret love continued, the Lord of Avannes, who, by theassistance that I have spoken of, was always well and splendidlyapparelled, came to the age of seventeen years, and began to frequentthe company of ladies more than had been his wont. And although he wouldfain have loved this virtuous lady rather than any other, yet his fearof losing her friendship should she hear any such discourse from him, led him to remain silent and to divert himself elsewhere. 

He therefore addressed himself to a gentlewoman of the neighbourhood ofPampeluna, who had a house in the town, and was married to a young manwhose chief delight was in horses, hawks and hounds. For her sake, hebegan to set on foot a thousand diversions, such as tourneys, races, wrestlings, masquerades, banquets, and other pastimes, at all of whichthis young lady was present. But as her husband was very humorsome, andher parents, knowing her to be both fair and frolicsome, were jealous ofher honour, they kept such strict watch over her that my Lord of Avannescould obtain nothing from her save a word or two at the dance, although, from the little that had passed between them, he well knew that time andplace alone were wanting to crown their loves. 

He therefore went to his good father, the rich man, and told him that hedeeply desired to make a pilgrimage to our Lady of Montferrat, (4) forwhich reason he begged him to house his followers, seeing that he wishedto go alone. 

 4 The famous monastery of Montserrate, at eight leagues from Barcelona, where is preserved the ebony statue of the Virgin carrying the Infant Jesus, which is traditionally said to have been carved by St. Luke, and to have been brought to Spain by St. Peter. --See _Libro de la historia y milagros hechos à invocation de Nuestra Seilora de Montserrate_, Barcelona, 1556, 8vo. --Ed. 

To this the rich man agreed; but his wife, in whose heart was that greatsoothsayer, Love, forthwith suspected the true nature of the journey, and could not refrain from saying--

"My lord, my lord, the Lady you adore is not without the walls ofthis town, so I pray that you will have in all matters a care for yourhealth. "

At this he, who both feared and loved her, blushed so deeply that, without speaking a word, he confessed the truth; and so he went away. 

Having bought a couple of handsome Spanish horses, he dressed himselfas a groom, and disguised his face in such a manner that none could knowhim. The gentleman who was husband to the wanton lady, and who lovedhorses more than aught beside, saw the two that the Lord of Avanneswas leading, and forthwith offered to buy them. When he had done so, helooked at the groom, who was managing the horses excellently well, andasked whether he would enter his service. The Lord of Avannes repliedthat he would; saying that he was but a poor groom, who knew no tradeexcept the caring of horses, but in this he could do so well that hewould assuredly give satisfaction. At this the gentleman was pleased, and having given him the charge of all his horses, entered his house, and told his wife that he was leaving for the castle, and confided hishorses and groom to her keeping. 

The lady, as much to please her husband as for her own diversion, wentto see the horses, and looked at the new groom, who seemed to her to bewell favoured, though she did not at all recognise him. Seeing thathe was not recognised, he came up to do her reverence in the Spanishfashion and kissed her hand, and, in doing so, pressed it so closelythat she at once knew him, for he had often done the same at the dance. From that moment, the lady thought of nothing but how she might speakto him in private; and contrived to do so that very evening, for, beinginvited to a banquet, to which her husband wished to take her, shepretended that she was ill and unable to go. 

The husband, being unwilling to disappoint his friends, thereupon saidto her--

"Since you will not come, my love, I pray you take good care of myhorses and hounds, so that they may want for nothing. "

The lady deemed this charge a very agreeable one, but, without showingit, she replied that since he had nothing better for her to do, shewould show him even in these trifling matters how much she desired toplease him. 

And scarcely was her husband outside the door than she went down to thestable, where she found that something was amiss, and to set it rightgave so many orders to the serving-men on this side and the other, thatat last she was left alone with the chief groom, when, fearing that someone might come upon them, she said to him--

"Go into the garden, and wait for me in a summer house that stands atthe end of the alley. "

This he did, and with such speed that he stayed not even to thank her. 

When she had set the whole stable in order, she went to see the dogs, and was so careful to have them properly treated, that from mistress sheseemed to have become a serving-woman. Afterwards she withdrew to herown apartment, where she lay down weariedly upon the bed, saying thatshe wished to rest. All her women left her excepting one whom shetrusted, and to whom she said--

"Go into the garden, and bring here the man whom you will find at theend of the alley. "

The maid went and found the groom, whom she forthwith brought to thelady, and the latter then sent her outside to watch for her husband'sreturn. When the Lord of Avannes found himself alone with the lady, hedoffed his groom's dress, took off his false nose and beard, and, notlike a timorous groom, but like the handsome lord he was, boldly gotinto bed with her without so much as asking her leave; and he wasreceived as the handsomest youth of his time deserved to be by thehandsomest and gayest lady in the land, and remained with her until herhusband returned. Then he again took his mask and left the place whichhis craft and artifice had usurped. 

On entering the courtyard the gentleman heard of the diligence that hiswife had shown in obeying him, and he thanked her heartily for it. 

"Sweetheart, " said the lady, "I did but my duty. Tis true that if we didnot keep watch upon these rogues of servants you would not have a dogwithout the mange or a horse in good condition; but, now that I knowtheir slothfulness and your wishes, you shall be better served than everyou were before. "

The gentleman, who thought that he had chosen the best groom in theworld, asked her what she thought of him. 

"I will own, sir, " she replied, "that he does his work as well asany you could have chosen, but he needs to be urged on, for he is thesleepiest knave I ever saw. "

So the lord and his lady lived together more lovingly than before, andhe lost all the suspicion and jealousy with which he had regarded her, seeing that she was now as careful of her house hold as she had formerlybeen devoted to banquets, dances and assemblies. Whereas, also, she hadformerly been wont to spend four hours in attiring herself, she was nowoften content to wear nothing but a dressing-gown over her chemise; andfor this she was praised by her husband and by every one else, for theydid not understand that a stronger devil had entered her and thrust outa weaker one. 

Thus did this young lady, under the guise of a virtuous woman, likethe hypocrite she was, live in such wantonness that reason, conscience, order and moderation found no place within her. The youth and tenderconstitution of the Lord of Avannes could not long endure this, and hebegan to grow so pale and lean that even without his mask he might wellhave passed unrecognised; yet the mad love that he had for this woman soblunted his understanding that he imagined he had strength to accomplishfeats that even Hercules had tried in vain. However, being at lastconstrained by sickness and advised thereto by his lady, who was not sofond of him sick as sound, he asked his master's leave to return home, and this his master gave him with much regret, making him promise tocome back to service when he was well again. 

In this wise did the Lord of Avannes go away, and all on foot, for hehad only the length of a street to travel. On arriving at the houseof his good father, the rich man, he there found only his wife, whosehonourable love for him had been in no whit lessened by his journey. But when she saw him so colourless and thin, she could not refrain fromsaying to him--

"I do not know, my lord, how your conscience may be, but your body hascertainly not been bettered by your pilgrimage. I fear me that yourjourneyings by night have done you more harm than your journeyings byday, for had you gone to Jerusalem on foot you would have come back moresunburnt, indeed, but not so thin and weak. Pay good heed to this one, and worship no longer such images as those, which, instead of revivingthe dead, cause the living to die. I would say more, but if your bodyhas sinned it has been well punished, and I feel too much pity for youto add any further distress. "

When my Lord of Avannes heard these words, he was as sorry as he wasashamed. 

"Madam, " he replied, "I have heard that repentance follows upon sin, andnow I have proved it to my cost. But I pray you pardon my youth, whichcould not have been punished save by the evil in which it would notbelieve. "

Thereupon changing her discourse, the lady made him lie down in ahandsome bed, where he remained for a fortnight, taking nothing butrestoratives; and the lady and her husband constantly kept him company, so that he always had one or the other beside him. And although he hadacted foolishly, as you have heard, contrary to the desire and counselof the virtuous lady, she, nevertheless, lost nought of the virtuouslove that she felt towards him, for she still hoped that, after spendinghis early youth in follies, he would throw them off and bring himself tolove virtuously, and so be all her own. 

During the fortnight that he was in her house, she held to him suchexcellent discourse, all tending to the love of virtue, that he began toloathe the folly that he had committed. Observing, moreover, the lady'sbeauty, which surpassed that of the wanton one, and becoming more andmore aware of the graces and virtues that were in her, he one day, whenit was rather dark, could not longer hold from speaking, but, puttingaway all fear, said to her--

"I see no better means, madam, for becoming a virtuous man such as youurge me and desire me to be, than by being heart and soul in love withvirtue. I therefore pray you, madam, to tell me whether you will give mein this matter all the assistance and favour that you can. "

The lady rejoiced to find him speaking in this way, and replied--

"I promise you, my lord, that if you are in love with virtue as itbeseems a lord like yourself to be, I will assist your efforts with allthe strength that God has given me. "

"Now, madam, " said my Lord of Avannes, "remember your promise, andconsider also that God, whom man knows by faith alone, deigned to takea fleshly nature like that of the sinner upon Himself, in order that, bydrawing our flesh to the love of His humanity, He might at the same timedraw our spirits to the love of His divinity, thus making use of visiblemeans to make us in all faith love the things which are invisible. Inlike manner this virtue, which I would fain love all my life long, isa thing invisible except in so far as it produces outward effects, forwhich reason it must take some bodily shape in order to become knownamong men. And this it has done by clothing itself in your form, themost perfect it could find. I therefore recognise and own that you arenot only virtuous but virtue itself; and now, finding it shine beneaththe veil of the most perfect person that was ever known, I would fainserve it and honour it all my life, renouncing for its sake every othervain and vicious love. "

The lady, who was no less pleased than surprised to hear these words, concealed her happiness and said--

"My lord, I will not undertake to answer your theology, but since I ammore ready to apprehend evil than to believe in good, I will entreat youto address to me no more such words as lead you to esteem but lightlythose who are wont to believe them. I very well know that I am a womanlike any other and imperfect, and that virtue would do a greater thingby transforming me into itself than by assuming my form--unless, indeed, it would fain pass unrecognised through the world, for in such a garb asmine its real nature could never be known. Nevertheless, my lord, withall my imperfections, I have ever borne to you all such affection asis right and possible in a woman who reverences God and her honour. Butthis affection shall not be declared until your heart is capable of thatpatience which a virtuous love enjoins. At that time, my lord, I shallknow what to say, but meanwhile be assured that you do not love your ownwelfare, person and honour as I myself love them. "

The Lord of Avannes timorously and with tears in his eyes entreated herearnestly to seal her words with a kiss, but she refused, saying thatshe would not break for him the custom of her country. 

While this discussion was going on the husband came in, and my Lord ofAvannes said to him--

"I am greatly indebted, father, both to you and to your wife, and I prayyou ever to look upon me as your son. "

This the worthy man readily promised. 

"And to seal your love, " said the Lord of Avannes, "I pray you let mekiss you. " This he did, after which the Lord of Avannes said--:

"If I were not afraid of offending against the law, I would do the sameto your wife and my mother. "

Upon this, the husband commanded his wife to kiss him, which shedid without appearing either to like or to dislike what her husbandcommanded her. But the fire that words had already kindled in the poorlord's heart, grew fiercer at this kiss which had been so earnestlysought for and so cruelly denied. 

After this the Lord of Avannes betook himself to the castle to see hisbrother, the King, to whom he told fine stories about his journey toMontferrat. He found that the King was going to Oly and Taffares, (5)and, reflecting that the journey would be a long one, he fell into deepsadness, and resolved before going away to try whether the virtuous ladywere not better disposed towards him than she appeared to be. 

 5 Evidently Olite and Tafalla, the former at thirty and the latter at twenty-seven miles from Pamplona. The two towns were commonly called _la flor de Navarra_. King John doubtless intended sojourning at the summer palaces which his predecessor Carlos the Noble had built at either locality, and which were connected, it is said, by a gallery a league in length. Some ruins of these palaces still exist. --Ed. 

He therefore went to lodge in the street in which she lived, where hehired an old house, badly built of timber. About midnight he set fire toit, and the alarm, which spread through the whole town, reached the richman's house. He asked from the window where the fire was, and hearingthat it was in the house of the Lord of Avannes, immediately hastenedthither with all his servants. He found the young lord in the street, clad in nothing but his shirt, whereat in his deep compassion he tookhim in his arms, and, covering him with his own robe, brought him homeas quickly as possible, where he said to his wife, who was in bed--

"Here, sweetheart, I give this prisoner into your charge. Treat him asyou would treat myself. "

As soon as he was gone, the Lord of Avannes, who would gladly have beentreated like a husband, sprang lightly into the bed, hoping that placeand opportunity would bring this discreet lady to a different mind; buthe found the contrary to be the case, for as he leaped into the bed onone side, she got out at the other. Then, putting on her dressing-gown, she came up to the head of the bed and spoke as follows--

"Did you think, my lord, that opportunity could influence a chasteheart? Nay, just as gold is tried in the furnace, so a chaste heartbecomes stronger and more virtuous in the midst of temptation, andgrows colder the more it is assailed by its opposite. You may be sure, therefore, that had I been otherwise minded than I professed myself tobe, I should not have wanted means, to which I have paid no heed solelybecause I desire not to use them. So I beg of you, if you would have mepreserve my affection for you, put away not merely the desire but eventhe thought that you can by any means whatever make me other than I am. "

While she was speaking, her women came in, and she commanded a collationof all kinds of sweetmeats to be brought; but the young lord couldneither eat nor drink, in such despair was he at having failed in hisenterprise, and in such fear lest this manifestation of his passionshould cost him the familiar intercourse that he had been wont to havewith her. 

Having dealt with the fire, the husband came back again, and begged theLord of Avannes to remain at his house for the night. This he did, but in such wise that his eyes were more exercised in weeping than insleeping. Early in the morning he went to bid them farewell, while theywere still in bed; and in kissing the lady he perceived that she feltmore pity for the offence than anger against the offender, and thus wasanother brand added to the fire of his love. After dinner, he set outfor Taffares with the King; but before leaving he went again to takeyet another farewell of his good father and the lady who, after herhusband's first command, made no difficulty in kissing him as her son. 

But you may be sure that the more virtue prevented her eyes and featuresfrom testifying to the hidden flame, the fiercer and more intolerabledid that flame become. And so, being unable to endure the war betweenlove and honour, which was waging in her heart, but which she hadnevertheless resolved should never be made apparent, and no longerhaving the comfort of seeing and speaking to him for whose sake aloneshe cared to live, she fell at last into a continuous fever, caused by amelancholic humour which so wrought upon her that the extremities of herbody became quite cold, while her inward parts burned without ceasing. The doctors, who have not the health of men in their power, began togrow very doubtful concerning her recovery, by reason of an obstructionthat affected the extremities, and advised her husband to admonish herto think of her conscience and remember that she was in God's hands--asthough indeed the healthy were not in them also. 

The husband, who loved his wife devotedly, was so saddened by theirwords that for his comfort he wrote to the Lord of Avannes entreatinghim to take the trouble to come and see them, in the hope that the sightof him might be of advantage to the patient. On receiving the letter, the Lord of Avannes did not tarry, but started off post-haste to thehouse of his worthy father, where he found the servants, both men andwomen, assembled at the door, making such lament for their mistress asshe deserved. 

So greatly amazed was he at the sight, that he remained on the thresholdlike one paralysed, until he beheld his good father, who embraced him, weeping the while so bitterly that he could not utter a word. Then heled the Lord of Avannes to the chamber of the sick lady, who, turningher languid eyes upon him, put out her hand and drew him to her withall the strength she had. She kissed and embraced him, and made wondrouslamentation, saying--

"O my lord, the hour has come when all dissimulation must cease, and Imust confess the truth which I have been at such pains to hide from you. If your affection for me was great, know that mine for you has been noless; but my grief has been greater than yours, because I have had theanguish of concealing it contrary to the wish of my heart. God and myhonour have never, my lord, suffered me to make it known to you, lestI should increase in you that which I sought to diminish; but you mustlearn that the 'no' I so often said to you pained me so greatly in theutterance that it has indeed proved the cause of my death. 

"Nevertheless, I am glad it should be so, and that God in His graceshould have caused me to die before the vehemence of my love has stainedmy conscience and my fair fame; for smaller fires have ere now destroyedgreater and stronger structures. And I am glad that before dying I havebeen able to make known to you that my affection is equal to your own, save only that men's honour and women's are not the same thing. AndI pray you, my lord, fear not henceforward to address yourself to thegreatest and most virtuous of ladies; for in such hearts do the deepestand discreetest passions dwell, and moreover, your own grace and beautyand worth will not suffer your love to toil without reward. 

"I will not beg you, my lord, to pray God for me, because I know fullwell that the gate of Paradise is never closed against true lovers, andthat the fire of love punishes lovers so severely in this life herethat they are forgiven the sharp torment of Purgatory. And now, my lord, farewell; I commend to you your good father, my husband. Tell him thetruth as you have heard it from me, that he may know how I have lovedGod and him. And come no more before my eyes, for I now desire to thinkonly of obtaining those promises made to me by God before the creationof the world. "

With these words she kissed him and embraced him with all the strengthof her feeble arms. The young lord, whose heart was as nearly deadthrough pity as hers was through pain, was unable to say a single word. He withdrew from her sight to a bed that was in the room, and thereseveral times swooned away. 

Then the lady called her husband, and, after giving him much virtuouscounsel, commended the Lord of Avannes to him, declaring that next tohimself she had loved him more than any one upon earth, and so, kissingher husband, she bade him farewell. Then, after the extreme unction, theHoly Sacrament was brought to her from the altar, and this she receivedwith the joy of one who is assured of her salvation. And finding thather sight was growing dim and her strength failing her, she began toutter the "In manus" aloud. 

Hearing this cry, the Lord of Avannes raised himself up on the bed wherehe was lying, and gazing piteously upon her, beheld her with a gentlesigh surrender her glorious soul to Him from whom it had come. When heperceived that she was dead, he ran to the body, which when alive he hadever approached with fear, and kissed and embraced it in such wise thathe could hardly be separated from it, whereat the husband was greatlyastonished, for he had never believed he bore her so much affection; andwith the words, "Tis too much, my lord, " he led him away. 

After he had lamented for a great while, the Lord of Avannes related allthe converse they had had together during their love, and how, until herdeath, she had never given him sign of aught save severity. This, whileit gave the husband exceeding joy, also increased his grief and sorrowat the loss he had sustained, and for the remainder of his days herendered service to the Lord of Avannes. 

But from that time forward my Lord of Avannes, who was then onlyeighteen years old, went to reside at Court, where he lived for manyyears without wishing to see or to speak with any living woman by reasonof his grief for the lady he had lost; and he wore mourning for her sakeduring more than ten years. (6)

 6 Some extracts from Brantôme bearing on this story will be found in the Appendix, C. 

"You here see, ladies, what a difference there is between a wanton ladyand a discreet one. The effects of love are also different in each case;for the one came by a glorious and praiseworthy death, while the otherlived only too long with the reputation of a vile and shameless woman. Just as the death of a saint is precious in the sight of God, so is thedeath of a sinner abhorrent. "

"In truth, Saffredent, " said Oisille, "you have told us the finest taleimaginable, and any one who knew the hero would deem it better still. I have never seen a handsomer or more graceful gentleman than was thisLord of Avannes. "

"She was indeed a very virtuous woman, " said Saffredent. "So as toappear outwardly more virtuous than she was in her heart, and to concealher love for this worthy lord which reason and nature had inspired, she must needs die rather than take the pleasure which she secretlydesired. "

"If she had felt such a desire, " said Parlamente, "she would have lackedneither place nor opportunity to make it known; but the greatness of hervirtue prevented her desire from exceeding the bounds of reason. "

"You may paint her as you will, " said Hircan, "but I know very well thata stronger devil always thrusts out the weaker, and that the pride ofladies seeks pleasure rather than the fear and love of God. Their robesare long and well woven with dissimulation, so that we cannot tell whatis beneath, for if their honour were not more easily stained than ours, (7) you would find that Nature's work is as complete in them as inourselves. But not daring to take the pleasure they desire, they haveexchanged that vice for a greater, which they deem more honourable, Imean a self-sufficient cruelty, whereby they look to obtain everlastingrenown. 

 7 This reading is borrowed from MS. No. 1520. In the MS. Mainly followed for this translation, the passage runs as follows-"if their honour were not more easily stained than their hearts. "--L. 

By thus glorying in their resistance to the vice of Nature's law--if, indeed, anything natural be vicious--they become not only like inhumanand cruel beasts, but even like the devils whose pride and subtilitythey borrow. " (8)

 8 This reading is borrowed from MS. No. 1520. In our MS. The passage runs--"like the devils whose semblance and subtility they borrow. "--L. 

"Tis a pity, " said Nomerfide, "that you should have an honourable wife, for you not only think lightly of virtue, but are even fain to provethat it is vice. "

"I am very glad, " said Hircan, "to have a wife of good repute, justas I, myself, would be of good repute. But as for chastity of heart, Ibelieve that we are both children of Adam and Eve; wherefore, when weexamine ourselves, we have no need to cover our nakedness with leaves, but should rather confess our frailty. "

"I know, " said Parlamente, "that we all have need of God's grace, beingall steeped in sin; but, for all that, our temptations are not similarto yours, and if we sin through pride, no one is injured by it, nordo our bodies and hands receive a stain. But your pleasure consists indishonouring women, and your honour in slaying men in war--two thingsexpressly contrary to the law of God. " (9)

"I admit what you say, " said Geburon, "but God has said, 'Whosoeverlooketh with lust, hath already committed adultery in his heart, ' andfurther, 'Whosoever hateth his neighbour is a murderer. ' (10) Do youthink that women offend less against these texts than we?"

 9 This sentence, defective in our MS. , is taken from No. 1520. --L. 

 10 1 St. John iii. 15. --M. 

"God, who judges the heart, " said Longarine, "must decide that. But itis an important thing that men should not be able to accuse us, for thegoodness of God is so great, that He will not judge us unless therebe an accuser. And so well, moreover, does He know the frailty of ourhearts, that He will even love us for not having put our thoughts intoexecution. "

"I pray you, " said Saffredent, "let us leave this dispute, for itsavours more of a sermon than of a tale. I give my vote to Ennasuite, and beg that she will bear in mind to make us laugh. "

"Indeed, " said she, "I will not fail to do so; for I would have you knowthat whilst coming hither, resolved upon relating a fine story to youto-day, I was told so merry a tale about two servants of a Princess, that, in laughing at it, I quite forgot the melancholy story which I hadprepared, and which I will put off until to-morrow; for, with the merryface I now have, you would scarce find it to your liking. "

[Illustration: 170. Jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 171a. Jpg The Secretary imploring the Lady not To Tell Of His Wickedness]

[The Secretary imploring the Lady not To Tell Of His Wickedness]

[Illustration: 171. Jpg Page Image]

_TALE XXVII_. 

 _A secretary sought the wife of his host and comrade in dishonourable and unlawful love, and as she made show of willingly giving ear to him, he was persuaded that he had won her. But she was virtuous, and, while dissembling towards him, deceived his hopes and made known his viciousness to her husband_. (1)

 1 The incidents here related would have occurred at Amboise between 1540 and 1545. The hero of the story would probably be John Frotté, Queen Margaret's First Secretary, who also apparently figures in Tale XXVIII. The Sires de Frotté had been in the service of the Dukes of Alençon since the early part of the fifteenth century. Ste-Marthe says of John Frotté that he was a man of great experience and good wit, prudent, dutiful and diligent. He died secretary to Francis I. --L. And B. J. 

In the town of Amboise there lived one of this Princess's servants, anhonest man who served her in the quality of valet-de-chambre, and whoused readily to entertain those that visited his house, more especiallyhis own comrades; and not long since one of his mistress's servants cameto lodge with him, and remained with him ten or twelve days. 

This man was so ugly that he looked more like a King of the cannibalsthan a Christian, and although his host treated him as a friend and abrother, and with all the courtesy imaginable, he behaved in return notonly like one who has forgotten all honour, but as one who has never hadit in his heart. For he sought, in dishonourable and unlawful love, hiscomrade's wife, who was in no sort attractive to lust but rather thereverse, and was moreover as virtuous a woman as any in the town inwhich she lived. When she perceived the man's evil intent, she thoughtit better to employ dissimulation in order to bring his viciousness tolight, rather than conceal it by a sudden refusal; and she thereforemade a pretence of approving his discourse. He then believed he had wonher, and, paying no heed to her age, which was that of fifty years, orto her lack of beauty, or her reputation as a virtuous woman attached toher husband, he urged his suit continually. 

One day, the husband being in the house, the wife and her suitor were ina large room together, when she pretended that he had but to find somesafe spot in order to have such private converse with her as he desired. He immediately replied that it was only necessary to go up to thegarret. She instantly rose, and begged him to go first, saying thatshe would follow. Smiling with as sweet a countenance as that of a bigbaboon entertaining a friend, he went lightly up the stairway; and, on the tip-toe of expectation with regard to that which he so greatlydesired, burning with a fire not clear, like that of juniper, but denselike that of coal in the furnace, he listened whether she was comingafter him. But instead of hearing her footsteps, he heard her voicesaying--

"Wait, master secretary, for a little; I am going to find out whether itbe my husband's pleasure that I should go up to you. "

His face when laughing was ugly indeed, and you may imagine, ladies, howit looked when he wept; but he came down instantly, with tears in hiseyes, and besought her for the love of God not to say aught that woulddestroy the friendship between his comrade and himself. 

"I am sure, " she replied, "that you like him too well to say anything hemay not hear. I shall therefore go and tell him of the matter. "

And this, in spite of all his entreaties and threats, she did. And ifhis shame thereat was great as he fled the place, the husband's joywas no less on hearing of the honourable deception that his wife hadpractised; indeed, so pleased was he with his wife's virtue that hetook no notice of his comrade's viciousness, deeming him sufficientlypunished inasmuch as the shame he had thought to work in another'shousehold had fallen upon his own head. 

"I think that from this tale honest people should learn not to admit totheir houses those whose conscience, heart and understanding know noughtof God, honour and true love. "

"Though your tale be short, " said Oisille, "it is as pleasant as any Ihave heard, and it is to the honour of a virtuous woman. "

"'Fore God, " said Simontault, "it is no great honour for a virtuouswoman to refuse a man so ugly as you represent this secretary to havebeen. Had he been handsome and polite, her virtue would then have beenclear. I think I know who he is, and, if it were my turn, I could tellyou another story about him that is no less droll. "

"Let that be no hindrance, " said Ennasuite, "for I give you my vote. "

Thereupon Simontault began as follows:--

"Those who are accustomed to dwell at Court or in large towns valuetheir own knowledge so highly that they think very little of all othermen in comparison with themselves; but, for all that, there are subtleand crafty folk to be found in every condition of life. Still, whenthose who think themselves the cleverest are caught tripping, theirpride makes the jest a particularly pleasant one, and this I will try toshow by telling you of something that lately happened. "

[Illustration: 175. Jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 177a. Jpg The Secretary Opening the Pasty]

[The Secretary Opening the Pasty]

[Illustration: 177. Jpg Page Image]

_TALE XXVIII_. 

 _A secretary, thinking to deceive Bernard du Ha, was by him cunningly deceived_. (1)

 1 The incidents of this story must have occurred subsequent to 1527. The secretary is doubtless John Frotté. We have failed to identify the Lieutenant referred to. --M. And Ed. 

It chanced that when King Francis, first of the name, was in the city ofParis, and with him his sister, the Queen of Navarre, the latter had asecretary called John. He was not one of those who allow a good thing tolie on the ground for want of picking it up, and there was, accordingly, not a president or a councillor whom he did not know, and not a merchantor a rich man with whom he had not intercourse and correspondence. 

At this time there also arrived in Paris a merchant of Bayonne, calledBernard du Ha, who, both on account of the nature of his commerce andbecause the Lieutenant for Criminal Affairs (2) was a countryman of his, was wont to address himself to that officer for counsel and assistancein the transaction of his business. The Queen of Navarre's secretaryused also frequently to visit the Lieutenant as one who was a goodservant to his master and mistress. 

 2 The Provost of Paris, who, in the King's name, administered justice at the Châtelet court, and upon whose sergeants fell the duty of arresting and imprisoning all vagabonds, criminals and disturbers of the peace, was assisted in his functions by three lieutenants, one for criminal affairs, one for civil affairs, and one for ordinary police duties. --Ed. 

One feast-day the secretary went to the Lieutenant's house, and foundboth him and his wife abroad; but he very plainly heard Bernard du Hateaching the serving-women to foot the Gascon dances to the sound of aviol or some other instrument. And when the secretary saw him, hewould have had him believe that he was committing the greatest offenceimaginable, and that if the Lieutenant and his wife knew of it theywould be greatly displeased with him. And after setting the fear of thiswell before his eyes, until, indeed, the other begged him not to sayanything about it, he asked--

"What will you give me if I keep silence?"

Bernard du Ha, who was by no means so much afraid as he seemed to be, saw that the secretary was trying to cozen him, and promised to give hima pasty of the best Basque ham (3) that he had ever eaten. The secretarywas well pleased at this, and begged that he might have the pasty on thefollowing Sunday after dinner, which was promised him. 

 3 So-called Bayonne ham is still held in repute in France. It comes really from Orthez and Salies in Beam. --D. 

Relying upon this promise, he went to see a lady of Paris whom above allthings he desired to marry, and said to her--

"On Sunday, mistress, I will come and sup with you, if such be yourpleasure. But trouble not to provide aught save some good bread andwine, for I have so deceived a foolish fellow from Bayonne that all therest will be at his expense; by my trickery you shall taste the bestBasque ham that ever was eaten in Paris. "

The lady believed his story, and called together two or three of themost honourable ladies of her neighbourhood, telling them that she wouldgive them a new dish such as they had never tasted before. 

When Sunday was come, the secretary went to look for his merchant, andfinding him on the Pont-au-Change, (4) saluted him graciously and said--

"The devil take you, for the trouble you have given me to find you. "

 4 The oldest of the Paris bridges, spanning the Seine between the Châtelet and the Palais. Originally called the Grand-Pont, it acquired the name of Pont-au-Change through Louis VII. Allowing the money-changers to build their houses and offices upon it in 1141. --Ed. 

Bernard du Ha made reply that a good many men had taken more troublethan he without being rewarded in the end with such a dainty dish. Sosaying, he showed him the pasty, which he was carrying under his cloak, and which was big enough to feed an army. The secretary was so glad tosee it that, although he had a very large and ugly mouth, he mincinglymade it so small that one would not have thought him capable of bitingthe ham with it. He quickly took the pasty, and, without waiting forthe merchant to go with him, went off with it to the lady, who wasexceedingly eager to learn whether the fare of Gascony was as good asthat of Paris. 

When supper-time was come and they were eating their soup, the secretarysaid--

"Leave those savourless dishes alone, and let us taste this loveworthywhet for wine. "

So saying, he opened the huge pasty, but, where he expected to findham, he found such hardness that he could not thrust in his knife. Aftertrying several times, it occurred to him that he had been deceived; and, indeed, he found 'twas a wooden shoe such as is worn in Gascony. It hada burnt stick for knuckle, and was powdered upon the top with iron rustand sweet-smelling spice. 

If ever a man was abashed it was the secretary, not only because he hadbeen deceived by the man whom he himself had thought to deceive, butalso because he had deceived her to whom he had intended and thoughtto speak the truth. Moreover, he was much put out at having to contenthimself with soup for supper. 

The ladies, who were well-nigh as vexed as he was, would have accusedhim of practising this deception had they not clearly seen by his facethat he was more wroth than they. 

After this slight supper, the secretary went away in great anger, intending, since Bernard du Ha had broken his promise, to break also hisown. He therefore betook himself to the Lieutenant's house, resolved tosay the worst he could about the said Bernard. 

Quick as he went, however, Bernard was first afield and had alreadyrelated the whole story to the Lieutenant, who, in passing sentence, told the secretary that he had now learnt to his cost what it was todeceive a Gascon, and this was all the comfort that the secretary got inhis shame. 

The same thing befalls many who, believing that they are exceedinglyclever, forget themselves in their cleverness; wherefore we should neverdo unto others differently than we would have them do unto us. 

"I can assure you, " said Geburon, "that I have often known similarthings to come to pass, and have seen men who were deemed rusticblockheads deceive very shrewd people. None can be more foolish thanhe who thinks himself shrewd, nor wiser than he who knows his ownnothingness. "

"Still, " said Parlamente, "a man who knows that he knows nothing, knowssomething after all. "

"Now, " said Simontault, "for fear lest time should fail us for ourdiscourse, I give my vote to Nomerfide, for I am sure that her rhetoricwill keep us no long while. "

"Well, " she replied, "I will tell you a tale such as you desire. 

"I am not surprised, ladies, that love should afford Princes the meansof escaping from danger, for they are bred up in the midst of so manywell-informed persons that I should marvel still more if they wereignorant of anything. But the smaller the intelligence the more clearlyis the inventiveness of love displayed, and for this reason I willrelate to you a trick played by a priest through the prompting of lovealone. In all other matters he was so ignorant that he could scarcelyread his mass. "

[Illustration: 183. Jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 185a. Jpg The Husbandman surprised by the Fall of the Winnowing Fan]

[The Husbandman surprised by the Fall of the Winnowing Fan]

[Illustration: 185. Jpg Page Image]

_TALE XXIX_. 

 _A parson, surprised by the sudden return of a husbandman with whose wife he was making good cheer, quickly devised a means for saving himself at the expense of the worthy man, who was never any the wiser_. (1)

 1 Etienne brings this story into his _Apologie pour Hérodote_, ch xv. --B. J. 

At a village called Carrelles, (2) in the county of Maine, there dwelta rich husbandman who in his old age had married a fair young wife. Shebore him no children, but consoled herself for this disappointment withseveral lovers. 

 2 Carrelles is at six leagues from Mayenne, in the canton of Gorron. Margaret's first husband, the Duke of Alençon, held various fiefs in this part of Maine, which would account for the incident related in the story coming to her knowledge. -- M. And Ed. 

When gentlemen and persons of consequence failed her, she turned as alast resource to the Church, and took for companion in her sin him whocould absolve her of it--that is to say, the parson, who often came tovisit his pet ewe. The husband, who was dull and old, had no suspicionof the truth; but, as he was a stern and sturdy man, his wife playedher game as secretly as she was able, fearing that, if it came to herhusband's knowledge, he would kill her. 

One day when he was abroad, his wife, thinking that he would not soonreturn, sent for his reverence the parson, who came to confess her; andwhile they were making good cheer together, her husband arrived, andthis so suddenly that the priest had not the time to escape out of thehouse. 

Looking about for a means of concealment, he mounted by the woman'sadvice into a loft, and covered the trap-door through which he passedwith a winnowing fan. 

The husband entered the house, and his wife, fearing lest he mightsuspect something, regaled him exceedingly well at dinner, never sparingthe liquor, of which he drank so much, that, being moreover wearied withhis work in the fields, he at last fell asleep in his chair in front ofthe fire. 

The parson, tired with waiting so long in the loft, and hearing no noisein the room beneath, leaned over the trap-door, and, stretching out hisneck as far as he was able, perceived the goodman to be asleep. However, whilst he was looking at him, he leaned by mischance so heavily upon thefan, that both fan and himself tumbled down by the side of the sleeper. The latter awoke at the noise, but the priest was on his feet before theother had perceived him, and said--

"There is your fan, my friend, and many thanks to you for it. "

With these words he took to flight. The poor husbandman was in utterbewilderment. 

"What is this?" he asked of his wife. "'Tis your fan, sweetheart, " shereplied, "which the parson had borrowed, and has just brought back. "

Thereupon in a grumbling fashion the goodman rejoined--

"'Tis a rude way of returning what one has borrowed, for I thought thehouse was coming down. "

In this way did the parson save himself at the expense of the goodman, who discovered nothing to find fault with except the rudeness with whichthe fan had been returned. 

"The master, ladies, whom the parson served, saved him that time so thathe might afterwards possess and torment him the longer. "

"Do not imagine, " said Geburon, "that simple folk are more devoid ofcraft than we are; (3) nay, they have a still larger share. Consider thethieves and murderers and sorcerers and coiners, and all the people ofthat sort, whose brains are never at rest; they are all poor and of theclass of artisans. "

"I do not think it strange, " said Parlamente, "that they should havemore craft than others, but rather that love should torment them amidtheir many toils, and that so gentle a passion should lodge in hearts sobase. "

"Madam, " replied Saffredent, "you know what Master Jehan de Mehun hassaid--

 "Those clad in drugget love no less Than those that wear a silken dress. " (4)

 3 In MS. No. 1520 this passage runs--"that simple and humble people are, " &c. --L. 

 4 This is a free rendering of lines 4925-6 of Méon's edition of the _Roman de la Rose_:--

 "Aussy bien sont amourettes Soubz bureau que soubz brunettes. "

 _Bureau_, the same as _dure_, is a kind of drugget; _brunette_ was a silken stuff very fashionable among the French lords and ladies at the time of St. Louis. It was doubtless of a brown hue. --B, J. And M. 

Moreover, the love of which the tale speaks is not such as makes onecarry harness; for, while poor folk lack our possessions and honours, on the other hand they have their natural advantages more at theirconvenience than we. Their fare is not so dainty as ours, but theirappetites are keener, and they live better on coarse bread than we do ondelicacies. Their beds are not so handsome or so well appointed as ours, but their sleep is sounder and their rest less broken. They have noladies pranked out and painted like those whom we idolise, but they taketheir pleasure oftener than we, without fear of telltale tongues, savethose of the beasts and birds that see them. What we have they lack, andwhat we lack they possess in abundance. "

"I pray you, " said Nomerfide, "let us now have done with this peasantand his wife, and let us finish the day's entertainment before vespers. 'Tis Hircan shall bring it to an end. "

"Truly, " said he, "I have kept in reserve as strange and pitiful a taleas ever you heard. And although it grieves me greatly to relate anythingto the discredit of a lady, knowing, as I do, that men are maliciousenough to blame the whole sex for the fault of one, yet the strangenessof the story prompts me to lay aside my fear. Perhaps, also, thediscovery of one woman's ignorance will make others wiser. And so I willfearlessly tell you the following tale. "

[Illustration: 190. Jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 191a. Jpg The Young Gentleman embracing his Mother]

[The Young Gentleman embracing his Mother]

[Illustration: 191. Jpg Page Image]

_TALE XXX_. 

 _A young gentleman, of from fourteen to fifteen years of age, thought to lie with one of his mother's maids, but lay with his mother herself; and she, in consequence thereof, was, nine months afterwards, brought to bed of a daughter, who, twelve or thirteen years later, was wedded by the son; he being ignorant that she was his daughter and sister, and she, that he was her father and brother_. (1)

In the time of King Louis the Twelfth, the Legate at Avignon being thena scion of the house of Amboise, nephew to George, Legate of France, (2)there lived in the land of Languedoc a lady who had an income of morethan four thousand ducats a year, and whose name I shall not mention forthe love I bear her kinsfolk. 

 1 This story is based on an ancient popular tradition common to many parts of France, and some particulars of which, with a list of similar tales in various European languages, will be found in the Appendix, D. --En. 

 2 The Papal Legate in France here alluded to is the famous George, Cardinal d'Amboise, favourite minister of Louis XII. His nephew, the Legate at Avignon, is Louis d'Amboise, fourth son of Peter d'Amboise, Lord of Chaumont, and brother of the Grand-Master of Chaumont. Louis d'Amboise became bishop of Albi, and lieutenant-general of the King of France in Burgundy, Languedoc and Roussillon, and played an important part in the public affairs of his time. He died in 1505. --See _Gallia Christiana_, vol. I. P. 34. --L. And R. J. 

While still very young, she was left a widow with one son; and, bothby reason of her regret for her husband and her love for her child, shedetermined never to marry again. To avoid all opportunity of doingso, she had fellowship only with the devout, for she imagined thatopportunity makes the sin, not knowing that sin will devise theopportunity. 

This young widow, then, gave herself up wholly to the service of God, and shunned all worldly assemblies so completely that she scrupled tobe present at a wedding, or even to listen to the organs playing in achurch. When her son was come to the age of seven years, she chose forhis schoolmaster a man of holy life, so that he might be trained up inall piety and devotion. 

When the son was reaching the age of fourteen or fifteen, Nature, who isa very secret schoolmaster, finding him in good condition and very idle, taught him a different lesson to any he had learned from his tutor. He began to look at and desire such things as he deemed beautiful, andamong others a maiden who slept in his mother's room. No one hadany suspicion of this, for he was looked upon as a mere child, and, moreover, in that household nothing save godly talk was ever heard. 

This young gallant, however, began secretly soliciting the girl, whocomplained of it to her mistress. The latter had so much love for herson and so high an opinion of him, that she thought the girl spoke asshe did in order to make her hate him; but, being strongly urged by theother, she at last said--

"I shall find out whether it is true, and will punish him if it beas you say. But if, on the other hand, you are bringing an untruthfulaccusation against him, you shall suffer for it. "

Then, in order to test the matter, she bade the girl make an appointmentwith her son that he might come and lie with her at midnight, in the bedin which she slept alone, beside the door of his mother's room. 

The maid obeyed her mistress, who, when night came, took the girl'splace, resolved, if the story were true, to punish her son so severelythat he would never again lie with a woman without remembering it. 

While she was thinking thus wrathfully, her son came and got into thebed, but although she beheld him do so, she could not yet believe thathe meditated any unworthy deed. She therefore refrained from speakingto him until he had given her some token of his evil intent, for notrifling matters could persuade her that his desire was actually acriminal one. Her patience, however, was tried so long, and her natureproved so frail that, forgetting her motherhood, her anger becametransformed into an abominable delight. And just as water that has beenrestrained by force rushes onward with the greater vehemence when it isreleased, so was it with this unhappy lady who had so prided herself onthe constraint she had put upon her body. After taking the first stepdownwards to dishonour, she suddenly found herself at the bottom, andthus that night she became pregnant by him whom she had thought torestrain from acting in similar fashion towards another. 

No sooner was the sin accomplished than such remorse of conscience beganto torment her as filled the whole of her after-life with repentance. And so keen was it at the first, that she rose from beside her son--whostill thought that she was the maid--and entered a closet, where, dwelling upon the goodness of her intention and the wickedness of itsexecution, she spent the whole night alone in tears and lamentation. 

But instead of humbling herself, and recognising the powerlessnessof our flesh, without God's assistance, to work anything but sin, shesought by her own tears and efforts to atone for the past, and by herown prudence to avoid mischief in the future, always ascribing her sinto circumstances and not to wickedness, for which there is no remedysave the grace of God. Accordingly she sought to act so as never againto fall into such wrongdoing; and as though there were but one sin thatbrought damnation in its train, she put forth all her strength to shunthat sin alone. 

But the roots of pride, which acts of sin ought rather to destroy, grew stronger and stronger within her, so that in avoiding one evil shewrought many others. Early on the morrow, as soon as it was light, shesent for her son's preceptor, and said--

"My son is beginning to grow up, it is time to send him from home. Ihave a kinsman, Captain Monteson, (3) who is beyond the mountains withmy lord the Grand-Master of Chaumont, and he will be very glad to admithim into his company. Take him, therefore, without delay, and to spareme the pain of parting do not let him come to bid me farewell. "

 3 Monteson was one of the bravest captains of his time; as the comrade of Bayard, he greatly distinguished himself by his intrepidity in Louis XII. 's Italian campaigns. Some particulars concerning him will be found in M. Lacroix's edition of _Les Chroniques de Jean d'Anton_. --B. J. Respecting the Grand-Master of Chaumont, also mentioned above, see _ante_, vol ii. , notes to Tale XIV. 

So saying, she gave him money for the journey, and that very morningsent the young man away, he being right glad of this, for, afterenjoying his sweetheart, he asked nothing better than to set off to thewars. 

The lady continued for a great while in deep sadness and melancholy, and, but for the fear of God, had many a time longed that the unhappyfruit of her womb might perish. She feigned sickness, in order that shemight wear a cloak and so conceal her condition; and having a bastardbrother, in whom she had more trust than in any one else, and upon whomshe had conferred many benefits, she sent for him when the time ofher confinement was drawing nigh, told him her condition (but withoutmentioning her son's part in it), and besought him to help her save herhonour. This he did, and, a few days before the time when she expectedto be delivered, he begged her to try a change of air and remove to hishouse, where she would recover her health more quickly than at home. Thither she went with but a very small following, and found there amidwife who had been summoned as for her brother's wife, and who onenight, without recognising her, delivered her of a fine little girl. Thegentleman gave the child to a nurse, and caused it to be cared for ashis own. 

After continuing there for a month, the lady returned in sound healthto her own house, where she lived more austerely than ever in fasts anddisciplines. But when her son was grown up, he sent to beg his mother'spermission to return home, as there was at that time no war in Italy. She, fearing lest she should fall again into the same misfortune, wouldnot at first allow him, but he urged her so earnestly that at last shecould find no reason for refusing him. However, she instructed him thathe was not to appear before her until he was married to a woman whom hedearly loved; but to whose fortune he need give no heed, for it wouldsuffice if she were of gentle birth. 

Meanwhile her bastard brother, finding that the daughter left in hischarge had grown to be a tall maiden of perfect beauty, resolved toplace her in some distant household where she would not be known, andby the mother's advice she was given to Catherine, Queen of Navarre. (4)The maiden thus came to the age of twelve or thirteen years, and was sobeautiful and virtuous that the Queen of Navarre had great friendshipfor her, and much desired to marry her to one of wealth and station. Being poor, however, she found no husband, though she had lovers enoughand to spare. 

 4 This is Catherine, daughter of Gaston and sister of Francis Phoebus de Foix. On her brother's death, in 1483, she became Queen of Navarre, Duchess of Nemours and Countess of Foix and Bigorre, and in the following year espoused John, eldest son of Alan, Sire d'Albret. Catherine at this time was fourteen years old, and her husband, who by the marriage became King of Navarre, was only one year her senior. Their title to the crown was disputed by a dozen pretenders, for several years they exercised but a precarious authority, and eventually, in July 1512, Ferdinand the Catholic despatched the Duke of Alva to besiege Pamplona. On the fourth day of the siege John and Catherine succeeded in escaping from their capital, which, three days later, surrendered. Ferdinand, having sworn to maintain the _fueros_, was thereupon acknowledged as sovereign. However, it was only in 1516 that the former rulers were expelled from Navarrese territory. "Had I been Don Juan and you Donna Catherine, " said the Queen to her pusillanimous husband, as they crossed the Pyrenees, "we should not have lost our kingdom. " From this time forward the d'Albrets, like their successors the Bourbons, were sovereigns of Navarre in name only, for an attempt made in 1521 to reconquer the kingdom resulted in total failure, and their dominions were thenceforth confined to Beam, Bigorre, and Foix on the French side of the Pyrenees. Queen Catherine died in 1517, aged 47, leaving several children, the eldest of whom was Henry, Queen Margaret's second husband. --M. , B. J. , D. And Ed. 

Now it happened one day that the gentleman who was her unknown fathercame to the house of the Queen of Navarre on his way back from beyondthe mountains, and as soon as he had set eyes on his daughter he fellin love with her, and having license from his mother to marry any womanthat might please him, he only inquired whether she was of gentle birth, and, hearing that she was, asked her of the Queen in marriage. The Queenwillingly consented, for she knew that the gentleman was not only richand handsome, but worshipful to boot. 

When the marriage had been consummated, the gentleman again wrote tohis mother, saying that she could no longer close her doors against him, since he was bringing with him as fair a daughter-in-law as she coulddesire. The lady inquired to whom he had allied himself, and found thatit was to none other than their own daughter. Thereupon she fell intosuch exceeding sorrow that she nearly came by a sudden death, seeingthat the more she had striven to hinder her misfortune, the greater hadit thereby become. 

Not knowing what else to do, she went to the Legate of Avignon, towhom she confessed the enormity of her sin, at the same time askinghis counsel as to how she ought to act. The Legate, to satisfy hisconscience, sent for several doctors of theology, and laid the matterbefore them, without, however, mentioning any names; and their advicewas that the lady should say nothing to her children, for they, beingin ignorance, had committed no sin, but that she herself should continuedoing penance all her life without allowing it to become known. 

Accordingly, the unhappy lady returned home, where not long afterwardsher son and daughter-in-law arrived. And they loved each other somuch that never were there husband and wife more loving, nor yet moreresembling each other; for she was his daughter, his sister and hiswife, while he was her father, her brother and her husband. And thisexceeding love between them continued always; and the unhappy and deeplypenitent lady could never see them in dalliance together without goingapart to weep. 

"You see, ladies, what befalls those who think that by their ownstrength and virtue they may subdue Love and Nature and all thefaculties that God has given them. It were better to recognise their ownweakness, and instead of running a-tilt against such an adversary, tobetake themselves to Him who is their true Friend, saying to Him in thewords of the Psalmist, 'Lord, I am afflicted very much; answer Thou forme. '" (5)

 5 We have failed to find this sentence in the Psalms. Probably the reference is to _Isaiah_ xxxviii. 14, "O Lord, I am oppressed; undertake for me. "--Eu. 

"It were impossible, " said Oisille "to hear a stranger story than this. Methinks every man and woman should bend low in the fear of God, seeingthat in spite of a good intention so much mischief came to pass. "

"You may be sure, " said Parlamente, "that the first step a man takes inself-reliance, removes him so far from reliance upon God. "

"A man is wise, " said Geburon, "when he knows himself to be his greatestenemy, and holds his own wishes and counsels in suspicion. "

"Albeit the motive might seem to be a good and holy one, " saidLongarine, "there were surely none, howsoever worthy in appearance, thatshould induce a woman to lie beside a man, whatever the kinship betweenthem, for fire and tow may not safely come together. "

"Without question, " said Ennasuite, "she must have been someself-sufficient fool, who, in her friar-like dreaming, deemed herself sosaintly as to be incapable of sin, just as many of the Friars would haveus believe that we can become, merely by our own efforts, which is anexceeding great error. "

"Is it possible, Longarine, " asked Oisille, "that there are peoplefoolish enough to hold such an opinion?"

"They go further than that, " replied Longarine. "They say that we oughtto accustom ourselves to the virtue of chastity; and in order to trytheir strength they speak with the prettiest women they can find andwhom they like best, and by kissing and touching them essay whethertheir fleshly nature be wholly dead. When they find themselves stirredby such pleasure, they desist, and have recourse to fasts and grievousdiscipline. Then, when they have so far mortified their flesh thatneither speech nor kiss has power to move them, they make trial ofthe supreme temptation, that, namely, of lying together and embracingwithout any lustfulness. (6) But for one who has escaped, so many havecome to mischief, that the Archbishop of Milan, where this religiouspractice used to be carried on, (7) was obliged to separate them andplace the women in convents and the men in monasteries. "

 6 Robert d'Arbrissel, the founder of the abbey of Fontevrault (see ante, p. 74), was accused of this practice. --See the article Fontevraud in Desoer's edition of Bayle's Dictionary, vi. 508, 519. --M. 

 7 Queen Margaret possibly refers to some incidents which occurred at Milan in the early part of the fourteenth century, when Matteo and Galeazzo Visconti ruled the city. In Signor Tullio Dandolo's work, _Sui xxiii. Libri delta Histories Patrice di Giuseppe Ripamonti ragionamento_ (Milano, 1856, pp. 52-60), will be found the story of a woman of the people, Guglielmina, and her accomplice, Andrea Saramita, who under some religious pretext founded a secret society of females. The debauchery practised by its members being discovered, Saramita was burnt alive, and Guglielmina's bones were disinterred and thrown into the fire. The Bishop of Milan at this time (1296-1308) was Francesco Fontana. --M. 

"Truly, " said Geburon, "it were the extremity of folly to seek tobecome sinless by one's own efforts, and at the same time to seek outopportunities for sin. "

"There are some, " said Saffredent, "who do the very opposite, and fleeopportunities for sin as carefully as they are able; nevertheless, concupiscence pursues them. Thus the good Saint Jerome, after scourgingand hiding himself in the desert, confessed that he could not escapefrom the fire that consumed his marrow. We ought, therefore, torecommend ourselves to God, for unless He uphold us by His power, we aregreatly prone to fall. "

"You do not notice what I do, " said Hircan. "While we were tellingour stories, the monks behind the hedge here heard nothing of thevesper-bell; whereas, now that we have begun to speak about God, theyhave taken themselves off, and are at this moment ringing the secondbell. "

"We shall do well to follow them, " said Oisille, "and praise God forenabling us to spend this day in the happiest manner imaginable. "

Hereat they rose and went to the church, where they piously heardvespers; after which they went to supper, discussing the discourses theyhad heard, and calling to mind divers adventures that had come to passin their own day, in order to determine which of them were worthy to berecounted. And after spending the whole evening in gladness, they betookthemselves to their gentle rest, hoping on the morrow to continue thispastime which was so agreeable to them. 

And so was the Third Day brought to an end. 

[Illustration: 204. Jpg Tailpiece]

APPENDIX. 

A. (Tale XX. , Page 21. )

Brantôme alludes as follows to this tale, in the Fourth Discourse of his_Vies des Dames Galantes_:--

"I knew a great lady whose plumpness was the subject of general talkboth whilst she was a maid and when she became a wife, but she happenedto lose her husband, and gave way to such extreme grief that she becameas dry as a stick. Still she did not cease to enjoy herself to herheart's content, with the assistance of one of her secretaries, andeven so it is said of her cook. Nevertheless, she did not regain herplumpness, albeit the said cook, who was all grease and fat, should asit seems to me have made her stout again. Whilst she thus amused herselfwith one and another of her varlets, she affected more prudery andchastity than any other lady of the Court, having none but wordsof virtue on her lips, speaking ill of all other women and findingsomething to be censured in each of them. Very similar to this one wasthat great lady of Dauphiné who is mentioned in the Hundred Tales ofthe Queen of Navarre, and who was found, lying on the grass with herstableman or muleteer, by a gentleman who was in love with her todistraction. On finding her thus, however, he was speedily cured of hislove-sickness. 

"I have read in an old romance about John de Saintré, printed inblack-letter, that the late King John brought him up as a page. In the old times it was usual for great personages to send their pagesabout with messages, as is indeed done nowadays, but at that time theyjourneyed anywhere across country, on horseback. In fact, I have heardour fathers say that pages were often sent on little embassies, for veryoften a matter would be settled and expense saved by merely despatchinga page with a horse and a piece of silver. This little Jehan de Saintré, as he was long called, was a great favourite with his master King John, for he was full of wit, and it often happened that he was sent withmessages to his [the King's?] sister, who was then a widow, thoughof whom the book does not say. This lady fell in love with him afterseveral messages that he had delivered to her, and one day finding himalone, she engaged him in converse, and, according to the usual practiceof ladies when they wish to engage any one in a love attack, she beganto ask him if he were in love with any lady of the Court, and which onepleased him the most. This little John de Saintre, who had never even somuch as thought of love, told her that he cared for none at the Court asyet, whereupon she mentioned several other ladies to him, and asked himwhether he thought of them. 'Still less, ' replied he. . . . Thereupon thelady, seeing that the young fellow was of good appearance, told him thatshe would give him a mistress who would love him tenderly if he wouldserve her well, and whilst he stood there feeling greatly ashamed, she made him promise that he would keep the matter secret, and finallydeclared to him that she herself wished to be his lady and lover, forat that time the word 'mistress' was not yet used. The young page wasvastly astonished, thinking that the lady was joking, or wished todeceive him or to have him whipped. However, she soon showed him so manysigns of the fire and fever of love, saying to him that she wished totutor him and make a man of him, that he at last realised that it wasnot a jest. Their love lasted for a long time, both whilst he was a pageand afterwards, until at length he had to go upon a long journey, whenshe replaced him by a big, fat abbot. This is the same story that onefinds in the _Nouvelles du Monde Advantureux_ by a valet of the Queen ofNavarre [Antoine de St. Denis], in which one sees the abbot insultthis same John de Saintré who was so brave and valiant, and who rightspeedily and liberally paid back my lord the abbot in his owncoin. . . . So you see it is no new thing for ladies to love pages. Whatinclinations some women have, they will willingly take any number oflovers but they want no husband! All this is through love of liberty, which they deem such a pleasant thing. It seems to them as though theywere in Paradise when they are not under a husband's rule. They have afine dowry and spend it thriftily, they have all their household affairsin hand, receive their income, everything passing through their hands;and instead of being servants they are mistresses, select theirown pleasures and favourites, and amuse themselves as much as theylike. "--Lalanne's _OEuvres de Brantôme_, vol. Xi. Pp. 703-6. 

B. (Tale XXV. , Page 131. )

Baron Jerome Pichon's elucidations of this story, as given by him in the_Mélanges de la Société des Bibliophiles Français_, 1866, may be thussummarised:--

The advocate referred to in the tale is James Disome, who Mézeraydeclares was the _first_ to introduce Letters to the bar, though this, to my mind, is a very hazardous assertion. Disome was twice married. Hisfirst wife, Mary de Rueil, died Sept. 17, 1511, and was buried at theCordeliers church; he afterwards espoused Jane Lecoq, daughter ofJohn Lecoq, Counsellor of the Paris Parliament, who held the fiefsof Goupillières, Corbeville and Les Porcherons, where he possessed ahandsome château, a view of which has been engraved by Israel Silvestre. John Lecoq's wife was Magdalen Bochart, who belonged like her husband toan illustrious family of lawyers and judges. Their daughter Jane, who isthe heroine of the tale, must have been married to James Disome not verylong after the death of the latter's first wife, for her intrigue withFrancis I. Originated prior to his accession to the throne (1515). Thisis proved by the tale, in which Disome is spoken of as being the youngprince's advocate. Now none but the Procurors and Advocates-General werecounsel to the Crown, and Disome held neither of those offices. He wasundoubtedly advocate to Francis as Duke de Valois, and, from certainallusions in the tale, it may be conjectured that he had been advocateto Francis's father, the Count of Angoulême. 

When Francis ascended the throne his intrigue with Jane Disome wasalready notorious, as is proved by this extract, under date 1515, fromthe _Journal d'un Bourgeois de Paris_: "About this time whilst the Kingwas in Paris, there was a priest called Mons. Cruche, a great buffoon, who a little time before with several others had publicly performedin certain entertainments and novelties' (_sic_) on scaffolds upon thePlace Maubert, there being in turn jest, sermon, morality and farce; andin the morality appeared several lords taking their cloth of gold to thetomb and carrying their lands upon their shoulders into the other world. And in the farce came Monsieur Cruche with his companions, who had alantern by which all sorts of things were seen, and among others a henfeeding under a salamander, (1) and this hen carried something on herback which would suffice to kill ten men (_dix hommes, i. E. _, Disome). 

 1 The salamander was Francis I. 's device. 

The interpretation of this was that the King loved and enjoyed awoman of Paris, who was the daughter of a counsellor of the Court ofParliament, named Monsieur le Coq. And she was married to an advocate atthe bar of Parliament, a very skilful man, named Monsieur James Disome, who was possessed of much property which the King confiscated. Soonafterwards the King sent eight or ten of his principal gentlemen to supat the sign of the Castle in the Rue de la Juiverie, and thither, underthe false pretence of making him play the said farce, was summonedMessire Cruche, who came in the evening, by torch-light, and wasconstrained to play the farce by the said gentlemen. But thereupon, atthe very beginning, he was stripped to his shirt, and wonderfully wellwhipped with straps until he was in a state of the utmost wretchedness. At the end there was a sack all ready to put him in, that he might bethrown from the window, and then carried to the river; and this wouldassuredly have come to pass had not the poor man cried out very loudlyand shown them the tonsure on his head. And all these things were done, so it was owned, on the King's behalf. "

It is probable that this intrigue between the King and Jane Disomeceased soon after the former's accession; at all events Francis did notevince much indulgence for the man whose wife he had seduced. Under dateApril, 1518, the Journal dun Bourgeois de Paris mentions the arrest ofseveral advocates and others for daring to discuss the question of thePragmatic Sanction. Disome was implicated in the matter but appears tohave escaped for a time; however in September of that year we find himdetained at Orleans and subjected to the interrogatories of variousroyal Commissioners. The affair was then adjourned till the followingyear, when no further mention is made of it. 

Disome died prior to 1521, for in September of that year we find hiswife remarried to Peter Perdrier, Lord of Baubigny, notary and secretaryto the King, and subsequently clerk of the council to the city of Paris. Perdrier was a man of considerable means; for when the King raised aforced loan of silver plate in September 1521, we find him taxed to theamount of forty marcs of silver (26 1/2 lbs. Troy); or only ten _marcs_less than each counsellor of Parliament was required to contribute. Fiveand twenty years later, he lost his wife Jane, the curious recordof whose death runs as follows: "The year one thousand five hundredforty-six, after Easter, at her house (hôtel) Rue de la Parcheminerie, called Rue des Blancs-Manteaux, died the late Demoiselle Jane Lecoq, daughter of Master John Lecoq, Counsellor of the Court of Parliament, deceased; in her lifetime wife of noble Master Peter Perdrier, Lord ofBaubigny, &c, and previously wife of the late Master James Disome, inhis lifetime advocate at the Court of Parliament and Lord of Cernay inBeauvaisis; and the said Demoiselle Jane Lecoq (2) is here--buried withher father and mother, and departed this life on the 23rd day of April1546. Pray ye God for her soul. "

 2 The church of the Celestines. 

Less than a twelvemonth afterwards King Francis followed his whilommistress to the tomb. She left by Peter Perdrier a son named John, Lordof Baubigny, who in 1558 married Anne de St. Simon, grand-aunt of theauthor of the Memoirs. John Perdrier was possibly the Baubigny whokilled Marshal de St. André at the battle of Dreux in 1562. 

Such is Baron Pichon's account of Jane Lecoq and her husbands. We havenow to turn to an often-quoted passage of the _Diverses Leçons_ of LouisGuyon, sieur de la Nauthe, a physician of some repute in his time, butwhose book it should be observed was not issued till 1610, or more thanhalf-a-century subsequent to King Francis I. 's death. La Nauthe writesas follows:--

"Francis I. Became enamoured of a woman of great beauty and grace, thewife of an advocate of Paris, whom I will not name, for he has leftchildren in possession of high estate and good repute; and this ladywould not yield to the King, but on the contrary repulsed him with manyharsh words, whereat the King was sorely vexed. And certain courtiersand royal princes who knew of the matter told the King that he mighttake her authoritatively and by virtue of his royalty, and one of themeven went and told this to the lady, who repeated it to her husband. The advocate clearly perceived that he and his wife must needs quitthe kingdom, and that he would indeed find it hard to escape withoutobeying. Finally the husband gave his wife leave to comply with theKing's desire, and in order that he might be no hindrance in the matter, he pretended to have business in the country for eight or ten days;during which time, however, he remained concealed in Paris, frequentingthe brothels and trying to contract a venereal disease in order togive it to his wife, so that the King might catch it from her; and hespeedily found what he sought, and infected his wife and she the King, who gave it to several other women, whom he kept, and could never getthoroughly cured, for all the rest of his life he remained unhealthy, sad, peevish and inaccessible. "

Brantôme, it may be mentioned, also speaks of the King contracting acomplaint through his gallantries, and declares that it shortened hislife, but he mentions no woman by name, and does not tell the story ofthe advocate's wife. It will have been observed in the extract we havequoted that Guyon de la Nauthe says that the advocate had left children"in possession of high estate and good repute. " Disome, however, had nochildren either by his first or his second wife. The question thereforearises whether La Nauthe is not referring to another advocate, forinstance Le Féron, husband of La belle Féronnière. These would appear tohave left posterity (see _Catalogue de tous les Conseillers du Parlementde Paris_, pp. 120-2-3, and Blanchard's _les Présidents à mortier duParlement de Paris, etc_. , 1647, 8vo). But it should be borne in mindthat the Féronnière intrigue is purely traditional. The modern writerswho speak of it content themselves with referring to Mézeray, a verydoubtful authority at most times, and who did not write, it should beremembered, till the middle of the seventeenth century, his _AbrégéChronologique_ being first published in 1667. Moreover, when we cometo consult him we find that he merely makes a passing allusion to LaFéronnière, and even this is of the most dubious kind. Here are hiswords: "In 1538 the King had a long illness at Compiègne, caused by anulcer. . . . He was cured at the time, but died [of it?] nine years later. _I have sometimes heard say_(!) that he caught this disease from Labelle Féronnière. "

Against this we have to set the express statement of Louise of Savoy, who writes in her journal, under date 1512, that her son (born in 1494)had already and at an early age had a complaint _en secrete nature_. Nowthis was long before the belle Féronnière was ever heard of, and furtherit was prior to the intrigue with Jane Disome, who, by Queen Margaret'sshowing, did not meet with "the young prince" until she had been marriedsome time and was in despair of having children by her husband. Thelatter had lost his first wife late in 1511, and it is unlikely that hemarried Jane Lecoq until after some months of widowhood. To our thinkingPrince Francis would have appeared upon the scene in or about 1514, his intrigue culminating in the scandal of the following year, inwhich Mons. Cruche played so conspicuous a part. With reference to thecomplaint from which King Francis is alleged to have suffered, one mustnot overlook the statement of a contemporary, Cardinal d'Armagnac, who, writing less than a year before the King's death, declares that Francisenjoys as good health as any man in his kingdom (Genin's _Lettres deMarguerite_, 1841, p. 473). Cardinal d'Armagnac's intimacy with theKing enabled him to speak authoritatively, and his statement refutes theassertions of Brantôme, Guyon de la Nauthe and Mézeray, besides tendingto the conclusion that the youthful complaint mentioned by Louise ofSavoy was merely a passing disorder. --Ed. 

C. (Tale XXVI. , Page 143. )

Brantome mentions this tale in both the First and the Fourth Discourseof his _Dames Galantes_. In the former, after contending that all womenare naturally inclined to vice--a view which he borrows from the _Romande la Rose_, and which Pope afterwards re-echoed in the familiar line, "Every woman is at heart a rake"--he proceeds to speak of those whoovercome their inclinations and remain virtuous:--

"Of this, " says he, "we have a very fine story in the Hundred Tales ofthe Queen of Navarre; the one in which that worthy Lady of Pampeluna, vicious at heart and by inclination, burning too with love for thathandsome Prince, Monsieur d'Avannes, preferred to die consumed by thefire that possessed her rather than seek a remedy for it, as sheherself declared in her last words on her deathbed. This worshipful andbeautiful lady dealt herself death most iniquitously and unjustly; andas I once heard a worthy man and worthy lady say of this very passage, she did really offend against God, since it was in her power to deliverherself from death; whereas in seeking it and advancing it as she did, she really killed herself. And thus have done many similar to her, who by excessive continence and abstinence have brought about thedestruction both of their souls and bodies. "--Lalanne's _OEuvres deBrantôme_, vol. Ix. Pp. 209-n. 

In the Fourth Discourse of his work, Brantôme mentions the case of a"fresh and plump" lady of high repute, who, through love-sickness forone of her admirers, so wasted away that she became seriously alarmed, and for fear of worse resolved to satisfy her passion, whereupon shebecame "plump and beautiful as she had been before. "

"I have heard speak, " adds Brantôme, "of another very great lady, ofvery joyous humour, and great wit, who fell ill and whose doctor toldher that she would never recover unless she yielded to the dictates ofnature, whereupon she instantly rejoined: 'Well then, let it be so;' andshe and the doctor did as they listed. . . . One day she said to him: 'Itis said everywhere that you have relations with me; but that is all thesame to me, since it keeps me in good health. . . And it shall continueso, as long as may be, since my health depends on it. ' These two ladiesin no wise resemble that worthy lady of Pampeluna, in the Queen ofNavarre's Hundred Tales, who, as I have previously said, fell madly inlove with Monsieur d'Avannes, but preferred to hide her flame and nurseit in her burning breast rather than forego her honour. And of this Ihave heard some worthy ladies and lords discourse, saying that she wasa fool, caring but little for the salvation of her soul, since she dealtherself death, when it was in her power to drive death away, at verytrifling cost. "-Lalanne's _OEuvres de Brantôme_, vol. Xi. Pp. 542-5. 

To these extracts we may add that the problem discussed by Brantôme, three hundred years ago, is much the same as that which has so largelyoccupied the attention of modern medical men, namely the great spreadof nervous disease and melancholia among women, owing to the unnaturalcelibacy enforced upon them by the deficiency of husbands. --Ed. 

D. (Tale XXX. , Page 191). 

Various French, English and Italian authors have written imitations ofthis tale, concerning which Dunlop writes as follows in his History ofFiction:--

"The plot of Bandello's thirty-fifth story is the same as that of HoraceWalpole's comedy _The Mysterious Mother_, and of the Queen of Navarre'sthirtieth tale. The earlier portion will be found also in Masuccio'stwenty-third tale: but the second part, relating to the marriage, occursonly in Bandello's work and the _Heptameron_. It is not likely, however, that the French or the Italian novelist borrowed from one another. Thetales of Bandello were first published in 1554, and as the Queen ofNavarre died in 1549, it is improbable that she ever had an opportunityof seeing them. On the other hand, the work of the Queen was not printedtill 1558, nine years after her death, so it is not likely that any partof it was copied by Bandello, whose tales had been edited some yearsbefore. "

Walpole, it may be mentioned, denied having had any knowledge either ofthe _Heptameron_ or of Bandello when he wrote _The Mysterious Mother_, which was suggested to him, he declared, by a tale he had heard whenvery young, of a lady who had waited on Archbishop Tillotson with astory similar to that which is told by Queen Margaret's heroine tothe Legate of Avignon. According to Walpole, Tillotson's advice wasidentical with that given by the Legate. 

Dunlop mentions that a tale of this character is given in Byshop's_Blossoms_ (vol. Xi. ); and other authors whose writings contain similarstories are: Giovani Brevio, _Rime e Prose vulgari_, Roma, 1545 (Novellaiv. ); Desfontaine's _L'Inceste innocent, histoire véritable_, Paris, 1644 5 Tommaso Grappulo, or Grappolino, _Il Convito Borghesiano_, Londra, 1800 (Novella vii. ); Luther, _Colloquia Mens alia_ (article onauricular confession); and Masuccio de Solerac, _Novellino_, Ginevra, 1765 (Novella xxiii. ). 

Curiously enough, Bandello declares that the story was related to him bya lady of Navarre (Queen Margaret?) as having occurred in that country, while Julio de Medrano, a Spanish author of the sixteenth century, asserts that it was told to him in the Bourbonnais as being actual fact, and that he positively saw the house where the lady's son and his wiferesided; but on the other hand we find the tale related, in its broadlines, in _Amadis de Gaule_ as being an old-time legend, and in proof ofthis, it figures in an ancient French poem of the life of St. Gregory, the MS. Of which still exists at Tours, and was printed in 1854. 

In support of the theory that the tale is based on actual fact, thefollowing passage from Millin's _Antiquités Nationales_ (vol. Iii. F. Xxviii. P. 6) is quoted--

"In the middle of the nave of the collégial church of Ecouis, in thecross aisle, was found a white marble slab on which was inscribed thisepitaph:--

 "Hore lies the child, here lies the father, Here lies the sister, here lies the brother, Here lie the wife and the husband, Yet there are but two bodies here. "

"The tradition is that a son of Madame d'Écouis had by his mother, without knowing her or being recognised by her, a daughter namedCecilia, whom he afterwards married in Lorraine, she then being in theservice of the Duchess of Bar. Thus Cecilia was at one and the same timeher husband's daughter, sister and wife. They were interred together inthe same grave at Écouis in 1512. "

According to Millin, a similar tradition will be found with variationsin different parts of France. For instance, at the church of Alincourt, a village between Amiens and Abbeville, there was to be seen in Millin'stime an epitaph running as follows:--

 "Here lies the son, here lies the mother, Here lies the daughter with the father; Here lies the sister, here lies the brother, Here lie the wife and the husband; And there are only three bodies here. "

Gaspard Meturas, it may be added, gives the same epitaph in his _HortusEpitaphiomm Selectorum_, issued in 1648, but declares that it is to befound at Clermont in Auvergne--a long way from Amiens--and explains itby saying that the mother engendered her husband by intercourse with herown father; whence it follows that he was at the same time her husband, son and brother. --L. M. And Ed. 

End of vol. III. 

LONDON: PRINTED FOR THE SOCIETY OF ENGLISH BIBLIOPHILISTS