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 FIFTH

LONDON: PRINTED FOR THE SOCIETY OF ENGLISH BIBLIOPHILISTS

MDCCCXCIV

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

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CONTENTS OF VOLUME V. 

SIXTH DAY. 

Prologue

Tale LI. Cruelty of the Duke of Urbino, who, contrary to the promisehe had given to the Duchess, hanged a poor lady that had consented toconvey letters to his son's sweetheart, the sister of the Abbot of Farse. 

Tale LII. Merry trick played by the varlet of an apothecary at Alençonon the Lord de la Tirelière and the lawyer Anthony Bacheré, who, thinking to breakfast at his expense, find that they have stolen fromhim something very different to a loaf of sugar. 

Tale LIII. Story of the Lady of Neufchâtel, a widow at the Court ofFrancis I. , who, through not admitting that she has plighted her trothto the Lord des Cheriots, plays him an evil trick through the means ofthe Prince of Belhoste. 

Tale LIV. Merry adventure of a serving-woman and a gentleman namedThogas, whereof his wife has no suspicion. 

Tale LV. The widow of a merchant of Saragossa, not wishing to lose thevalue of a horse, the price of which her husband had ordered to be givento the poor, devises the plan of selling the horse for one ducat only, adding, however, to the bargain a cat at ninety-nine. 

Tale LVI. Notable deception practised by an old Grey Friar of Padua, who, being charged by a widow to find a husband for her daughter, did, for the sake of getting the dowry, cause her to marry a young GreyFriar, his comrade, whose condition, however, was before long discovered. 

Tale LVII. Singular behaviour of an English lord, who is content merelyto keep and wear upon his doublet the glove of a lady whom he loves. 

Tale LVIII. A lady at the Court of Francis I. , wishing to prove thatshe has no commerce with a certain gentleman who loves her, gives him apretended tryst and causes him to pass for a thief. 

Tale LIX. Story of the same lady, who, learning that her husband is inlove with her waiting-woman, contrives to surprise him and impose herown terms upon him. 

Tale LX. A man of Paris, thinking his wife to be well and duly deceased, marries again, but at the end of fifteen years is forced to take hisfirst wife back, although she has been living meantime with one of thechanters of Louis XII. 

SEVENTH DAY. 

Prologue

Tale LXI. Great kindness of a husband, who consents to take back hiswife twice over, spite of her wanton love for a Canon of Autun. 

Tale LXII. How a lady, while telling a story as of another, let hertongue trip in such a way as to show that what she related had happenedto herself. 

Tale LXIII. How the honourable behaviour of a young lord, who feignssickness in order to be faithful to his wife, spoils a party in which hewas to have made one with the King, and in this way saves the honour ofthree maidens of Paris. 

Tale LXIV. Story of a gentleman of Valencia in Spain, whom a lady droveto such despair that he became a monk, and whom afterwards she strove invain to win back to herself. 

Tale LXV. Merry mistake of a worthy woman, who in the church of St. Johnof Lyons mistakes a sleeping soldier for one of the statues on a tomb, and sets a lighted candle on his forehead. 

Tale LXVI. How an old serving-woman, thinking to surprise a Prothonotarywith a lady, finds herself insulting Anthony de Bourbon and his wifeJane d'Albret. 

Tale LXVII. How the Sire de Robertval, granting a traitor his life atthe prayers of the man's wife, set them both down on a desert island, and how, after the husband's death, the wife was rescued and broughtback to La Rochelle. 

Tale LXVIII. The wife of an apothecary at Pau, hearing her husband givesome powder of cantharides to a woman who was godmother with himself, secretly administered to him such a dose of the same drug that he nearlydied. 

Tale LXIX. How the wife of one of the King's Equerries surprised herhusband muffled in the hood of their servant-maid, and bolting meal inher stead. 

Tale LXX. Of the love of a Duchess of Burgundy for a gentleman whorejects her advances, for which reason she accuses him to the Duke herhusband, and the latter does not believe his oaths till assured byhim that he loves the Lady du Vergier. Then the Duchess, having drawnknowledge of this amour from her husband, addresses to the Lady duVergier in public, an allusion that causes the death of both lovers; andthe Duke, in despair at his own lack of discretion, stabs the Duchesshimself. 

EIGHTH DAY. 

Prologue

Tale LXXI. The wife of a saddler of Amboise is saved on her deathbedthrough a fit of anger at seeing her husband fondle a servant-maid. 

Tale LXXII. Kindness of the Duchess of Alençon to a poor nun whom shemeets at Lyons, on her way to Rome, there to confess to the Pope how amonk had wronged her, and to obtain his Holiness's pardon. 

Appendix (The Narrators of the Heptameron)

Bibliography

PAGE ENGRAVINGS CONTAINED IN VOLUME V. 

Tale LI. The Duke of Urbino sending the Maiden to Prison for carryingMessages between his Son and his Sweetheart. 

LII. The Gentleman and his Friend annoyed by The Smell of that whichthey Thought was Sugar. 

LIII. The Lord des Cheriots flying from the Prince's Servant. 

LIV. The Lady watching the Shadow Faces Kissing. 

LV. The Servant selling the Horse with the Cat. 

LVI. The Grey Friar introducing his Comrade to the Lady and herDaughter. 

LVII. The English Lord seizing the Lady's Glove. 

LVIII. The Gentleman Mocked by the Ladies When Returning From The FalseTryst. 

LIX. The Lady discovering her Husband with the Waiting-woman. 

LX. The Chanter of Blois delivering his Mistress from the Grave. 

LXI. The Lady returning to her Lover, the Canon of Autun. 

LXII. The Gentleman's Spur catching in the Sheet. 

LXIII. The King asking the Young Lord to join his Banquet. 

LXIV. The Lady Swooning in the Arms of the Gentleman of Valencia who hadbecome a Monk. 

LXV. The Old Woman startled by the Waking of the Soldier. 

LXVI. The Old Serving-woman explaining her Mistake to the Duke andDuchess of Vendôme. 

LXVII. The Wife Reading to her Husband on the Desert Island. 

LXVIII. The Apothecary's Wife giving the Dose of Cantharides to herHusband. 

LXIX. The Wife discovering her Husband in the Hood of theirServing-maid. 

LXX. The Gentleman Killing Himself on the Death of his Mistress. 

LXXI. The Saddler's Wife Cured by the sight of her Husband Caressing theServing-maid. 

LXXII. The Monk Conversing with the Nun while Shrouding a Dead Body. 

SIXTH DAY. 

_On the Sixth Day are related the deceits practisedby Man on Woman, Woman on Man, orWoman on Woman, throughgreed, revenge, andwickedness_. 

PROLOGUE. 

In the morning the Lady Oisille went earlier than was her wont to makeready for her reading in the hall, but the company being advised ofthis, and eager to hearken to her excellent instruction, used suchdespatch in dressing themselves that she had not long to wait. Perceiving their fervour, she set about reading them the Epistle of St. John the Evangelist, which is full of naught but love, in the same wiseas, on the foregoing days, she had expounded to them St. Paul's Epistleto the Romans. The company found this fare so much to their taste, that, although they tarried a half-hour longer than on the other days, itseemed to them as if they had not remained there a quarter of an houraltogether. From thence they proceeded to the contemplation of the mass, when one and all commended themselves to the Holy Ghost in order thatthey might that day be enabled to satisfy their merry audience; and, after they had broken their fast and taken a little rest, they set outto resume their accustomed diversion. 

And the Lady Oisille asking who should begin the day, Longarine madeanswer--

"I give my vote to Madame Oisille; she has this day read to us sobeauteous a lesson, that she can but tell us some story apt to crown theglory which she won this morning. "

"I am sorry, " said Oisille, "that I cannot tell you aught so profitablethis afternoon as I did in the morning. But at least the purport of mystory shall not depart from the teaching of Holy Scripture, where it iswritten, 'Trust not in princes, nor in the sons of men, in whom is notour salvation. ' (1) And that this truth may not be forgotten by you forlack of an example, I will tell you a tale which is quite true, and thememory of which is so fresh that the eyes of those that saw the piteoussight are scarcely yet dried. "

[Illustration: 005a. Jpg The Duke of Urbino sending the Maiden to Prison for carryingMessages between his Son and his Sweetheart]

[The Duke of Urbino sending the Maiden to Prison for carryingMessages between his Son and his Sweetheart]

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_TALE LI_. 

 _Because he would not have his son make a poor marriage, the Duke of Urbino, contrary to the promise given to his wife, hanged a young maiden by whom his son was wont to inform his sweetheart of the love he bore her_. 

The Duke of Urbino, called the Prefect, (1) the same that married thesister of the first Duke of Mantua, had a son of between eighteen andtwenty years of age, who was in love with a girl of an excellent andhonourable house, sister to the Abbot of Farse. (2) And since, accordingto the custom of the country, he was not free to converse with her ashe wished, he obtained the aid of a gentleman in his service, who was inlove with a very beautiful and virtuous young damsel in the service ofhis mother. By means of this damsel he informed his sweetheart of thedeep affection that he bore her; and the poor girl, thinking no harm, took pleasure in doing him service, believing his purpose to be so goodand virtuous that she might honourably be the carrier of his intentions. But the Duke, who had more regard for the profit of his house thanfor any virtuous affection, was in such great fear lest these dealingsshould lead his son (3) into marriage, that he caused a strict watchto be kept; whereupon he was informed that the poor damsel had beenconcerned in carrying some letters from his son to the lady he loved. Onhearing this he was in great wrath, and resolved to take the matter inhand. 

 1 This is Francesco Maria I. , della Rovere, nephew to Pope Julius II. , by whom he was created Prefect of Rome. Brought up at the French Court, he became one of the great captains of the period, especially distinguishing himself in the command of the Venetian forces during the earlier part of his career. He married Leonora Ypolita Gonzaga, daughter of Francesco II. , fourth Marquis of Mantua, respecting whom see _ante_, vol. Iii. , notes to Tale XIX. It was Leonora rather than her husband who imparted lustre to the Court of Urbino at this period by encouraging arts and letters. Among those who flourished there were Raffaelle and Baldassare Castiglione. Francesco Maria, born in March 1491, died in 1538 from the effects--so it is asserted by several contemporary writers--of a poisonous lotion which a Mantuan barber had dropped into his ear. His wife, who bore him two sons (see post, note 3), died at the age of 72, in 1570. --L. And Ed. 

 2 The French words are _Abbé de Farse_. Farse would appear to be a locality, as abbots were then usually designated by the names of their monasteries; still it may be intended for the Abbot's surname, and some commentators, adopting this view, have suggested that the proper reading would be Farnese. --Ed. 

 3 The Duke's two sons were Federigo, born in March 1511, and Guidobaldo, born in April 1514. The former according to all authorities died when "young, " and probably long before reaching man's estate. Dennistoun, in his searching _Memoirs of the Dukes of Urbino_ (London, 1851), clearly shows that for many years prior to Francesco Maria's death his second son Guidobaldo was the only child remaining to him. Already in 1534, when but twenty years old, Guidobaldo was regarded as his father's sole heir and successor. In that year Francesco Maria forced the young man to marry Giulia Varana, a child of eleven, in order that he might lay claim to her father's state of Camerino and annex it to the duchy. There is no record of Guidobaldo having ever engaged in any such intrigue as related by Queen Margaret in the above tale, still it must be to him that she refers, everything pointing to the conclusion that his brother Federigo died in childhood. Guidobaldo became Duke of Urbino on his father's death. --Ed. 

He could not, however, conceal his anger so well that the maiden wasnot advised of it, and knowing his wickedness, which was in her eyesas great as his conscience was small, she felt a wondrous dread. Goingtherefore to the Duchess, she craved leave to retire somewhere out ofthe Duke's sight until his passion should be past; but her mistressreplied that, before giving her leave to do so, she would try to findout her husband's will in the matter. 

Very soon, however, the Duchess heard the Duke's evil words concerningthe affair, and, knowing his temper, she not only gave the maiden leave, but advised her to retire into a convent until the storm was over. Thisshe did as secretly as she could, yet not so stealthily but that theDuke was advised of it. Thereupon, with pretended cheerfulness ofcountenance, he asked his wife where the maiden was, and she, believinghim to be well aware of the truth, confessed it to him. He feigned tobe vexed thereat, saying that the girl had no need to behave in thatfashion, and that for his part he desired her no harm. And he requestedhis wife to cause her to come back again, since it was by no means wellto have such matters noised abroad. 

The Duchess replied that, if the poor girl was so unfortunate as to havelost his favour, it were better for a time that she should not comeinto his presence; however, he would not hearken to her reasonings, butcommanded her to bid the maiden return. 

The Duchess failed not to make the Duke's will known to the maiden; butthe latter, who could not but feel afraid, entreated her mistress thatshe might not be compelled to run this risk, saying that she knew theDuke was not so ready to forgive her as he feigned to be. Nevertheless, the Duchess assured her that she should take no hurt, and pledged herown life and honour for her safety. 

The girl, who well knew that her mistress loved her, and would notlightly deceive her, trusted in her promise, believing that the Dukewould never break a pledge when his wife's honour was its warranty. Andaccordingly she returned to the Duchess. 

As soon as the Duke knew this, he failed not to repair to his wife'sapartment. There, as soon as he saw the maiden, he said to his wife, "So such-a-one has returned, " and turning to his gentlemen, he commandedthem to arrest her and lead her to prison. 

At this the poor Duchess, who by the pledging of her word had drawn themaiden from her refuge, was in such despair that, falling upon her kneesbefore her husband, she prayed that for love of herself and of hishouse he would not do so foul a deed, seeing that it was in obedience tohimself that she had drawn the maiden from her place of safety. 

But no prayer that she could utter availed to soften his hard heart, orto overcome his stern resolve to be avenged. Without making any reply, he withdrew as speedily as possible, and, foregoing all manner of trial, and forgetting God and the honour of his house, he cruelly caused thehapless maiden to be hanged. 

I cannot undertake to recount to you the grief of the Duchess; it wassuch as beseemed a lady of honour and a tender heart on beholding one, whom she would fain have saved, perish through trust in her own plightedfaith. Still less is it possible to describe the deep affliction of theunhappy gentleman, the maiden's lover, who failed not to do all thatin him lay to save his sweetheart's life, offering to give his own forhers; but no feeling of pity moved the heart of this Duke, whose onlyhappiness was that of avenging himself on those whom he hated. (4)

 4 That Francesco-Maria was a man of a hasty, violent temperament is certain. Much that Guicciardini relates of him was doubtless penned in a spirit of resentment, for during the time the historian lived at Urbino the Duke repeatedly struck him, and on one occasion felled him to the ground, with the sneering remark, "Your business is to confer with pedants. " On the other hand, however, there is independent documentary evidence in existence--notably among the Urbino MSS. In the Vatican library--which shows that Francesco-Maria in no wise recoiled from shedding blood. He was yet in his teens when it was reported to him that his sister--the widow of Venanzio of Camerino, killed by Caesar Borgia--had secretly married a certain Giovanni Andrea of Verona and borne him a son. Watching his opportunity, Francesco-Maria set upon the unfortunate Andrea one day in the ducal chamber and then and there killed him, though not without resistance, for Andrea only succumbed after receiving _four-and-twenty_ stabs with his murderer's poignard (Urbino MSS. Vat. No. 904). A few years later, in 1511, Francesco-Maria assassinated the Papal Legate Alidosio, Cardinal Archbishop of Pavia, whom he encountered in the environs of Bologna riding his mule and followed by a hundred light horse. Nevertheless Urbino, with only a small retinue, galloped up to him, plunged a dagger into his stomach and fled before the soldiery could intervene. From these examples it will be seen that, although history has preserved no record of the affair related by Queen Margaret, her narrative may well be a true one. --Ed. 

Thus, in spite of every law of honour, was the innocent maiden put todeath by this cruel Duke, to the exceeding sorrow of all that knew her. 

"See, ladies, what are the effects of wickedness when this is combinedwith power. "

"I had indeed heard, " said Longarine, "that the Italians were prone tothree especial vices; but I should not have thought that vengeance andcruelty would have gone so far as to deal a cruel death for so slight acause. "

"Longarine, " said Saffredent, laughing, "you have told us one of thethree vices, but we must also know the other two. "

"If you did not know them, " she replied, "I would inform you, but I amsure that you know them all. "

"From your words, " said Saffredent, "it seems that you deem me veryvicious. "

"Not so, " said Longarine, "but you so well know the ugliness of vicethat, better than any other, you are able to avoid it. "

"Do not be amazed, " said Simontault, "at this act of cruelty. Those whohave passed through Italy have seen such incredible instances, that thisone is in comparison but a trifling peccadillo. "

"Ay, truly, " said Geburon. "When Rivolta was taken by the French, (5)there was an Italian captain who was esteemed a knightly comrade, buton seeing the dead body of a man who was only his enemy in that being aGuelph he was opposed to the Ghibellines, he tore out his heart, broiledit on the coals and devoured it. And when some asked him how he likedit, he replied that he had never eaten so savoury or dainty a morsel. Not content with this fine deed, he killed the dead man's wife, andtearing out the fruit of her womb, dashed it against a wall. Then hefilled the bodies both of husband and wife with oats and made his horseseat from them. Think you that such a man as that would not surely haveput to death a girl whom he suspected of offending him?"

 5 Rivolta or Rivoli was captured by the French under Louis XII. In 1509. An instance of savagery identical in character with that mentioned by "Geburon" had already occurred at the time of Charles VIII. 's expedition to Naples, when the culprit, a young Italian of good birth, was seized and publicly executed. --Ed. 

"It must be acknowledged, " said Ennasuite, "that this Duke of Urbinowas more afraid that his son might make a poor marriage than desirous ofgiving him a wife to his liking. "

"I think you can have no doubt, " replied Simon-tault, "that it is theItalian nature to love unnaturally that which has been created only fornature's service. "

"Worse than that, " said Hircan, "they make a god of things that arecontrary to nature. "

"And there, " said Longarine, "you have another one of the sins thatI meant; for we know that to love money, excepting so far as it benecessary, is idolatry. "

Parlamente then said that St. Paul had not forgotten the vices of theItalians, and of all those who believe that they exceed and surpassothers in honour, prudence and human reason, and who trust so stronglyto this last as to withhold from God the glory that is His due. Wherefore the Almighty, jealous of His honour, renders' those whobelieve themselves possessed of more understanding than other men, more insensate even than wild the beasts, causing them to show by theirunnatural deeds that their sense is reprobate. 

Longarine here interrupted Parlamente to say that this was indeed thethird sin to which the Italians were prone. 

"By my faith, " said Nomerfide, "this discourse is very pleasing tome, for, since those that possess the best trained and acutestunderstandings are punished by being made more witless even than wildbeasts, it must follow that such as are humble, and low, and of littlereach, like myself, are filled with the wisdom of angels. "

"I protest to you, " said Oisille, "that I am not far from your opinion, for none is more ignorant than he who thinks he knows. "

"I have never seen a mocker, " said Geburon, "that was not mocked, adeceiver that was not deceived, or a boaster that was not humbled. "

"You remind me, " said Simontault, "of a deceit which, had it been of aseemly sort, I would willingly have related. "

"Well, " said Oisille, "since we are here to utter truth, I give you myvote that you may tell it to us whatsoever its nature may be. "

"Since you give place to me, " said Simontault, "I will tell it you. "

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[Illustration: 015a. Jpg The Gentleman and his Friend annoyed by The Smell of that which they Thought was Sugar]

[The Gentleman and his Friend annoyed by The Smell of that which they Thought was Sugar]

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_TALE LII_. 

 _An apothecary s man, espying behind him an advocate who was to plague him, and on whom he desired to be revenged, dropped from his sleeve a lump of frozen ordure, wrapped in paper like a sugar-loaf, which a gentleman who was with the advocate picked up and hid in his bosom, and then went to breakfast at a tavern, whence he came forth with all the cost and shame that he had thought to bring upon the poor varlet_. 

Near the town of Alençon there lived a gentleman called the Lord of LaTireliere, who one morning came from his house to the town afoot, bothbecause the distance was not great and because it was freezing hard. (1)When he had done his business, he sought out a crony of his, an advocatenamed Anthony Bacheré, and, after speaking with him of his affairs, hetold him that he should much like to meet with a good breakfast, but atsomebody else's expense. While thus discussing, they sat themselves downin front of an apothecary's shop, where there was a varlet who listenedto them, and who forthwith resolved to give them their breakfast. 

 1 The phraseology of this story varies considerably in the different MSS. Of the _Heptameron_. In No. 1520, for instance, the tale begins as follows: "In the town of Alençon, in the time of the last Duke Charles, there was an advocate, a merry companion, fond of breakfasting o' mornings. One day, whilst he sat at his door, he saw pass a gentleman called the Lord of La Tilleriere, who, by reason of the extreme cold, had come on foot from his house to the town in order to attend to certain business there, and in doing so had not forgotten to put on his great robe, lined with fox-skin. And when he saw the advocate, who was much such a man as himself, he told him that he had completed his business, and had nothing further to do, except it were to find a good breakfast. The advocate made answer that they could find breakfasts enough and to spare, provided they had some one to defray the cost, and, taking the other under the arm, he said to him, 'Come, gossip, we may perhaps find some fool who will pay the reckoning for us both. ' Now behind them was an apothecary's man, an artful and inventive fellow, whom this advocate was always plaguing, " &c. --L. 

He went out from his shop into a street whither all repaired on needfuloccasions, (2) and there found a large lump of ordure standing on end, and so well frozen that it looked like a small loaf of fine sugar. Forthwith he wrapped it in handsome white paper, in the manner he waswont to use for the attraction of customers, and hid it in his sleeve. 

 2 In olden time, as shown in the _Mémoires de l'Académie de Troyes_, there were in most French towns streets specially set aside for the purpose referred to. At Alençon, in Queen Margaret's time, there was a street called the Rue des Fumiers, as appears from a report dated March 8, 1564 (Archives of the Orne, Series A). Probably it is to this street that she alludes. (Communicated by M. L. Duval, archivist of the department of the Orne). --M. 

Afterwards he came and passed in front of the gentleman and theadvocate, and, letting the sugar-loaf (3) fall near them, as if bymischance, went into a house whither he had pretended to be carrying it. 

The Lord of La Tirelière (4) hastened back with all speed to pick upwhat he thought to be a sugar-loaf, and just as he had done so theapothecary's man also came back looking and asking for his sugareverywhere. 

 3 M. Duval, archivist of the Orne, states that La Tirelière, which is situated near St. Germain-du-Corbois, within three miles of Alençon, is an old _gentilhommière_ or manor-house, surrounded by a moat. It was originally a simple _vavassonrie_ held in fief from the Counts and Dukes of Alençon by the Pantolf and Crouches families, and in the seventeenth century was merged into the marquisate of L'Isle. --M. 

 4 Sugar was at this period sold by apothecaries, and was a rare and costly luxury. There were loaves of various sizes, but none so large as those of the present time. --M. 

The gentleman, thinking that he had cleverly tricked him, then went inhaste to a tavern with his crony, to whom he said--

"Our breakfast has been paid for at the cost of that varlet. "

When he was come to the tavern he called for good bread, good wine andgood meat, for he thought that he had wherewith to pay. But whilst hewas eating, as he began to grow warm, his sugar-loaf in its turn beganto thaw and melt, and filled the whole room with the smell peculiarto it, whereupon he, who carried it in his bosom, grew wroth with thewaiting-woman, and said to her--

"You are the filthiest folks that ever I knew in this town, for eitheryou or your children have strewn all this room with filth. "

"By St. Peter!" replied the woman, "there is no filth here unless youhave brought it in yourselves. "

Thereupon they rose, by reason of the great stench that they smelt, and went up to the fire, where the gentleman drew out of his bosom ahandkerchief all dyed with the melted sugar, and on opening his robe, lined with fox-skin, found it to be quite spoiled. 

And all that he was able to say to his crony was this--

"The rogue whom we thought to deceive has deceived us instead. "

Then they paid their reckoning and went away as vexed as they hadbeen merry on their arrival, when they fancied they had tricked theapothecary's varlet. (5)

 5 In MS. 1520, this tale ends in the following manner:-- "They were no sooner in the street than they perceived the apothecary's man going about and making inquiry of every one whether they had not seen a loaf of sugar wrapped in paper. They [the advocate and his companion] sought to avoid him, but he called aloud to the advocate, 'If you have my loaf of sugar, sir, I beg that you will give it back to me, for 'tis a double sin to rob a poor servant. ' His shouts brought to the spot many people curious to witness the dispute, and the true circumstances of the case were so well proven, that the apothecary's man was as glad to have been robbed as the others were vexed at having committed such a nasty theft. However, they comforted themselves with the hope that they might some day give him tit for tat. "--Ed. 

"Often, ladies, do we see the like befall those who delight in usingsuch cunning. If the gentleman had not sought to eat at another'sexpense, he would not have drunk so vile a beverage at his own. It istrue, ladies, that my story is not a very clean one, but you gave melicense to speak the truth, and I have done so in order to show you thatno one is sorry when a deceiver is deceived. "

"It is commonly said, " replied Hircan, "that words have no stink, yetthose for whom they are intended do not easily escape smelling them. "

"It is true, " said Oisille, "that such words do not stink, but there areothers which are spoken of as nasty, and which are of such evil odourthat they disgust the soul even more than the body is disgusted when itsmells such a sugar-loaf as you described in the tale. "

"I pray you, " said Hircan, "tell me what words you know of so foul as tosicken both the heart and soul of a virtuous woman. "

"It would indeed be seemly, " replied Oisille, "that I should tell youwords which I counsel no woman to utter. "

"By that, " said Saffredent, "I quite understand what those terms are. They are such as women desirous of being held discreet do not commonlyemploy. But I would ask all the ladies present why, when they dare notutter them, they are so ready to laugh at them when they are used intheir presence. "

Then said Parlamente--

"We do not laugh because we hear such pretty expressions, though itis indeed true that every one is disposed to laugh on seeing anybodystumble or on hearing any one utter an unfitting word, as often happens. The tongue will trip and cause one word to be used for another, evenby the discreetest and most excellent speakers. But when you men talkviciously, not from ignorance, but by reason of your own wickedness, I know of no virtuous woman who does not feel a loathing for suchspeakers, and who would not merely refuse to hearken to them, but evento remain in their company. "

"That is very true, " responded Geburon. "I have frequently seen womenmake the sign of the cross on hearing certain words spoken, and ceasenot in doing so after these words had been uttered a second time. "

"But how many times, " said Simontault, "have they put on their masks (6)in order to laugh as freely as they pretended to be angry?"

"Yet it were better to do this, " said Parlamente, "than to let it beseen that the talk pleased them. "

"Then, " said Dagoucin, "you praise a lady's hypocrisy no less than hervirtue?"

"Virtue would be far better, " said Longarine, "but, when it is lacking, recourse must be had to hypocrisy, just as we use our slippers (7) todisguise our littleness. And it is no small matter to be able to concealour imperfections. "

 8 _Tourets-de-nez_. _See ante_, vol. Iii. P. 27, note 5. --Ed. 

 7 High-heeled slippers or _mules_ were then worn. --B. J. 

"By my word, " said Hircan, "it were better sometimes to show some slightimperfection than to cover it so closely with the cloak of virtue. "

"It is true, " said Ennasuitc, "that a borrowed garment brings theborrower as much dishonour when he is constrained to return it as itbrought him honour whilst it was being worn, and there is a lady nowliving who, by being too eager to conceal a small error, fell into agreater. "

"I think, " said Hircan, "that I know whom you mean; in any case, however, do not pronounce her name. "

"Ho! ho!" said Geburon [to Ennasuite], "I give you my vote on conditionthat when you have related the story you will tell us the names. We willswear never to mention them. "

"I promise it, " said Knnasuite, "for there is nothing that may not betold in all honour. "

[Illustration: 022. Jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 023a. Jpg The Lord des Cheriots flying from the Prince's Servant]

[The Lord des Cheriots flying from the Prince's Servant]

[Illustration: 023. Jpg Page Image]

_TALE LIII_. 

 _By her dissimulation the Lady of Neufchastel caused the Prince of Belhoste to put her to such proof that it turned to her dishonour_. 

King Francis the First was once at a handsome and pleasant castle, whither he had gone with a small following, both for the purpose ofhunting and in order to take some repose. With him in his train was acertain Prince of Belhoste, (1) as worshipful, virtuous, discreet andhandsome a Prince as any at Court. The wife he had married did notbelong to a family of high rank, yet he loved her as dearly and treatedher as well as it were possible for a husband to do, and also trustedin her. And when he was in love with anybody he never concealed it fromher, knowing that she had no other will than his own. 

 1 The Bibliophile Jacob surmises that this personage may be one of the Italian grandees at that period in the service of France, in which case the allusion may be to John Caraccioli, Prince of Melphes, created a marshal of France in 1544. Queen Margaret, however, makes no mention of her Prince being a foreigner. "Belhoste" is of course a fictitious name invented to replace that which the Prince really bore, and admits of so many interpretations that its meaning in the present instance cannot well be determined. From the circumstance, however, that the Prince's wife was of inferior birth to himself, it is not impossible that the personage referred to may be either Charles de Bourbon, Prince of La Roche-sur-Yonne and Duke of Beaupréau, or John VIII. , Lord of Créqui, Canaples and Pontdormi, and Prince of Poix. The former, who married Philippa de Montespedon, widow of René de Montéjan, and a lady of honour to Catherine de' Medici when Dauphiness, took a prominent part in the last wars of Francis I. 's reign, and survived till 1565. The latter, generally known at Court by the name of Canaples, was a gentleman of the chamber and an especial favourite of Francis I. Brantôme says of him in his _Homines Illustres_ that he was "a valiant lord and the strongest man of arms that in those days existed in all Christendom, for he broke a lance, no matter its strength, as easily as though it were a mere switch, and few were able to withstand him. " In 1525 the Prince of Poix married a Demoiselle d'Acigné or Assigny, of _petite noblesse_, who in 1532 became a lady of honour to Queen Eleanor. She died in 1558, surviving her husband by three years. See Rouard's rare _Notice dun Recueil de Crayons à la Bibliothèque Méjanes d'Aix_, Paris, 1863. --Ed. 

Now this Prince conceived a deep affection for a widow lady calledMadame de Neufchastel, (2) who was reputed the most beautiful woman itwere possible to see; and if the Prince of Bel-hoste loved her well, hiswife loved her no less, and would often send and bid her to dinner, for she deemed her so discreet and honourable, that, instead of beinggrieved by her husband's love for her, she rejoiced to see him addresshis attentions to one so full of honour and virtue. 

 2 M. Lacroix thinks that this lady may be Jane de Hochberg, only daughter of Philip, sovereign Count of Neufchâtel. According to the custom of the time, she was commonly called Madame de Neufchâtel, despite her marriage with Louis d'Orléans, Duke of Longueville. She died in 1543, after a lengthy widowhood. We consider the accuracy of M. Lacroix's surmise to be extremely doubtful, for the names of both the men figuring in the story are obviously altered so as to conceal their identity, and it is therefore not likely that Queen Margaret would designate the lady by her real name, and thus publish her shame to the world. The Madame de Neufchâtel she speaks of may really have been a Madame de Châteauneuf, Châteauvieux or Maisonneuve; or we may again be in presence of Margaret's lady of honour, the widowed Blanche de Chastillon, _née_ de Tournon, to whom frequent reference has been made. --Ed. 

This affection lasted for a great while, the Prince of Belhoste caringfor all the lady's affairs as though they were his own, and his wifedoing no less. By reason, however, of her beauty many great lords andgentlemen earnestly sought the lady's favour, some only for love's sake, others for sake of the ring, for, besides being beautiful, she was alsovery rich. 

Among the rest was a young gentleman, called the Lord des Cheriots, (3)who wooed her so ardently that he was never absent from her levee andcouchée, and was also with her as much as possible during the day. Thisdid not please the Prince of Belhoste, who thought that a man of suchpoor estate, and so lacking in grace, did not deserve an honourableand gracious reception, and he often made remonstrances about it to thelady. She, however, being one of Eve's daughters, (4) excused herselfby saying that she spoke with every one in general, and that their ownaffection was the better concealed, since she never spoke more with onethan with another. 

 3 "Des Cheriots" (occasionally Des Cheriotz in the MS. ) may be a play upon the name of D'Escars, sometimes written Des Cars. According to La Curne de Ste. Palaye _car_ as well as _char_ signified chariot. The D'Escars dukedom is modern, dating from 1815, and in the time of Francis I. The family was of small estate. Some members of it may well have filled inferior offices about the court, as in 1536 a Demoiselle Suzanne d'Escars married Geoffrey de Pompadour, who was both a prothonotary and cupbearer to Francis I. , and lived to become Governor of the Limousin under Charles IX. --M. And Ed. 

 4 We take this expression from MS. 1520. Ours says, "a daughter of the Duke, " which is evidently an error. --L. 

Albeit, after some time, this Lord des Cheriots so pressed her that, more through his importunity than through love, she promised to marryhim, begging him, however, not to urge her to reveal the marriage untilher daughters were wedded. After this the gentleman was wont to go withuntroubled conscience to her chamber at whatsoever hour he chose, andnone but a waiting-woman and a serving-man had knowledge of the matter. 

When the Prince perceived that the gentleman was growing more and morefamiliar in the house of her whom he so dearly loved, he took it inill-part, and could not refrain from saying to the lady--

"I have always prized your honour like that of my own sister, and youare aware of the honourable manner in which I have addressed you, andthe happiness that I have in loving a lady as discreet and virtuous asyourself; but did I think that another who deserves it not could win byimportunity that which I am not willing to crave, contrary to yourown desire, this would be unendurable to me, and in the like degreedishonouring to you. I tell you this because you are beautiful andyoung, and although hitherto of good repute, are now beginning to gaina very evil fame. Even though he be not your equal in birth or fortune, and have less influence, knowledge and address, yet it were better tohave married him than to give all men matter for suspicion. I pray you, therefore, tell me whether you are resolved to love him, for I will nothave him as fellow of mine. I would rather leave you altogether to him, and put away from me the feelings that I have hitherto borne you. "

The poor lady, fearful of losing his affection, thereupon began to weep, and vowed to him that she would rather die than wed the gentleman ofwhom he had spoken, but (she added) he was so importunate that she couldnot help his entering her chamber at a time when every one else did so. 

"Of such times as those, " said the Prince, "I do not speak, for I can goas well as he, and see all what you are doing. But I have been told thathe goes after you are in bed, and this I look upon as so extraordinarythat, if you should continue in this mode of life without declaring himto be your husband, you will be disgraced more than any woman that everlived. "

She swore to him with all the oaths she could utter that the other wasneither her husband nor her lover, but only as importunate a gentlemanas there well could be. 

"Since he is troublesome to you, " said the Prince, "I promise you that Iwill rid you of him. "

"What!" asked the lady. "Would you kill him?"

"No, no, " said the Prince, "but I will give him to understood that itis not in such a place as this, not in such a house as the King's, thatladies are to be put to shame. And I swear to you by the faith of thelover that I am, that if, after I have spoken with him, he does notcorrect himself, I will correct him in such a manner as to make him awarning to others. "

So saying he went away, and on leaving the room failed not to meet theLord des Cheriots on his way in. To him he spoke after the fashion thatyou have heard, assuring him that the first time he was found thereafter an hour at which gentlemen might reasonably visit the ladies, hewould give him such a fright as he would ever remember. And he addedthat the lady was of too noble a house to be trifled with after such afashion. 

The gentleman protested that he had never been in the room except in thesame manner as the rest, and, if the Prince should find him there, hegave him full leave to do his worst. 

One day afterwards, when the gentleman believed the Prince's wordsto have been forgotten, he went to see his lady in the evening, andremained sufficiently late. 

The Prince [that same evening] told his wife that Madame de Neufchastelhad a severe cold, upon hearing which the worthy lady begged that hewould visit her on behalf of them both, and make excuse for herself, since she could not go by reason of a certain matter that she must needsattend to in her room. 

The Prince waited until the King was in bed, and then went to givethe lady good-evening, but as he was going up a stairway he met aserving-man coming down, who, on being asked how his mistress did, sworethat she was in bed and asleep. 

The Prince went down the stairway, but, suspecting that the servanthad lied, looked behind and saw him going back again with all speed. He walked about the courtyard in front of the door to see whether theservant would return. A quarter of an hour later he perceived him comedown again and look all about to see who was in the courtyard. 

Forthwith the Prince was convinced that the Lord des Cheriots was in thelady's chamber, but through fear of himself durst not come down, and hetherefore again walked about for a long-while. 

At last, observing that the lady's room had a casement which was not atall high up, and which looked upon a little garden, he remembered theproverb which says, "When the door fails the window avails, " and hethereupon called a servant of his own, and said to him--

"Go into the garden there behind, and, if you see a gentleman come downfrom the window, draw your sword as soon as he reaches the ground, clashit against the wall, and cry out, 'Slay! slay!' Be careful, however, that you do not touch him. "

The servant went whither his master had sent him, and the Prince walkedabout until three hours after midnight. 

When the Lord des Cheriots heard that the Prince was still in the yard, he resolved to descend by the window, and, having first thrown clown hiscloak, he then, by the help of his good friends, leapt into the garden. As soon as the servant saw him, he failed not to make a noise withhis sword, at the same time crying, "Slay! slay!" Upon this the poorgentleman, believing it was his [the servant's] master, was in suchgreat fear that, without thinking of his cloak, he fled as quickly as hewas able. 

He met the archers of the watch, who wondered greatly to see him runningin this fashion, but he durst say nothing to them, except to beg them toopen him the gate [of the castle], or else to lodge him with themselvesuntil morning. And this, as they had not the keys, they did. 

Then the Prince went to bed, and, finding his wife asleep, awoke hersaying--

"Guess, my wife, what hour it is. ''

"I have not heard the clock strike since I went to bed, " she replied. 

"It is three hours after midnight, " said he. 

"If that be so, " said his wife, "where have you been all this time? Igreatly fear that your health will be the worse for it. "

"Sweetheart, " said the Prince, "watching will never make me ill whenI am engaged in preventing those who try to deceive me from going tosleep. "

So saying, he began to laugh so heartily that his wife begged him totell her of the matter. This he did at length, showing her the wolf'sskin (4) which his servant had brought him. After making merry atthe expense of the hapless lovers, they went to sleep in gentletranquillity, while the other two passed the night in torment, fearingand dreading lest the affair should be revealed. 

However, the gentleman, knowing right well that he could not useconcealment with the Prince, came to him in the morning when he wasdressing to beg that he would not expose him, and would give orders forthe return of his cloak. 

The Prince pretended that he knew nothing of the matter, and put such aface on it that the gentleman was wholly at a loss what to think. Butin the end he received a rating that he had not expected, for the Princeassured him that, if ever he went to the lady's room again, he wouldtell the King of it, and have him banished the Court. 

"I pray you, ladies, judge whether it had not been better for this poorlady to have spoken freely to him who did her the honour of loving andesteeming her, instead of leading him by her dissimulation to prove herin a way that brought her so much shame. "

"She knew, " said Geburon, "that if she confessed the truth she wouldwholly lose his favour, and this she on no account desired to do. "

"It seems to me, " said Longarine, "that when she had chosen a husbandto her liking, she ought not to have feared the loss of any other man'saffection. "

"I am sure, " said Parlamente, "that if she had dared to reveal hermarriage, she would have been quite content with her husband; but shewished to hide it until her daughters were wed, and so she would notabandon so good a means of concealment. "

"It was not for that reason, " said Saffredent, "but because the ambitionof women is so great that they are never satisfied with having onlyone lover. I have heard that the discreetest of them are glad to havethree--one, namely, for honour, one for profit, and one for delight. Each of the three thinks himself loved the best, but the first two areas servants to the last. "

"You speak, " said Oisille, "of such women as have neither love norhonour. "

"Madam, " said Saffredent, "there are some of the kind that I describe, whom you reckon among the most honourable in the land. "

"You may be sure, " said Hircan, "that a crafty woman will be able tolive where all others die of hunger. "

"And, " said Longarine, "when their craftiness is discerned, 'tis death. "

"Nay, 'tis life, " said Simontault, "for they deem it no small gloryto be reputed more crafty than their fellows. And the reputation of'crafty, ' gained thus at their own expense, brings lovers more readilyunder subjection to them than does their beauty, for one of the greatestdelights shared by those who are in love is to conduct the affairslyly. "

"You speak, " said Ennasuite, "of wanton love, for the honourable has noneed of concealment. "

"Ah!" said Dagoucin, "I pray you put that thought out of your head. The more precious the drug, the less should it be exposed to the air, because of the perverseness of those who trust only to outward signs. These are not different in the case of honourable and faithful affectionthan in any other case, so they must none the less be hidden when thelove is virtuous than when it is the opposite, if one would avoid theevil opinion of those who cannot believe that a man may love a lady inall honour, and who, being themselves slaves to pleasure, think everyone else the same. If we were all of good faith, look and speech wouldbe without concealment, at least toward those who would rather die thantake them in an evil sense. "

"I protest to you, Dagoucin, " said Hircan, "that your philosophy is toodeep for any man here to understand or believe. You would have us thinkthat men are angels, or stones, or devils. "

"I am well aware, " said Dagoucin, "that men are men and subject to everypassion, but there are some, nevertheless, who would rather die thanthat their mistresses should, for their delight, do aught against theirconsciences. "

"To die means a great deal, " said Geburon. "I would not believe that ofthem were it uttered by the lips of the austerest monk alive. "

"Nay, I believe, " said Hircan, "that there is none but desires the veryopposite. But they make pretence of disliking the grapes when these hangtoo high to be gathered. "

"Still, " said Nomcrfide, "I am sure that the Prince's wife was very gladto find that her husband was learning to know women. "

"I assure you it was not so, " said Ennasuite. "She was very sorry onaccount of the love that she bore the lady. "

"I would as soon, " said Saffredent, "have the lady who laughed when herhusband kissed her maid. "

"In sooth, " said Ennasuite, "you shall tell us the story. I give placeto you. "

"Although the story is very short, " said Saffredent, "I will stillrelate it, for I would rather make you laugh than speak myself atlength. "

[Illustration: 036. Jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 037a. Jpg The Lady watching the Shadow Faces Kissing]

[The Lady watching the Shadow Faces Kissing]

[Illustration: 037. Jpg Page Image]

_TALE LIV_. 

 _Thogas's wife, believing that her husband loved none but herself, was pleased that her serving-woman should amuse him, and laughed when in her presence he kissed the girl before her eyes, and with her knowledge_. 

Between the Pyrenees Mountains and the Alps, there dwelt a gentlemannamed Thogas, (1) who had a wife and children, with a very beautifulhouse, and so much wealth and pleasure at his hand, that there wasreason he should live in contentment, had it not been that he wassubject to great pain beneath the roots of the hair, in such wise thatthe doctors advised him to sleep no longer with his wife. She, whosechief thought was for her husband's life and health, readily consented, and caused her bed to be set in another corner of the room directlyopposite her husband's, so that they could neither of them put out theirheads without seeing each other. 

 1 We are unable to trace any family named Thogas, which is probably a fictitious appellation. Read backwards with the letter h omitted it forms Sagot, whilst if the syllables be transposed it suggests Guasto, a well-known Basque or Navarrese name. --Ed. 

This lady had two serving-women, and often when the lord and his ladywere in bed, they would each take some diverting book to read, whilstthe serving-women held candles, the younger, that is, for the gentleman, and the other for his wife. 

The gentleman, finding that the maid was younger and handsomer than hermistress, took such great pleasure in observing her that he would breakoff his reading in order to converse with her. His wife could hear thisvery plainly, but believing that her husband loved none but herself, shewas well pleased that her servants should amuse him. 

It happened one evening, however, when they had read longer than wastheir wont, that the lady looked towards her husband's bed where was theyoung serving-maid holding the candle. Of her she could see nothing buther back, and of her husband nothing at all excepting on the side ofthe chimney, which jutted out in front of his bed, and the white wall ofwhich was bright with the light from the candle. And upon this wallshe could plainly see the shadows both of her husband and of her maid;whether they drew apart, or came near together or laughed, it was all asclear to her as though she had veritably beheld them. 

The gentleman, using no precaution since he felt sure that his wifecould not see them, kissed her maid, and on the first occasion his wifesuffered this to pass without uttering a word. But when she saw that theshadows frequently returned to this fellowship, she feared that theremight be some reality beneath it all, and burst into a loud laugh, whereat the shadows were alarmed and separated. 

The gentleman then asked his wife why she was laughing so heartily, sothat he might have a share in her merriment. 

"Husband, " she replied, "I am so foolish that I laugh at my own shadow. "

Inquire as he might, she would never acknowledge any other reason, but, nevertheless, he thenceforward refrained from kissing such shadow-faces. 

"That is the story of which I was reminded when I spoke of the lady wholoved her husband's sweetheart. "

"By my faith, " said Ennasuite, "if my maid had treated me in thatfashion, I should have risen and extinguished the candle upon her nose. "

"You are indeed terrible, " said Hircan, "but it had been well doneif your husband and the maid had both turned upon you and beaten yousoundly. There should not be so much ado for a kiss; and 'twould havebeen better if his wife had said nothing about it, and had suffered himto take his pastime, which might perchance have cured his complaint. "

"Nay, " said Parlamente, "she was afraid that the end of the pastimewould make him worse. "

"She was not one of those, " said Oisille, "against whom our Lord says, 'We have mourned to you and ye have not lamented, we have sung to youand ye have not danced, ' (2) for when her husband was ill, she wept, andwhen he was merry, she laughed. In the same fashion every virtuouswoman ought to share the good and evil, the joy and the sadness of herhusband, and serve and obey him as the Church does Jesus Christ. "

 2 "They are like unto children sitting in the market-place, and calling one to another, and saying, We have piped unto you, and ye have not danced; we have mourned to you, and ye have not wept. "--_St. Luke_ vii. 32. --M. 

"Then, ladies, " said Parlamente, "our husbands should be to us whatChrist is to the Church. "

"So are we, " said Saffredent, "and, if it were possible, something more;for Christ died but once for His Church, whereas we die daily for ourwives. "

"Die!" said Longarine. "Methinks that you and the others here presentare now worth more crowns than you were worth pence before you werewed. "

"And I know why, " said Saffredent; "it is because our worth is oftentried. Still our shoulders are sensible of having worn the cuirass solong. "

"If, " said Ennasuite, "you had been obliged to wear harness for a monthand lie on the hard ground, you would greatly long to regain the bed ofyour excellent wife, and wear the cuirass of which you now complain. But it is said that everything can be endured except ease, and thatnone know what rest is until they have lost it. This foolish woman, wholaughed when her husband was merry, was fond of taking her rest underany circumstances. "

"I am sure, " said Longarine, "that she loved her rest better than herhusband, since she took nothing that he did to heart. "

"She did take to heart, " said Parlamente, "those things which might havebeen hurtful to his conscience and his health, but she would not dwellupon trifles. "

"When you speak of conscience, " said Simontault "you make me laugh. 'Tisa thing to which I would have no woman give heed. "

"It would be a good thing, " said Nomerfide, "if you had a wife like onewho, after her husband's death, proved that she loved her money betterthan her conscience. "

"I pray you, " said Saffredent, "tell us that tale. I give you my vote. "

"I had not intended, " said Nomcrfide, "to relate so short a story, but, since it is suited to the occasion, I will do so. "

[Illustration: 042. Jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 043a. Jpg The Servant selling the Horse with the Cat]

[The Servant selling the Horse with the Cat]

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_TALE LV_. 

 _A merchant's widow, whilst carrying out her husband's will, interpreted its purport to the advantage of herself and her children_. (1)

In the town of Safagossa there lived a rich merchant, who, finding hisdeath draw nigh, and himself no longer able to retain possession of hisgoods---which he had perchance gathered together by evil means--thoughtthat if he made a little present to God, he might thus after his deathmake part atonement for his sins, just as though God sold His pardon formoney. Accordingly, when he had settled matters in respect of his house, he declared it to be his desire that a fine Spanish horse which hepossessed should be sold for as much as it would bring, and the moneyobtained for it be distributed among the poor. And he begged his wifethat she would in no wise fail to sell the horse as soon as he was dead, and distribute the money in the manner he had commanded. 

 1 Whether the incidents here related be true or not, it is probable that this was a story told to Queen Margaret at the time of her journey to Spain in 1525. It will have been observed (_ante_, pp. 36 and 42) that both the previous tale and this one are introduced into the _Heptameron_ in a semi- apologetic fashion, as though the Queen had not originally intended that her work should include such short, slight anecdotes. However, already at this stage--the fifty-fifth only of the hundred tales which she proposed writing--she probably found fewer materials at her disposal than she had anticipated, and harked back to incidents of her earlier years, which she had at first thought too trifling to record. Still, slight as this story may be, it is not without point. The example set by the wife of the Saragossa merchant has been followed in modern times in more ways than one. --Ed. 

When the burial was over and the first tears were shed, the wife, whowas no more of a fool than Spanish women are used to be, went to theservant who with herself had heard his master declare his desire, andsaid to him--

"Methinks I have lost enough in the person of a husband I loved sodearly, without afterwards losing his possessions. Yet would I notdisobey his word, but rather better his intention; for the poor man, ledastray by the greed of the priests, thought to make a great sacrifice toGod in bestowing after his death a sum of money, not a crown of which, as you well know, he would have given in his lifetime to relieve eventhe sorest need. I have therefore bethought me that we will do whathe commanded at his death, and in still better fashion than he himselfwould have done if had he lived a fortnight longer. But no living personmust know aught of the matter. "

When she had received the servant's promise to keep it secret, she saidto him--

"You will go and sell the horse, and when you are asked, 'How much?'you will reply, 'A ducat. ' I have, however, a very fine cat which I alsowish to dispose of, and you will sell it with the horse for ninety-nineducats, so that cat and horse together will bring in the hundred ducatsfor which my husband wished to sell the horse alone. "

The servant readily fulfilled his mistress's command. While he waswalking the horse about the market-place, and holding the cat in hisarms, a gentleman, who had seen the horse before, and was desirous ofpossessing it, asked the servant what price he sought. 

"A ducat, " replied the man. 

"I pray you, " said the gentleman, "do not mock me. "

"I assure you, sir, " said the servant, "that it will cost you only aducat. It is true that the cat must be bought at the same time, and forthe cat I must have nine and ninety ducats. "

Forthwith, the gentleman, thinking the bargain a reasonable one, paidhim one ducat for the horse, and the remainder as was desired of him, and took his goods away. 

The servant, on his part, went off with the money, with which hismistress was right well pleased, and she failed not to give the ducatthat the horse had brought to the poor Mendicants, (2) as her husbandhad commanded, and the remainder she kept for the needs of herself andher children. (3)

 2 The allusion is not to the ordinary beggars who then, as now, swarmed in Spain, but to the Mendicant friars. --Ed. 

 3 In Boaistuau's and Gruget's editions of the _Heptameron_ the dialogue following this tale is replaced by matter of their own invention. They did not dare to reproduce Queen Margaret's bold opinions respecting the clergy, the monastic orders, &c. , at a time when scores of people, including even Counsellors of Parliament, were being burnt at the stake for heresy. --L. And Ed. 

"What think you? Was she not far more prudent than her husband, anddid she not think less of her conscience than of the advantage of herhousehold?"

"I think, " said Parlamente, "that she did love her husband; but, seeingthat most men wander in their wits when at the point of death, andknowing his intentions, she tried to interpret them to her children'sadvantage. And therein I hold her to have been very prudent. "

"What!" said Geburon. "Do you not hold it a great wrong not to carry outthe last wishes of departed friends?"

"Assuredly I do, " said Parlamente; "that is to say if the testator be inhis right mind, and not raving. "

"Do you call it raving to give one's goods to the Church and the poorMendicants?"

"I do not call it raving, " said Parlamente, "if a man distribute whatGod has given into his hands among the poor; but to make alms of anotherperson's goods is, in my opinion, no great wisdom. You will commonly seethe greatest usurers build the handsomest and most magnificent chapelsimaginable, thinking they may appease God with ten thousand ducats'worth of building for a hundred thousand ducats' worth of robbery, justas though God did not know how to count. "

"In sooth, " said Oisille, "I have many a time wondered how they canthink to appease God for things which He Himself rebuked when He was onearth, such as great buildings, gildings, pictures and paint. If theyreally understood the passage in which God says to us that the onlyoffering He requires from us is a contrite and humble heart, (4) andthe other in which St. Paul says we are the temples of God wherein Hedesires to dwell, (5) they would be at pains to adorn their conscienceswhile yet alive, and would not wait for the hour when man can do nothingmore, whether good or evil, nor (what is worse) charge those who remainon earth to give their alms to folk upon whom, during their lifetime, they did not deign to look. But He who knows the heart cannot bedeceived, and will judge them not according to their works, butaccording to their faith and charity towards Himself. "

 4 "The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou will not despise. "--_Psalm_ li. 17. --Ed. 

 5 "For ye are the temple of the living God; as God hath said, I will dwell in them and walk in them, " &c. --2 _Corinthians_ vi. 16. --Ed. 

"Why is it, then, " said Geburon, "that these Grey Friars and Mendicantstalk to us at our death of nothing but bestowing great benefits upontheir monasteries, assuring us that they will put us into Paradisewhether we will or not?"

"How now, Geburon?" said Hircan. "Have you forgotten the wickedness yourelated to us of the Grey Friars, that you ask how such folk find itpossible to lie? I declare to you that I do not think that there canbe greater lies than theirs. Those, indeed, who speak on behalf of thewhole community are not to be blamed, but there are some among them whoforget their vows of poverty in order to satisfy their own greed. "

"Methinks, Hircan, " said Nomerfide, "you must know some such tale, andif it be worthy of this company, I pray you tell it us. "

"I will, " said Hircan, "although it irks me to speak of such folk. Methinks they are of the number of those of whom Virgil says to Dante, 'Pass on and heed them not. ' (6) Still, to show you that they have notlaid aside their passions with their worldly garments, I will tell youof something that once came to pass. "

 6 _Non ragioniam di lor, ma guarda e passa_ (Dante's _Purgatorio_, iii. 51). The allusion is to the souls of those who led useless and idle lives on earth, supporting neither the Divinity by the observance of virtue, nor the spirit of evil by the practice of vice. They are thus cast out both from heaven and hell. --Ed. 

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[Illustration: 051a. Jpg The Grey Friar introducing his Comrade to theLady and her Daughter]

[The Grey Friar introducing his Comrade to the Lady and herDaughter]

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_TALE LVI_. 

 _A pious lady had recourse to a Grey Friar for his advice in providing her daughter with a good husband, for whom she proposed making it so profitable a match that the worthy father, hoping to get the money she intended for her son-in- law, married her daughter to a young comrade of his own. The latter came every evening to sup and lie with his wife, and in the morning returned in the garb of a scholar to his convent. But one day while he was chanting mass, his wife perceived him and pointed him out to her mother; who, however, could not believe that it was he until she had pulled off his coif while he was in bed, and from his tonsure learned the whole truth, and the deceit used by her father confessor_. 

A French lady, whilst sojourning at Padua, was informed that there wasa Grey Friar in the Bishop's prison there, and finding that every onespoke jestingly about him, she inquired the reason. She was told thatthis Grey Friar, who was an old man, had been confessor to a veryhonourable and pious widow lady, mother of only one daughter, whom sheloved so dearly as to be at all pains to amass riches for her, and tofind her a good husband. Now, seeing that her daughter was grown up, shewas unceasingly anxious to find her a husband who might live with themin peace and quiet, a man, that is, of a good conscience, such as shedeemed herself to possess. And since she had heard some foolish preachersay that it were better to do evil by the counsel of theologians thanto do well through belief in the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, shehad recourse to her father confessor, a man already old, a doctor oftheology and one who was held to lead a holy life by the whole town, for she felt sure that, with his counsel and good prayers, she could notfail to find peace both for herself and for her daughter. After she hadearnestly begged him to choose for her daughter such a husband as heknew a woman that loved God and her honour ought to desire, he repliedthat first of all it was needful to implore the grace of the Holy Spiritwith prayer and fasting, and then, God guiding his judgment, he hoped tofind what she required. 

So the Friar retired to think over the matter; and whereas he had heardfrom the lady that she had got five hundred ducats together to give toher daughter's husband, and that she would take upon herself the chargeof maintaining both husband and wife with lodgment, furniture andclothes, he bethought himself that he had a young comrade of handsomefigure and pleasing countenance, to whom he might give the fair maiden, the house, the furniture, maintenance and food, whilst he himself keptthe five hundred ducats to gratify his burning greed. And when he spoketo his comrade of the matter, he found that they were both of one mindupon it. 

He therefore returned to the lady and said--"I verily believe that Godhas sent his angel Raphael to me as he did to Tobit, to enable me tofind a perfect husband for your daughter. I have in my house the mosthonourable gentleman in Italy, who has sometimes seen your daughter andis deeply in love with her. And so to-day, whilst I was at prayer, God sent him to me, and he told me of his desire for the marriage, whereupon, knowing his lineage and kindred and notable descent, Ipromised him to speak to you on the matter. There is, indeed, one defectin him, of which I alone have knowledge, and it is this. Wishing to saveone of his friends whom another man was striving to slay, he drew hissword in order to separate them; but it chanced that his friend slew theother, and thus, although he himself had not dealt a blow, yet inasmuchas he had been present at a murder and had drawn his sword, he becamea fugitive from his native town. By the advice of his kinsfolk he camehither in the garb of a scholar, and he dwells here unknown until hiskinsfolk shall have ended the matter; and this he hopes will shortlybe done. For this reason, then, it would be needful that the marriageshould be performed in secret, and that you should suffer him to go inthe daytime to the public lectures and return home every evening to supand sleep. "

"Sir, " replied the worthy woman, "I look upon what you tell me as ofgreat advantage to myself, for I shall at least have by me what I mostdesire in the world. "

Thereupon the Grey Friar brought his comrade, bravely attired with acrimson satin doublet, and the lady was well pleased with him. And assoon as he was come the betrothal took place, and, immediately aftermidnight, a mass was said and they were married. Then they went tobed together until daybreak, when the bridegroom told his wife that toescape discovery he must needs return to the college. 

After putting on his crimson satin doublet and his long robe, withoutforgetting his coif of black silk, he bade his wife, who was still inbed, good-bye, promising that he would come every evening to sup withher, but that at dinner they must not wait for him. So he went away andleft his wife, who esteemed herself the happiest woman alive to havefound so excellent a match. And the young wedded Friar returned to theold father and brought him the five hundred ducats, as had been agreedbetween them when arranging the marriage. 

In the evening he failed not to return and sup with her, who believedhim to be her husband, and so well did he make himself liked by her andby his mother-in-law, that they would not have exchanged him for thegreatest Prince alive. 

This manner of life continued for some time, but God in His kindnesstakes pity upon those that are deceived without fault of their own, andso in His mercy and goodness it came to pass that one morning the ladyand her daughter felt a great desire to go and hear mass at St. Francis, (1) and visit their good father confessor through whose means theydeemed themselves so well provided, the one with a son-in-law and theother with a husband. 

 1 The church of the Grey Friars' monastery, St Francis being their patron. --B. J. 

It chanced that they did not find the confessor aforesaid nor any otherthat they knew, and, while waiting to see whether the father wouldcome, they were pleased to hear high mass, which was just beginning. Andwhilst the young wife was giving close heed to the divine service andits mystery, she was stricken with astonishment on seeing the Priestturn himself about to pronounce the _Dominus vobiscum_, for it seemedto her that it was her husband or else his very fellow. She uttered, however, not a word, but waited till he should turn round again, when, looking still more carefully at him, she had no doubt that it was indeedhe. Then she twitched her mother, who was deep in contemplation, andsaid--

"Alas! madam, what is it that I see?"

"What is it?" said her mother. 

"That is my husband, " she replied, "who is singing mass, or else 'tisone as like him as can be. "

"I pray you, my daughter, " replied the mother, who had not carefullyobserved him, "do not take such a thought into your head. It isimpossible that men who are so holy should have practised such deceit. You would sin grievously against God if you believed such a thing. "

Nevertheless the mother did not cease looking at him, and when it cameto the _Ite missa est_ she indeed perceived that no two sons of the samemother were ever so much alike. Yet she was so simple that she wouldfain have said, "O God, save me from believing what I see. " Since herdaughter was concerned in the matter, however, she would not suffer itto remain in uncertainty, and resolved to learn the truth. 

When evening was come, and the husband (who had perceived nothing ofthem) was about to return, the mother said to her daughter--

"We shall now, if you are willing, find out the truth concerning yourhusband. When he is in bed I will go to him, and then, while he is notthinking, you will pluck off his coif from behind, and we shall seewhether he be tonsured like the Friar who said mass. "

As it was proposed, so was it done. As soon as the wicked husband was inbed, the old lady came and took both his hands as though in sport--herdaughter took off his coif, and there he was with his fine tonsure. Atthis both mother and daughter were as greatly astonished as might be, and forthwith they called their servants to seize him and bind him fasttill the morning, nor did any of his excuses or fine speeches avail himaught. 

When day was come, the lady sent for her confessor, making as though shehad some great secret to tell him, whereupon he came with all speed, andthen, reproaching him for the deceit that he had practised on her, shehad him seized like the other. Afterwards she sent for the officers ofjustice, in whose hands she placed them both. It is to be supposed thatif the judges were honest men they did not suffer the offence to gounpunished. (2)

 2 There is some little resemblance between this tale and the 36th of Morlini's _Novello, De monacho qui duxit uxorem_. --M. 

"From this story, ladies, you will see that those who have taken vows ofpoverty are not free from the temptation of covetousness, which is thecause of so many ills. "

"Nay, of so many blessings, " said Saffredent, "for with the five hundredducats that the old woman would have stored up there was made much goodcheer, while the poor maiden, who had been longing for a husband, wasthus enabled to have two, and to speak with more knowledge as to thetruth of all hierarchies. "

"You always hold the falsest opinions, " said Oisille, "that ever I knew. You think that all women are of your own temper. "

"Not so, madam, with your good leave, " said Saffredent. "I would givemuch that they were as easily satisfied as we are. "

"That is a wicked speech, " said Oisille, "and there is not one presentbut knows the contrary, and that what you say is untrue. The story thathas just been told proves the ignorance of poor women and the wickednessof those whom we regard as better than the rest of your sex; for neithermother nor daughter would do aught according to their own fancy, butsubjected desire to good advice. "

"Some women are so difficult, " said Longarine, "that they think theyought to have angels instead of men. "

"And for that reason, " said Simontault, "they often meet with devils, more especially those who, instead of trusting to God's grace, thinkby their own good sense, or that of others, that they may in this worldfind some happiness, though this is granted by none save God, from whomalone it can come. "

"How now, Simontault!" said Oisille. "I did not think that you knew somuch good. "

"Madam, " said Simontault, "'tis a pity that I have not been proved, forI see that through lack of knowledge you have already judged ill of me. Yet I may well practise a Grey Friar's trade, since a Grey Friar hasmeddled with mine. "

"So you call it your trade, " said Parlamente, "to deceive women? Thusout of your mouth are you judged. "

"Had I deceived a hundred thousand, " said Simontault, "I should yet nothave avenged the woes that I have endured for the sake of one alone. "

"I know, " said Parlamente, "how often you complain of women; yet, for all that, we see you so merry and hearty that it is impossibleto believe that you have endured all the woes you speak of. But the'Compassionless Fair One' (3) replies that--

 "'Tis as well to say as much To draw some comfort thence. '"

 3 _La belle Dame sans mercy_, by Alain Chartier. --Ed. 

"You quote a truly notable theologian, " said Simontault, "one who isnot only froward himself, but makes all the ladies so, who have read andfollowed his teaching. "

"Yet his teaching, " said Parlamente, "is as profitable for youthfuldames as any that I know. "

"If it were indeed true, " said Simontault, "that the ladies were withoutcompassion, we might as well let our horses rest and our armour growrusty until the next war, and think of nothing but household affairs. And, I pray you, tell me whether it is an excellence in a lady to havethe reputation of being without pity, or charity, or love, or mercy. "

"Without charity or love, " said Parlamente, "they should not be, but theword 'mercy' sounds so ill among women that they cannot use it withoutwounding their honour; for properly speaking 'mercy' means to grant afavour sought, and we well know what the favour is that men desire. "

"May it please you, madam, " said Simontault, "there are some men who areso reasonable that they crave nought but speech. "

"You remind me, " said Parlamente, "of one who was content with a glove. "

"We must know who this easy lover was, " said Hircan, "and so this time Igive my vote to you. "

"It will give me pleasure to tell the tale, " said Parlamente, "for it isfull of virtue. "

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[Illustration: 063a. Jpg The English Lord seizing the Lady's Glove]

[The English Lord seizing the Lady's Glove]

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_TALE LVII_. 

 _An English lord for seven years loved a lady without ever venturing to let her know of it, until one day, when observing her in a meadow, he lost all colour and control of feature through a sudden throbbing of the heart that came upon him. Then she, showing her compassion, at his request placed her gloved hand upon his heart, whereupon he pressed it so closely, whilst declaring to her the love he had so long borne her, that she withdrew it, leaving in its place her glove. And this glove he afterwards enriched with gems and fastened upon his doublet above his heart, and showed himself so graceful and virtuous a lover that he never sought any more intimate favour of her_. 

King Louis the Eleventh (1) sent the Lord de Montmorency to England ashis ambassador, and so welcome was the latter in that country that theKing and all the Princes greatly esteemed and loved him, and evenmade divers of their private affairs known to him in order to have hiscounsel upon them. 

 1 Some of the MS. Say Louis XII. , but we cannot find that either the eleventh or twelfth Louis sent any Montmorency as ambassador to England. Ripault-Desormeaux states, however, in his history of this famous French family, that William de Montmorency, who, after fighting in Italy under Charles VIII. And Louis XII. , became, governor of the Orléanais and _chevalier d'honneur_ to Louise of Savoy was one of the signatories of the treaty concluded with Henry VIII. Of England, after the-battle of Pavia in 1525. We know that Louise, as Regent of France, at that time sent John Brinon and John Joachim de Passano as ambassadors to England, and possibly William de Montmorency accompanied them, since Desormeaux expressly states that he guaranteed the loyal observance of the treaty then negotiated. William was the father of Anne, the famous Constable of France, and died May 24, 1531. "Geburon, " in the dialogue following the above tale, mentions that he had well known the Montmorency referred to, and speaks of him as of a person dead and gone. It is therefore scarcely likely that Queen Margaret alludes to Francis de Montmorency, Lord of La Rochepot, who was only sent on a mission to England in 1546, and survived her by many years. --L. And Ed. 

One day, at a banquet that the King gave to him, he was seated beside alord (2) of high lineage, who had on his doublet a little glove, suchas women wear, fastened with hooks of gold and so adorned upon thefinger-seams with diamonds, rubies, emeralds and pearls, that it wasindeed a glove of great price. 

 2 The French word is _Millor (Milord)_ and this is probably one of the earliest instances of its employment to designate a member of the English aristocracy. In such of the _Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles_ in which English nobles figure, the latter are invariably called _seigneurs_ or _chevaliers_, and addressed as _Monseigneur_, Later on, when Brantôme wrote, the term _un milord anglais_ had become quite common, and he frequently makes use of it in his various works. English critics have often sneered at modern French writers for employing the expression, but it will be seen from this that they have simply followed a very old tradition. --Ed. 

The Lord de Montmorency looked at it so often that the English lordperceived he was minded to inquire why it was so choicely ordered; so, deeming its story to be greatly to his own honour, he thus began--

"I can see that you think it strange I should have so magnificentlyarrayed a simple glove, and on my part I am still more ready to tell youthe reason, for I deem you an honest gentleman and one who knows whatmanner of passion love is, so that if I did well in the matter you willpraise me for it, and if not, make excuse for me, knowing that everyhonourable heart must obey the behests of love. You must know, then, that I have all my life long loved a lady whom I love still, and shalllove even when I am dead, but, as my heart was bolder to fix itselfworthily than were my lips to speak, I remained for seven years withoutventuring to make her any sign, through fear that, if she perceivedthe truth, I should lose the opportunities I had of often being in hercompany; and this I dreaded more than death. However, one day, while Iwas observing her in a meadow, a great throbbing of the heart came uponme, so that I lost all colour and control of feature. Perceivingthis, she asked me what the matter was, and I told her that I feltan intolerable pain of the heart. She, believing it to be caused by adifferent sickness than love, showed herself pitiful towards me, whichprompted me to beg her to lay her hand upon my heart and see how it wasbeating. This, more from charity than from any other affection, she did, and while I held her gloved hand against my heart, it began to beat andstrain in such wise, that she felt that I was speaking the truth. Then Ipressed her hand to my breast, saying--

"'Alas, madam, receive the heart which would fain break forth from mybreast to leap into the hand of her from whom I look for indulgence, life and pity, and which now constrains me to make known to you thelove that I have so long concealed, for neither my heart nor I can nowcontrol this potent God. '

"When she heard those words, she deemed them very strange. She wishedto withdraw her hand, but I held it fast, and the glove remained in hercruel hand's place; and having neither before nor since had any moreintimate favour from her, I have fastened this glove upon my heart asthe best plaster I could give it. And I have adorned it with therichest rings I have, though the glove itself is wealth that I would notexchange for the kingdom of England, for I deem no happiness on earth sogreat as to feel it on my breast. "

The Lord de Montmorency, who would have rather had a lady's hand thanher glove, praised his very honourable behaviour, telling him thathe was the truest lover he had ever known, and was worthy of bettertreatment, since he set so much value upon so slight a thing; thoughperchance, if he had obtained aught better than the glove, the greatnessof his love might have made him die of joy. With this the English lordagreed, not suspecting that the Lord de Montmorency was mocking him. (3)

 3 Alluding to this story, Brantôme writes as follows in his _Dames Galantes_: "You have that English _Milord_ in the Hundred Tales of the Queen of Navarre, who wore his mistress's glove at his side, beautifully adorned. I myself have known many gentlemen who, before wearing their silken hose, would beg their ladies and mistresses to try them on and wear them for some eight or ten days, rather more than less, and who would then themselves wear them in extreme veneration and contentment, both of mind and body. "-- Lalanne's _OEuvres de Brantôme_, vol. Ix. P. 309. --L. 

"If all men were so honourable as this one, the ladies might well trustthem, since the cost would be merely a glove. "

"I knew the Lord de Montmorency well, " said Geburon, "and I am sure thathe would not have cared to fare after the English fashion. Had he beencontented with so little, he would not have been so successful in loveas he was, for the old song says--

 'Of a cowardly lover No good is e'er heard. '"

"You may be sure, " said Saffredent, "that the poor lady withdrew herhand with all speed, when she felt the beating of his heart, because shethought that he was about to die, and people say that there is nothingwomen loathe more than to touch dead bodies. " (4)

 4 Most of this sentence, deficient in our MS. , is taken from MS. No. 1520. --L. 

"If you had spent as much time in hospitals as in taverns, " saidEnnasuite, "you would not speak in that way, for you would have seenwomen shrouding dead bodies, which men, bold as they are, often fear totouch. "

"It is true, " said Saffredent, "that there is none upon whom penance hasbeen laid but does the opposite of that wherein he formerly had delight, like a lady I once saw in a notable house, who, to atone for her delightin kissing one she loved, was found at four o'clock in the morningkissing the corpse of a gentleman who had been killed the day before, and whom she had never liked more than any other. Then every one knewthat this was a penance for past delights. But as all the good deedsdone by women are judged ill by men, I am of opinion that, dead oralive, there should be no kissing except after the fashion that Godcommands. "

"For my part, " said Hircan, "I care so little about kissing women, except my own wife, that I will assent to any law you please, yet Ipity the young folk whom you deprive of this trifling happiness, thusannulling the command of St. Paul, who bids us kiss _in osculo sancto. _"(5)

 5 _Romans_ xvi. 16; 1 _Corinthians_ xvi. 20; 2 _Corinthians_ xiii. 12; I _Thessalonians_ v. 26. Also 1 _Peter_ v. 14. --M. 

"If St. Paul had been such a man as you are, " said Nomerfide, "we shouldindeed have required proof of the Spirit of God that spoke in him. "

"In the end, " said Geburon, "you will doubt Holy Scripture rather thangive up one of your petty affectations. "

"God forbid, " said Oisille, "that we should doubt Holy Scripture, butwe put small faith in your lies. There is no woman but knows what herbelief should be, namely, never to doubt the Word of God or believe theword of man. "

"Yet, " said Simontauit, "I believe that there are more men deceived bywomen than [women] by men. The slenderness of women's love towards uskeeps them from believing our truths, whilst our exceeding love towardsthem makes us trust so completely in their falsehoods, that we aredeceived before we suspect such a thing to be possible. "

"Methinks, " said Parlamente, "you have been hearing some fool complainof being duped by a wanton woman, for your words carry but littleweight, and need the support of an example. If, therefore, you know ofone, I give you my place that you may tell it to us. I do not say thatwe are bound to believe you on your mere word, but it will assuredly notmake our ears tingle to hear you speak ill of us, since we know what isthe truth. "

"Well, since it is for me to speak, " said Dagoucin, "'tis I who willtell you the tale. "

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[Illustration: 071a. The Gentleman Mocked by the Ladies When Returning From The FalseTryst]

[The Gentleman Mocked by the Ladies When Returning From The False Tryst]

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_TALE LVIII. _

 _A gentleman, through putting too much trust in the truthfulness of a lady whom he had offended by forsaking her for others just when she was most in love with him, was, by a false tryst, deceived by her, and bemocked by the whole Court_. 

At the Court of King Francis the First there was a lady (1) of excellentwit, who, by her grace, virtue and pleasantness of speech, had won thehearts of several lovers. With these she right well knew how to passthe time, but without hurt to her honour, conversing with them in suchpleasant fashion that they knew not what to think, for those who werethe most confident were reduced to despair, whilst those that despairedthe most became hopeful. Nevertheless, while fooling most of them, shecould not help greatly loving one whom she called her cousin, a namewhich furnished a pretext for closer fellowship. 

 1 M. De Lincy surmises that Margaret is referring to herself both here and in the following tale, which concerns the same lady. His only reason for the supposition, however, is that the lady's views on certain love matters are akin to those which the Queen herself professed. --Ed. 

However, as there is nothing in this world of firm continuance, theirfriendship often turned to anger and then was renewed in stronger sortthan ever, so that the whole Court could not but be aware of it. 

One day the lady, both to let it be seen that she was wholly voidof passion, and to vex him, for love of whom she had endured muchannoyance, showed him a fairer countenance than ever she had donebefore. Thereupon the gentleman, who lacked boldness neither in love norin war, began hotly to press the suit that he many a time previously hadaddressed to her. 

She, pretending to be wholly vanquished by pity, promised to grant hisrequest, and told him that she would with this intent go into her room, which was on a garret floor, where she knew there was nobody. And assoon as he should see that she was gone he was to follow her withoutfail, for he would find her ready to give proof of the good-will thatshe bore him. 

The gentleman, believing what she said, was exceedingly well pleased, and began to amuse himself with the other ladies until he should seeher gone, and might quickly follow her. But she, who lacked naught ofwoman's craftiness, betook herself to my Lady Margaret, daughter of theKing, and to the Duchess of Montpensier, (2) to whom she said--

"I will if you are willing, show you the fairest diversion you have everseen. "

 2 The former is Margaret of France, Duchess of Savoy and Berry. Born in June 1523, she died in September 1574. -- Queen Margaret was her godmother. When only three years old, she was promised in marriage to Louis of Savoy, eldest son of Duke Charles III. , and he dying, she espoused his younger brother, Emmanuel Philibert, in July 1549. Graceful and pretty as a child (see _ante_, vol. I. P. Xlviii. ), she became, thanks to the instruction of the famous Michael de l' Hôpital, one of the most accomplished women of her time, and Brantôme devotes an article to her in his _Dames Illustres_ (Lalanne, v. Viii. Pp. 328-37). See also Hilarion de Coste's _Éloges et Vies des Reines, Princesses, &c_. , Paris, 1647, vol. Ii. P. 278. 

 The Duchess of Montpensier, also referred to above, is Jacqueline de Longwick (now Longwy), Countess of Bar-sur- Seine, daughter of J. Ch. De Longwick, Lord of Givry, and of Jane, _bâtarde_ of Angoulême. In 1538 Jacqueline was married to Louis II. De Bourbon, Duke of Montpensier. She gained great influence at the French Court, both under Francis I. And afterwards, and De Thou says of her that she was possessed of great wit and wisdom, far superior to the century in which she lived. She died in August 1561, and was the mother of Francis I. , Duke of Montpensier, sometimes called the Dauphin of Auvergne, who fought at Jarnac, Moncontour, Arques, and Ivry, against Henry of Navarre. --L. , B. J. And Ed. 

They, being by no means enamoured of melancholy, begged that she wouldtell them what it was. 

"You know such a one, " she replied, "as worthy a gentleman as lives, andas bold. You are aware how many ill turns he has done me, and that, justwhen I loved him most, he fell in love with others, and so caused memore grief than I have ever suffered to be seen. Well, God has nowafforded me the means of taking revenge upon him. 

"I am forthwith going to my own room, which is overhead, and immediatelyafterwards, if it pleases you to keep watch, you will see him follow me. When he has passed the galleries, and is about to go up the stairs, Ipray you come both to the window and help me to cry 'Thief!' You willthen see his rage, which, I am sure, will not become him badly, and, even if he does not revile me aloud, I am sure he will none the less doso in his heart. "

This plan was not agreed to without laughter, for there was no gentlemanthat tormented the ladies more than he did, whilst he was so greatlyliked and esteemed by all, that for nothing in the world would any onehave run the risk of his raillery. 

It seemed, moreover, to the two Princesses that they would themselvesshare in the glory which the other lady looked to win over thisgentleman. 

Accordingly, as soon as they saw the deviser of the plot go out, theyset themselves to observe the gentleman's demeanour. But little timewent by before he shifted his quarters, and, as soon as he had passedthe door, the ladies went out into the gallery, in order that they mightnot lose sight of him. 

Suspecting nothing, he wrapped his cloak about his neck, so as to hidehis face, and went down the stairway to the court, but, seeing some onewhom he did not desire to have for witness, he came back by anotherway, and then went down into the court a second time. The ladies saweverything without being perceived by him, and when he reached thestairway, by which he thought he might safely reach his sweetheart'schamber, they went to the window, whence they immediately perceivedthe other lady, who began crying out 'Thief!' at the top of her voice;whereupon the two ladies below answered her so loudly that their voiceswere heard all over the castle. 

I leave you to imagine with what vexation the gentleman fled to hislodgings. He was not so well muffled as not to be known by those whowere in the mystery, and they often twitted him with it, as did eventhe lady who had done him this ill turn, saying that she had been wellrevenged upon him. 

It happened, however, that he was so ready with his replies and evasionsas to make them believe that he had quite suspected the plan, and hadonly consented to visit the lady in order to furnish them with somediversion, for, said he, he would not have taken so much trouble forher sake, seeing that his love for her had long since flown. The ladieswould not admit the truth of this, so that the point is still in doubt;nevertheless, it is probable that he believed the lady. And since hewas so wary and so bold that few men of his age and time could matchand none could surpass him (as has been proved by his very brave andknightly death), (3) you must, it seems to me, confess that men ofhonour love in such wise as to be often duped, by placing too much trustin the truthfulness of the ladies. 

 3 This naturally brings Bonnivet to mind, though of course the gay, rash admiral was not the only Frenchman of the time who spent his life in making love and waging war. --Ed. 

"In good faith, " said Ennasuite, "I commend this lady for the trick sheplayed; for when a man is loved by a lady and forsakes her for another, her vengeance cannot be too severe. "

"Yes, " said Parlamente, "if she is loved by him; but there are some wholove men without being certain that they are loved in return, and whenthey find that their sweethearts love elsewhere, they call them fickle. It therefore happens that discreet women are never deceived by suchtalk, for they give no heed or belief even to those people who speaktruly, lest they should prove to be liars, seeing that the true and thefalse speak but one tongue. "

"If all women were of your opinion, " said Simon-tault, "the gentlemenmight pack up their prayers at once; but, for all that you and thoselike you may say, we shall never believe that women are as unbelievingas they are fair. And in this wise we shall live as content as you wouldfain render us uneasy by your maxims. "

"Truly, " said Longarine, "knowing as I well do who the lady is thatplayed that fine trick upon the gentleman, it is impossible for me notto believe in any craftiness on her part. Since she did not spare herhusband, 'twere fitting she should not spare her lover. "

"Her husband, say you?" said Simontault. "You know, then, more than Ido, and so, since you wish it, I give you my place that you may tell usyour opinion of the matter. "

"And since you wish it, " said Longarine, "I will do so. "

[Illustration: 078. Jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 079a. The Lady discovering her Husband with the Waiting-woman]

[The Lady discovering her Husband with the Waiting-woman]

[Illustration: 079. Jpg Page Image]

_TALE LIX_. 

 _This same lady, finding that her husband took it ill that she should have lovers with whom she amused herself without hurt to her honour, kept close watch upon him, and so discovered how pleasantly he addressed himself to one of her waiting-women. This woman she gained upon, made her consent to what her husband solicited, and then surprised him in such error that to atone for it, he was forced to confess that he deserved greater punishment than herself; by which means she was afterwards able to live as her fancy listed_. 

The lady of your story was wedded to a rich gentleman of high andancient lineage, and had married him on account of the great affectionthat they bore to one another. 

Being a woman most pleasant of speech, she by no means concealed fromher husband that she had lovers whom she made game of for her pastime, and, at first, her husband shared in her pleasure. But at last thismanner of life became irksome to him, for on the one part he took it illthat she should hold so much converse with those that were no kinsfolkor friends of his own, and on the other, he was greatly vexed by theexpense to which he was put in sustaining her magnificence and infollowing the Court. 

He therefore withdrew to his own house as often as he was able, but somuch company came thither to see him that the expenses of his householdbecame scarcely any less, for, wherever his wife might be, she alwaysfound means to pass her time in sports, dances, and all such matters asyouthful dames may use with honour. And when sometimes her husband toldher, laughing, that their expenses were too great, she would reply thatshe promised never to make him a "coqu" or cuckold, but only a "coquin, "that is, a beggar; for she was so exceedingly fond of dress, that shemust needs have the bravest and richest at the Court. (1) Her husbandtook her thither as seldom as possible, but she did all in her powerto go, and to this end behaved in a most loving fashion towards herhusband, who would not willingly have refused her a much harder request. 

 1 As Queen Margaret was by no means over fond of gorgeous apparel and display, this passage is in contradiction with M. De Lincy's surmise that the lady of this and the preceding tale may be herself. In any case the narrative could only apply to the period of her first marriage, and this was in no wise a love-match. Yet we are told at the outset of the above story that the lady and gentleman had married on account of the great affection between them. On the other hand, these details may have been introduced the better to conceal the identity of the persons referred to. -- Ed. 

Now one day, when she had found that all her devices could not inducehim to make this journey to the Court, she perceived that he was verypleasant in manner with a chamber-woman (2) she had, and thereuponthought she might turn the matter to her own advantage. Taking the girlapart, she questioned her cleverly, using both wiles and threats, insuch wise that the girl confessed that, ever since she had been in thehouse, not a day had passed on which her master had not sought her love;but (she added) she would rather die than do aught against God and herhonour, more especially after the honour which the lady had done her intaking her into her service, for this would make such wickedness twiceas great. 

 2 The French expression here is _femme de chambre à chaperon_. The _chaperon_ in this instance was a cap with a band of velvet worn across it as a sign of gentle and even noble birth. The attendant referred to above would therefore probably be a young woman of good descent, constrained by circumstances to enter domestic service. --B. J. And Ed. 

On hearing of her husband's unfaithfulness, the lady immediately feltboth grief and joy. Her grief was that her husband, despite all his showof loving her, should be secretly striving to put her to so much shamein her own household, and this when she believed herself far morebeautiful and graceful than the woman whom he sought in her stead. But she rejoiced to think that she might surprise her husband in suchmanifest error that he would no longer be able to reproach her with herlovers, nor with her desire to dwell at Court; and, to bring this about, she begged the girl gradually to grant her husband what he sought uponcertain conditions that she made known to her. 

The girl was minded to make some difficulty, but when her mistresswarranted the safety both of her life and of her honour, she consentedto do whatever might be her pleasure. 

The gentleman, on continuing his pursuit of the girl, found hercountenance quite changed towards him, and therefore urged his suit moreeagerly than had been his wont; but she, knowing by heart the partshe had to play, made objection of her poverty, and said that, if shecomplied with his desire, she would be turned away by her mistress, inwhose service she looked to gain a good husband. 

The gentleman forthwith replied that she need give no thought to anysuch matters, since he would bestow her in marriage more profitably thanher mistress would be able to do, and further, would contrive the matterso secretly that none would know of it. 

Upon this they came to an agreement, and, on considering what placewould be most suited for such a fine business, the girl said that sheknew of none better or more remote from suspicion than a cottage in thepark, where there was a chamber and a bed suitable for the occasion. 

The gentleman, who would not have thought any place unsuitable, wascontent with the one she named, and was very impatient for the appointedday and hour to come. 

The girl kept her word to her mistress, and told her in full the wholestory of the plan, and how it was to be put into execution on the morrowafter dinner. She would not fail, said she, to give a sign when the timecame to go to the cottage, and she begged her mistress to be watchful, and in no wise fail to be present at the appointed hour, in order tosave her from the danger into which her obedience was leading her. 

This her mistress swore, begging her to be without fear, and promisingthat she would never forsake her, but would protect her from herhusband's wrath. 

When the morrow was come and dinner was over, the gentleman was morepleasant with his wife than ever, and although this was not veryagreeable to her, she dissembled so well that he did not perceive thetruth. 

After dinner she asked him how he was minded to pass away the time, andhe answered that he knew of nothing better than to play at "cent. " (3)Forthwith everything was made ready for the game, but the lady pretendedthat she did not care to take part in it, and would find diversionenough in looking at the players. 

 3 This is probably a reference to the card game now called piquet, usually played for a hundred points. It is one of the oldest of its kind. See Rabelais' _Gargantua_, book i. Chap, xxii. --L. 

Just before he sat down to play, the gentleman failed not to ask thegirl to remember her promise to him, and while he was playing she passedthrough the room, making a sign to her mistress which signified thatshe was about to set out on the pilgrimage she had to make. The sign wasclearly seen by the lady, but her husband perceived nothing of it. 

An hour later, however, one of his servants made him a sign from adistance, whereupon he told his wife that his head ached somewhat, andthat he must needs rest and take the air. She, knowing the nature of hissickness as well as he did himself, asked him whether she should playin his stead, and he consented, saying that he would very soon return. However, she assured him that she could take his place for a couple ofhours without weariness. 

So the gentleman withdrew to his room, and thence by an alley into hispark. 

The lady, who knew another and shorter way, waited for a little while, and then, suddenly feigning to be seized with colic, gave her hand atplay to another. 

As soon as she was out of the room, she put off her high-heeled shoesand ran as quickly as she could to the place, where she had no desirethat the bargain should be struck without her. And so speedily did shearrive, that, when she entered the room by another door, her husband wasbut just come in. Then, hiding herself behind the door, she listened tothe fair and honest discourse that he held to her maid. But when shesaw that he was coming near to the criminal point, she seized him frombehind, saying--

"Nay, I am too near that you should take another. "

It is needless to ask whether the gentleman was in extreme wrath, bothat being balked of the delight he had looked to obtain, and at havinghis wife, whose affection he now greatly feared to lose for ever, knowmore of him than he desired. He thought, however, that the plot had beencontrived by the girl, and (without speaking to his wife) he ran afterher with such fury that, had not his wife rescued her from his hands, he would have killed her. He declared that she was the wickedest jadehe had ever known, and that, if his wife had waited to see the end, shewould have found that he was only mocking her, for, instead of doingwhat she expected, he would have chastised her with rods. 

But his wife, knowing what words of the sort were worth, set no valueupon them, and addressed such reproaches to him that he was in greatfear lest she should leave him. He promised her all that she asked, and, after her sage reproaches, confessed that it was wrong of him tocomplain that she had lovers; since a fair and honourable woman is nonethe less virtuous for being loved, provided that she do or say nothingcontrary to her honour; whereas a man deserves heavy punishment when heis at pains to pursue a woman that loves him not, to the wronging ofhis wife and his own conscience. He would therefore, said he, never moreprevent his wife from going to Court, nor take it ill that she shouldhave lovers, for he knew that she spoke with them more in jest than inaffection. 

This talk was not displeasing to the lady, for it seemed to her thatshe had gained an important point. Nevertheless she spoke quite to thecontrary, pretending that she had no delight in going to Court, sinceshe no longer possessed his love, without which all assemblies weredispleasing to her; and saying that a woman who was truly loved by herhusband, and who loved him in return, as she did, carried with her asafe-conduct that permitted her to speak with one and all, and to bederided by none. 

The poor gentleman was at so much pains to assure her of the love hebore her, that at last they left the place good friends. That they mightnot again fall into such trouble, he begged her to turn away the girlthrough whom he had undergone so much distress. This she did, but did itby bestowing her well and honourably in marriage, and at her husband'sexpense. 

And, to make the lady altogether forget his folly, the gentleman soontook her to Court, in such style and so magnificently arrayed that shehad good reason to be content. 

"This, ladies, was what made me say I did not find the trick she playedupon one of her lovers a strange one, knowing, as I did, the trick shehad played upon her husband. "

"You have described to us a very cunning wife and a very stupidhusband, " said Hircan. "Having advanced so far, he ought not to havecome to a standstill and stopped on so fair a road. "

"And what should he have done?" said Longarine. 

"What he had taken in hand to do, " said Hircan, "for his wife was noless wrathful with him for his intention to do evil than she would havebeen had he carried the evil into execution. Perchance, indeed, shewould have respected him more if she had seen that he was a boldergallant. "

"That is all very well, " said Ennasuite, "but where will you find a manto face two women at once? His wife would have defended her rights andthe girl her virginity. "

"True, " said Hircan, "but a strong bold man does not fear to assail twothat are weak, nor will he ever fail to vanquish them. "

"I readily understand, " said Ennasuite, "that if he had drawn his swordhe might have killed them both, but otherwise I cannot see that he hadany means of escape. I pray you, therefore, tell us what you would havedone?"

"I should have taken my wife in my arms, " said Hircan, "and have carriedher out. Then I should have had my own way with her maid by love or byforce. "

"'Tis enough, Hircan, " said Parlamente, "that you know how to do evil. "

"I am sure, Parlamente, " he replied, "that I do not scandalise theinnocence in whose presence I speak, and by what I have said I do notmean that I support a wicked deed. But I wonder at the attempt, whichwas in itself worthless, and at the attempter, who, for fear rather thanfor love of his wife, failed to complete it. I praise a man who loveshis wife as God ordains; but when he does not love her, I think littleof him for fearing her. "

"Truly, " replied Parlamente, "if love did not render you a good husband, I should make small account of what you might do through fear. "

"You are quite safe, Parlamente, " said Hircan, "for the love I bear youmakes me more obedient than could the fear of either death or hell. "

"You may say what you please, " said Parlamente, "but I have reason to becontent with what I have seen and known of you. As for what I have notseen, I have never wished to make guess or still less inquiry. "

"I think it great folly, " said Nomerfide, "for women to inquire socuriously concerning their husbands, or husbands concerning their wives. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, without giving so much heedto the morrow. "

"Yet it is sometimes needful, " said Oisille, "to inquire into mattersthat may touch the honour of a house in order to set them right, thoughnot to pass evil judgment upon persons, seeing that there is none whodoes not fail. "

"Many, " said Geburon, "have at divers times fallen into trouble for lackof well and carefully inquiring into the errors of their wives. "

"I pray you, " said Longarine, "if you know any such instance, do notkeep it from us. "

"I do indeed know one, " said Geburon, "and since you so desire, I willrelate it. "

[Illustration: 090. Jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 091a. The Chanter of Blois delivering his Mistress from the Grave]

[The Chanter of Blois delivering his Mistress from the Grave]

[Illustration: 091. Jpg Page Image]

_TALE LX_. 

 _A man of Paris, through not making good inquiry concerning his wife, whom he believed dead, though she was indeed making good cheer with a chanter to the King, married a second wife, whom, after having several children by her and consorting with her for fourteen or fifteen years, he was constrained to leave, in order to take his first wife back again_. 

In the city of Paris there was a man who was so good-natured that hewould have scrupled to believe a man abed with his wife, even if he hadseen him with his own eyes. This poor man married a woman whose conductwas as bad as could be; nevertheless he perceived nothing of it, andtreated her as though she were the most virtuous woman alive. Oneday, however, when King Louis XII. Came to Paris, his wife surrenderedherself to one of the choir-men of the aforesaid sovereign, and when shefound that the King was leaving Paris and that she would no longerbe able to see the singer, she resolved to follow him and forsake herhusband. To this the chanter agreed, and brought her to a house that hehad near Blois, (1) where for a long while they lived together. The poorhusband, finding that he had lost his wife, sought her everywhere; andat last it was told him that she was gone away with the chanter. 

Wishing to recover the lost ewe which he had so badly watched, he wrotemany letters to her begging her to return to him, and saying that hewould take her back if she were willing to be a virtuous woman. But shetook such great delight in listening to the songs of the chanter, thatshe had forgotten her husband's voice, and gave no heed to all hisexcellent words, but mocked at them. 

Therefore the husband, in great wrath, gave her to know that, sinceshe would return to him in no other way, he would demand her in legalfashion of the Church. (2) The wife, dreading that if the law shouldtake the matter in hand she and her chanter would fare badly, devised astratagem worthy of such a woman as herself. Feigning sickness, she sentfor some honourable women of the town to come and see her, and this theywillingly did, hoping that her illness might be a means of withdrawingher from her evil life, with which purpose they addressed the sagestadmonitions to her. Thereupon she, whilst pretending to be grievouslysick, made a show of weeping and acknowledging her sinfulness in suchsort that she gained the pity of the whole company, who quite believedthat she was speaking from the bottom of her heart. And, finding herthus subdued and sorry, they began to comfort her, telling her that Godwas in no wise so terrible as many preachers represented Him, and thatHe would never refuse to show her mercy. 

 1 Louis XII. 's favourite place of residence. --Ed. 

 2 Implying the Officialité or episcopal court. --B. J. 

After this excellent discourse, they sent for a virtuous man to comeand confess her, and on the morrow the priest of the parish came toadminister the Holy Sacrament. This she received so piously, thatall the virtuous women of the town who were present wept to see herdevoutness, praising God, who of His goodness had in this wise showncompassion upon this poor creature. 

Afterwards she pretended that she could no longer take food, whereuponthe extreme unction was brought by the priest and received by her withmany pious signs; for (as they thought) she was scarcely able to speak. She continued thus for a great while, and it seemed as though she weregradually losing her sight, hearing and other senses, whereat there camefrom all a cry of "Jesus!" As night was at hand and the ladies were farfrom home, they all withdrew; and just as they were leaving the house itwas told them that she was dead, whereupon, saying their _De profundis_for her, they returned to their houses. 

The priest asked the chanter where he would have her buried, and theother replied that she had desired to be buried in the cemetery, and that it would be well to bring her there at night. So the poorunfortunate was shrouded by a serving-woman, who was careful not to hurther, and then by brave torchlight she was carried to the grave that thechanter had caused to be made. 

When the body passed in front of the houses of those who had beenpresent when she received the extreme unction, they all came forthand followed her to the tomb; and there she was soon left by women andpriests alike. The chanter, however, did not go away, but, as soon as hesaw the company some distance off, he and the serving-woman opened thegrave wherein was his sweetheart more alive than ever, and he sent hersecretly to his house, where for a long time he kept her concealed. 

The husband, who was in pursuit of her, came as far as Blois to demandjustice, when he found that she was dead and buried according to thetestimony of all the ladies of Blois. They told him, too, what a goodend she had made, and the worthy man was rejoiced to think that hiswife's soul was in Paradise, and himself rid of her wicked body. 

In this wise well content, he betook himself back to Paris, where hemarried a beautiful and virtuous young woman, and a good housewife, bywhom he had several children, and with whom he lived for fourteen orfifteen years. But at last rumour, which can keep nothing hid, advisedhim that his wife was not dead, but was still dwelling with the wickedchanter. The poor man concealed the matter as well as he was able, pretending to know nothing about it, and hoping that it was a lie. Buthis wife, who was a discreet woman, was told of it, and such was heranguish at the tidings that she was like to die of grief. Had it beenpossible without offence to her conscience, she would gladly haveconcealed her misfortune, but it was not possible. The Churchimmediately took the affair in hand, and first of all separated themfrom each other until the truth of the matter should be known. 

Then was this poor man obliged to leave the good and go after the bad, and in this wise he came to Blois shortly after Francis the First hadbecome king. Here he found Queen Claude and my Lady the Regent, (3) towhom he made his complaint, asking for her whom he would gladly not havefound, but whom, to the great compassion of the whole company, he wasnow obliged to see. 

 3 This shows that the incidents of the tale occurred in the summer or autumn of 1515, when Francis I. Was absent in Italy conducting the campaign which resulted in the victory of Marignano and the surrender of Milan. --Ed. 

When his wife was brought before him, she strove for a long while tomaintain that he was not her husband, which he would willingly havebelieved had he been able. More disappointed than abashed, she told himthat she would rather die than go back with him, and at this he was wellpleased; but the ladies in whose presence she spoke in this unseemlyfashion condemned her to return, and so rated the chanter with many athreat, that he was obliged to tell his ugly sweetheart to go back withher husband, and to declare that he himself would never see her more. 

Rejected thus on all sides, the poor unfortunate withdrew to a home inwhich she was fated to meet with better treatment from her husband thanshe had deserved. 

"You see, ladies, why I say that if the poor husband had been morewatchful over his wife, he would not thus have lost her. A thing that iswell guarded is difficult to lose, but heedlessness makes the thief. "

"'Tis a strange thing, " said Hircan, "how strong love is just where itseems most unreasonable. "

"I have heard, " said Simontault, "that it were easier to break twomarriages than to sunder the love of a priest and his serving-maid. "

"I believe it, " said Ennasuite; "for those who bind others together inmarriage, are so well able to tie the knot that nought but death candestroy it. Theologians, moreover, hold that spiritual language is ofmore effect than any other, and in consequence spiritual love surpassesany other kind. "

"It is a thing that I cannot forgive in ladies, " said Dagoucin, "whenthey forsake an honourable husband or a lover for a priest, howeverhandsome and worthy the latter may be. "

"I pray you, Dagoucin, " said Hircan, "intermeddle not with our HolyMother Church. Be assured that 'tis a great delight for timorous andsecret-loving women to sin with those who can absolve them; for thereare some who are more ashamed to confess a thing than to do it. "

"You speak, " said Oisille, "of those who have no knowledge of God, andwho think not that secret matters are one day revealed in presence ofthe Company of Heaven. But I think that it is not for confession's sakethat they go after confessors; for the Enemy has so blinded them thatthey are more concerned to attach themselves where they think there ismost concealment and security, than anxious to obtain absolution for thewickedness of which they do not repent. "

"Repent, say you?" said Saffredent. "Nay, they deem themselves holierthan other women. I am sure that there are some who deem it honourablein themselves that they are constant in such love. "

"You speak in such a manner, " said Oisille to Saffredent, "that I thinkyou know of some one of that kind. I pray you, therefore, begin the Daytomorrow by telling us what you know. But now the last bell for vespersis already ringing; for our friends the monks went off as soon as theyhad heard the tenth tale, and left us to finish our discussions amongourselves. "

At these words they all rose and came to the church, where they foundthe monks awaiting them. Then, after hearing vespers, they all suppedtogether, talking the while of many excellent stories. After supper theywent, according to their wont, to disport themselves somewhat in themeadow, and then retired to rest, in order that their memories might bethe sounder on the morrow. 

[Illustration: 099. Jpg Tailpiece]

SEVENTH DAY. 

_On the Seventh Day relation is made of such as have done quite contraryto their duty or desire_. 

PROLOGUE. 

In the morning the Lady Oisille failed not to administer to themwholesome nutriment, which she did by reading of the acts and virtuousdeeds of the glorious knights and apostles of Jesus Christ, as relatedby St. Luke, telling them withal that these relations should suffice tomake them long for the return of such a time, and to make them weepfor the uncomeliness of this age as compared with that. When she hadsufficiently read and expounded to them the beginning of this excellentbook, she begged them to go to the church in such union as that in whichthe Apostles were wont to pray, seeking of God the mercy which is neverrefused to those who ask for it in faith. Her counsel was approved byall, and they came to the church just as the Mass of the Holy Spiritwas beginning; this seemed to them very apt to the occasion, and theyhearkened to the service in great devotion. 

Afterwards they went to dinner, where they called to mind the apostoliclife, and took such great delight in it that it was as though theirundertaking had been forgotten. But Nomerfide, who was the youngest, noticed this, and said, "The Lady Oisille has made us so devout that weare letting slip the hour at which we are wont to withdraw, in order tomake ready for the relating of our tales. "

Her words caused the whole company to rise, and, after they had been fora while in their rooms, they failed not to repair to the meadow as onthe day before. When they were seated at their ease, the Lady Oisillesaid to Saffredent, "Although I am certain that you will say nothing tothe advantage of women, yet I must call upon you to tell the tale thatyou had in readiness yester evening. "

"I protest, madam, " replied Saffredent, "against winning the repute ofa slanderer through telling the truth, or losing the favour of virtuousladies through relating the deeds of the wanton. I have felt what it isto lack their presence, and had I equally lacked their fair favours, Ihad not been alive to-day. "

So saying, he turned his eyes away from her who was the cause of hishappiness and of his woe; and, looking upon Ennasuite, caused her toblush as deeply as though his words had been directed to her. Yet was henone the less understood by her whom he desired should understand him. The Lady Oisille then assured him that he might freely speak the truthat the cost of any person concerned; whereupon he thus began:--

[Illustration: 105a. The Lady returning to her Lover, the Canon of Autun]

[The Lady returning to her Lover, the Canon of Autun]

[Illustration: 105. Jpg Page Image]

_TALE LXI_. 

 _A husband is reconciled with his wife after she had lived during fourteen or fifteen years with a Canon of Autun_. 

Near the town of Autun there lived a very beautiful woman, who wastall, fair, and as handsome of feature as any I have ever seen. She wasmarried to an honest man who seemed somewhat younger than herself, andwho loved and treated her well enough to give her reason for content. 

A little while after they were married, he took her to the town ofAutun, where he had business; and while he was engaged with the law, hiswife would go to the church to pray God for him. 

She repaired so often to this holy place that a very rich Canon fell inlove with her, and wooed her so urgently that the unhappy creature gaveherself up to him. Her husband had no suspicion of this, however, for hegave more thought to the guarding of his property than of his wife. 

When the time for departure was come, and they must needs return totheir home, which was full seven leagues from the town, great was thewoman's sorrow. But the Canon promised that he would often go and seeher, and this he did, pretending to be making some journey which ledhim past the house. The gentleman, however, was not so foolish as not toperceive the truth, and he so skilfully contrived matters, that when theCanon came thither he no longer met the wife, who was too well hiddenby her husband to allow of his having any speech with her. The wife, knowing her husband's jealousy, gave no sign that this was displeasingto her; nevertheless, she resolved to set things to rights, for she feltherself as it were in hell, deprived as she was of the sight of her God. 

One day, when her husband was abroad, she found a means to occupy herservants, both men and women, after such a fashion that she was leftalone in the house. Immediately, she took what was needful, and, with nocompany save that of the wanton love she carried with her, she repairedon foot to Autun. Here she arrived none too late to be recognised by herCanon, who kept her shut up in hiding for more than a year, and this inspite of the monitions and excommunications that were procured againsthim by her husband. 

The latter, finding that he had no other remedy, at last complained tothe Bishop, who had an Archdeacon, as worthy a man as any at that timein France. This Archdeacon himself searched with great diligence throughall the Canon's houses, until he discovered the one in which the womanwas being kept in concealment, whereupon he cast her into prison, andlaid heavy penance upon the Canon. 

The husband, knowing that his wife had been recovered by the counsels ofthe Archdeacon and divers other excellent persons, was content to takeher back on her swearing to him that she would live for the future asbeseemed a virtuous woman. 

This the worthy man in his deep love for her readily believed, and, bringing her back to his house, he treated her as honourably as before, except that he gave her two old serving-women who never left her, one orother of them being at all times with her. 

But, however kindly her husband might use her, the wicked love she boretowards the Canon caused her to regard all rest as torment. And althoughshe was a very beautiful woman and her husband a man of excellentconstitution, vigorous and strong, she never had any children by him, her heart being always seven leagues away from her body; this, however, she concealed so well that it seemed to her husband that, like himself, she had wholly forgotten the past. 

But in her great wickedness she was not so minded; for, just when shesaw her husband most in love with her and having least suspicion, shepretended to fall ill, and continued in this pretence until her husbandwas in wondrous distress, and anxious to spare nought that might relieveher. 

However, she played her part so exceedingly well that he, and all in thehouse, thought that she was sick unto death, and was growing by degreesweaker and weaker. Finding that her husband was no less grieved than heshould have been glad, she begged of him that he would authorise her tomake her will, and this with tears he did. 

Having power of bequest, although she had no children, she gave to herhusband what she could, craving at the same time his forgiveness forher wrong-doing towards him. Then she sent for the priest, confessedherself, and received the Holy Sacrament of the Altar with suchdevoutness, that all wept to see so glorious an end. 

When the evening was come, she begged her husband to send for theextreme unction, saying that, as she was growing very weak, she was infear lest she might not live to receive it. Her husband in all hastecaused it to be brought by the priest, and she, by receiving it withvery great humility, prompted every one to praise her. 

After she had got through her brave mysteries, she told her husbandthat, having through God's grace received all that the Church commands, she felt great peace of conscience, and would fain take some rest; andshe begged him to do the like, seeing that he had great need of it afterall his weeping and watching with her. 

When her husband was gone, and all his servants with him, the poor oldwomen, who had so long watched her in health and now had no fear oflosing her except by death, went contentedly and comfortably to bed. Assoon as she heard them asleep and loudly snoring, she rose in nothingbut her shift, and went out of the room, listening to hear if any onewas yet astir in the house. Taking every precaution, she then (as shewell knew how) let herself out through a little garden-gate that was notshut, and, barefooted and in her shift, journeyed all night long towardsAutun and the saint, who had preserved her from death. 

It happened, however, that as the distance was great, she could notaccomplish the whole of it before daylight overtook her. Looking thenall along the road, she perceived two horsemen who were galloping atfull speed, and thinking that it might be her husband in search of her, she hid herself entirely in a marsh, with her head among the reeds. As her husband (for he it was) passed close beside her, he spoke to aservant who was with him, in tones of deep despair, saying--

"Ah, the wicked woman! Who could have thought that so foul andabominable a deed could be hidden under cloak of the holy sacraments ofthe Church. "

"If Judas, " replied the servant, "feared not to betray his Master whenhe was receiving the like, a woman's treachery is but small matter forwonder. "

At this point the husband passed on, and his wife remained among therushes, in greater gladness at having deceived and escaped him than shehad ever felt at home in a good bed but in subjection. 

The poor husband sought her through all the town of Autun, but learningfor certain that she had not entered it, he retraced his steps, complaining unceasingly of her and of his loss, and threatening her withnothing short of death if he should find her. Of this she had as littlefear in her mind as she had of cold in her body, although the place andseason might well have caused her to repent of her evil journey. And anyone who did not know how the fire of hell inflames those that are filledwith it, must needs wonder how it was that this unhappy woman could soleave a warm bed and continue for a whole day in the piercing cold. 

Yet she neither lost courage nor gave up the journey, but, as soon asnight was come, went forward once more. Just as the gate at Autun wasbeing closed, this pilgrim arrived thither and repaired straight to theshrine of her saint, who was in great wonder at her coming, and couldscarcely believe that it was indeed she. But when he had carefullylooked at her and examined her at all points, he found that, unlikea spirit, she was really possessed of bone and flesh, and so becameconvinced that she was no ghost. 

And thenceforward they agreed so well together that she dwelt with theCanon for fourteen or fifteen years. 

Although for a time she lived in concealment, in the end she lost allfear, and (what is worse) became so exceedingly proud of her lover thatat church she would set herself before most of the honourable women ofthe town, wives of officials and others. Moreover, she had childrenby the Canon, and among others a daughter who was married to a richmerchant, and who had so magnificent a wedding that all the women ofthe town murmured exceedingly, yet were powerless to set the affair torights. 

Now it happened that at this time Queen Claude, wife of King Francis, passed through the town of Autun, having with her my Lady the Regent, mother of the King aforesaid, and the Duchess of Alençon, her daughter. (1) One of the Queen's waiting-women, named Perrette, came to theDuchess and said--

"Madam, I pray you listen to me, and you will do a better deed than ifyou went to hear the whole day's service at the church. "

 1 This would have occurred in the late autumn of 1515, when the Court journeyed southward to meet Francis I. On his return from the Marignano campaign. --Ed. 

The Duchess gave ready heed, knowing that nought but good counsel couldcome from her. Then Perrette forthwith told her how she had taken ayoung girl to help her in washing the Queen's linen, and how, on askingthe news of the town, she had heard from her the vexation which all thehonourable women endured at seeing the Canon's mistress go before them, together with some of the history of the wicked woman's life. 

The Duchess went immediately to the Queen and my Lady the Regent, andtold them the story; and they, without any form of law, sent for theunhappy woman. The latter sought no concealment, for her shame wasturned to pride at being mistress in the household of so rich a man; andhence, with no feeling of confusion or disgrace, she presented herselfbefore the ladies aforesaid, who were so abashed by her hardihood thatat first they knew not what to say. After a time, however, my Lady theRegent rebuked her in a fashion which would have made a right-thinkingwoman weep, though this unhappy creature did not do so, but with greatboldness said--

"I pray you, ladies, let my honour go unscathed, for, God be praised, I have lived so well and virtuously with the Canon that no person alivecan say aught against me. And let it not be thought that I am living inopposition to the will of God, since, for three years past, the Canonhas not come near me, and we live together as chastely and as lovinglyas two little angels, without any speech or wish between us to thecontrary. And any one separating us will commit a great sin, for theworthy man, who is nigh eighty years old, will not live long without me, who am forty-five. "

You may imagine how the ladies then comported themselves, and whatremonstrance they all made with her; but, in spite of the words thatwere spoken, and her own age, and the honourable indignation of thosepresent, her obstinacy was not softened. That she might be the moreeffectually humbled, they sent for the good Archdeacon of Autun, and hecondemned her to lie in prison for a year, faring on bread and water. The ladies further sent for her husband, and he, after hearing theirexcellent exhortations, was content to take her back again after sheshould have performed her penance. 

But when she found that she was a prisoner, and that the Canon wasresolved to have her back no more, she thanked the ladies for havingtaken a devil off her shoulders, and showed such deep and perfectcontrition that her husband, instead of waiting until the year shouldhave expired, came and asked her of the Archdeacon before a fortnightwas over; and since then they have lived together in all peace andaffection. 

"You see, ladies, how the chains of St. Peter are by wicked ministersconverted into those of Satan, which it is so hard to break that eventhe sacraments, which cast out devils from the body, are here the meansof making them abide longer in the conscience; for the best things, whenabused, bring about most evil. "

"Truly, " said Oisille, "this woman was a very wicked one, but at thesame time she was well punished by her appearance before such judges asthe ladies you have named. The mere glance of the Lady Regent had suchpower that never was there a woman, however virtuous, that did not dreadbeing found unworthy in her sight. Those who were looked upon kindly byher deemed that they had earned a high honour, knowing as they did thatnone but virtuous women were favoured by her. " (2)

 2 We are asked to believe that Oisille is none other than the Lady Regent (Louise of Savoy), but is it likely she would thus speak of herself? We can scarcely conceive Queen Margaret perpetrating such a flagrant anachronism. --Ed. 

"It were indeed a fine thing, " said Hircan, "that there should begreater dread of a woman's eyes than of the Holy Sacrament, which, if itbe not received in faith and charity, brings with it eternal damnation. "

"Those, " said Parlamente, "who are not inspired by God are, I promiseyou, in greater dread of the temporal than of the spiritual powers. AndI believe that the poor creature was brought to mend her ways rather byher imprisonment and the thought of seeing her Canon no more, than byany remonstrance that might have been made to her. "

"Nay, " said Simontault, "you have forgotten the chief cause of herreturn to her husband, which was that the Canon was eighty years old, whilst her husband was younger than herself; so the worthy lady had thebest of all her bargains. Had the Canon been young, she would not havebeen willing to forsake him, and the admonitions of the ladies wouldhave been as ineffectual as the sacraments. "

"Further, " said Nomerfide, "I think she did well not to confess her sinso readily; such an offence ought to be humbly acknowledged to God, butstoutly denied before men. Even though it be true, still, by deceptionand swearing, doubt may be cast upon it. "

"Not so, " said Longarine. "A sin can scarcely be so secret that it willnot become revealed, unless God in His pity conceal it, as in the caseof those who for love of Himself have truly repented. "

"And what, " said Hircan, "will you say of those women who have no soonerdone a deed of folly than they tell some one about it?"

"I think that a strange thing, " answered Longarine, "and a sign that sinis not displeasing to them. If, as I said, a sin is not covered bythe mercy of God, it cannot be denied before men; there are many who, delighting in such talk, glory to make their vices known, whilst otherswho contradict themselves in this way become their own accusers. "

"If you know any such instance, " said Saffredent, "I give you my placeand beg you to tell it us. "

"Listen then, " said Longarine. 

[Illustration: 117. Jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 119a. The Gentleman's Spur catching in the Sheet]

[The Gentleman's Spur catching in the Sheet]

[Illustration: 119. Jpg Page Image]

_TALE LXII_. 

 _A lady's tongue tripped so awkwardly whilst she was telling a story, as if of another, to a dame of high degree, that her honour thenceforward bore a stain which she could never remove_. 

In the time of King Francis the First there lived a lady of the bloodroyal, who was endowed with honour, virtue and beauty, and well knew howto tell a story with grace and to laugh at such as might be told toher. (1) This lady being at one of her houses, all her subjects andneighbours came to see her; for she was as much liked as it werepossible for woman to be. 

 1 M. De Lincy thinks that this lady may be Louise of Savoy, who was very fond of listening to stories of an equivocal character. This, it may be pointed out, is one of the reasons why the commentators of the _Heptameron_ suppose her to be Oisille, though the latter in the conversational passages following the tales displays considerable prudery and devoutness. That Louise was a woman of extremely amorous tendency is well known; we need, indeed, no better proof of it than her unseemly passion for the Constable de Bourbon when she was five-and-forty years of age. If she be the lady of royal blood spoken of above, the incidents of the tale may have occurred in the Bourbonnais, a considerable portion of which passed into her hands after the flight of the Constable from France. It will be noted that allusion is made to the lady's subjects, showing that she exercised a feudal sway. As one of the commentators of the _Heptameron_ has pointed out, Queen Margaret always saw her mother--that "donna terribilissima!" as De Lussy called her--in such an ideal light that M. De Lincy's surmise may well be a correct one despite the attributes of honour, virtue and beauty bestowed on the lady whom she speaks of. --Ed. 

Among others there came a lady who hearkened whilst the rest told everystory they could think of in order to amuse the Princess. This lady thenresolved that she would not be behind the others, and accordingly said--

"Madam, I will tell you a fine story, but you must promise me not tospeak of it. "

Then she forthwith continued--

"The story, madam, is on my conscience a perfectly true one, andconcerns a married lady who lived in all honour with her husband, although he was old and she was young. A gentleman who was herneighbour, seeing her married to this old man, fell in love with her, and importuned her for several years; but never received of her anyreply save such as a virtuous woman should make. One day the gentlemanbethought him that if he could take her at a disadvantage she mightperchance be less harsh towards him, and, after he had for a long whileweighed the danger that he might run, his love for the lady whollybanished his fears, and he resolved to find a time and place. He keptexcellent watch, and so one morning, when the lady's husband was goingto another of his houses, and leaving at daybreak by reason of the heat, the young gallant came to the house, where he found the lady asleep inher bed, and perceived that the serving-women were gone out of the room. 

"Then, without having sense enough to fasten the door, he got into thelady's bed all booted and spurred as he was, and when she awoke, she wasas distressed as she could possibly be. But in spite of any remonstrancethat she could make to him, he took her by force, saying that if sheshould make the matter known he would tell every one that she had sentfor him; and at this the lady was so greatly afraid that she durst notcry out. Afterwards, on some of her women coming in, he rose in hasteand would have been perceived by none if his spur, which had becomefastened in the upper sheet, had not drawn it right off, leaving thelady quite naked in her bed. "

So far the lady had told the story as if of another, but at the end sheinvoluntarily said--

"Never was a woman so confounded as I was, when I found myself lyingquite naked. "

At these last words the lady, who had hitherto hearkened to the storywithout laughing, could not refrain from doing so, and said--

"By what I can see, you are well qualified to tell the tale. "

The poor lady tried in every possible way to clear her honour, but itwas already flown so far away that she was never able to recall it. 

"I assure you, ladies, that had she felt any deep displeasure in doingsuch a deed, she would have desired to forget it. But, as I have toldyou, sin will of itself be discovered before it could otherwise beknown, unless it be hidden by the mantle which, as David says, makes manblessed. "

"In good sooth, " said Ennasuite, "she was the greatest fool I have everheard of, to make the others laugh at her own expense. "

"I do not deem it strange, " said Parlamente, "that the word shouldfollow the deed, for it is easier to say than to do. "

"Why, " said Geburon, "what sin had she committed? She was asleep in herbed, he threatened her with shame and death; Lucrèce, who is so highlypraised, did just the same. "

"That is true, " said Parlamente, "and I confess that there is none toorighteous to fall. But when one has felt great offence in the deed, thesame holds good of the recollection; and whereas Lucrèce to efface thelatter killed herself, this foolish woman tried to make others laugh. "

"Nevertheless, " said Nomerfide, "it seems that she was a virtuous woman, seeing that she had been many times entreated but would never consent, so that the gentleman must needs resort to treachery and force in orderto wrong her. "

"What!" said Parlamente. "Do you think that a woman has answered forher honour, when she gives herself up after refusing two or three times?There would then be many virtuous women among those that are deemed theopposite, for many of them have been known to refuse for a long whilethose to whom their hearts had been given, some doing this through fearfor their honour, and others in order to make themselves still moreardently loved and esteemed. No account, therefore, should be made of awoman unless she stands firm to the end. But if a man refuse a beautifulgirl, do you regard that as great virtue?"

"Truly, " said Oisille, "if a young and lusty man so refused, I shouldhold it worthy of high praise, but none the less difficult of belief. "

"Yet, " said Dagoucin, "I know one who refused to partake in amours thatwere sought after by all his comrades. "

"I pray you, " said Longarine, "take my place and tell us the tale, yetremember that you must here utter the truth. "

"I promise you, " said Dagoucin, "that I will tell it in all itssimplicity, without any colouring or disguise. "

[Illustration: 124. Jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 125a. The King asking the Young Lord to join his Banquet]

[The King asking the Young Lord to join his Banquet]

[Illustration: 125. Jpg Page Image]

_TALE LXIII_. 

 _A gentleman's refusal of an amour that was sought after by all his comrades, was imputed to him as great virtue, and his wife loved him and esteemed him in consequence far more than before_. (1)

In the city of Paris there lived four girls, of whom two were sisters, and such was their beauty, youth and freshness, that they were run afterby all the gallants. A gentleman, however, who at that time held theoffice of Provost of Paris (2) from the King, seeing that his master wasyoung, of an age to desire such company, so cleverly contrived matterswith all four of the damsels that each, thinking herself intended forthe King, agreed to what the aforesaid Provost desired. This was thatthey should all of them be present at a feast to which he invited hismaster. 

 1 This story, omitted by Boaistuau, was included in Gruget's edition of the _Heptameron_. --L. 

 2 This is John de la Barre, already alluded to in Tale I. The _Journal d'un Bourgeois de Paris_ tells us that he was born in Paris of poor parents, and became a favourite of Francis I. , who appointed him Bailiff of the capital, without requiring him to pay any of the dues attaching to the office. From the roll of the royal household for 1522, we also find that he was then a gentleman of the bed chamber with 1200 _livres_ salary, master of the wardrobe (a post worth 200 _livres_) and governor of the pages, for the board and clothing of whom he received 5000 _livres_ annually. In 1526 he became Provost as well as Bailiff of Paris, the two offices then being amalgamated. He was further created Count of Etampes, and acquired the lordship of Veretz, best remembered by its associations with the murder of Paul Louis Courier. La Barre fought at Pavia, was taken prisoner with the King, and remained his constant companion during his captivity. Several letters of his, dating from this period and of great historical interest, are still extant; some of them have been published by Champollion-Figeac (_Captivité de François Ier_) and Génin (_Lettres de Marguerite, &c_). Under date 1533 (o. S. ) the "Bourgeois de Paris" writes in his _Journal_: "At the beginning of March there died in Paris, at the house of Monsieur Poncher, Monsieur le Prévost de Paris, named de La Barre. . . . The King was then in Paris, at his chateau of the Louvre, and there was great pomp at the obsequies; and he was borne to his lordship of Veretz, near Tours, that he might be buried there. " Numerous particulars concerning La Barre will also be found in M. De Laborde's _Comptes des Bâtiments du Roi au XVIeme Siècle_. -- L. And Ed. 

He told the latter his plan, which was approved both by the Prince andby two other great personages of the Court, all three agreeing togetherto share in the spoil. 

While they were looking for a fourth comrade, there arrived a handsomeand honourable lord who was ten years younger than the others. Hewas invited to the banquet, but although he accepted with a cheerfulcountenance, in his heart he had no desire for it. For on the one parthe had a wife who was the mother of handsome children, and with whom helived in great happiness, and in such peacefulness that on no accountwould he have had her suspect evil of him. And on the other hand he wasthe lover of one of the handsomest ladies of her time in France, whomhe loved and esteemed so greatly that all other women seemed to him uglybeside her. 

In his early youth, before he was married, he had found it impossible togaze upon and associate with other women, however beautiful they mightbe; for he took more delight in gazing upon his sweetheart, and inperfectly loving her, than in having all that another might have givenhim. 

This lord, then, went to his wife and told her secretly of theenterprise that his master had in hand, saying that he would rather diethan do what he had promised. For (he told her) just as there was noliving man whom he would not venture to attack in anger, although hewould rather die than commit a causeless and wilful murder unless hishonour compelled him to it; even so, unless driven by extreme love, suchas may serve to blind virtuous men, he would rather die than break hismarriage vow to gratify another. 

On hearing these words of his, and finding that so much honour dweltin one so young, his wife loved and esteemed him more than she had everdone before, and inquired how he thought he might best excuse himself, since Princes often frown on those who do not praise what they like. 

"I have always heard, " he replied, "that a wise man has a journey ora sickness in his sleeve for use in time of need. I have thereforeresolved that I will feign a grievous sickness four or five daysbeforehand, and in this matter your countenance may render me trueservice. "

"Tis a worthy and holy hypocrisy, " said his wife, "and I will not failto serve you with the saddest face I can command; for he who can avoidoffending God and angering the Prince is fortunate indeed. "

As it was resolved, so was it done, and the King was very sorry to hearfrom the wife of her husband's sickness. This, however, lasted nolong time; for, on account of certain business which arose, the Kingdisregarded his pleasure to attend to his duty, and betook himself awayfrom Paris. 

However, one day, remembering their unfinished undertaking, he said tothe young lord:--

"We were very foolish to leave so suddenly without seeing the four girlswho are declared to be the fairest in my kingdom. "

"I am very glad, " replied the young lord, "that you failed in thematter, for I was in great fear that, by reason of my sickness, I shouldbe the only one to miss so pleasant an adventure. "

By reason of this answer the King never suspected the dissimulation ofthe young lord, who was thenceforward loved by his wife more dearly thanhe had ever been before. 

Hereupon Parlamente began to laugh, and could not hold from saying--

"He would have loved his wife better if he had done this for love of heralone. But in any case he is worthy of great praise. "

"It seems to me, " said Hircan, "that it is no great merit in a manto keep his chastity for love of his wife, inasmuch as there are manyreasons which in a manner compel him to do so. In the first place, Godcommands it; his marriage vow binds him to it, and, further, surfeitednature is not liable to temptation or desire as necessity is. But whenthe unfettered love that a man bears towards a mistress of whom he hasno delight, and no other happiness save that of seeing her and speakingwith her, and from whom he often receives harsh replies--when this loveis so loyal and steadfast that nothing can ever make it change, I saythat such chastity is not simply praiseworthy but miraculous. "

"'Tis no miracle in my opinion, " said Oisille, "for when the heart isplighted, nothing is impossible to the body. "

"True, " said Hircan; "to bodies which have become those of angels. "

"I do not speak only of those, " said Oisille, "who by the grace of Godare wholly transformed into Himself, but of the grosser spirits thatwe see here below among men. And, if you give heed, you will find thatthose who have set their hearts and affections upon seeking after theperfection of the sciences, have forgotten not only the lust of theflesh, but even the most needful matters, such as food and drink; forso long as the soul is stirred within the body, so long does the fleshcontinue as though insensible. Thence comes it that those who lovehandsome, honourable and virtuous women have such happiness of spirit inseeing them and speaking with them, that the flesh is lulled in all itsdesires. Those who cannot feel this happiness are the carnally-minded, who, wrapped in their exceeding fatness, cannot tell whether they have asoul or not. But, when the body is in subjection to the spirit, it isas though heedless of the failings of the flesh, and the beliefs of suchpersons may render them insensible of the same. I knew a gentleman who, to show that he loved his mistress more dearly than did any other man, proved it to all his comrades by holding his bare fingers in theflame of a candle. And then, with his eyes fixed upon his mistress, heremained firm until he had burned himself to the bone, and yet said thathe had felt no hurt. "

"Methinks, " said Geburon, "that the devil whose martyr he was ought tohave made a St. Lawrence of him; for there are few whose love-flame ishot enough to keep them from fearing that of the smallest taper. Butif a lady had suffered me to endure so much hurt for her sake, I shouldeither have sought a rich reward or else have taken my love away fromher. "

"So, " said Parlamente, "you would have your hour after the lady hadhad hers? That was what was done by a gentleman of the neighbourhoodof Valencia in Spain, whose story was told to me by a captain, a rightworthy man. "

"I pray you, madam, " said Dagoucin, "take my place and tell it us, for Iam sure that it must be a good one. "

"This story, ladies, " said Parlamente, "will teach you both to thinktwice when you are inclined to give a refusal and to lay aside thethought that the present will always continue; and so, knowing that itis subject to mutation, you will have a care for the time to come. "

[Illustration: 132. Jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 133a. The Lady Swooning in the Arms of the Gentleman ofValencia who had become a Monk]

[The Lady Swooning in the Arms of the Gentleman of Valencia who hadbecome a Monk]

[Illustration: 133. Jpg Page Image]

_TALE LXIV_. 

 _After a lady had for the space of five or six years made trial of the love that a certain gentleman bore her, she desired to have a still stronger proof of it, and reduced him to such despair that he turned monk, on which account she was not able to win him back again when she would fain have done so_. 

In the city of Valencia there lived a gentleman, who for the space offive or six years had loved a lady so perfectly that the honour andconscience of neither of them had taken any hurt; for his intent wasto have her as his wife, and this was reasonable, seeing that he washandsome, rich and of good descent. But, before he became her lover, hefirst inquired concerning her own mind, whereupon she declared herselfwilling to marry according to the counsels of her kinsfolk. Thelatter, being come together for the purpose, deemed the marriage a veryreasonable one provided that the maiden was herself disposed to it; butshe--whether because she thought to do better or because she wished tohide her love for him---made some difficulty, and the company separated, not without regret at having failed to conclude a match so well suitedto both parties. 

The most grieved of all was the poor gentleman, who would have bornehis misfortune with patience had he thought that the fault lay with thekinsfolk and not with her; but he knew the truth, and the knowledge wasto him worse than death. So, without speaking to his sweetheart or toany other person, he withdrew to his own house, and, after setting hisaffairs in order, betook himself to a solitary spot, where he strove toforget his love and change it wholly to that love of our Lord which weretruly a higher duty than the other. 

During this time he received no tidings of his mistress or her kindred, and he therefore resolved that, since he had failed to obtain thehappiest life he could hope for, he would choose the most austere anddisagreeable that he could imagine. With this sad intent, whichmight well have been called despair, he went and became a monk in themonastery of St. Francis. This monastery was not far from the dwellingsof divers of his kinsfolk, who, on hearing of his desperate condition, did all that in them lay to hinder his purpose; but this was so firmlyrooted in his heart that it was not possible to turn him from it. 

Nevertheless, as the source of his distemper was known to them, theydetermined to seek the cure, and so repaired to her who was the causeof his sudden devoutness. She was greatly astonished and grieved by thismischance, for, in refusing for a time, she had thought only to test hisaffection, not to lose it for ever. Seeing now the evident risk that sheran of doing this last, she sent him a letter, which, ill-translated, was as follows:--

 "Since love, if tested not full needfully, Steadfast and faithful is not shown to be, By length of time my heart would that assay Whereon itself was set to love alway-- To wit, a husband with that true love filled Such as no lapsing time has ever killed. This, then, was the sole reason that I drew My kin to hinder for a year or two That closest tie which lasts till life is not, And whereby woe is oftentimes begot. Yet sought I not to have you wholly sent Away; such was in no wise my intent, For none save you could I have e'er adored Or looked to as my husband and my lord. But woe is me, what tidings reach mine ear! That you, to lead the cloistered life austere, Are gone with speech to none; whereat the pain That ever holds me, now can brook no rein, But forces me mine own estate to slight For that which yours aforetime was of right; To seek him out who once sought me alone, And win him who myself has sometimes won. Nay then, my love, life of the life in me, For loss of whom I fain would cease to be, Turn hither, graciously, those eyes of pain And trace those wandering footsteps back again. Leave the grey robe and its austerity, Come back and taste of that felicity Which often you desired, and which to-day Time has nor slain, nor swept away. For you alone I've kept myself; and I, Lacking your presence, cannot choose but die. Come back then; in your sweetheart have belief, And for past memories find cool relief In holy marriage-ties. Ah! then, my dear, To me, not to your pride give ready ear, And rest of this assured, I had no thought To give, sweetheart, to you offence in aught, But only yearned your faithfulness to prove And then to make you happy with my love. But now that through this trial, free from scathe, Are come your steadfastness and patient faith, And all that loyal love to me is known, Which at the last has made me yours alone, Come, my beloved, take what is your due And wholly yield to me, as I to you!"

This letter, brought by a friend of hers with every remonstrance that itwas possible to make, was received and read by the gentleman friar withsuch sadness of countenance, such sighs and such tears, that it seemedas though he would drown and burn the poor epistle. But he made noreply to it, except to tell the messenger that the mortification of hisexceeding passion had cost him so dear as to have taken from him boththe wish to live and the fear to die. He therefore requested her whohad been the cause of this, that since she had not chosen to satisfyhis passionate longings, she would, now that he was rid of them, abstainfrom tormenting him, and rest content with the evil which was past. Forthat evil he could find no remedy but the choice of an austere life, which by continual penance might bring him to forget his grief, and, byfasts and disciplines, subdue his body, till the thought of death shouldbe to him but a sovereign consolation. Above all, he begged that hemight never hear of her, since he found the mere remembrance of her namea purgatory not to be endured. 

The gentleman went back with this mournful reply, and reported it to themaiden who did not hear it without intolerable sorrow. But Love, whichwill not suffer the spirit utterly to fail, gave her the thought that, if she could see him, her words and presence might be of more effectthan the writing. She therefore, with her father and the nearest of herkin, went to the monastery where he abode. She had left nothing in herbox that might set off her beauty, for she felt sure that, could he butonce look at her and hear her, the fire that had so long dwelt in boththeir hearts must of necessity be kindled again in greater strength thanbefore. 

Coming thus into the monastery towards the end of vespers, she sent forhim to come to her in a chapel that was in the cloister. He, knowing notwho it was that sought him, went in all ignorance to the sternest battlein which he had ever been. When she saw him so pale and wan that shecould hardly recognise him, yet filled with grace, in no whit lesswinning than of yore, Love made her stretch out her arms to embrace him, whilst her pity at seeing him in such a plight so enfeebled her heart, that she sank swooning to the floor. 

The poor monk, who was not void of brotherly charity, lifted her up andset her upon a seat in the chapel. Although he had no less need ofaid than she had, he feigned to be unaware of her passion, and sostrengthened his heart in the love of God against the opportunities nowpresent with him, that, judging by his countenance, he seemed not toknow what was actually before him. Having recovered from her weakness, she turned upon him her beautiful, piteous eyes, which were enough tosoften a rock, and began to utter all such discourse as she believed aptto draw him from the place in which he now was. He replied as virtuouslyas he was able; but at last, finding that his heart was being softenedby his sweetheart's abundant tears, and perceiving that Love, the cruelarcher whose pains he long had known, was ready with his golden dart todeal him fresh and more deadly wounds, he fled both from Love and fromhis sweetheart, like one whose only resource lay, indeed, in flight. 

When he was shut up in his room, not desiring to let her go without somesettlement of the matter, he wrote her a few words in Spanish, whichseem to me so excellent in their matter that I would not by translatingthem mar their grace. These were brought to her by a little novice, who found her still in the chapel and in such despair that, had it beenlawful, she too would have remained there and turned friar. But when shesaw the words, which were these--

 "Volvete don venesti, anima mia, Que en las tristas vidas es la mia, " (1)

she knew that all hope was gone, and she resolved to follow the adviceof him and her friends, and so returned home, there to lead a life asmelancholy as that of her lover in his monastery was austere. 

 1 "Return whence thou earnest, my soul, for among the sad lives is mine. "'

"You see, ladies, what vengeance the gentleman took upon his harshsweetheart, who, thinking to try him, reduced him to such despair that, when she would have regained him, she could not do so. "

"I am sorry, " said Nomerfide, "that he did not lay aside his gown andmarry her. It would, I think, have been a perfect marriage. "

"In good sooth, " said Simontault, "I think he was very wise. Anyone whowell considers what marriage is will deem it no less grievous thana monkish life. Moreover, being so greatly weakened by fasts andabstinence, he feared to take upon him a burden of that kind which lastsall through life. "

"Methinks, " said Hircan, "she wronged so feeble a man by tempting himto marriage, for 'tis too much for the strongest man alive; but had shespoken to him of love, free from any obligation but that of the will, there is no friar's cord that would not have been untied. However, sinceshe sought to draw him out of purgatory by offering him hell, I thinkthat he was quite right to refuse her, and to let her feel the pain thather own refusal had cost him. "

"By my word, " said Ennasuite, "there are many who, thinking to do betterthan their fellows, do either worse or else the very opposite of whatthey desire. "

"Truly, " said Geburon, "you remind me--though, indeed, the matter isnot greatly to the point--of a woman who did the opposite of what shedesired, and so caused a great uproar in the church of St. John ofLyons. "

"I pray you, " said Parlamente, "take my place and tell us about it. "

"My story, " said Geburon, "will not be so long or so piteous as the onewe have heard from Parlamente. "

[Illustration: 141. Jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 143a. The Old Woman startled by the Waking of the Soldier]

[The Old Woman startled by the Waking of the Soldier]

[Illustration: 143. Jpg Page Image]

_TALE LXV_. 

 _Though the priests of St. John of Lyons would fain have concealed it, the falsity of a miracle was brought to light through an old woman's folly becoming known_. (1)

In the church of St. John of Lyons there is a very dark chapel, andinside it a stone tomb with figures of great personages raised life-likeupon it, whilst several men-at-arms lie all around it. 

 1 We believe that the incident here narrated occurred early in 1525, when Margaret is known to have been at Lyons. She and her husband (on his return from Pavia) resided there at the house of the Obédiencier de St. Just, and it was in the church of St. Just that the Duke of Alençon was buried. Doubtless it was during his illness that the _novena_ alluded to in the final tale of the _Heptameron_ was performed by Queen Margaret at the church of St. John of Lyons, where the two most important chapels, according to Quincarnon's _Antiquités et la fondation de la Métropole des Gaules, &c. _, Lyons, 1673, were the Most Holy Eucharist, or Bourbon chapel, built in 1449 by Charles de Bourbon, Primate of Gaul, and the Holy Sepulchre, or Good Friday chapel, erected at the beginning of the fifteenth century by Philip de Turey, Archbishop of Lyons. Unfortunately the church of St. John was in 1652 devastated by the Huguenots, who in their insensate fury destroyed almost all the tombs. It is therefore now impossible to identify the chapel and tomb to which the Queen of Navarre refers in the above story, though her allusion to the dimness of the light would incline us to place the incident she recounts in the Chapelle du St. Sépulcre. --L. And Ed. 

One day a soldier, walking in the church at the very height of summer, felt inclined to sleep, and, looking at this dark, cool chapel, resolvedto go and guard the tomb in sleep like the rest; (2) and accordingly helay down beside them. Now it chanced that a very pious old woman camein while his sleep was the soundest, and having performed her devotions, holding a lighted taper in her hand, she sought to fix this taper to thetomb. Finding that the sleeping man was nearest to her, she tried to setit upon his forehead, thinking that it was of stone; but the wax wouldnot stick to such stone as this, whereupon the worthy dame, believingthat the reason of it was the coldness of the statue, applied the flameto the sleeper's forehead, that she might the better fix the taper onit. At this, however, the statue, which was not without feeling, beganto cry out. 

 2 Meaning the recumbent statues of the men-at-arms. --Ed. 

The good woman was then in exceeding fear, and set herself to shout, "Amiracle! a miracle!" until all who were in the church ran, some to ringthe bells, and the rest to view the miracle. The good woman forthwithtook them to see the statue that had stirred, whereupon many found foodfor laughter; though the greater number were unable to feel any content, inasmuch as they had really determined to make profit out of the tomb, and to gain as much money by it as by the crucifix on their pulpit, which is said to have spoken. (3) But when the woman's folly becameknown the farce came to an end. If all knew of their follies, they wouldnot be accounted holy nor their miracles true. And I would beg you, ladies, to see henceforward to what saints you offer your candles. (4)

 3 The crucifix in the church of St. John was mainly of silver, and, according to Quincarnon, at the time of a Huguenot outbreak at Lyons it was thrown to the ground by a Calvinist minister named Ruffy, who, after reducing it to fragments, carried all the precious metal away with him. --M. 

 4 The latter portion of this story and all the dialogue that follows it are omitted by Boaistuau in his edition. Gruget inserted the dialogue, but he did not dare to print the passage respecting the talking crucifix. --L. 

"'Tis notable, " said Hircan, "that, whatever the matter in question maybe, women always do wrong. "

"Is it wrong, " asked Nomerfide, "to bring candles to a tomb?"

"Yes, " said Hircan, "if the flame be turned against a man's forehead;for nothing good should be called good if it be attended with evil. Youmay be sure that the poor woman thought she had made a fine gift to Godwith her little candle. "

"I look not to the gift, " said Oisille, "but to the heart that offersit. Perhaps this worthy woman had more love for God than those who offergreat torches; for, as the Gospel says, she gave of her need. "

"Still, I no not believe, " said Saffredent, "that God, who is sovereignwisdom, can be pleased with the foolishness of women. Althoughsimplicity is pleasing to Him, I see from the Scriptures that Hedespises the ignorant; and if He commands us to be as harmless as thedove, He none the less commands us to be wise like the serpent. "

"For my part, " said Oisille, "I do not call the woman ignorant whobrings her candle or burning taper into the presence of God, and makesamends for her wrongdoing on bended knees before her sovereign Lord, confessing her unworthiness and with steadfast hope seeking pity andsalvation. "

"Would to God, " said Dagoucin, "that all understood it in the same wayas you; but I do not believe that these poor fools do it with the intentyou say. "

"The women, " said Oisille, "who are least able to speak are just thosewho are most sensible of the love and will of God; wherefore 'tis wellto judge none but ourselves. "

Ennasuite laughed and said--"'Tis no wonderful thing to have frighteneda sleeping varlet, since women of as lowly condition have frightenednoble Princes, without putting fire to their foreheads. "

"I am sure, " said Geburon, "that you know some such story, which youare willing to relate; wherefore, if it please you, you shall take myplace. "

"The tale will not be a long one, " said Ennasuite, "but, could I recountit just as it happened, you would have no desire to weep. "

[Illustration: 147. Jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 149a. The Old Serving-woman explaining her Mistake tothe Duke and Duchess of Vendôme]

[The Old Serving-woman explaining her Mistake to the Duke and Duchessof Vendôme]

[Illustration: 149. Jpg Page Image]

_TALE LXVI_. 

 _The Duke of Vendôme and the Princess of Navarre, whilst resting together one afternoon, were surprised by an old serving-woman, who took them for a prothonotary and a damsel between whom she suspected some affection; and, through this fine justicement, a matter, of which intimates were ignorant, was made known to strangers_. 

In the year when the Duke of Vendôme married the Princess of Navarre, (1) the King and Queen, their parents, after feasting at Vendôme, wentwith them into Guienne, and, visiting a gentleman's house where therewere many honourable and beautiful ladies, the newly married pairdanced so long in this excellent company that they became weary, and, withdrawing to their chamber, lay down in their clothes upon the bed andfell asleep, doors and windows being shut and none remaining with them. 

 1 It was in October 1548, some eighteen months after Henry II. Had succeeded Francis I. , that Anthony de Bourbon, Duke of Vendôme, who after the King's children held the first rank in France, was married at Moulins to Margaret's daughter Jane of Navarre. The Duke was then thirty and Jane twenty years old. "I never saw so joyous a bride, " wrote Henry II. To Montmorency, "she never does anything but laugh. " She was indeed well pleased with the match, the better so, perhaps, as her husband had settled 100, 000 livres on her, a gift which was the more acceptable by reason of her extravagant tastes and love of display. Ste. Marthe, in his _Oraison Funèbre_ on Queen Margaret, speaks of her daughter's marriage as "a most fortunate conjunction, " and refers to her son-in-law as "the most valiant and magnanimous Prince Anthony, Duke of Vendôme, whose admirable virtues have so inclined all France to love and revere him, that princes and nobles, the populace, the great and the humble alike, no sooner hear his name mentioned than they forthwith wish him and beg God to bestow on him all possible health and prosperity. "--Ed

Just, however, when their sleep was at its soundest, they were awakenedby their door being opened from without, and the Duke drew the curtainand looked to see who it might be, suspecting indeed that it was one ofhis friends who was minded to surprise him. But he perceived a tall, oldbed-chamber woman come in and walk straight up to their bed, where, forthe darkness of the room, she could not recognise them. Seeing them, however, quite close together, she began to cry out--

"Thou vile and naughty wanton! I have long suspected thee to be whatthou art, yet for lack of proof spoke not of it to my mistress. But nowthy vileness is so clearly shown that I shall in no sort conceal it; andthou, foul renegade, who hast wrought such shame in this house by theundoing of this poor wench, if it were not for the fear of God, I woulde'en cudgel thee where thou liest. Get up, in the devil's name, get up, for methinks even now thou hast no shame. "

The Duke of Vendôme and the Princess hid their faces against each otherin order to have the talk last longer, and they laughed so heartily thatthey were not able to utter a word. Finding that for all her threatsthey were not willing to rise, the serving-woman came closer in order topull them by the arms. Then she at once perceived both from their facesand from their dress that they were not those whom she sought, and, recognising them, she flung herself upon her knees, begging them topardon her error in thus robbing them of their rest. 

But the Duke of Vendôme was not content to know so little, and risingforthwith, he begged the old woman to say for whom she had taken them. This at first she was not willing to do; but at last, after he had swornto her never to reveal it, she told him that there was a girl in thehouse with whom a prothonotary (2) was in love, and that she had longkept a watch on them, since it pleased her little to see her mistresstrusting in a man who was working this shame towards her. She then leftthe Prince and Princess shut in as she had found them, and they laughedfor a long while over their adventure. And, although they afterwardstold the story they would never name any of the persons concerned. 

 2 The office of apostolic prothonotary was instituted by Pope Clement I. , there being at first twelve such officers, whose duty was to write the lives of the saints and other apostolic records. Gradually their number so increased, that in the fifteenth century the title of prothonotary had come to be merely an honorary dignity, conferred as a matter of course on doctors of theology of noble family, or otherwise of note. In the role of Francis I. 's household for 1522, we find but one prothonotary mentioned, but in that for 1529 there are twelve. More than one of them might have been called _un letrado que no tenia muchas letras_, as Brantôme wrote of Thomas de Lescun, Prothonotary of Foix and afterwards Marshal of France. "In those days, " adds the author of _Les Grands Capitaines Français_, "it was usual for prothonotaries and even for those of good family not to have much learning, but to enjoy themselves, hunt, make love and seduce the wives of the poor gentlemen who were gone to the wars. "--_OEuvres complètes de Brantôme_, 8vo edit. , vol. Ii. P. 144. --L. And Ed. 

"You see, ladies, how the worthy dame, whilst thinking to do a fine deedof justice, made known to strange princes a matter of which the servantsof the house had never heard. "

"I think I know, " said Parlamente, "in whose house it was, and who theprothonotary is; for he has governed many a lady's house, and when hecannot win the mistress's favour he never fails to have that of one ofthe maids. In other matters, however, he is an honourable and worthyman. "

"Why do you say 'in other matters'?" said Hircan. "Tis for that verybehaviour that I deem him so worthy a man. "

"I can see, " said Parlamente, "that you know the sickness and thesufferer, and that, if he needed excuse, you would not fail him asadvocate. Yet I would not trust myself to a man who could not contrivehis affairs without having them known to the serving-women. "

"And do you imagine, " said Nomerfide, "that men care whether such amatter be known if only they can compass their end? You may be surethat, even if none spoke of it but themselves, it would still ofnecessity be known. "

"They have no need, " said Hircan angrily, "to say all that they know. "

"Perhaps, " she replied, blushing, "they would not say it to their ownadvantage. "

"Judging from your words, " said Simontault, "it would seem that mendelight in hearing evil spoken about women, and I am sure that youreckon me among men of that kind. I therefore greatly wish to speak wellof one of your sex, in order that I may not be held a slanderer by allthe rest. "

"I give you my place, " said Ennasuite, "praying you withal to controlyour natural disposition, so that you may acquit yourself worthily inour honour. "

Forthwith Simontault began--

"Tis no new thing, ladies, to hear of some virtuous act on your partwhich, methinks, should not be hidden but rather written in lettersof gold, that it may serve women as an example, and give men cause foradmiration at seeing in the weaker sex that from which weakness is proneto shrink. I am prompted, therefore, to relate something that I heardfrom Captain Robertval and divers of his company. "

[Illustration: 154. Jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 155a. The Wife Reading to her Husband on the Desert Island]

[The Wife Reading to her Husband on the Desert Island]

[Illustration: 155. Jpg Page Image]

_TALE LXVII_. 

 _A poor woman risked her own life to save that of her husband, whom she forsook not until death_. 

The Captain Robertval aforesaid once made a voyage across the seasto the island of Canadas, (1) himself being chief in command by theappointment of the King, his master. And there, if the air of thecountry were good, he had resolved to dwell and to build towns andcastles. With this work he made such a beginning as is known to all;and to people the country with Christians he took with him all kinds ofartificers, among whom was a most wicked man, who betrayed his masterand put him in danger of being captured by the natives. But God willedthat his attempt should be discovered before any evil befell theCaptain, who, seizing the wicked traitor, was minded to punish him ashe deserved. And this he would have done but for the man's wife, who hadfollowed her husband through the perils of the deep and would not nowleave him to die, but with many tears so wrought upon the Captain andall his company that, for pity of her and for the sake of the servicesshe had done them, her request was granted. In consequence, husband andwife were left together on a small island in the sea, inhabited onlyby wild beasts, and were suffered to take with them such things as wereneedful. 

 1 Canada had been discovered by Cabot in 1497; and in 1535 James Cartier sailed up the St. Lawrence and, taking possession of the country in the name of Francis I. , called it La Nouvelle France. Seven years later a gentleman of Picardy, named John Francis de La Roque, Lord of Robertval, accompanying Cartier, established a colony on the Isle Royale, and subsequently built the fort of Charlebourg. One of his pilots, named Alphonse of Saintonge, meanwhile reconnoitred the coasts both of Canada and Labrador. About this time (1542) the incidents related in the above tale must have occurred. --L. 

The poor folk, finding themselves all alone and surrounded by wild andcruel beasts, had no recourse but to God, who had ever been this poorwoman's steadfast hope; and, since she found all her consolation in Him, she carried the New Testament with her for safeguard, nourishment andconsolation, and in it read unceasingly. Further, she laboured with herhusband to make them a little dwelling as best they might, and when thelions (2) and other animals came near to devour them, the husband withhis arquebuss and she with stones made so stout a defence that not onlywere the beasts afraid to approach, but often some were slain that werevery good for food. And on this flesh and the herbs of the land, theylived for some time after their bread failed them. 

 2 This mention of lions on a small desert island in the Canadian seas would be rather perplexing did we not know how great at that time was the general ignorance on most matters connected with natural history. Possibly the allusion may be to the _lion marin_, as the French call the leonine seal. This, however, is anything but an aggressive animal. Curiously enough, Florimond de Rémond, the sixteenth century writer, speaks of a drawing of a "marine lion" given to him "by that most illustrious lady Margaret Queen of Navarre, to whom it had been presented by a Spanish gentleman, who was taking a second copy of it to the Emperor Charles V. , then in Spain. "--Ed. 

At last, however, the husband could no longer endure this nutriment, and by reason of the waters that they drank became so swollen that ina short while he died, and this without any service or consolation savefrom his wife, she being both his doctor and his confessor; and whenhe had joyously passed out of the desert into the heavenly country, thepoor woman, left now in solitude, buried him in the earth as deeply asshe was able. Nevertheless the beasts quickly knew of it, and came toeat the dead body; but the poor woman, firing with the arquebuss fromher cabin, saved her husband's flesh from finding such a grave. 

Leading thus in regard to her body the life of a brute, and in regardto her soul the life of an angel, she passed her time in reading, meditations, prayers and orisons, having a glad and happy mind in awasted and half-dead body. But He who never forsakes His own, and whomanifests His power when others are in despair, did not suffer thevirtue that he had put into this woman to be unknown by men, but willedthat it should be made manifest to His own glory. He therefore broughtthings so to pass, that after some time, when one of the ships of thearmament was passing by the island, those that were looking that wayperceived some smoke, which reminded them of the persons who had beenleft there, and they resolved to go and see what God had done with them. 

The poor woman, seeing the ship draw nigh, dragged herself to the shore, and there they found her on their arrival. After giving praise to God, she brought them to her poor cottage and showed them on what she hadlived during her abode in that place. This would have seemed to themimpossible of belief, but for their knowledge that God is as powerful tofeed His servants in a desert as at the greatest banquet in the world. As the poor woman could not continue in such a spot, they took her withthem straight to La Rochelle, where, their voyage ended, they arrived. And when they had made known to the inhabitants the faithfulness andendurance of this woman, she was very honourably received by all theladies, who gladly sent their daughters to her to learn to read andwrite. In this honest calling she maintained herself for the rest ofher life, having no other desire save to admonish every one to love andtrust Our Lord, and setting forth as an example the great compassionthat He had shown towards her. 

"Now, ladies, you cannot say I do not praise the virtues which Godhas given you, and which show the more when possessed by one of lowlycondition. "

"Why, we are not sorry, " said Oisille, "to hear you praise the merciesof Our Lord, for in truth all virtue comes from Him; but we must confessthat man assists in the work of God as little as women. Neither can byheart or will do more than plant. God alone giveth the increase. "

"If you have studied Scripture, " said Saffredent, "you know that St. Paul says that Apollos planted and he himself watered; (3) but he doesnot speak of women as having set hand to the work of God. "

 3 The text is just the contrary: "I have planted, Apollos watered; but God gave the increase. "--I _Corinthians_ iii. 6. --Ed. 

"You would follow, " said Parlamente, "the opinion of those wicked menwho take a passage of Scripture that is in their favour and leave onethat is against them. If you had read St. Paul to the end, you wouldhave found that he commends himself to the ladies, who greatly labouredwith him in the work of the Gospel. "

"However that may be, " said Longarine, "the woman in the story is wellworthy of praise both for the love she bore her husband, on whose behalfshe risked her own life, and for the faith she had in God, who, as wesee, did not forsake her. "

"I think, " said Ennasuite, "as far as the first is concerned, that thereis no woman present but would do as much to save her husband's life. "

"I think, " said Parlamente, "that some husbands are such brutes that thewomen who live with them should not find it strange to live among theirfellows. "

Ennasuite, who took these words to herself, could not refrain fromsaying--

"Provided the beasts did not bite me, their company would be morepleasant to me than that of men, who are choleric and intolerable. But Iabide by what I have said, that, if my husband were in a like danger, Ishould not leave him to die. "

"Beware, " said Nomerfide, "of loving too fondly, for excess of love willdeceive both him and you. There is a medium in all things, and throughlack of knowledge love often gives birth to hate. "

"Methinks, " said Simontault, "you have not carried your discourse so farwithout having an instance to confirm it. If, then, you know such a one, I give you my place that you may tell it to us. "

"Well, " said Nomerfide, "the tale shall, as is my wont, be a short and amerry one. "

[Illustration: 161. Jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 163a. The Apothecary's Wife giving the Dose of Cantharidesto her Husband]

[The Apothecary's Wife giving the Dose of Cantharides to her Husband]

[Illustration: 163. Jpg Page Image]

_TALE LXVIII_. 

 _An apothecary's wife, finding that her husband made no great account of her, and wishing to be better loved by him, followed the advice that he had given to a "commère" (1) of his, whose sickness was of the same kind as her own; but she prospered not so well as the other, and instead of love reaped hate_. 

 1 Mr W. Kelly has pointed out (Bohn's _Heptameron_, p. 395) that in France the godfather and godmother of a child are called in reference to each other compère and commère, terms implying mutual relations of an extremely friendly kind. "The same usage exists in all Catholic countries, " adds Mr Kelly, "and one of the novels of the _Decameron_ is founded on a very general opinion in Italy that an amorous connection between a _compadre_ and his _commadre_ partook almost of the nature of incest. "

In the town of Pau in Beam there was an apothecary whom men calledMaster Stephen. He had married a virtuous wife and a thrifty, withbeauty enough to content him. But just as he was wont to taste differentdrugs, so did he also with women, that he might be the better able tospeak of all kinds. His wife was greatly tormented by this, and atlast lost all patience; for he made no account of her except by way ofpenance during Holy Week. 

One day when the apothecary was in his shop, and his wife had hiddenherself behind him to listen to what he might say, a woman, who was"commère" to the apothecary, and was stricken with the same sickness ashis own wife, came in, and, sighing, said to him--

"Alas, good godfather, I am the most unhappy woman alive. I love myhusband better than myself, and do nothing but think of how I may serveand obey him; but all my labour is wasted, for he prefers the wickedest, foulest, vilest woman in the town to me. So, godfather, if you know ofany drug that will change his humour, prithee give it me, and, if I bewell treated by him, I promise to reward you by all means in my power. "

The apothecary, to comfort her, said that he knew of a powder which, ifshe gave it to her husband with his broth or roast, after the fashionof Duke's powder, (2) would induce him to entertain her in the bestpossible manner. The poor woman, wishing to behold this miracle, askedhim what the powder was, and whether she could have some of it. Hedeclared that there was nothing like powder of cantharides, of whichhe had a goodly store; and before they parted she made him preparethis powder, and took as much of it as was needful for her purpose. Andafterwards she often thanked the apothecary, for her husband, who wasstrong and lusty, and did not take too much, was none the worse for it. 

 2 Boaistuau and Gruget call this preparation _poudre de Dun_, as enigmatical an appellation as _poudre de Duc_. As for the specific supplied by the apothecary, the context shows that this was the same aphrodisiac as the Marquis de Sades put to such a detestable use at Marseilles in 1772, when, after fleeing from justice, he was formally sentenced to death, and broken, in effigy, upon the wheel. See P. Lacroix's _Curiosités de l'histoire de France, IIème Série_, Paris, 1858. --Ed. 

The apothecary's wife heard all this talk, and thought within herselfthat she had no less need of the recipe than her husband's "commère. "Observing, therefore, the place where her husband put the remainder ofthe powder, she resolved that she would use some of it when she foundan opportunity; and this she did within three or four days. Her husband, who felt a coldness of the stomach, begged her to make him some goodsoup, but she replied that a roast with Duke's powder would be betterfor him; whereupon he bade her go quickly and prepare it, and takecinnamon and sugar from the shop. This she did, not forgetting also totake the remainder of the powder given to the "commère, " without anyheed to dose, weight or measure. 

The husband ate the roast, and thought it very good. Before long, however, he felt its effects, and sought to soothe them with his wife, but this he found was impossible, for he felt all on fire, in such wisethat he knew not which way to turn. He then told his wife that she hadpoisoned him, and demanded to know what she had put into the roast. Sheforthwith confessed the truth, telling him that she herself required therecipe quite as much as his "commère. " By reason of his evil plight, the poor apothecary could belabour her only with hard words; however, he drove her from his presence, and sent to beg the Queen of Navarre'sapothecary (3) to come and see him. This the Queen's apothecary did, andwhilst giving the other all the remedies proper for his cure (which ina short time was effected) he rebuked him very sharply for his follyin counselling another to use drugs that he was not willing to takehimself, and declared that his wife had only done her duty, inasmuch asshe had desired to be loved by her husband. 

 3 It was from her apothecary no doubt that Queen Margaret heard this story. --Ed. 

Thus the poor man was forced to endure the results of his folly inpatience, and to own that he had been justly punished in being broughtinto such derision as he had proposed for another. 

"Methinks, ladies, this woman's love was as indiscreet as it was great. "

"Do you call it loving her husband, " said Hircan, "to give him pain forthe sake of the delight that she herself looked to have?"

"I believe, " said Longarine, "she only desired to win back her husband'slove, which she deemed to have gone far astray; and for the sake of suchhappiness there is nothing that a woman will not do. " "Nevertheless, "said Geburon, "a woman ought on no account to make her husband eat ordrink anything unless, either through her own experience or thatof learned folk, she be sure that it can do him no harm. Ignorance, however, must be excused, and hers was worthy of excuse; for the mostblinding passion is love, and the most blinded of persons is a woman, since she has not strength enough to conduct so weighty a matterwisely. "

"Geburon, " said Oisille, "you are departing from your own excellentcustom so as to make yourself of like mind with your fellows; but thereare women who have endured love and jealousy in patience. "

"Ay, " said Hircan, "and pleasantly too; for the most sensible are thosewho take as much amusement in laughing at their husbands' doings, astheir husbands take in secretly deceiving them. If you will make itmy turn, so that the Lady Oisille may close the day, I will tell you astory about a wife and her husband who are known to all of us here. "

"Begin, then, " said Nomerfide; and Hircan, laughing, began thus:--

[Illustration: 168. Jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 169a. The Wife discovering her Husband in the Hood oftheir Serving-maid]

[The Wife discovering her Husband in the Hood of their Serving-maid]

[Illustration: 169. Jpg Page Image]

_TALE LXIX_. 

 _On finding her husband bolting meal in the garb of her serving-woman, whom he was awaiting in the hope that he would obtain from her what he desired, a certain lady showed such good sense that she was content to laugh and make merry at his folly_. 

At the castle of Odoz (1) in Bigorre, there dwelt one Charles, equerryto the King and an Italian by birth, who had married a very virtuousand honourable woman. After bearing him many children, she was nowgrown old, whilst he also was not young. And he lived with her in allpeacefulness and affection, for although he would at times speak withhis serving-women, his excellent wife took no notice of this, butquietly dismissed them whenever she found that they were becoming toofamiliar in her house. 

 1 The scene of this tale is laid at the castle where Margaret died. Ste. Marthe in his _Oraison funèbre_, pronounced at Alençon fifteen days after the Queen's death, formally states that she expired at Odos near Tarbes. He is not likely to have been mistaken, so that Brantome's assertion that the Queen died at Audos in Beam may be accepted as incorrect (_ante_, vol. I. P. Lxxxviii. ). It is further probable that the above tale was actually written at Odos (_ante_, vol. I. P. Lxxxvi. ), but the authenticity of the incidents is very doubtful, as there is an extremely similar story in the _Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles_ (No, xvii. _Le Conseiller au bluteau_), in which the hero of the adventure is a "great clerk and knight who presided over the Court of Accounts in Paris. " For subsequent imitations see Malespini's _Ducento Novelle_ (No. Xcvii. ) and _Les Joyeuses Adventures et Nouvelles Recreations_ (No. Xix. )--L. And Ed. 

One day she hired a discreet and worthy girl, telling her of herhusband's temper and her own, and how she was wont to turn away suchgirls whom she found to be wantons. This maid, wishing to continue inher mistress's service and esteem, resolved to remain a virtuous woman;and although her master often spoke to her, she on her part gave no heedto his words save that she repeated them to her mistress, and they thusboth derived much diversion from his folly. 

One day the maid was in a back room bolting meal, and wearing her"sarot, " a kind of hood which, after the fashion of that country, notonly formed a coif but covered the whole of the back and shoulders. Hermaster, finding her in this trim, came and urged her very pressingly, and, although she would not have done such a thing even to save herlife, she pretended to consent, and asked leave to go first and seewhether her mistress was engaged in some such manner that they might notbe surprised together. To this he agreed; whereupon she begged him toput her hood upon his head and to continue bolting whilst she was away, in order that her mistress might still hear the noise of the bolter. Andthis he gladly did, in the hope of obtaining what he sought. 

The maid, who was by no means inclined to melancholy, ran off to hermistress and said to her--

"Come and see your good husband, whom I have taught to bolt in order tobe rid of him. "

The wife made all speed to behold this new serving-woman, and when shesaw her husband with the hood upon his head and the bolter in his hands, she began to laugh so exceedingly, clapping her hands the while, thatshe was scarce able to say to him--

"How much dost want a month, wench, for thy labour?"

The husband, on hearing this voice, realised that he had been deceived, and, throwing down both what he was holding and wearing, he ran at thegirl, calling her a thousand bad names. Had his wife not set herself infront of the maid, he would have given her wage enough for her quarter;but at last all was settled to the content of the parties concerned, andthenceforward they lived together without quarrelling. (2)

 2 The Italian Charles, equerry to the King, to whom the leading part is assigned in Queen Margaret's tale, may have been Charles de San Severino, who figures among the equerries with a salary of 200 _livres_, in the roll of the royal household for 1522. The San Severino family, one of the most prominent of Naples, had attached itself to the French cause at the time of the expedition of Charles VIII. , whom several of its members followed to France. In 1522 we find a "Monsieur de Saint-Severin" holding the office of first _maître d'hôtel_ to Francis I. , and over a course of several years his son figures among the _enfants d'honneur_. --B. J. And Ed. 

"What say you, ladies, of this wife? Was she not sensible to make sportof her husband's sport?"

"'Twas no sport, " said Saffredent, "for the husband who failed in hispurpose. "

"I believe, " said Ennasuite, "that he had more delight in laughing withhis wife, than at killing himself at his age with his serving-woman. "

"Still, I should be sorely vexed, " said Simontault, "to be discovered sobravely coifed. "

"I have heard, " said Parlamente, "that it was not your wife's fault thatshe did not once discover you in very much the same attire in spite ofall your craft, and that since then she has known no repose. "

"Rest content with what befalls your own house, " said Simontault, "without inquiring into what befalls mine. Nevertheless, my wife has noreason to complain of me, and even did I act as you say, she would neverhave occasion to notice it through any lack of what she might need. "

"Virtuous women, " said Longarine, "require nothing but the love oftheir husbands, which alone can satisfy them. Those who seek a brutishsatisfaction will never find it where honour enjoins. "

"Do you call it brutish, " asked Geburon, "if a wife desires that herhusband should give her her due?"

"I say, " said Longarine, "that a chaste woman, whose heart is filledwith true love, is more content to be perfectly loved than to have allthe delights that the body can desire. "

"I am of your opinion, " said Dagoucin, "but my lords here will neitherhear it nor confess it. I think if mutual love cannot satisfy a woman, her husband alone will not do so; for unless she live in the lovethat is honourable for a woman, she must be tempted by the infernallustfulness of brutes. "

"In truth, " said Oisille, "you remind me of a lady who was both handsomeand well wedded, but who, through not living in that honourable love, became more carnal than swine and more cruel than lions. "

"I ask you, madam, " said Simontault, "to end the day by telling us herstory. "

"That I cannot do, " said Oisille, "and for two reasons. The first isthat it is exceedingly long; and the second, that it does not belong toour own day. It is written indeed by an author worthy of belief; but weare sworn to relate nothing that has been written. "

"That is true, " said Parlamente; "but I believe I know the story youmean, and it is written in such old language that methinks no onepresent except ourselves has ever heard of it. It will therefore belooked upon as new. "

Upon this the whole company begged her to tell it without fear for itslength, seeing that a full hour was yet left before vespers. So, attheir request, the Lady Oisille thus began:--

[Illustration: 174. Jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 175a. The Gentleman Killing Himself on the Death of his Mistress]

[The Gentleman Killing Himself on the Death of his Mistress]

[Illustration: 175. Jpg Page Image]

_TALE LXX_. 

 _The Duchess of Burgundy, not content with the love that her husband bore her, conceived so great an affection for a young gentleman that, when looks and glances were not sufficient to inform him of her passion, she declared it to him in words which led to an evil ending_. (1)

 1 This story is borrowed from an old _fabliau_, known under the title of the _Châtelaine de Vergy_, which will be found in the _Recueil de Barbazan_ (vol iv. ) and in Legrand d'Aussy's _Fabliaux_ (vol iii. ). Margaret calls the lady Madame du Vergier (literally the lady of the orchard) in her tale. Bandello imitated the same _fabliau_ in his _Novelle_ (1554; part iv. Nov. V. ), but gave it a different ending. Belleforest subsequently adapted it for his _Histoires Tragiques_. Margaret's tale may also be compared with No. Lxii. Of the _Cento Novelle antiche_, p. 84 of the edition of Florence, 1825. --L. And M. 

In the Duchy of Burgundy there was a Duke who was a very honourableand handsome Prince. He had married a wife whose beauty pleased him sogreatly that it kept him from knowledge of her character, and he tookthought only how he might please her, whilst she made excellent show ofreturning his affection. Now the Duke had in his household a gentlemanfilled with all the perfection that could be sought for in a man. Hewas loved by all, more especially by the Duke, who had reared himfrom childhood near his own person; and, finding him possessed of suchexcellent qualities, the Duke loved him exceedingly and trusted him withall such matters as one of his years could understand. 

The Duchess, who had not the heart of a virtuous woman and Princess, and was not content with the love that her husband bore her and the goodtreatment that she had at his hands, often observed this gentleman, and so much to her liking did she find him, that she loved him beyondmeasure. This she strove unceasingly to make known to him, as well bysoft and piteous glances as by sighs and passionate looks. 

But the gentleman, whose inclinations had ever been to virtue alone, could not perceive wickedness in a lady who had so little excuse for it, and so the glances and looks of the poor wanton bore no fruit save herown frenzied despair. This at last drove her to extremes, and forgettingthat she was a woman fit to be entreated and yet to refuse, and aPrincess made to be worshipped by such lovers and yet to hold them inscorn, she acted with the spirit of a man transported by passion, with aview to rid herself of the fire which she could no longer endure. 

Accordingly, one day when her husband was gone to the council, at whichthe gentleman by reason of his youth was not present, she beckoned himto come to her, which he did, thinking that she had some command togive him. But leaning on his arm, like a woman wearied with repose, shebrought him to walk in a gallery, where she said to him--

"I marvel that you who are so handsome and young, and full of excellentgrace, have lived in this company, where are so many beautiful ladies, and yet have been lover or true knight to none. " Then, looking at him asgraciously as she was able, she waited for his reply. 

"Madam, " he said, "if I were worthy that your Highness should stoop tothink of me, you would have still greater reason to marvel at seeing aman so little worthy of love as I am, offer his service where it wouldbe rejected or scorned. "

On hearing this discreet reply, the Duchess felt she loved him morethan before. She vowed to him that there was not a lady at her Courtwho would not be only too happy to have such a knight, and that he mightwell make an adventure of the sort, since there was no danger but hewould come out of it with honour. The gentleman kept his eyes downcast, not daring to meet her looks, which were hot enough to melt ice; but, just as he was trying to excuse himself, the Duke sent for the Duchessto come to the council on some matter that concerned her, and thitherwith much regret she went. The gentleman never afterwards made theslightest sign of having understood a word of what she had said to him, at which she was exceedingly distressed and vexed; and she knew not towhat cause to impute her failure, unless it were to the foolish fear ofwhich she deemed the gentleman to be possessed. 

A few days afterwards, finding that he gave no sign of understandingwhat she had said, she resolved on her part to set aside all fear orshame, and to tell him of her love. She felt sure that beauty such ashers could not be otherwise than well received, although she would fainhave had the honour of being wooed. However, she set her honour on oneside for her pleasure's sake, and after she had several times attemptedthe same fashion of discourse as at first, but without receiving anyreply to her liking, she one day plucked the gentleman by the sleeve, and told him that she must speak to him on certain matters of weight. The gentleman went with the humility and reverence that were her due toa deep window into which she had withdrawn; and, on perceiving thatno one in the room could see her, she began in a trembling voice, that halted between desire and fear, to continue her former discourse, rebuking him for not yet having chosen some lady in the company, andpromising him that, no matter who it might be, she would help him to winkindly treatment. 

The gentleman, who was no less vexed than astonished by her words, replied--

"Madam, my heart is so tender, that, were I once refused, I should neveragain have joy in this world; and I know myself to be of such littleworth that no lady at this Court would deign to accept my suit. "

The Duchess blushed, and, imagining that at last he was indeed won, vowed to him that she knew the most beautiful lady in the companywould, if he were willing, joyfully receive him, and afford him perfecthappiness. 

"Alas! madam, " he replied, "I do not think that there is any woman inthis company so unfortunate and so blind as to find me worthy of herlove. "

The Duchess, finding that he would not understand her, drew the veilof her passion somewhat aside, and, by reason of the fears which thegentleman's virtue caused her, spoke to him in the form of a question. 

"If fortune, " she said, "had so far favoured you that it was myself whobore you this goodwill, what would you say?"

The gentleman, who thought that he was dreaming when he heard her speakin this wise, dropped on his knee, and replied--

"Madam, when God by His favour enables me to have both the favour ofthe Duke, my master, and your own, I shall deem myself the happiest manalive; for 'tis the reward I crave for the loyal service of one who, more than any other, is bound to give his life in the service of youboth. And I am sure, madam, that the love you bear my Lord aforesaid isattended with such chastity and nobleness that, apart from myself, who am but a worm of the earth, not even the greatest Prince and mostperfect man to be found could break the union that exists between you. For my own part, my Lord has brought me up from childhood, and made mewhat I am, and to save my life I could not entertain towards any wife, daughter, sister or mother of his any thought contrary to what is duefrom a loyal and faithful servant. "

The Duchess would not allow him to continue, but finding that she wasin danger of obtaining a dishonourable refusal, she suddenly interruptedhim, and said--

"Wicked and boastful fool, who seeks any such thing from you? Do youthink that your good looks win you the love of the very flies in theair? Nay, if you were presumptuous enough to address yourself to me, Iwould show you that I love, and seek to love, none but my husband. WhatI have said to you was spoken only for my amusement, to try you andlaugh at you, as I do at all foolish lovers. "

"Madam, " said the gentleman, "I believed, and do still believe, that itis as you say. "

Then, without listening further, she withdrew in haste to her ownapartment, and, finding that she was followed by her ladies, went intoher closet, where she sorrowed after a fashion that cannot be described. On the one part, the love wherein she had failed caused her mortalsadness; on the other, her anger, both against herself for havingentered upon such foolish talk and against the gentleman for hisdiscreet reply, drove her into such fury that at one moment she wishedto make away with herself, and at another, to live that she might avengeherself on one whom she now regarded as her deadly enemy. 

When she had wept for a long while, she made pretence of being ill, inorder that she might not be present at the Duke's supper, at which thegentleman was commonly in waiting. The Duke, who loved his wife betterthan he did himself, came to see her; but the more effectually to workher end, she told him that she believed herself to be with child, andthat her pregnancy had caused a rheum to come upon her eyes, which gaveher much pain. So passed two or three days, during which the Duchesskept her bed in sadness and melancholy, until at last the Duke thoughtthat something further must be the matter. He therefore came at nightto sleep with her; but, finding that for all he could do he could in nosort check her sighs, he said to her--

"You know, sweetheart, that I love you as dearly as my life, and thatif yours were lacking I could not endure my own. If therefore you wouldpreserve my health, I pray you tell me what causes you to sigh afterthis manner; for I cannot believe that such unhappiness can come onlybecause you are with child. "

The Duchess, finding that her husband was disposed to her just as shecould have wished him to be, thought that the time was come to seekvengeance for her affliction; and embracing the Duke, she began to weep, and said--

"Alas, my lord, my greatest unhappiness is to see you deceived bythose on whom is so deep an obligation to guard your substance and yourhonour. "

The Duke, on hearing this, was very desirous of knowing why she spokein that manner, and earnestly begged her to make the truth known to himwithout fear. After refusing several times, she said--

"I shall never wonder, my lord, that foreigners make war on Princes, when those who are in duty most bound to them, wage upon them a war socruel that loss of territory were nothing in comparison. I say this, my lord, in reference to a certain gentleman" (naming her enemy) "who, though reared by your own hand and treated more like a son than aservant, has made a cruel and base attempt to ruin the honour of yourwife, in which is also bound up the honour of your house and yourchildren. Although for a long time he showed me such looks as pointed tohis wicked purpose, yet my heart, which only cares for you, understoodnothing of them; and so at last he declared himself in words to whichI returned a reply such as beseemed my condition and my chastity. Nevertheless, I now so hate him that I cannot endure to look at him, and for this cause I have continued in my own apartment and lost thehappiness of fellowship with you. I entreat you, my lord, keep not thispestilence near your person; for, after such a crime, he might fear lestI should tell you of it, and so attempt worse. This, my lord, is thecause of my sorrow, and methinks it were right and fitting that youshould deal with it forthwith. "

The Duke, who on the one hand loved his wife and felt himself grievouslyaffronted, and on the other loved his servant, whose faithfulness he hadso fully tried that he could scarce believe this falsehood against him, was in great distress and filled with anger. Repairing to his own room, he sent word to the gentleman to come no more into his presence, but towithdraw to his lodging for a time. The gentleman, being ignorant of thecause of this, was grieved exceedingly, for he knew that he had deservedthe opposite of such unworthy treatment. Aware, then, of his owninnocence in heart and deed, he sent a comrade to speak to the Duke andtake him a letter, humbly entreating that if any evil report had causedhis banishment, his master would be pleased to suspend judgment until hehad heard from himself the truth of the matter, when it would be foundthat he had been guilty of no offence. 

When the Duke saw this letter, his anger was somewhat abated. Hesecretly sent for the gentleman to his own room, and with wrathfulcountenance said--

"I could never have thought that the care I took to rear you as my ownchild would be changed into regret at having so highly advanced you;but you have attempted what was more hurtful to me than loss of lifeor substance, and have sought to assail the honour of one who is halfmyself, and so bring infamy on my house and name. You may be assuredthat this outrage is so wounding to my heart that, were it not for mydoubt whether it be true or not, you would have already been at thebottom of the water, and so have received in secret due punishment forthe wrong that in secret you intended against me. "

The gentleman was in no wise dismayed by this discourse, but, ignorantas he was of the truth, spoke forth with confidence and entreated theDuke to name his accuser, since such a charge should be justified ratherwith the lance than with the tongue. 

"Your accuser, " said the Duke, "carries no weapon but chastity. Know, then, that none other but my wife has told me this, and she begged me totake vengeance upon you. "

The poor gentleman, though he then perceived the lady's greatwickedness, would not accuse her. 

"My lord, " he replied, "my lady may say what she will. You know herbetter than I do, and you are aware if ever I saw her when out of yoursight, save only on one occasion, when she spoke but little with me. You have, moreover, as sound a judgment as any Prince alive; wherefore Ipray you, my lord, judge whether you have ever seen aught in me to causeany suspicion; and remember love is a fire that cannot be hidden so asnever to be known of by those who have had a like distemper. So I prayyou, my lord, to believe two things of me: first, that my loyalty to youis such that were my lady, your wife, the fairest being in the world, love would never avail to make me stain my honour and fidelity; andsecondly, that even were she not your wife, I should be least in lovewith her of all the women I have ever known, since there are many othersto whom I would sooner plight my troth. "

On hearing these words of truth, the Duke began to be softened, andsaid--

"I assure you, on my part, that I did not believe it. Do, therefore, according to your wont, in the assurance that, if I find the truth to beon your side, I will love you yet better than before. But if it be notso, your life is in my hands. "

The gentleman thanked him and offered to submit to any pain or penaltyif he were found guilty. 

The Duchess, on seeing the gentleman again in waiting as had formerlybeen his wont, could not endure it in patience, but said to herhusband--

"'Twould be no more than you deserve, my lord, if you were poisoned, since you put more trust in your deadly enemies than in your friends. "

"I pray you, sweetheart, do not torment yourself in this matter, " saidthe Duke. "If I find that you have told me true, I promise you he shallnot live four and twenty hours. But he has sworn to the contrary, and Ihave myself never perceived any such fault, and so I cannot believe itwithout complete proof. "

"In good sooth, my lord, " she replied, "your goodness renders hiswickedness the greater. What more complete proof would you have thanthis, that no love affair has ever been imputed to him? Believe me, mylord, were it not for the lofty purpose that he took into his head ofbeing my lover, he would not have continued so long without a mistress;for never did a young man live solitary as he does in such good company, unless he had fixed his heart so high as to be content merely with hisown vain hope. Since, then, you think that he is not hiding the truthfrom you, put him, I beg you, on oath as regards his love. If he lovesanother, I am content that you should believe him, and if not, you willknow that what I say is true. "

The Duke thought his wife's reasonings very good, and, taking thegentleman into the country with him, said--

"My wife continues still of the same mind, and has set before me anargument that causes me grave suspicion against you. It is deemedstrange that you who are so gallant and young have never been known tolove, and this makes me think that you have such affection for her asshe says, and that the hope it gives you renders you content to thinkof no other woman. As a friend, therefore, I pray you, and as a master Icommand you to tell me whether you are in love with any lady on earth. "

Although the gentleman would have fain concealed his passion yet ashe loved his life, he was obliged, on seeing his master's jealousy, toswear to him that he did indeed love one whose beauty was so great, thatthe beauty of the Duchess or of any lady of the Court would be simplyugliness beside it. But he entreated that he might never be compelled toname her, since the agreement between himself and his sweetheart was ofsuch a nature that it could not be broken excepting by whichever of themshould be the first to make it known. 

The Duke promised not to urge him, and being quite satisfied with him, treated him with more kindness than ever before. The Duchess perceivedthis, and set herself with her wonted craft to find out the reason. The Duke did not hide it from her; whereupon strong jealousy sprang upbeside her desire for vengeance, and she begged her husband to commandthe gentleman to name his sweetheart. She assured him that the story wasa lie, and that the course she urged was the best means of testingit. If the gentleman, said she, did not name her whom he deemed sobeautiful, and his master believed him on his mere word, he would indeedbe the most foolish Prince alive. 

The poor Duke, whose wife directed his thoughts at her pleasure, went towalk alone with the gentleman, and told him that he was in even greatertrouble than before; for he was greatly minded to believe that he hadbeen given an excuse to keep him from suspecting the truth. This was agreater torment to him than ever; and he therefore begged the gentleman, as earnestly as he was able, to name her whom he loved so dearly. Thepoor gentleman entreated that he might not be made to commit so greatan offence against his mistress as to break the promise he had given herand had kept so long, and thus lose in a day all that he had preservedfor seven years. And he added that he would rather suffer death than inthis wise wrong one who had been true to him. 

The Duke, finding that he would not tell him, became deeply jealous, andwith a wrathful countenance exclaimed--

"Well, choose one of two things: either tell me whom you love more thanany other, or else go into banishment from the territories over whichI rule, under pain of a cruel death if you be found within them after aweek is over. "

If ever heart of loyal servant was torn with anguish, it was so withthat of this poor gentleman, who might well have said, _Angustiæ suntmihi undique_, for on the one part he saw that by telling the truthhe would lose his mistress, if she learned that he had failed in hispromise to her; while, if he did not confess it, he would be banishedfrom the land in which she dwelt, and be no more able to see her. Hardpressed in this manner on all sides, there came upon him a cold sweat, as on one whose sorrow was bringing him near to death. The Duke, observing his looks, concluded that he loved no other lady than theDuchess, and was enduring this suffering because he was able to namenone other. He therefore said to him with considerable harshness--

"If what you say were true, you would not have so much trouble intelling me; but methinks 'tis your crime that is tormenting you. "

The gentleman, piqued by these words, and impelled by the love that hebore his master, resolved to tell him the truth, believing that he wastoo honourable a man ever, on any account, to reveal it. Accordingly, throwing himself upon his knees, and clasping his hands, he said--

"My lord, the duty that I owe to you and the love that I bear youconstrain me more than the fear of any death. I can see that you imagineand judge falsely concerning me, and, to take this trouble from you, Iam resolved to do that to which no torment had compelled me. But I prayyou, my lord, swear to me by the honour of God, and promise me by yourown faith as a Prince and a Christian, that you will never reveal thesecret which, since it so pleases you, I am obliged to tell. "

Upon this the Duke swore to him with all the oaths he could think ofthat he would never reveal aught of it to any living being, whether byspeech, or writing, or feature. Then the young man, feeling confidencein so virtuous a Prince as he knew his master to be, began the buildingup of his misfortune, and said--

"It is now seven years, my lord, since knowing your niece, the Ladydu Vergier, to be a widow and without kindred, I set myself to win herfavour. But, since I was of too lowly a birth to wed her, I contentedmyself with being received by her as her true knight, as indeed I havebeen. And it has pleased God that the affair has hitherto been contrivedwith much discretion, so that neither man nor woman knows of it saveourselves alone, and now, my lord, you also. I place my life and honourin your hands, entreating you to keep the matter secret and to esteemyour niece none the less; for I think that under heaven there is no moreperfect being. "

If ever man was rejoiced it was the Duke, for, knowing as he did theexceeding beauty of his niece, he now had no doubt that she was morepleasing than his wife. However, being unable to understand how so greata mystery could have been contrived, he begged the gentleman to tellhim how it was that he was able to see her. The gentleman related to himthen that his lady's chamber looked upon a garden, and that, on the dayswhen he was to visit her, a little gate was left open through which hewent in on foot until he heard the barking of a little dog which thelady used to loose in the garden when all her women were withdrawn. Thenhe went and conversed with her all night long, and, in parting fromher, would appoint a day on which he would return; and this appointment, unless for some weighty reason, he never failed to keep. The Duke, whowas the most inquisitive man alive, and who had made love in no smalldegree in his day, wished both to satisfy his suspicions and to fullyunderstand so strange a business; and he therefore begged the gentlemanto take him, not as a master but as a companion, the next time he wentthither. To this the gentleman, having gone so far already, consented, saying that he had an appointment for that very day; at which the Dukewas as glad as if he had gained a kingdom. Making pretence of retiringto rest in his closet, he caused two horses to be brought for himselfand the gentleman, and they travelled all night long from Argilly, wherethe Duke lived, to Le Vergier. (2)

 2 At Argilly the Dukes of Burgundy had a castle, which was destroyed during the religious wars at the close of the sixteenth century. The place is now a small village in the arrondissement of Nuits, Côte d'Or. As the crow flies, it is some ten miles distant from the ruins of the castle of Vergy, which stands on a steep height, at an altitude of over 1600 ft. , within five miles from Nuits. The castle, which can only be reached on one side of the hill, by a narrow, winding and precipitous pathway, is known to have been in existence already in the tenth century, when the Lords of Vergy were Counts of Chalons, Beaune, and Nuits. They appear to have engaged in a struggle for supremacy with the princes of the first Ducal house of Burgundy, but in 1193 Alix de Vergy espoused Duke Eudes III. , to whom she brought, as dower, the greater part of the paternal inheritance. The castle of Vergy was dismantled by Henry IV. , and the existing ruins are of small extent. Some antiquaries believe the fortress to have been originally built by the Romans. --B. J. And L. 

Then they left their horses without the wall, and the gentleman broughtthe Duke into the garden through the little gate, begging him to remainbehind a walnut-tree, whence he might see whether he had been told thetruth or not. 

They had been but a short time in the garden when the little dog beganto bark, and the gentleman walked towards the tower, where his ladyfailed not to come and meet him. She kissed him, saying that it seemeda thousand years since she had seen him, and then they went into thechamber and shut the door behind them. 

Having seen the whole of the mystery, the Duke felt more than satisfied. Nor had he a great while to wait, for the gentleman told his mistressthat he must needs return sooner than was his wont, since the Duke wasto go hunting at four o'clock, and he durst not fail to attend him. 

The lady, who set honour before delight, would not keep him fromfulfilling his duty; for what she prized most in their honourableaffection was that it was kept secret from all. 

So the gentleman departed an hour after midnight, and his lady in cloakand kerchief went with him, yet not so far as she wished, for, fearinglest she should meet the Duke, he obliged her to return. Then hemounted with the Duke and returned to the castle of Argilly, his masterunceasingly swearing to him on the way that he would die rather thanever reveal his secret. Moreover, he then put so much trust in thegentleman, and had so much love for him, that no one in his Court stoodhigher in his favour. The Duchess grew furious at this, but the Dukeforbade her ever to speak to him about the gentleman again, saying thathe now knew the truth about him and was well pleased, since the ladyin question was more worthy of love than herself. These words deeplypierced the heart of the Duchess, and she fell into a sickness that wasworse than fever. 

The Duke went to see her in order to comfort her, but there was nomeans of doing this except by telling her the name of this beautiful anddearly loved lady. She pressed him urgently to do this, until at lastthe Duke went out of the room, saying--

"If you speak to me again after this fashion, we shall part one from theother. "

These words increased the sickness of the Duchess, and she pretendedthat she felt her infant stirring, at which the Duke was so rejoicedthat he came and lay beside her. But, just when she saw him most lovingtowards her, she turned away, and said--

"I pray you, my lord, since you have no love for either wife or child, leave us to die together. "

With these words she gave vent to many tears and lamentations, and theDuke was in great fear lest she should lose her child. He therefore tookher in his arms and begged her to tell him what she would have, since hepossessed nothing that was not also hers. 

"Ah, my lord, " she replied, weeping, "what hope can I have that youwould do a hard thing for me, when you will not do the easiest and mostreasonable in the world, which is to name to me the mistress of thewickedest servant you ever had? I thought that you and I had but oneheart, one soul, and one flesh. But now I see that you look upon me asa stranger, seeing that your secrets, which should be known to me, arehidden from me as though I were a stranger. Alas! my lord, you have toldme many weighty and secret matters, of which you have never known me tospeak, you have proved my will to be like to your own, and you cannotdoubt but that I am less myself than you. And if you have sworn never totell the gentleman's secret to another, you will not break your oath intelling it to me, for I am not and cannot be other than yourself. I haveyou in my heart, I hold you in my arms, I have in my womb a child inwhom you live, and yet I may not have your heart as you have mine. Themore faithful and true I am to you, the more cruel and stern are you tome, so that a thousand times a day do I long by a sudden death to ridmy child of such a father and myself of such a husband. And I hope thatthis will be ere long, since you set a faithless servant before a wifesuch as 1 am to you, and before the life of the mother of your child, which will perish because I cannot have of you that which I most desireto know. "

So saying, she embraced and kissed her husband, and watered his facewith her tears, uttering the while such lamentations and sighs that thegood Prince feared to lose wife and child together, and resolved to tellher all the truth of the matter. Nevertheless, he first swore to herthat if ever she revealed it to a living being she should die by hisown hand; and she agreed to and accepted this punishment. Then the poor, deceived husband told her all that he had seen from beginning to end, and she made show of being well pleased. In her heart she was mindedvery differently, but through fear of the Duke she concealed her passionas well as she was able. 

Now on a certain great feast-day the Duke held his Court, to which hehad bidden all the ladies of that country, and among the rest hisniece. When the dances began, all did their duty save the Duchess, who, tormented by the sight of her niece's beauty and grace, could neithermake merry nor prevent her spleen from being perceived. At last shecalled all the ladies, and making them scat themselves around her, beganto talk of love; and seeing that the Lady du Vergier said nothing, sheasked her, with a heart which jealousy was rending--

"And you, fair niece, is it possible that your beauty has found no loveror true knight?"

"Madam, " replied the Lady du Vergier, "my beauty has not yet made sucha conquest. Since my husband's death I have sought to love none but hischildren, with whom I deem myself happy. "

"Fair niece, fair niece, " replied the Duchess, with hateful spleen, "there is no love so secret that it is not known, and no little dog sowell broken in and trained that it cannot be heard to bark. "

I leave you to imagine, ladies, what sorrow the poor Lady du Vergierfelt in her heart on finding a matter, so long concealed, thus madeknown to her great dishonour. Her honour, which had been so carefullyguarded and was now wofully lost, tortured her, but still more so hersuspicion that her lover had failed in his promise to her. This she didnot think he could have done, unless it were that he loved some ladyfairer than herself, to whom his love had constrained him to make thewhole matter known. Yet so great was her discretion that she gave nosign, but replied laughing to the Duchess that she did not understandthe language of animals. However, beneath this prudent concealment herheart was filled with sadness, so that she rose up, and, passing out ofthe chamber, entered a closet in sight of the Duke, who was walking upand down. 

Having thus reached a place where she believed herself to be alone, thepoor lady let herself fall helplessly upon a bed, whereat a damsel, whohad sat down beside it to sleep, rose up and drew back the curtainsto see who this might be. Finding that it was the Lady du Vergier, who believed herself to be alone, she durst say nothing to her, butlistened, making as little noise as she was able. And in a stifled voicethe poor Lady du Vergier began to lament, saying--

"O unhappy one, what words have I heard? to what decree of death have Ihearkened? what final sentence have I received? O best beloved of men, is this the reward of my chaste, honourable and virtuous love? O myheart, hast thou made so parlous an election, and chosen for themost loyal the most faithless, for the truest the most false, for thediscreetest the most slanderous? Alas! can it be that a thing hiddenfrom every human eye has been revealed to the Duchess? Alas, my littledog, so well taught and the sole instrument of my love and virtuousaffection, it was not you who betrayed me, it was he whose voice islouder than a dog's bark, and whose heart is more thankless than anybrute's. Tis he who, contrary to his oath and promise, has made knownthe happy life which, wronging none, we so long have led together. O mybeloved, the love of whom alone has entered into my heart, and preservedmy life, must you now be declared my deadly foe, while mine honour isgiven to the winds, my body to the dust, and my soul to its everlastingabode? Is the beauty of the Duchess so exceeding great that, like thebeauty of Circe, it has bewitched and transformed you? Has she turnedyou from virtue to vice, from goodness to wickedness, from being a manto be a beast of prey? O my beloved, though you have failed in yourpromise to me, yet will I keep mine to you, and, now that our love hasbeen revealed, will never see you more. Nevertheless, I cannot livewithout your presence, and so I gladly yield to my exceeding sorrow, andwill seek for it no cure either in reason or in medicine. Death aloneshall end it, and death will be sweeter to me than life on earth withoutlover, honour or happiness. Neither war nor death has robbed me of mylover; no sin or fault of mine has robbed me of my honour; neither errornor demerit of mine has made me lose my joy. 'Tis cruel fate thathas rendered the most favoured of men thankless, and has caused me toreceive the contrary of that which I deserved. 

"Ah, my Lady Duchess, what delight it was to you to taunt me with mylittle dog! Rejoice, then, in the happiness you owe to me alone; taunther who thought by careful concealment and virtuous love to be free fromany taunt. Ah! how those words have bruised my heart! how they have mademe blush for shame and pale for jealousy! Alas, my heart, I feel thatthou art indeed undone! The wicked love that has discovered me burnsthee; jealousy of thee and evil intent towards thee are to thee as iceand death; while wrath and sorrow do not suffer me to comfort thee. Alas, poor soul, that in adoring the creature didst forget the Creator, thou must return into the hands of Him from whom vain love tore theeaway. Have trust, my soul, that thou wilt find in Him a Father kinderthan was the lover for whose sake thou hast so often forgotten Him. O myGod, my Creator, Thou who art the true and perfect love, by whose gracethe love I bore to my beloved has been stained by no blemish savethat of too great an affection, I implore Thee in mercy to receive thesoul-and spirit of one who repents that she has broken thy first andmost just commandment. And, through the merits of Him whose love passethall understanding, forgive the error into which excess of love has ledme, for in Thee alone do I put my perfect trust. And farewell, O mybeloved, whose empty name doth break my very heart. "

With these words she fell backward, and her face grew pallid, her lipsblue, and her extremities cold. 

Just at this moment the gentleman she loved came into the hall, and, seeing the Duchess dancing with the ladies, looked everywhere for hissweetheart. Not finding her, he went into the chamber of the Duchess, and there found the Duke, who was walking up and down, and who, guessinghis purpose, whispered in his ear--

"She went into that closet, and methought she was ill. "

The gentleman asked whether he would be pleased to let him go in, andthe Duke begged him to do so. When he entered the closet he found theLady du Vergier, come to the last stage of her mortal life; whereat, throwing his arms about her, he said--

"What is this, sweetheart? Would you leave me?"

The poor lady, hearing the voice that she knew so well, recovered alittle strength and opened her eyes to look upon him who was the causeof her death; but at this look her love and anguish waxed so great that, with a piteous sigh, she yielded up her soul to God. 

The gentleman, more dead than the dead woman herself, asked the damselwho was there how this sickness had come upon his sweetheart, and shetold him all the words that she had heard. Then the gentleman knew thatthe Duke had revealed the secret to his wife, and felt such frenzy that, whilst embracing his sweetheart's body, he for a long time watered itwith his tears, saying--

"O traitorous, wicked and unhappy lover that I am! why has not thepunishment of my treachery fallen upon me, and not upon her who isinnocent? Why was I not struck by a bolt from heaven on the day when mytongue revealed the secret and virtuous love between us? Why did notthe earth open to swallow up this traitor to his troth? O tongue, mayestthou be punished as was the tongue of the wicked rich man in hell!

"O heart, too fearful of death and banishment, mayest thou be torncontinually by eagles as was the heart of Ixion! (3)

 3 Queen Margaret's memory plainly failed her here. --Ed. 

"Alas, sweetheart, the greatest of all the greatest woes has fallen uponme! I thought to keep you, but I have lost you; I thought to see you fora long time and to abide with you in sweet and honourable content, yetnow I embrace your dead body, and you passed away in sore displeasurewith me, with my heart and with my tongue. O most loyal and faithful ofwomen, I do confess myself the most disloyal, fickle and faithless ofall men. Gladly would I complain of the Duke in whose promise I trusted, hoping thus to continue our happy life; but alas! I should have knownthat none could keep our secret better than I kept it myself. The Dukehad more reason in telling his secret to his wife than I in telling mineto him. I accuse none but myself of the greatest wickedness that wasever done between lovers. I ought to have submitted to be cast into themoat as he threatened to do with me; at least, sweetheart, you wouldthen have lived in widowhood and I have died a glorious death inobserving the law that true love enjoins. But through breaking it I amnow in life, and you, through perfectness of love, are dead; for yourpure, clear heart could not bear to know the wickedness of your lover. 

"O my God! why didst Thou endow me with so light a love and so ignoranta heart? Why didst thou not create me as the little dog that faithfullyserved his mistress? Alas, my little friend, the joy your bark was wontto give me is turned to deadly sorrow, now that another than we twainhas heard your voice. Yet, sweetheart, neither the love of the Duchessnor of any living woman turned me aside, though indeed that wicked onedid often ask and entreat me. 'Twas by my ignorance, which thought tosecure our love for ever, that I was overcome. Yet for that ignorance amI none the less guilty; for I revealed my sweetheart's secret and brokemy promise to her, and for this cause alone do I see her lying deadbefore my eyes. Alas, sweetheart, death will to me be less cruel thanto you, whose love has ended your innocent life. Methinks it would notdeign to touch my faithless and miserable heart; for life with dishonourand the memory of that which I have lost through guilt would be harderto bear than ten thousand deaths. Alas, sweetheart, had any dared toslay you through mischance or malice, I should quickly have clapped handto sword to avenge you; 'tis therefore right that I should not pardonthe murderer who has caused your death by a more wicked act than anysword-thrust. Did I know a viler executioner than myself, I wouldentreat him to put your traitorous lover to death. O Love! I haveoffended thee from not having known how to love, and therefore thou wiltnot succour me as thou didst succour her who kept all thy laws. 'Tis notright that I should die after so honourable a manner; but 'tis well thatI should die by mine own hand. I have washed your face, sweet, with mytears, and with my tongue have craved your forgiveness; and now it onlyremains for my hand to make my body like unto yours, and send my soulwhither yours will go, in the knowledge that a virtuous and honourablelove can never end, whether in this world or in the next. "

Rising up from the body he then, like a frenzied man beside himself, drew his dagger and with great violence stabbed himself to the heart. Then he again took his sweetheart in his arms, kissing her with suchpassion that it seemed as though he were seized rather with love thanwith death. 

The damsel, seeing him deal himself the blow, ran to the door and calledfor help. The Duke, on hearing the outcry, suspected misfortune to thosehe loved, and was the first to enter the closet, where he beheld thepiteous pair. He sought to separate them, and, if it were possible, tosave the gentleman; but the latter clasped his sweetheart so fast thathe could not be taken from her until he was dead. Nevertheless he heardthe Duke speaking to him and saying--"Alas! what is the cause of this?"To which, with a glance of fury, he replied--"My tongue, my lord, andyours. " So saying, he died, with his face close pressed to that of hismistress. 

The Duke, wishing to know more of the matter, made the damsel tell himwhat she had seen and heard; and this she did at full length, sparingnothing. Then the Duke, finding that he was himself the cause of allthis woe, threw himself upon the two dead lovers, and, with greatlamentation and weeping, kissed both of them several times and askedtheir forgiveness. And after that he rose up in fury, and drew thedagger from the gentleman's body; and, just as a wild boar, wounded witha spear, rushes headlong against him that has dealt the blow, so did theDuke now seek out her who had wounded him to the bottom of his soul. Hefound her dancing in the hall, and more merry than was her wont atthe thought of the excellent vengeance she had wreaked on the Lady duVergier. 

The Duke came upon her in the midst of the dance, and said--

"You took the secret upon your life, and upon your life shall fall thepunishment. "

So saying, he seized her by the head-dress and stabbed her with thedagger in the breast. All the company were astonished, and it wasthought that the Duke was out of his mind; but, having thus worked hiswill, he brought all his retainers together in the hall and told themthe virtuous and pitiful story of his niece, and the evil that his wifehad wrought her. And those who were present wept whilst they listened. 

Then the Duke ordered that his wife should be buried in an abbey whichhe founded partly to atone for the sin that he had committed in killingher; and he caused a beautiful tomb to be built, in which the bodies ofhis niece and the gentleman were laid together, with an epitaph settingforth their tragic story. And the Duke undertook an expedition againstthe Turks, in which God so favoured him, that he brought back bothhonour and profit. On his return, he found his eldest son now able togovern his possessions, and so left all to him, and went and became amonk in the abbey where his wife and the two lovers were buried. Andthere did he spend his old age happily with God. 

"Such, ladies, is the story which you begged me to relate, and which, as I can see from your eyes, you have not heard without compassion. Itseems to me that you should take example by it, and beware of placingyour affections upon men; for, however honourable or virtuous theseaffections may be, in the end they have always an aftertaste of evil. You see how St. Paul would not that even married people should sodeeply love each other; (4) for the more our hearts are set upon earthlythings, the more remote are they from heavenly affection, and the harderis the tie to be broken. I therefore pray you, ladies, ask God for HisHoly Spirit, who will so fire your hearts with the love of God, thatwhen death comes, you will not be pained at leaving that which you lovetoo well in this world. "

 4 I _Corinthians_ vii. 32-5. --M. 

"If their love, " said Geburon, "was as honourable as you describe, whywas it needful to keep it so secret?"

"Because, " said Parlamente, "the wickedness of men is so great, thatthey can never believe deep love to be allied with honour, but judgemen and women to be wicked according to their own passions. Hence, if awoman has a dear friend other than one of her nearest kinsfolk, she mustspeak with him in secret if she would speak long with him; for a woman'shonour is attacked, whether she love virtuously or viciously, sincepeople judge only from appearances. "

"But, " said Geburon, "when a secret of that kind is revealed, peoplethink far worse of it. "

"I grant you that, " said Longarine; "and so it is best not to love atall. "

"We appeal from that sentence, " said Dagoucin, "for, did we believe theladies to be without love, we would fain be ourselves without life. Ispeak of those who live but to win love: and, even if they secure itnot, yet the hope of it sustains them and prompts them to do a thousandhonourable deeds, until old age changes their fair sufferings to otherpains. But, did we think that ladies were without love, it were needfulwe should turn traders instead of soldiers, and instead of winning fame, think only of hea'ping up riches. "

"You would say, then, " said Hircan, "that, were there no women, weshould all be dastards, as though we had no courage save such as theyput into us. But I am of quite the opposite opinion, and hold thatnothing weakens a man's courage so much as to consort with women or lovethem too much. For this reason the Jews would not suffer a man to go tothe war within a year after his marriage, lest love for his wife shoulddraw him back from the dangers that he ought to seek. " (5)

 5 See _Deuteronomy_ xx. 5, 6, 7; and the comments thereon of Rabelais (book iii. Ch. Vi. ). --M. 

"I consider that law, " said Saffredent, "to have been without reason, for nothing will more readily make a man leave his home than marriage. The war without is not harder of endurance than the war within; and Ithink that, to make men desirous of going into foreign lands instead oflingering by their hearths, it were only needful to marry them. "

"It is true, " said Ennasuite, "that marriage takes from them the careof their houses; for they trust in their wives, and for their own partthink only of winning fame, feeling certain that their wives will givedue heed to the profit. "

"However that may be, " replied Saffredent, "I am glad that you are of myopinion. "

"But, " said Parlamente, "you are not discussing what is chiefly to beconsidered, and that is why the gentleman, who was the cause of all themisfortune, did not as quickly die of grief as she who was innocent. "

Nomerfide replied--

"'Twas because women love more truly than men. "

"Nay, " said Simontault, "'twas because the jealousy and spitefulness ofwomen make them die without knowing the reason, whereas men are led bytheir prudence to inquire into the truth of the matter. When this hasbeen learnt through their sound sense, they display their courage, asthis gentleman did; for, as soon as he understood the reason of hissweetheart's misfortune, he showed how truly he loved her and did notspare his own life. "

"Yet, " said Ennasuite, "she died of true love, for her steadfast andloyal heart could not endure to be so deceived. "

"It was her jealousy, " said Simontault, "which would not yield toreason, so that she believed evil of her lover of which he was notguilty at all. Moreover, her death was matter of necessity, for shecould not prevent it, whilst her lover's death was voluntary, after hehad recognised his own wrongdoing. "

"Still, " said Nomerfide, "the love must needs be great that causes suchdeep sorrow. "

"Have no fear of it, " said Hircan, "for you will never die of that kindof fever. "

"Nor, " said Nomerfide, "will you ever kill yourself after recognisingyour error. "

Here Parlamente, who suspected that the dispute was being carried on ather own expense, said, laughing--

"'Tis enough that two persons should have died of love, without twoothers fighting for the same cause. And there is the last bell soundingfor vespers, which will have us gone whether you be willing or not. "

By her advice the whole company then rose and went to hear vespers, notforgetting in their fervent prayers the souls of those true lovers, forwhom, also, the monks, of their charity, said a _De profundis_. As longas supper lasted there was no talk save of the Lady du Vergier, andthen, when they had spent a little time together, they withdrew to theirseveral apartments, and so brought to an end the Seventh Day. 

[Illustration: 213. Jpg Tailpiece]

EIGHTH DAY. 

_On the Eighth Day relation is made of the greatest yet truest folliesthat each can remember_. 

PROLOGUE. 

When morning was come they inquired whether their bridge (1) were beingwell advanced, and found that it might be finished in two or three days. These were not welcome tidings to some among the company, for theywould gladly have had the work last a longer time, so as to prolongthe happiness that they enjoyed in this pleasant mode of life. Finding, however, that only two or three such days were left, they resolved toturn them to account, and begged the Lady Oisille to give them theirspiritual nourishment as had been her wont. This she forthwith did, but she detained them longer than usual, for before setting forth shedesired to finish reading the canonical writings of St. John; and sowell did she acquit herself of this, that it seemed as if the HolySpirit in all His love and sweetness spoke by her mouth. Glowing withthis heavenly flame, they went to hear high mass, and afterwards dinedtogether, again speaking of the past day, and doubting whether theycould make another as fair. 

 1 The allusion is to the bridge over the Gave spoken of in the General Prologue (_ante_, vol. I. P. 25-6). --M. 

In order to set about it, they retired to their own rooms until it wastime to repair to their Chamber of Accounts on the Board of Green Grass, where they found the monks already arrived and in their places. 

When all were seated, the question was put, who should begin; andSaffredent said--

"You did me the honour to have me begin on two days. Methinks we shouldact wrongly towards the ladies if one of them did not also begin ontwo. "

"It were then needful, " said the Lady Oisille, "either that we shouldcontinue here for a great while, or else that a gentleman and a lady ofthe company should forego the beginning of a day. "

"For my part, " said Dagoucin, "had I been chosen, I would have given myplace to Saffredent. "

"And I, " said Nomerfide, "to Parlamente, for I have been so wont toserve that I know not how to command. "

To this all agreed, and Parlamente thus began--

"Ladies, the days that are past have been filled with so many tales ofwisdom, that I would beg you to fill this one with the greatest (yetmost real) follies that we can remember. So, to lead the way, I willbegin. "

[Illustration: 219a. The Saddler's Wife Cured by the sight of her HusbandCaressing the Serving-maid]

[The Saddler's Wife Cured by the sight of her Husband Caressing theServing-maid]

[Illustration: 219. Jpg Page Image]

_TALE LXXI_. 

 _A saddler's wife, who was grievously sick, was made whole and recovered the power of speech, which for the space of two days site had lost, on seeing her husband holding his serving-maid too familiarly on the bed whilst she herself was drawing to her end_. 

In the town of Amboise there lived one Brimbaudier, (1) saddler to theQueen of Navarre, and a man whose colour of feature showed him to beby nature rather a servant of Bacchus than a priest of Diana. He hadmarried a virtuous woman who controlled his household very discreetly, and with whom he was well content. 

 1 Boaistuau gives the name as Bruribandier, and Gruget transforms it into Borribaudier. M, Pifteau, after examining the MSS. , is doubtful whether Brimbaudier is the correct reading. Bromardier, which in old French meant a tippler (Ducange, _Briemardum_), would have been an appropriate name for the individual referred to. --Ed. 

One day it was told him that his good wife was sick and in great danger, at which tidings he was in the greatest trouble imaginable. He went withall speed to her aid, and found her so low, poor woman, that she hadmore need of a confessor than a doctor. Thereupon he made the mostpitiful lamentation that could be, but to represent it well 'twereneedful to speak thickly as he did, (2) and better still to paint one'sface like his. 

 2 Curiously enough, the transcriber of MS. No. 1520 attempts to give some idea of the husband's pronunciation by transforming all his r's into l's. Here is an example: "Je pelz ma povle femme, que fesai-ze, moi malhureux?. . . M'amie je me meuls, je suis pis que tlepassé. . . Je ne sçai que faize, " &c. --L. 

When he had done all that he could for her, she asked for the cross, andit was brought. On seeing this, the good man flung himself upon a bed indespair, crying and saying in his thick speech--

"Ah God! I am losing my poor wife! What shall I do, unhappy man that Iam?"

After uttering many such complaints, he perceived that there was no onein the room but a young servant-maid, passably fair and buxom, and hecalled to her in a whisper. 

"Sweetheart, " he said, "I am dying. I am more than dead to see yourmistress dying in this manner. I know not what to do or say, exceptthat I commend myself to you, and beg you to care for my house and mychildren. Take therefore the keys from my side, and order the household, for I myself can attend to nothing more. "

The poor girl had pity on him and comforted him, begging him not todespair, so that, if she must lose her mistress, she might not also loseher good master. 

"Sweetheart, " he replied, "'tis all of no avail, for I am indeed dying. See yourself how cold my face is; bring your cheeks close to mine andwarm them. "

With this he laid his hand upon her breast. She tried to make somedifficulty, but he begged her to have no fear, since they must indeedsee each other more closely. And speaking in this wise, he took her inhis arms and threw her upon the bed. 

Then his wife, whose only company was the cross and the holy water, and who had not spoken for two days, began to cry out as loudly as herfeeble voice enabled her--

"Ah! ah! ah! I am not dead yet!" And threatening them with her hand, sherepeated--"Villain! monster! I am not dead yet!"

On hearing her voice, the husband and maid rose up, but she was in sucha rage against them that her anger consumed the catarrhal humour thathad prevented her from speaking, and she poured upon them all the abusethat she could think of. And from that hour she began to mend, thoughnot without often reproaching her husband for the little love he boreher. (3)

 3 This story was imitated by Noël du Fail de La Hérissaye in his _Contes d'Eutrapel_ (ch. V. _ De la Goutte_), where the hero of the incident is called Glaume Esnaut de Tremeril. "It is said, " writes Du Fail, "that the wife of that rascal Glaume of Tremeril when at the point of death, on seeing Glaume too familiar with her serving-woman, recovered her senses, saying, 'Ah! wicked man, I am not yet so low as you thought. By God's grace, mistress baggage, you shall go forth at once. '" Curiously enough, the 1585 edition of the _Contes d'Eutrapel_ was printed at Rennes for Noël Glame, virtually the same name as Glaume. --M. 

"By this you see, ladies, the hypocrisy of men, and how a littleconsolation will make them forget their sorrow for their wives. "

"How do you know, " said Hircan, "that he had not heard that such was thebest remedy his wife could have? Since his kindly treatment availednot to cure her, he wished to try whether the opposite would prove anybetter, and the trial was a very fortunate one. But I marvel that youwho are a woman should have shown how the constitution of your sex isbrought to amendment rather by foul means than by fair. "

"Without doubt, " said Longarine, "behaviour of that kind would make merise not merely from my bed, but from a grave such as that yonder. "

"And what wrong did he do her, " asked Saffre-dent, "by comfortinghimself when he thought that she was dead? It is known that themarriage-tie lasts only through life, and that when this is ended it isloosed. "

"Ay, " said Oisille, "loosed from oath and bond, but a good heart isnever loosed from love. The husband you have told us of was indeed quickto forget his grief, since he could not wait until his wife had breathedher last. "

"What I think strangest of all, " said Nomerfide, "is that, when deathand the cross were before his eyes, he should not have lost all desireto offend against God. "

"A brave argument!" said Simontault. "You would therefore not besurprised to see a man act wantonly provided he were a good distancefrom the church and cemetery?"

"You may laugh at me as much as you please, " said Nomerfide;"nevertheless the contemplation of death must greatly chill a heart, however young it may be. "

"I should indeed be of the same opinion as yourself, " said Dagoucin, "ifI had not heard a Princess say the opposite. "

"In other words. " said Parlamente, "she told some story about it. If itbe so, I will give you my place that you may relate it to us. "

Then Dagoucin began as follows:--

[Illustration: 224. Jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 225a. The Monk Conversing with the Nun while Shroudinga Dead Body]

[The Monk Conversing with the Nun while Shrouding a Dead Body]

[Illustration: 225. Jpg Page Image]

_TALE LXXII_. 

 _Whilst engaged in the last deed of charity, the shrouding of a dead body, a monk did also engage with a nun in the deeds of the flesh, and made her big with child_. (1)

In one of the finest towns of France after Paris there stood an hospital(2) richly endowed--namely, with a Prioress and fifteen or sixteen nuns, while in another building there was a Prior and seven or eight monks. Every day the monks said mass, but the nuns only their paternosters andthe Hours of Our Lady, for they were occupied in tending the sick. 

 1 Gruget first printed this tale, which was not given by Boaistuau. --L. 

 2 It is impossible to say what town and hospital Margaret here refers to. Lyons is the scene of the latter part of the story; and we are inclined to think that the earlier incidents may have occurred at Dijon, where there was a famous hospital under ecclesiastical management, founded by Eudes III. , seventh Duke of Burgundy. --L. And Ed. 

One day it chanced that a poor man died, and the nuns, being allassembled with him, after giving him every remedy for his health, sentfor one of their monks to confess him. Then, finding that he was growingweaker, they gave him the extreme unction, after which he little bylittle lost the power of speech. 

But as he was a long time in passing away, and it seemed that he couldstill hear, the nuns continued speaking to him with the most comfortingwords they knew, until at last they grew weary, and, finding that nightwas come and that it was late, retired one after another to rest. Thus, to shroud the body, there remained only one of the youngest of the nuns, with a monk whom she feared more than the Prior or any other, by reasonof the severity that he displayed in both speech and life. 

When they had duly uttered their Hours in the poor man's ear, theyperceived that he was dead, and thereupon laid him out. Whilstengaged on this last deed of charity, the monk began to speak ofthe wretchedness of life, and the blessedness of death; and in suchdiscourse they continued until after midnight. 

The poor girl listened attentively to the monk's pious utterances, looking at him the while with tears in her eyes; and so pleasing werethese to him that, whilst speaking of the life to come, he beganto embrace her as though he longed to bear her away in his arms toParadise. 

The poor girl, listening to his discourse and deeming him the most piousof the community, ventured not to say him nay. 

Perceiving this, the wicked monk, whilst still speaking of God, accomplished with her the work which the devil suddenly put into theirhearts--for before there had been no question of such a thing. Heassured her, however, that secret sin was not imputed to men by God, andthat two persons who had no ties, could do no wrong in this manner, when no scandal came of it; and, to avoid all scandal, he told her to becareful to confess to none but himself. 

So they parted each from the other, she going first. And as she passedthrough a chapel dedicated to Our Lady, she was minded to make herprayer as was her wont. But when she began with the words, "Mary, Virgin, " she remembered that she had lost the title of virginity notthrough force or love, but through foolish fear; and she began to weepso bitterly that it seemed as if her heart must break. 

The monk, hearing the sighing from a distance, suspected her repentance, which might make him lose his delight, and to prevent this, he came and, finding her prostrate before the image, began to rebuke her harshly, telling her that if she had any scruples of conscience she shouldconfess herself to him, and that she need not so act again unless shedesired; for she might behave in either way without sin. The foolishnun, thinking to make atonement to God, confessed herself to the monk;but in respect of penance he swore to her that she did no sin in lovinghim, and that holy water would suffice to wash away such a peccadillo. 

Believing in him more than in God, she again some time afterwardsyielded to him, and so became big with child. At this she was in deepgrief, and entreated the Prioress to have the monk turned away from hismonastery, saying that she knew him to be so crafty that he would notfail to seduce her. The Abbess and the Prior, who understood each other, laughed at her, saying that she was big enough to defend herself againsta man, and that the monk she spoke of was too virtuous to do such adeed. 

At last, urged by the prickings of her conscience, she craved licenseto go to Rome, for she thought that, by confessing her sin at the Pope'sfeet, she might recover her virginity. This the Prior and Prioress veryreadily granted her, for they were more willing that she should becomea pilgrim contrary to the rules of her order, than be shut up in theconvent with her present scruples. They feared also that in her despairshe might denounce the life that was led among them, and so gave hermoney for her journey. 

But God brought it to pass that when she came to Lyons, my lady theDuchess of Alençon, afterwards Queen of Navarre, being one evening aftervespers in the roodloft of the church of St. John, whither she camesecretly to perform a novena with three or four of her women, (3)heard someone mounting the stairway whilst she was kneeling before thecrucifix. By the light of the lamp she saw it was a nun, and in orderthat she might hear her devotions, the Duchess thereupon withdrew to thecorner of the altar. The nun, who believed herself to be alone, kneltdown and, beating her breast, began weeping so sorrowfully that it waspiteous to hear her; and all the while she cried naught but this--"Alas!my God, take pity on this poor sinner. "

 3 See _ante_, Tale LXV. , note i. 

The Duchess, wishing to learn what it meant, went up to her and said, "Dear heart, what ails you, and whence do you come, and what brings youto this place?"

The poor nun, who did not know her, replied, "Ah, sweet, my woe is suchthat I have no help but in God; and I pray that He may bring me to speakwith the Duchess of Alençon. To her alone will I tell the matter, for Iam sure that, if it be possible, she will set it right. "

"Dear heart, " then said the Duchess, "you may speak to me as you wouldto her, for I am one of her nearest friends. "

"Forgive me, " said the nun; "she alone must know my secret. "

Then the Duchess told her that she might speak freely, since she hadindeed found her whom she sought. Forthwith the poor woman threw herselfat her feet, and, after she had wept, related what you have heardconcerning her hapless fortune. The Duchess consoled her so well, thatwhilst she took not from her everlasting repentance for her sin, sheput from her mind the journeying to Rome, and then sent her back to herpriory with letters to the Bishop of the place to have that shamefulmonk turned away. 

"I have this story from the Duchess herself, and from it you may see, ladies, that Nomerfide's prescription is not good for all, since thesepersons fell into lewdness even while touching and laying out the dead. "

"'Twas a device, " said Hircan, "that methinks no man ever used before, to talk of death and engage in the deeds of life. "

"'Tis no deed of life, " said Oisille, "to sin, for it is well known thatsin begets death. "

"You may be sure, " said Saffredent, "that these poor folk gave nothought to any such theology; but just as the daughters of Lot madetheir father drunk so that the human race might be preserved, so thesepersons wished to repair what death had spoiled, and to replace the deadbody by a new one. I therefore can see no harm in the matter except thetears of the poor nun, who was always weeping and always returning tothe cause of her tears. "

"I have known many of the same kind, " said Hircan, "who wept for theirsins and laughed at their pleasures both together. "

"I think I know whom you mean, " said Parlamente, "and their laughter haslasted so great a while that 'twere time the tears should begin. "

"Hush!" said Hircan. "The tragedy that has begun with laughter is notended yet. "

"To change the subject, " said Parlamente, "it seems to me that Dagoucindeparted from our purpose. We were to tell only merry tales, and his wasvery piteous. "

"You said, " replied Dagoucin, "that you would only tell of follies, andI think that herein I have not been lacking. But, that we may hear amore pleasant story, I give my vote to Nomerfide, in the hope that shewill make amends for my error. "

"I have indeed, " she answered, "a story ready which is worthy to followyours; for it speaks of monks and death. So I pray you give good heed. "

_Here end the Tales and Novels of the late Queen of Navarre, that is, all that can be recovered of them_. 

[Illustration: 232. Jpg Tailpiece]

APPENDIX. 

THE SUPPOSED NARRATORS OF THE _HEPTAMERON_ TALES. 

In his introductory essay to this translation of the _Heptameron_, Mr. George Saintsbury has called attention to the researches of variouscommentators who have laboured to identify the supposed narrators ofQueen Margaret's tales. As it may be fairly assumed that the settingof the work is pure invention on the Queen's part, the researches inquestion can scarcely serve any useful purpose. Still they appear tohave had considerable attraction for several erudite editors, whoseopinions, occasionally alluded to in our notes, we will here brieflysummarise for the information of those whom the matter may interest:--

OISILLE, a widow lady of long experience, is supposed by Messrs. DeLincy, Lacroix, Génin, Frank, de Montaiglon and Miss Mary Robinson to beLouise of Savoy. In some MSS. The name is written Osyle, the anagramof _Loyse_, in which fashion Louise was spelt in old French. It may bepointed out, _en passant_, that Brantôme's grandmother, the Sénéchaleof Poitou, whose connection with the _Heptameron_ is recorded, was alsonamed Louise (see ante, vol. I. P. Lxxxii. ). 

PARLAMENTE, wife of Hircan, is supposed by the same commentators to beQueen Margaret herself; this is assumed mainly because the viewswhich Parlamente expresses on religion, philosophy, men and women, are generally in accord with those which the Queen is known to haveprofessed. 

HIRCAN, in M. De Lincy's opinion, might be the Duke of Alençon, Margaret's first husband. Messrs. Frank and Mont-aiglon, following M. Lacroix, prefer to identify him as Henry d'Albret, King of Navarre. They conjecture the name of Hircan to be derived from Ilanricus, a notuncommon fashion of spelling Henricus. It might, however, simply comefrom _hircus_, a he-goat, for Hircan is a man of gross, sensual tastes. 

LONGARINE, a young widow, is supposed by M. De Lincy to be Blanche deChastillon, _née_ de Tournon (concerning whom see _ante_, vol. I. P. 84, n. 7, and p. 120 _et seq_. ; vol. Iv. P. 144, n. 2; and vol. V. P. 25, n. 2). M. Frank, however, thinks she is Aimée Motier de la Fayette, lady of_Longray_, widow of Francis de Silly, Bailiff of Caen, and _gouvernante_to Queen Margaret's daughter, Jane of Navarre. Miss Robinson shares thisopinion, but M. De Montaiglon thinks that _Longarine_ would ratherbe Aimée Motier de la Fayette's daughter Frances, married to Fredericd'Almenesches, of one of the branches of the house of Foix. 

SIMONTAULT (occasionally _Symontaut_), a young knight, is thought by M. De Lincy to be Henry d'Albret, Margaret's second husband, who was of anextremely amorous disposition, and much younger than herself. Messrs. Frank and de Montaiglon, however, fancy _Simontault_ to have beenFrancis, Baron de Bourdeilles, father of Brantôme. It is admitted, however, that if this be the case, it is curious that Brantôme shouldnot have alluded to it in any of his writings, whereas he does speakboth of his mother and of his grandmother in connection with the_Heptameron_. 

ENNASUITE (occasionally _Ennasuitte_ or _Ennasuicte_, and in some MSS. _Emarsuite_), is supposed by Messrs. De Lincy, Frank, and de Montaiglonto be Anne de Vivonne, wife of Francis de Bourdeilles and mother ofBrantôme (see ante, vol. Iv. P. 144, n. 2). It is pointed out that thename may be transformed into the three words _Anne et suite_. 

DAGOUCIN, a young gentleman, is thought by M. Frank to be Nicholas Dangu(see ante, vol. I. P. 20, n. 4, and p. 40, n. 3), who became Chancellorto the King of Navarre. M. Lacroix, however, fancies this personage tobe a Count d'Agoust. 

GEBURON, apparently an elderly man, would in M. Frank's opinion be theSeigneur de Burye, a captain of the Italian wars to whom Brantôme (hiscousin-german) alludes in his writings. The name of de Burye is alsofound in a list of the personages present at Queen Margaret's funeral. M. De Montaiglon shares M. Frank's views. 

NOMERFIDE, so M. De Lincy suggests, may have been the famous Francesde Foix, Countess of Chateaubriand; but M. Frank opines that she is aDemoiselle de Fimarcon or Fiédmarcon (Lat. _Feudimarco_), who in1525 married John de Montpczat, called "Captain Carbon, " one of theexquisites of the famous Field of the cloth of gold. Miss Robinson, however, fancies that Nomerfide is Isabel d'Albret, sister of Margaret'ssecond husband, and wife of René de Rohan. 

SAFFREDENT, so M. De Lincy thinks, may be Admiral de Bonnivet; M. Franksuggests John de Montpezat; and Miss Robinson René de Rohan, who, afterhis father Peter de Rohan-Gié (husband of Rolandine, see _ante_, vol. Iii. , Tale XXI, notes 2 and 15), had been killed at Pavia, was for someyears entrusted to Queen Margaret's care. As Miss Robinson points out, _Saffredent_ literally means greedy tooth or sweet tooth. 

Those who may be desirous of studying and comparing these variousattempts at identification, will find all the evidence and arguments ofany value set forth in the writings of M. Frank, M. De Montaiglon andMiss Robinson, which are specified in the Bibliography annexed to thisappendix. --Ed. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY. 

Fourteen MS. Copies of the _Heptameron_ are known to exist. Twelveof these are at the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris, one is at the townlibrary of Orleans, and one in the Vatican library. We also have somerecord of four other copies which were in private libraries at the endof the last century. 

The twelve MSS. At the Bibliothèque Nationale are the following:--

I. (No. 1511 in the catalogue). A folio volume bound in red morocco, bearing the Béthune arms. This MS. Is on ruled paper, and only one leaf, the last, is missing. 

II. (No. 1512). A small folio, calf gilt, 350 leaves, from Colbert'slibrary. The handwriting is that of the middle of the sixteeenthcentury, and is the same throughout; the last page bearing the signature"Doulcet. " This supplied the text followed in the present translation. 

III. (No. 1513). A small folio, half-bound in red morocco, stamped withKing Louis Philippe's monogram. It contains only twenty-eight of thetales. 

IV. (No. 1514). A large quarto, calf, from the De Mesmes library. Contains only thirty-four of the tales. 

V. (No. 1515). A small folio from Colbert's library, bound in calf, in Groslier's style. The text is complete, but there are numerousinterlinear and marginal corrections and additions, in the samehandwriting as MS. VII. 

VI. (Nos. 1516 to 1519). Four quarto vols. , red morocco, Béthune arms. The first prologue is deficient, as is also the last leaf of tale lxxi. 

VII. (No. 1520). A folio vol. , calf and red morocco, stamped withfleurs-de-lys and the monogram of Louis XVIII. This MS. On stout ruledpaper, in a beautiful italic handwriting of the end of the sixteenthcentury, is complete. Unfortunately Queen Margaret's phraseology hasbeen considerably modified, though, on the other hand, the copyist hasinserted a large number of different readings, as marginal notes, whichrender his work of great value. It is frequently quoted in the presenttranslation. 

VIII. (No. 1523). A folio vol. , calf, from the De La Marre library. Thefirst two leaves are deficient, and the text ends with the fifth tale ofDay IV. 

IX. (No. 1522). A small folio, bound in parchment, from the De La Marrelibrary. Only the tales of the first four days are complete, and onfolio 259 begins a long poem called Les Prisons, the work probably ofWilliam Filandrier, whom Queen Margaret protected. On the first folio ofthe volume is the inscription, in sixteenth-century handwriting: _Pourma sour Marie Philander_. The poem _Les Prisons_ is quoted on pp. Xxxviii. -ix. Vol. I. Of the present work. It concludes with an epitaphon Margaret, dated 1549. 

X. (No. 1524). A folio vol. From Colbert's library, bound in red andyellow morocco, on which is painted, on a blue ground, a vine laden withgrapes twining round the trunk of a tree. On either side and in goldletters is the device, _Sin e doppo la morte_ (until and after death). Following the title-page, on which the work is called "The Decameron ofthe most high and most illustrious Princess, Madame Margaret of France, "is a curious preface signed "Adrian de Thou, " and dated "Paris, August8, 1553. " This Adrian de Thou, Lord of Hierville and canon of Notre Damede Paris, counsellor and clerk of the Paris Parliament, was the fourthson of Augustine de Thou and uncle to James Augustus de Thou, thehistorian. He died in October 1570. His MS. Of the _Heptameron_, amost beautiful specimen of caligraphy, contains a long table of variousreadings and obscure passages; this was consulted in preparing the textfor the present translation. The titles to the tales have also beenborrowed from this MS. ; they were composed by De Thou himself, andfigure in no other MS. Copy. 

XI. (No. 1525). A small folio, calf, from Colbert's library, veryincomplete and badly written, but containing the _Miroir de Jésu Cristcrucifié_, the last poem Queen Margaret composed (see _ante_, vol. I. P. Lxxxvi. ). 

XII. (No. 2155). A small quarto, red morocco, from the library ofMazarin, whose escutcheon has been cut off. The text, which iscomplete and correct, excepting that a portion of the prologue has beenaccidentally transposed, is followed by an epitaph on the Queen. Thehandwriting throughout is that of the end of the sixteenth century. 

The other MSS. Of the _Heptameron_ are the following:--

XIII. (Orleans town library, No. 352). A folio vol. Of 440 pp. It isdoubtful whether this MS. Is of the sixteenth or seventeenth century. It bears the title _L'Heptaméron des Nouvelles, &c_. There are numerousdeficiencies in the text. 

XIV. (Vatican library, No. 929; from the library of Queen Christina ofSweden). A folio vol. , calf, 95 leaves, handwriting of the end of thesixteenth century. This only contains fifteen of the stories. 

XV. (present possessor unknown). A folio vol. , red morocco; text (endingwith tale lxix. ) in sixteenth-century handwriting, with illuminatedinitial letters to each tale. _Catalogue des livres de feue Mme. LaComtesse de Verrue_, Paris, G. Martin, 1737. 

XVI. (possessor unknown). MS. Supposed to be the original, a largefolio, handwriting of the period, antique binding, containing theseventy-two tales. _Catalogue des livres, &c. , du cabinet de M. Filheul, &c. _, Paris, Chardin, 1779, pp. Xxi. And 280. 

XVII. (possessor unknown). A folio vol. , blue morocco, gilt. No. 1493in the catalogue of the _Bibliothèque de Simon Bernard, chez Barrois_, Paris, 1734; and No. 213 in a _Catalogue de manuscrits intéressants quiseront vendus. . . En la maison de M. Gueret, notaire_, Paris, Debure filsjeune, 1776. 

XVIII. (possessor unknown). A folio vol. , blue morocco, gilt, stampedwith the arms of France, from the Randon de Boisset library; theseventy-two tales complete, a very fine copy. _Catalogue des livres dela bibliothèqzie de l'Abbé Rive_, Marseilles, 1793. (This MS. Should notbe confounded with No. Xvii. See L. J. Hubaud's _Dissertation sur lesContes de la Reine de Navarre_, Marseilles, 1850. )

The following are the editions of Queen Margaret's tales issued from thepress from the sixteenth century to the present time. The list has beenprepared with great care, and we believe it to be as complete a one ascan be furnished; it includes several editions not mentioned in Brunet'sManual:--

I. _Histoires des Amans Fortunez dédiées à très illustre princesse, Mme. Marguerite de Bourbon, etc. , par Pierre Boaistuau, dit Launoy_, Paris, 1558, 40. The authorisation to print and publish was accorded to VincentSertenas, and the work was issued by three different booksellers; somecopies bearing the name of Gilles Robinot, others that of Jean Cavyller, and others that of Gilles Gilles. 

This, the first edition of the Queen's work, contains only sixty-sevenof the tales, which are not divided into days or printed in their propersequence; the prologues, moreover, are deficient, and all thebold passages on religious and philosophical questions, &c, in theconversational matter following the stories, are suppressed. 

II. _L'Heptaméron des Nouvelles de tris illustre et très excellentePrincesse Marguerite de Valois, Royne de Navarre, &c. , dédié à trèsillustre et très vertueuse Princesse Jeanne, Royne de Navarre, parClaude Gruget, parisien_, Paris, Vincent Certena, or Jean Caveillier, 1559. 

This contains all the Queen's tales excepting Nos. Xi. , xliv. , andxlvi. , which Gruget replaced by others, probably written by himself. Theother stories are placed in their proper order, but none of the namesand passages suppressed by Boaistuau are restored. The phraseology ofthe MSS. , moreover, is still further modified and polished. 

The text adopted by Boaistuau and Gruget was followed, with a fewadditional modifications, in all the editions issued during the lateryears of the sixteenth century. Most of these are badly printed andcontain numerous typographical errors:--

III. _L'Heptamêron des Nouvelles, &c_. Reprint of Gruget's edition, sold by Vincent Sertenas, Gilles Robinot & Gilles Gille, and printed byBenoist Prévost, Paris, 1560. 

IV. _L'Heptamêron des Nouvelles, &c_. , 1560, 16mo. (No bookseller's orprinter's name appears in this edition. )

V. _L'Heptamêron, &c_. (Gruget). Guill. Rouillé, Lyons, 1561, small12mo; Gilles Gilles, Paris, 1561, 16mo. 

VI. The same. Norment & Bruneau, and Gilles Gilles, Paris, 1567, 16mo. 

VII. The same. Louys Cloquemin, Lyons, 1572, 16mo (reprinted in 1578 and1581). 

VIII. The same. Michel de Roigny, Paris, 1574, 16mo (round letters). 

IX. The same. Gab. Buon, Paris, 1581, 16mo. 

X. The same. Abel L'Angelier, Paris, 1581, 18mo. 

XI. The same. Jean Osmont, Rouen, 1598, 578 pp. , sin. 12mo (good type). 

XII. The same. Romain Beauvais, Rouen, 1598, 589 pp. 12mo. 

In the seventeenth century the _Heptameron_ was frequently reprinted, Gruget's text, with a few changes, being still followed until 1698, whenit occurred to some obscure literary man to put the tales into so-called_beau langage_. At the same time the title of _Heptameron_, devised byGruget, was discarded (see post, No. XVI. ). 

XIII. _L'Heptaméron_, &c. , printed by Ch. Chappellein, Paris, 1607, 18mo. 

XIV. The same. _Sur Pimprimé à Paris_, J. Bessin (Holland), 1615, sm. L2mo (reprinted in 1698, 2. Vols. 12mo). 

XV. The same. David du Petit-Val, Rouen, 1625, 12mo. 

XVI. _Contes et Nouvelles de Marguerite de Valois, Reine de Navarre, misen beau langage_. Gallet, Amsterdam, 1698, 2 vols, sm. 8vo. This editionis valued not for its _beau langage_, but for the copperplate engravingsillustrating it. These are coarsely executed, and are attributed toRoman de Hooge, but do not bear his name. A reprint of the editionappeared at Amsterdam in 1700. 

XVII. The same. Gallet, Amsterdam, 1708, 2 vols. Sm. 8vo. Virtually areprint, but with several of the Roman de Hooge plates deficient, andreplaced by others signed Harrewyn. 

XVIII. The same. La Haye (Chartres), 1733, 2 vols. Sm. 12mo. 

XIX. The same. Londres, 1744, 2 vols. 12mo. 

XX. Heptaméron Français, ou les Nouvelles de Marguerite, Reine deNavarre; chez la Nouvelle Société Typographique, Berne, 1780-1, 3 vols. 8vo. On some copies the title is simply, Nouvelles de Marguerite, etc. , Berne, 1781; on others Béat Louis Walthard is designated as thepublisher. 

For this edition were executed the copperplate engravings, designed byFreudenberg and Dunker, which illustrate the present translation. It wasat first intended to issue the work in parts, but after parts i. And ii. Had been published (at 4 livres each) the project was abandoned. A fewcopies of these two parts are in existence; they bear the date 1778. Freudenberg began his designs in the previous year, and finished them in1780. 

This edition is greatly prized for its illustrations; the text, however, largely modified by Jean Rodolphe de Sinner, is without value. The workwas reissued at Paris in 1784 (8 vols, in 8vo, some copies 18mo), atBerne in 1792, and again in Paris in 1807 (8 vols. 18mo). 

The following new editions of the _Heptameron_ have appeared during thepresent century:--

XXI. _Contes et Nouvelles de Marguerite, &c_. Dauthereau, Paris, 1828, 5vols. 32mo. (Collection des romans français et étrangers. )

XXII. _L'Heptamêron, ou Histoire des Amants fortunés, &c, ancien textepublié par C. Gruget. . , revu, corrigé et publié avec des notes, &c. , par le bibliophile Jacob_. Gosselin (Bibliothèque d'Élite), Paris, 1841, 12mo. In this edition the Bibliophile Jacob (M. P. Lacroix) butslightly modified Gruget's text, and his annotation was comparativelyinsignificant. His work was reproduced in a volume of the _PanthéonLittéraire: Les vieux Conteurs français_, Paris, 1841, 1. 8vo. (doublecols. ). 

XXIII. _Heptaméron des Nouvelles de. . . Margtierile d'Angouléme. . . Publiée sur les manuscrits par la Société des Bibliophiles Français_ (LeRoux de Lincy, editor), Paris, 1853-4, 3 vols. Sm. 18mo. 

In this edition the real text of the tales was printed for the firsttime, M. De Lincy having carefully examined the best MSS. For thispurpose. The present English translation is based upon his work. Copiesof the "Bibliophiles Français" edition, which contains a portrait of theQueen, a facsimile of a miniature, and an engraving showing her arms anddevice, cannot be purchased, when in fair condition, for less than £6 inParis. 

XXIV. _L'Heptaméron des Nouvelles, etc. . . . Avec des notes et unenotice par P. L. Jacob, Bibliophile_ (Paul Lacroix). Adolphe Delahays, _Bibliothèque Gauloise_, Paris, 1858, 18mo. 

In this edition M. Lacroix, following M. De Lincy's example, went to theMSS. For his text, which he annotated with care and erudition. All hisnotes of any importance are reproduced in the present translation. Theedition of 1858 was reprinted in 1875. 

XXV. _L'Heptaméron, &c_. Gamier frères, Paris, n. D. , 1 vol. 18mo. This was long the "popular" edition in France. The text, which isconsiderably modernised, is of no value. 

XXVI. _Les sept Journées de la Reine de Navarre, suivies de lahuitième_. Paris, Librairie des Bibliophiles (Jouaust), 1872, 4 vols. L6mo. 

In this edition Gruget's text is followed; the notes, &c, are by M. Lacroix. The work is prized for its illustrations (a portrait and eightetchings) by Leopold Flameng. It was originally issued in eight parts. The value of the copies varies according to the paper on which they areprinted. Those on India or Whatman paper, with a duplicate set of theengravings, command high prices. The text has been reissued by the samefirm in two cr. 8vo vols, under the title of _L'Heptaméron des contes, etc_. 

XXVII. _L'Heptaméron des Nouvelles, &c_, preface, notes, &c, by BenjaminPifteau, in the _Nouvelle Collection Jannet_, Alphonse Lemerre, Paris, 1875, 2 vols. L6mo. 

This, undoubtedly the best of all the cheap editions, has been reprintedby Marpon & Flammarion, Paris, n. D. The text is from the MSS. ; thenotes are mainly abbreviated from those of MM. De Lincy and Lacroix. M. Pifteau supplies an introduction and glossary. 

XXVIII. _L'Heptaméron, &c. , publié avec Introduction, Notes et Glossairepar Félix Frank_. Liseux, Paris, 1879, 3 vols. 12mo. 

This, from the literary point of view, is one of the most important ofmodern editions. The text is not taken from the same MS. As was followedby M. De Lincy. The tales are preceded by a lengthy introduction, inwhich the editor discusses Queen Margaret's work and seeks to identifythe supposed narrators of her tales. He has frequently been quoted inthe notes to this translation. 

XXIX. _L'Heptaméron, &c, avec notes, variantes et glossaire par F. Dillaye et notice par A. France_. A. Lemerre, Paris, 1879. 

A handy edition based on the MSS. The notes embody the substance ofM. De Lincy's and M. Lacroix's researches with additional particularssupplied by M. Dillaye, who has been quoted in the course of the presentwork. 

XXX. _L'Heptaméron, &c. , publié stir les manuscrits avec les notes deMM. Le Poux de Lincy et Anatole de Montaiglon_. Auguste Eudes, Paris, 1880, 8 vols. 1. 8vo and 4 vols. Cr. 8vo. 

The edition in 8 vols, (two copies of which on parchment were issued at£44 each; and twelve on Japanese paper at £20 each) is illustrated withthe Freudenberg plates; that in 4 vols, contains the text only. The textis the same as that of No. XXIII. ; but with additional notes, prefatorymatter, &c. The copyright attaching to this edition was acquired forthe present work, in which all M. De Montaiglon's important notes arereproduced. 

Among the English translations of the _Heptameron_ are the following:--

_Heptameron_, or the _History of the Fortunate Lovers_, translated byR. Codrington, London, 1654, 12mo. (Dedicated to Thomas Stanley, thetranslator of Anacreon and editor of Æschylus, and based on Boaistuau'sdefective text. )

The _Heptameron of Margaret, Queen of Navarre, nota first translatedfrom the original text, by Walter K. Kelly_. Bohn (extra volume), London, 1855. This has been several times reprinted. The translationis a very free rendering of M. De Lincy's text; many passages aredeficient. 

The _Heptameron, &c. , translated from the original French by ArthurMachen_. Privately printed (G. Redway), London, 1886, 1 vol. 1. 8vo. Ascholarly translation, not annotated; illustrated with the etchings byFlameng (see _ante_, edition xxv. ). 

_The Fortunate Lovers, twenty-seven novels of the Queen of Navarre, translated by Arthur Machen, edited with notes and introduction by A. Mary F. Robinson_. G. Redway, London, 1887, 8vo. Etched frontispieceby G. P. Jacomb Hood. This only contains such of the tales as thelady-editor considered unobjectionable. In her introduction she sketchesthe life of Queen Margaret and discusses the identity of the supposednarrators of the tales. Some of the notes are original, but the majorityare based upon the researches of French commentators. --Ed.