And if I die, a servant dies in me
Such as my Lady never more will see.
So may the waves bear far from out your sight
A servant true, a perfect gentle knight.
My body might the ocean freely take,
But not my heart – there is no power can make
It leave your side, where always it shall stay,
And never seek me more nor steal away.
If I could change some of your heart for mine,
Your heart, so like an angel’s, pure and fine,
I would not be afraid to win the fight,
Your heart alone would claim the victor’s right.
Then let the future come, whatever will,
The die is cast, and my desire is still
Fixed in her place and never can depart.
Now so that you may better know my heart,
My loyalty, my faith so firm and sure,
This diamond take, a stone that will endure,
To wear on that white hand of yours, I pray,
And give me joy beyond what I can say.
Tell her, O stone: ‘A lover sends me here,
Who takes a way that’s fraught with doubt and fear,
Who hopes by worthy deeds to gain
Those regions where the perfect virtues reign,
May he one joyous day attain his certain place,
And take that longed for seat in your good grace!’
The lady read the letter through. She was the more astonished at this expression of the captain’s feelings as she had never had cause to suspect their existence. She was greatly perplexed as she contemplated the surface of the beautiful big diamond set in its black-enamelled band. For what was she to do with it? All night long she pondered on the matter, and was glad that she had the opportunity to postpone her reply on the grounds that she did not have a messenger. She argued to herself that the messenger who had brought the letter had already suffered sufficiently in his master’s service, and that there was no need to upset him by making him the recipient of her sharp reply – a sharp reply which she was fully intending to make, but which she now put off until the captain’s eventual return. However, the diamond was an embarrassment. She was not in the habit of wearing jewelry obtained at the expense of anyone other than her husband. But being a lady of good sense, she decided to use the ring to the benefit of the captain’s conscience. So she composed a letter, pretending that the writer was a nun from Tarascon, and sent it with one of her servants to the wife whom the captain had deserted. This is how it went:
‘Dear Madame, your respected husband passed this way shortly before his embarkation, and, after making his confession and receiving communion like the good Christian he is, he revealed something to me that he had on his conscience. He told me of his sorrow that he had not loved you as much as he ought to have done, and before he left he asked me to send you this letter together with the enclosed diamond. I would ask you to look after this precious stone for his sake, and if God brings him safely home, I assure you that no woman in the world will ever have received such love and care as you will receive. May this stone be a pledge of the sureness of his word. Finally, I would ask you to remember him in your prayers, for I shall certainly remember him in mine for as long as I live.’
The letter was signed as from a nun, and duly sent to the captain’s wife. As you may guess, when the old lady saw the letter and the accompanying diamond, she wept, her sorrow mingling with her joy at the thought that her husband, whom she had not seen for so long, loved and cared for her after all. She kissed the ring over and over again, letting her tears fall upon it. She praised God that at the end of her days He had brought back her husband’s affection, though she had long accepted that it had gone for ever. To thank the nun for bringing her so much happiness, she wrote a most gracious reply, which she sent back post-haste by the same messenger. When the lady read the letter, and heard her servant’s account, she laughed for joy. She had restored the bond of affection between man and wife, and so pleased was she at having disposed of the ring in this profitable fashion, that nothing, no, not the wealth of kings, could have pleased her more.
Shortly after, the news arrived that the captain had been killed. He had been abandoned by men whose duty it was to support him, and his plans had been disclosed by the Rhodians when they should have kept them secret. The result had been that the captain and the men who had made the landing with him had all been killed. Amongst these men there was a nobleman by the name of John, and also a converted Turk, at whose baptism the good lady had been godmother. Both of these men had in fact been appointed by her to assist in the captain’s expedition. John had fallen at his captain’s side and the Turk had managed to get away by swimming out to the French ships, in spite of the fifteen arrow wounds he had received to his body. It was by this man that the truth about the incident was revealed. There had been a certain nobleman, a man whom the poor captain had believed to be his friend and loyal companion, and for whom, moreover, he had obtained favour from the King and from the most elevated peers of France. No sooner had this man seen the captain set foot on dry land than he had ordered his ships out to sea. When the captain realized that his plans had been discovered and he found himself faced with four thousand Turks, he tried to beat a retreat, as was the correct thing to do. The gentleman in charge of the ships, however, on whom the captain was relying absolutely, could see perfectly well that if the captain was killed, he stood to take over the command of this not inconsiderable force, with all the benefits that such a command would bring. So he turned to his gentlemen officers, and put to them the view that the King’s ships and the brave men who sailed in them ought not to be set at jeopardy for the sake of a landing party numbering a mere hundred. The officers were faint-hearted enough to express their agreement. Meanwhile, seeing that the more he called for assistance, the further his support drew off, the captain turned to face the Turks. Although he was up to his knees in the sand, he fought so valiantly that he looked almost as if he was going to beat them off single-handed. The captain’s treacherous former companion watched anxiously, though not because he hoped for victory – on the contrary. The captain fought on, but in spite of his valour he now began to lose blood from the arrow wounds he had received from those Turks who had managed to get within bowshot of him. Seeing that these true Christians were weakening, the Turks then charged them with their scimitars. But for as long as God gave them strength the Christian band fought on. To the very end they fought, till at the last the captain called to his side the nobleman John, whom his lady had given him to serve under him, and the faithful Turk also he called to his side. Resting the point of his sword on the ground, he fell to his knees and embraced the cross, saying: ‘Lord, into Thy hands I commend the spirit of one who has not feared to lay down his life to glorify thy name.’
Seeing that with these words his master’s life was ebbing away, the nobleman John took him and the cross of his sword in his arms, in a desperate attempt to save him. At that moment a Turk came up from behind, and, with a blow of his scimitar, severed his legs at the thighs.
‘Come, Captain,’ he cried with his dying breath, ‘let us fly to Paradise and gaze on the Lord for whose sake we give up our lives!’
Thus was he a faithful companion in death, even as he had been in life. The captain’s Turk, realizing that there was nothing now that he could do, managed to drag himself, in spite of his fifteen arrow wounds, towards the ships that were standing off shore. There he was, the sole survivor of the eighty or so who had gone ashore, and his pleas to be taken aboard were rebuffed by the traitor who was now in command. However, being a good swimmer, he plunged into the waves and was eventually picked up by a small boat. He was cared for by his rescuers, and after some time recovered from his wounds. It was through this man, this poor foreigner, that the truth, to the great honour of the captain, and the equally great shame of his former companion at arms, became generally known. The King, and indeed all decen
t people who heard about what had happened, considered it an outrage towards God and humanity, an outrage so heinous that its perpetrator deserved to suffer the most painful death that could be devised. However, once the man got back, he succeeded, by dint of false assertions and presents offered in the right quarters, in escaping any punishment at all. What is more, he succeeded to the post that had been formerly held by the very man he did not deserve even to serve as lackey.
When this tragic tale reached the court, Madame la Régente, who had held the captain in high esteem, was profoundly affected by his loss, as was the King, and all worthy people who had known him. As for the good lady who had loved him most, when she heard what a moving and Christian end he had endured, the harsh words she had intended were turned to tears and lamentations. In this she was joined by her husband, who was bitterly disappointed at the frustration of his plans to journey to the Holy Land. I must not forget to mention also a certain young woman in the lady’s retinue. She had been deeply in love with the nobleman called John, and, on the very day that the two men had been killed, she had come to her mistress to tell her about a dream she had had, in which her beloved John, all dressed in white, had come to bid her adieu before ascending to Paradise in the company of his master, the captain. When she had learned that the dream had come true, her grief was indescribable and her mistress was scarcely able to console her.
Some time later, the court moved to Normandy, which was where the captain came from, and his wife did not neglect to come and pay her respects to Madame la Régente. In order to obtain an audience, she first approached the woman whom her late husband had loved so much. While she was in a church waiting to be presented, the good widow began to talk about her husband, saying how much she missed him and what a good man he had been.
‘Alas! Madame,’ she said, ‘I am the most miserable of women! God took him from me at the very time when he loved me more than he had ever done in his life!’
And as she said this she showed her companion the ring that she wore on her finger as a sign of the perfect love that her husband had borne her, and her tears flowed freely. The lady, in spite of her own sorrow, felt a strong desire to burst out laughing when she saw that her little deception had borne such good fruit. Indeed, so strong was her desire to laugh that she could not bring herself to go through with the presentation, and she handed the captain’s widow over to another lady, while she herself went into a side-chapel until she had recovered!
*
‘In my opinion, when ladies receive presents like the one which the lady in this story received, it ought to be their fervent wish to turn them to equally good account. They would find that in return they would be filled with the joy that all those who do good receive. And we mustn’t accuse this lady of deception. On the contrary, we ought to admire her good sense for putting to good use something that in itself was of no value.’
‘Do you mean,’ said Nomerfide, ‘that a beautiful diamond like that, worth at least two hundred écus, has no value! I can tell you, if that diamond had come into my hands, his wife wouldn’t so much have set eyes on it, nor any of his relatives either! If something’s given to you, then you have every right to keep it. The man was dead, nobody else knew anything about it, and if she had left well alone, she needn’t have made the poor old lady cry!’
‘By Heavens! I’m absolutely sure you’re right, Nomerfide!’ said Hircan. ‘Because there are women who’ll put on a show of doing good deeds – but it’s always against their natural inclinations, and they only do it so as to look superior to other women. We all know that women are greedy and grasping. Even so, their pride often gets the better of their greed, and they end up doing things that in their hearts they don’t really want to do. I think that the woman who let that diamond go like that didn’t deserve to wear it anyway!’
‘Not so fast, not so fast!’ interrupted Oisille. ‘I have a good idea who this lady really is, and I don’t think you should condemn her without hearing her case.’
‘Madame,’ replied Hircan, ‘I’m not condemning her, but if the gentleman in question was as valiant as you say, then it was to her honour that she should have a man like that devoted to her service and wear his ring. But it may have been that there was some other man less worthy of being loved who was hanging so tightly on to her finger that the ring couldn’t be put on it anyway!’
‘I really think,’ said Ennasuite, ‘that she could have kept it, seeing that nobody knew anything about it.’
‘What’s that?’ said Geburon. ‘Is it permissible for people in love to do anything at all, provided that nobody gets to know about it?’
‘To tell you the truth,’ intervened Saffredent, ‘the only misdemeanour I’ve ever seen punished is stupidity. The law never caught up with anyone, be he adulterer, thief or murderer, nor did anybody in the slightest blame him, provided his cleverness matched his crime. However, it very often happens that people are so steeped in vice that they are totally blind, and become utterly stupid. As I’ve already said, it’s only stupid people who get punished, not those who do wrong.’
‘You may say what you like,’ said Oisille. ‘God may judge this lady’s heart. As far as I’m concerned, I find that what she did was most honourable and virtuous. Let us not pursue the matter any further. Parlamente, I call upon you to choose who shall tell the next tale.’
‘I should like to choose Simontaut,’ she replied, ‘because we’ve had two sad tales, and I’m sure that he’s not one to make us all weep.’
‘Thank you very much!’ replied Simontaut. ‘If that’s why I’m chosen to speak, it’s almost as good as calling me a clown – and that’s not a title I particularly want! However, to get my own back I shall demonstrate to you that there are women who only pretend to be chaste, that is, they pretend to be chaste for certain people, or for a certain length of time, but in the end they show what they are really like – as you will see from my story, which is a very true one.’
STORY FOURTEEN
In the Duchy of Milan, during the period when the Grand Maître de Chaumont was governor, there lived a certain gentleman called the Seigneur de Bonnivet, who later earned for himself the rank of Admiral of France. Being a man of exceptional qualities, and consequently much in favour with the Grand Maître and everyone else in Milan, he not infrequently found himself a guest at banquets in the city. He was much sought after by the ladies, who invariably all appeared on these occasions. Indeed, his good looks, his charm, his nimble tongue and his reputation for being the ablest and bravest warrior of his age made him more sought after by them than any other Frenchman before him.
On one occasion when he was going about in a mask at a carnival, he danced with one of the proudest and most beautiful ladies of Milan. Every time the hautboys stopped playing, he would whisper words of love in her ear in his inimitable fashion. She felt no obligation to respond in any way to these advances, and decided to put a stop to them before they went any further by telling him that her husband was the only man she loved, the only man she would ever love, and that he, Bonnivet, was wasting his time if he expected the slightest favour from her. But he was not in the least daunted by this reply and continued to pursue the lady energetically until mid Lent, only to find that her resolve was firm, and that she still insisted that she would not fall in love with him or with anyone else. This he found somewhat difficult to believe, when be compared her considerable beauty with the unattractiveness of her husband. So he made up his mind that if she was going to dissemble, he would employ a little trickery himself, and he promptly ceased making his advances to her. Instead he made discreet inquiries about her private life, and managed to discover that she was actually in love with a very honourable and worthy Italian gentleman.
Little by little Bonnivet insinuated himself into this Italian gentleman’s confidence. So subtle was his approach that the man had not the faintest idea what he was up to, and in fact became so fond of Bonnivet that, after his beloved lady, there was no one in the world of
whom he could have been fonder. In order to extract the man’s secret, Bonnivet pretended to reveal a secret of his own. He told him that he was in love with some lady or other – a lady he had never in fact once given a thought to, and begged him to keep it secret, adding that he hoped that in their friendship their hearts and minds might be one. To show that the friendship was indeed returned, the poor Italian then went and told Bonnivet the whole story about his love for the very lady upon whom Bonnivet was seeking love’s revenge. The two men met every day in a quiet spot, so that they could tell one another what had befallen them in the preceding twenty-four hours and whether they had had any good fortune. Bonnivet made it up as he went along, of course, while the Italian told him the truth. In fact the Italian admitted that he had been in love with the lady for three years without receiving from her any concessions at all apart from fair words and assurances that she loved him. So Bonnivet advised him on the means whereby he might achieve his objective, and the advice was so effective that not many days after, the lady consented to grant the Italian everything he desired. It remained only to find some way of meeting, but this, with the expert advice of Bonnivet, was quickly arranged. One day, just before supper, Bonnivet’s friend said to him:
‘Monsieur, I’m more indebted to you than to any other man alive. Tonight is the night I expect to receive what I have longed for all these years – and all through your excellent advice.’
‘Well, my friend,’ replied Bonnivet, ‘you had better tell me what plans you’ve made, just to see if there are any risks or traps of any kind, so that I can give you a helping hand if need be, as a true friend should!’
The Italian proceeded to explain how the lady had the opportunity of leaving the front door of her house open, on the pretext that it was necessary to keep sending servants to the town to fetch [drugs and others requisites] for one of her brothers, who was ill. She had told him that it was quite safe to go into the courtyard, though he should not go straight up the main steps, but round by a little staircase on the right. He should then go along the first gallery he came to, on to which the bedrooms of her father-in-law and brothers-in-law opened, take the third door from the stairs and try it gently. If it was closed, he should go away again, since that would mean that her husband had come back, although she did not in fact expect him for another two days. If, however, the door opened, he could go in quietly and bolt it firmly behind him, since there would be no one there but herself. She had also insisted that he must get some felt shoes made, so that he would not make any noise, and that he must not come before two hours after midnight, because her brothers-in-law, who were given to gambling, never retired till after one o’clock in the morning.
The Heptameron Page 19
