‘Father, here are two écus for having been so kind to me this afternoon. I’ve wrapped them in a piece of paper, because I know you wouldn’t dare to touch them with your bare hands! When you leave me will you please make off across the fields, taking care that the men don’t see you. It’s for your own good, and because of the debt I owe you.’
The Franciscan, pleased with his two écus, galloped off at top speed across the fields. When he was quite a long way off, the lady started to shout out to her attendants.
‘A fine lot of servants you are! You are conscientious guards, aren’t you! That man you were supposed to watch out for, he’s been talking to me all day, and you’ve not done a thing about it! To think that your master trusted you! Really, it’s a good beating you deserve from him, not your wages!’
When the gentleman in charge of her heard this, he was so angry that he could think of nothing to say in reply. He dug in his spurs, called to two of his men, and riding for all he was worth, managed to catch up with the good friar, who saw them coming and did his best to get away. However, being better mounted than he was, they eventually caught the poor man. He had not the faintest idea what it was all about, and begged for mercy. To make his pleas more effective, he pulled his hood off and bared his head. They realized at once that it was not the man they were after, and that their mistress had made fools of them. When they got back, she teased them even more than before.
‘So,’ she said, ‘this is the sort of people they entrust ladies to! They let them talk all day long, without finding out to whom, and then, believing anything they’re told, they go and insult the servants of God!’
After teasing them all in this fashion, she went to the place to which her husband had ordered her to be taken, and there her two sisters-in-law and the husband of one of them held her in strict subjection. During this time her husband found out that his ring had been pawned for fifteen hundred écus and was extremely angry about it. In order to save his wife’s honour and get his ring back, he told her through his sisters that she was to redeem it, and that he would pay the fifteen hundred écus himself. The wife could not have cared less about the ring itself, since the money was now in the hands of the young man, to whom she promptly wrote a letter explaining that it was her husband who had ordered her to redeem the ring. [And] in order that he should not think that she had done so because of any lessening of her goodwill, she sent him a diamond, which her mistress had given her, and which she prized above any of her rings. The young gentleman willingly sent her the pawnbroker’s bond, content to have had the fifteen hundred écus as well as the diamond, the assurance of his lady’s favour – although, so long as the husband was alive, he was unable to address a single word to her except in writing. After the husband’s death, assuming that she would be true to her word, he lost no time in seeking her hand in marriage, but he found that during his long absence, she had acquired another companion whom she now preferred. His sorrow was so great that he thenceforth shunned all female company, preferring to court danger and risk his life in battle. Thus he ended his days, having won as much esteem as ever a young man could.
*
‘Without being in any way lenient to our own sex, Ladies, the point of this [example] is to show all husbands [that women of high spirit are more often] dominated by anger and the desire for revenge than by the [pleasures] of love. The lady in the story was able to resist these emotions for a long time, but in the end was overcome by despair. No good woman should let this happen, because, whatever the circumstances, she should not look for an excuse to act badly. In fact the more excuses she is offered for doing wrong, the more she should prove her virtue by resisting and overcoming evil with good, rather than rendering evil for evil – especially as the wrong one intends to inflict on another person often rebounds on to oneself. Happy are they in whom God manifests the virtues of chastity, gentleness, patience and long-suffering!’
‘It seems to me, Longarine,’ said Hircan, ‘that this lady you’ve told us about was moved more by resentment than by love, because if she’d loved the young gentleman as much as she pretended, she wouldn’t have left him for another man. It follows that she could reasonably be said to be resentful, bitter, vindictive, stubborn and fickle!’
‘It’s easy for you to talk,’ said Ennasuite, ‘but you don’t know how heart-rending it is to love without having your love returned.’
‘True,’ he replied, ‘because the moment a lady starts to be in the slightest way cold towards me, I forget all about love and all about her as well!’
‘That may well be so,’ said Parlamente, ‘for you. All you care about is your own pleasure. But an honest woman shouldn’t leave her husband in that fashion.’
‘However,’ said Simontaut, ‘the woman in the story completely forgot she was a woman for a while, for even a man could not have taken his revenge so well!’
‘Because one woman is not virtuous,’ said Oisille, ‘one should not think that all others are like her.’
‘All the same,’ said Saffredent, ‘you are all women. You can cover yourselves up becomingly with all the finery you like, but the fact remains that anyone who looks carefully underneath all those skirts will find that you are all women!’
‘If we listened to you all day,’ said Nomerfide, ‘we’d never stop arguing. But I’m waiting to hear another story, so I’ll ask Longarine if she’ll pick the next person to speak.’
Longarine looked at Geburon. ‘If you know anything about a virtuous woman,’ she said, ‘then will you tell us, please?’
‘Since I’m called upon to speak on this subject,’ he said, ‘I’ll tell you a story about something that happened in Milan.’
STORY SIXTEEN
During the time when the Grand Maître de Chaumont was governor of Milan, there lived in that city a certain lady who was considered by all to be one of the most virtuous women of her age. She had married an Italian count, but after his death had gone to live as a widow with the brothers of her late husband. She would never hear of remarrying, and her conduct was so proper, indeed so saintly, that there was not a single Frenchman or Italian in the whole of the Duchy of Milan who did not look upon her with considerable esteem. One day, however, her brothers-in-law and her sisters-in-law were holding a banquet in honour of the Grand Maître, and this lady, though a widow and not accustomed to appearing in public, was obliged to be present. When the French visitors saw her they all formed a very high opinion of her elegance and beauty. One man in particular was impressed by her. I shall not tell you his name. Suffice it to say that there was not a Frenchman in all Italy who more deserved a lady’s love, for he was as richly endowed with manly graces as ever a gentleman could be. Although he saw that the lady was dressed in black crêpe and remained seated in a corner with the old women, apart from the young people, he was not the man to be daunted by this, or by anything else. So, taking off his mask and leaving the dancers, he went to her side and set about engaging her in conversation. The whole evening he talked with her and the old women, and derived more pleasure from it than if he had been with the youngest and liveliest ladies at the court. Indeed, when the time came for everyone to retire, he found he had enjoyed himself so much that he could hardly believe he had had the time to sit down. As for the lady, although she had heard from him nothing but the light conversation that such occasions call for, she nevertheless knew full well that he was anxious to see more of her. In consequence she resolved that she would be on her guard. Never again would he see her at a banquet or any other public occasion.
The gentleman made inquiries about her habits, and discovered that she often visited churches and monasteries; he would keep such a careful watch on these places that however secret she kept her visits, he would always be there before her, and would linger as long as possible just for the pleasure of gazing upon her. From the rapt way he looked at her on these occasions she could be in no doubt that he was in love with her. Bent on avoiding such attentions, she decided to feign sicknes
s for a while and have mass said at her home. The poor gentleman could scarcely have been more upset at this. There was no way now that he could see his lady. However, after a while, when she thought she must finally have thwarted him, she resumed her customary visits to the local churches. The god of love lost no time in communicating this fact to the French gentleman, and he too resumed his devotions.
He was worried lest she should invent some other means of avoiding him, and that as a result he would not have another opportunity to declare his feelings. So, one morning, in a chapel where the lady had gone to hear mass, thinking she would be hidden from view, he positioned himself at the end of the altar where she was kneeling. She had few attendants with her, and just as the priest was raising the corpus Domini above his head, the gentleman turned to his lady, and said softly in a voice quivering with emotion:
‘Madame, in the name of Him whom the priest holds even now in his hands, may I be condemned to everlasting damnation, if I lie when I declare that it is you who are the cause of my death. For, though you take from me all means by which I might speak but a word to you, yet you cannot be ignorant of my feelings. For Truth declares to you that it is so by the languor in my eyes and by the ‘deathly pallor of my countenance!’
The lady pretended she could not understand a word of all this.
‘The name of God should not be taken in vain,’ she said. ‘Furthermore the poets say that the gods only laugh at the lying oaths which lovers swear. Therefore women who have any concern for their honour ought not to let themselves be taken in by them or be made to feel sorry for them.’
So saying she got up, and returned to her house.
Anyone who has had similar experiences will readily appreciate how grieved the gentleman was by her words. But his heart was not faint. Better, he felt, to have had a response like that, than not to have declared his feelings at all. His love endured for the next three years, during which time he continued at every available opportunity to woo his lady by writing her letters and sending messengers. But no other reply would she give him. [On the contrary], she fled from him as the wolf flees the wolf-hound! It was not that she hated him; it was more her honour and her reputation that she was afraid for. Aware that this was the real reason, the gentleman only conducted the chase more energetically than ever. In the end, after many a rebuff, much suffering, much torment and much desperation, the lady was moved by his persistence and the evident sincerity of his love to have pity on him. In short she granted him what he had so long desired and so patiently awaited. The time and place were agreed upon, and the gallant Frenchman ventured forth to the lady’s house, despite the fact that he thereby put his life in great danger, for she lived there not alone, but with all her family and relatives.
But he was more than a fine figure of a man. He was also cunning, and managed the situation so skilfully that he succeeded in gaining access to the lady’s bedroom at the appointed hour. He found her alone, recumbent upon a magnificent bed, and undressed hurriedly so that he could join her. As he did so he heard voices whispering outside the door, and the sound of swords grating against the walls. The widowed lady turned to him, her face deathly pale.
‘This is an hour of great peril,’ she declared, ‘both for your life and for my honour, for I can hear my brothers who have come to kill you! Therefore, I beg you, hide yourself beneath my bed. When they come in and fail to find you, I shall rebuke them severely for alarming me without cause!’
But the gentleman, who had never known fear in his life, replied: ‘And who are these brothers, then, that a man of honour such as I should be afraid of them? Were they and their whole breed assembled there, they would not, I am assured, wait for the fourth blow from my sword. So be at ease, lie in your bed, and let me guard the door!’
Winding his cloak round one arm, and brandishing his naked sword, he strode to the door to face the blades whose fearsome rattle dinned his ears. When the door opened there stood a couple of chambermaids with a sword in each hand. So they were the ones who had brought him leaping into action!
‘We’re very sorry, Monsieur,’ they stammered, ‘but Madame told us to do it. We won’t disturb you any more.’
Seeing that his assailants were mere women, he contented himself with cursing them to Hell and slamming the door in their faces. Thereupon he went back to his lady and lost no time in getting into bed with her. It was hardly a question of fear dampening his ardour, and, completely forgetting to ask her what this rumpus had been all about, he thought only of satisfying his desire. But towards daylight he asked her not only about this latest episode, but also why she had in the past treated him so badly, and made him wait so long.
‘My original intention was that I should never fall in love again,’ she said, laughing, ‘and for a long time after I became a widow I kept my resolution. But from the moment you spoke to me at the banquet, I thought you were such a fine man that I had to change my tune and return your love. All the same, it is true that I have always been guided by honour, and I was quite unable to do anything that would tarnish my reputation. Then, as the stricken deer runs from place to place to relieve its pain but only carries its wounds with it, so I wandered in and out of churches, thinking that I could escape from the man whom I carried with me in my heart. He had proved that he loved me perfectly, reconciling love and honour. But I wanted to be certain that I was giving my heart and my love to a man of honour who was perfect in every way. So I wanted to put you to one last test, and I enlisted the help of my maids. I assure you that if I’d found you so cowardly as to creep under the bed because you were afraid for your life, or for any other reason, I was fully intending to leave you there, get up, go into another room, and have nothing more to do with you! But in the event I’ve found that you’re even more handsome, even more charming and even more valiant than people had told me. Fear had no hold over you, nor did it in the least cool your love for me. So my mind is made up. I shall stay by you for the rest of my days in the full certainty that neither my life nor my honour could be in better hands than in the hands of the bravest and best man in the world, the like of whom I think I have never seen!’
Thereupon, they solemnly swore, as if the will of man were immutable, an oath that they could never keep. Perpetual love was what they promised one another, perpetual love that can neither have birth in the hearts of men, nor have its abode therein. Those women alone know the truth of this who have learned from experience how short is the duration of such promises as these!
*
‘And so, Ladies, if you are wise, you will beware us men, even as the deer would beware the hunter if it had understanding. For our one pride and joy, our one true delight, is to see you caught, and to take from you that which you prize more than life itself!’
‘What’s all this about, Geburon?’ said Hircan. ‘Since when have you turned preacher? I remember a time when you weren’t in the habit of saying that sort of thing.’
‘Quite true,’ Geburon replied. ‘What I’ve just said goes against everything I’ve said all my life. But my teeth aren’t so strong as they used to be, and I can’t chew venison any more, so I want to warn the little does to watch out for the huntsmen! In that way I can in my old age make up for all the wrong things I desired in my youth.’
‘Thank you very much, Geburon, for informing us of our interests,’ said Nomerfide, ‘though I don’t think we need be too grateful, because that isn’t the way you’ve talked in the past to [girls] when you were in love with them. It just goes to show that you don’t really love us, and don’t want anyone else to love us either! I’m sure we’re just as virtuous and wise as the girls you used to spend so much time chasing when you were younger. But then, old people are always so self-satisfied, and always think that they were more sensible than anyone born after them.’
‘Well, Nomerfide,’ he replied, ‘when one of your devoted servants deceives you and teaches you all about the wicked ways of men, perhaps you’ll believe that what I say is true.’
/> Then Oisille turned to Geburon and said: ‘You have praised highly the valour of this gentleman, but in my opinion he ought rather to have been singled out as an instance of a man who was carried away by the madness of love, which is a force so powerful that it is capable of making the biggest cowards in the world do things that the bravest would think twice about.’
‘Madame,’ said Saffredent, ‘if it weren’t for the fact that he considered the Italians were better talkers than doers, I think he would have had good reason to be scared.’
‘Yes,’ said Oisille, ‘if he hadn’t had in his heart that fire which consumes fear itself!’
‘Since you don’t seem to think this man’s bravery really deserves our admiration,’ said Hircan, ‘it sounds to me as if you know of somebody who deserves it more.’
‘I admit that the gentleman deserved some praise,’ said Oisille, ‘but I do know of a man who deserves it more.’
‘If that is so, Madame,’ said Geburon, ‘I beg you take my place and tell us about him.’
‘If you regard the gentleman in the last story as a man of valour because he faced the Milanese in order to save his own life and preserve the honour of his lady, what will you think of a man who, not from necessity, but from true and genuine valour, performed the deed I shall now relate to you?’
STORY SEVENTEEN
In the town of Dijon in the Duchy of Burgundy a certain German count entered the service of King Francis I. His name was Wilhelm, and he was of the house of Saxony, a family so closely allied to that of Savoy that in times past the two were as one. This Count was widely regarded as the finest and bravest man in Germany, and was so well received by the King that not only was he accepted in the royal service, but was actually appointed to attend the King personally in his chamber. Now the governor of Burgundy at this time was the Seigneur de La Trémouïlle, who was an old knight and a faithful servant of the King. He was naturally anxious lest any harm should befall his master and was always on the watch for danger. His administration was hedged about by spies who kept him informed of his enemies’ activities, and he was so efficient that there was very little he did not know about. Amongst other pieces of information he received a letter one day from one of his friends, revealing that Count Wilhelm had accepted a sum of money and had received promises of more to come, on condition that in some convenient fashion he had the King assassinated. The Seigneur de La trémouïlle duly went and warned the King. He made no secret of it either to the King’s mother, Madame Louise of Savoy, who immediately repudiated the family alliance with the German and asked the King to dismiss the man at once. The King, however, asked her not to raise the subject again, maintaining that a man as gallant, noble and honourable as Count Wilhelm could not possibly embark on such a crime. Some time later a further piece of intelligence was provided which confirmed the earlier reports. The governor, burning with zeal for the King’s cause as he was, asked royal permission either to get rid of the Count or to take other precautionary measures. But the King expressly commanded him to keep quiet, thinking that he would find some other way of discovering the truth of the matter.
The Heptameron Page 22
