The Heptameron

by Marguerite de Navarre

  *

  ‘It’s a marvellous thing, Ladies, when one thinks how the great god Love banishes all fear from women’s hearts and shows them how to torment us men to reach their ends. However, if the maid’s intentions were despicable, the master’s good sense was worthy of praise, because he knew perfectly well that once departed, spirits never come back.’

  ‘True,’ said Geburon. ‘Love didn’t show any favours to the servant and his maid on that occasion, and I agree, the master’s good sense stood him in good stead.’

  ‘All the same,’ said Ennasuite, ‘the girl’s cunning got her what she wanted for quite a long time!’

  ‘Pleasure which is based on sin, and which ends only in punishment and humiliation, is wretched indeed,’ said Oisille.

  ‘That is true, Madame,’ said Ennasuite, ‘but there are a lot of people who cause themselves a great deal of pain and suffering in order to live a righteous life, and who don’t have the sense to get as much pleasure from life as the pair in the story.’

  ‘But it is my opinion,’ said Oisille, ‘that there can be no perfect pleasure, if the conscience is not at ease.’

  ‘What?’ replied Simontaut. ‘The Italian maintains that the greater the sin the greater the pleasure!’

  ‘Truly,’ said Oisille, ‘the man who produced that remark is the Devil himself! So let us leave it at that, and ask Saffredent who he will choose to speak.’

  ‘Who I will choose?’ said Saffredent. ‘There is only Parlamente left, but if there were a hundred people waiting their turn, I would still pick her out as someone from whom we are all bound to learn something.’

  ‘Well, since it’s up to me to close the day,’ said Parlamente, ‘and since I promised you yesterday that I would tell you why Rolandine’s father had that castle built in which he kept her locked up for so long, that is the tale I shall now tell.’

  STORY FORTY

  Rolandine’s father, the Comte de Jossebelin, had several sisters, some of whom had made wealthy marriages, and some of whom had entered religious orders. But there was one who stayed at home and never married. She was incomparably more beautiful than the others, and was so loved by her brother that he put her even before his wife and children. Many eligible men sought her hand in marriage, but because of the brother’s fear of losing her, and because he was too fond of his money, they were always turned down. Consequently, she remained unmarried for a great part of her life, living respectably in her brother’s house. Now in the same house there lived a handsome young gentleman, who had been brought up there since early childhood, and who had grown up to be a person of such handsome appearance and such excellent qualities that he had acquired a certain influence in his master’s house. Thus when the Count wished to send messages to his sister, he always did so by means of this young gentleman. He even gave him the authority to visit her alone, with the result that, seeing her morning and evening as he did, the visits blossomed into deep affection. But the young gentleman feared for his life if his master should be offended, and the lady feared likewise for her honour. So their love went no further than words, until the Seigneur de Josselin started remarking to his sister that he only wished that the young gentleman was from as good a family as she. There was, he said, nobody he would rather have as a brother-in-law. He said this so often that after discussing the matter carefully, the couple thought that if they were to marry, the brother would forgive them. Those blinded by love believe what they wish to believe and, vainly thinking that nothing but good could come of it, they were married, without anyone but the priest and some female companions knowing.

  For several years they enjoyed those pleasures that a married man and woman may take together. They were the handsomest couple in Christendom, and the most deeply and perfectly in love. But Fortune, unable to see two people so happy together, became envious, and roused against them an enemy, who spied on the young lady, and who, though ignorant of her marriage, became aware of her happiness. This enemy came to the Seigneur de Josselin and told him that the young gentleman whom he trusted so much was going too often to his sister’s room, and at times of the day when gentlemen ought not to. At first the Count did not believe this, because of the great confidence he had both in his sister and in the gentleman. But after much persuasion he was induced in the name of his family’s honour to ensure that a watch was placed on them, with the result that the poor couple, who suspected nothing, were discovered. One night the Seigneur de Josselin was informed that the gentleman was in his sister’s room. He went at once and found the poor love-blind couple in bed. He was speechless with rage, and drawing his sword, chased the gentleman out with the intention of killing him. But the gentleman, who was an agile man, got away, still wearing his nightshirt. Unable to escape by the door, he jumped from a window into the garden. The poor lady, who was also still in her night attire, fell on her knees before her brother, saying:

  ‘Spare my husband’s life, Monsieur, I am married to him, and if we have done wrong, then punish me alone, for all that he has done was done at my request.’

  The brother was beside himself with anger and could only reply: ‘Even if he were a hundred thousand times your husband, still I would punish him as a bad servant and as one who has deceived me!’

  So saying, he leaned out of the window and shouted orders for him to be killed – orders that were instantly carried out, even as they watched. Having witnessed this piteous spectacle, the lady addressed her brother like someone bereft of her senses:

  ‘Brother, I have neither mother nor father, and I am old enough to marry as I please. I have chosen to marry a man of whom you have said again and again that you wished I could have married him. And because I have followed your advice in doing something that I could quite legally have done without it, you kill the one man in the world you loved above all others! So since my pleading could not save him from death, I beg you, in the name of all the love you have ever had for me, make me his companion in death, even as I have been his companion in all his fortunes. So satisfy the demands of your cruel and unjust anger, grant rest to the body and soul of one who will not and cannot live without her spouse!’

  Although the brother was overwrought to the point of losing his reason, he had pity on his sister, and without either granting or refusing her request, he walked away and left her standing there. After pondering his deed and ascertaining that the dead gentleman had in fact been married to his sister, he wished that he had never committed the murder. Being afraid that his sister would seek revenge or would appeal to law, he had a castle built in the middle of a forest in which he shut her up, forbidding anyone to speak with her.

  After a time, in order to appease his conscience, he tried to regain her confidence and even had the subject of marriage raised. But she sent word back that he had already given her such an unpleasant foretaste that she had no desire to feed further on such fare, and that she hoped to live in such a manner that her own brother would not become the murderer of a second husband. For she could hardly believe that, after committing so vicious a crime against the man he loved best in all the world, he was likely to be merciful to someone else. She also said that in spite of being unable in her weakness to avenge herself, she placed her hope in Him who was the true judge, who left no evil unpunished and in whose love she wished to abide in the lonely castle that was now her hermitage. She was true to her word, for there she remained until she died, living a life of such long-suffering and austerity that after her death people from far and wide visited her remains as if she had been a saint. From then on, the brother’s family declined until of his six sons only one was left. They all died miserably. In the end it was his daughter Rolandine who remained sole heiress, as you heard in the earlier story, and inherited the prison which had been built for her aunt.

  *

  ‘Ladies, I pray God that you will take note of this example, and that none of you will wish to marry merely for your own pleasure, without the consent of those to whom you owe obedience. For marri
age is an estate of long duration, and one which should not be entered into lightly or without the approval of our closest friends and relatives. Even then, however wisely one marries, one is bound to find at least as much pain as pleasure.’

  ‘That is indeed true,’ said Oisille, ‘and if there were no God or laws to teach girls to behave themselves, Parlamente’s example would be enough to make them show more respect for their parents and relatives than to take it into their heads to make marriages of their own choosing.’

  ‘But, Madame,’ said Nomerfide, ‘if one has only one good day in the year, one can’t say one is miserable for the whole of one’s life! She did have the pleasure of seeing, and being able to speak to, the one person she loved best in the world. What is more, she was able to enjoy it through marriage, without having anything on her conscience. I consider that this satisfaction must have been so great that it makes up for the sorrow she had to bear.’

  ‘What you mean,’ said Saffredent, ‘is that women derive more pleasure from going to bed with their husbands than displeasure from seeing them murdered under their noses?’

  ‘That’s not what I meant,’ said Nomerfide; ‘that would go against what I know of women. What I mean is that an unusual pleasure, such as marrying the man one loves most in the world, must be greater than the pain of losing him through death, which is a common occurrence.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Geburon, ‘but through a natural death, whereas the death in question was excessively cruel. It seems very strange to me that the Seigneur de Josselin should dare to go to such extremes of cruelty, seeing that he was neither her husband nor her father, merely her brother, and seeing that she was of an age at which the law allows daughters to marry [as they think fit].’

  ‘I don’t find it strange at all,’ said Hircan, ‘since he didn’t kill the sister, whom he loved so much, and over whom he had in any case no authority, but punished the gentleman he had brought up as his son and loved as his own brother. He heaped privileges on him, advanced him in his service and then the man goes and seeks the hand of his master’s sister in marriage! He had no right at all to do that.’

  ‘Quite,’ said Nomerfide. ‘It isn’t any common, ordinary pleasure, when a lady of such high birth marries for love alone a gentleman of her household. You may have found his death “strange”, but the pleasure too must have been rare – and all the greater, since it runs counter to the views expressed by all wise men, and has in its favour the fact that a loving heart found satisfaction and that a soul found true repose. For there was nothing in all this to offend God. And as far as his death is concerned, which according to you was so cruel, it seems to me that since death is inevitable, the swifter it is the better. If one thing is certain, it is that we all must pass from this life. I think the fortunate ones are those who do not have to linger on the outskirts of death, and who soar out of the one state in this world that can be called bliss straight into the bliss that is eternal.’

  ‘What do you mean by “lingering on the outskirts of death”?’ asked Simontaut.

  ‘I mean those people who suffer torments of the mind,’ answered Nomerfide, ‘and those who have been ill a long time, and who, because of the extreme nature of their bodily or mental suffering, no longer fear death, but rather find it slow in coming. I mean those people who have journeyed through the outskirts and can tell you the names of inns where they have wept rather than rested. It was inevitable that the lady in question should at some time lose her husband, but she was, thanks to her brother’s violence, spared the experience of seeing her husband suffer from long sickness or distress. Moreover, she could count herself happy indeed in converting the happiness she had enjoyed with her husband to the service of our Lord.’

  ‘Do you give no consideration to the humiliation she suffered, and the imprisonment?’ said Longarine.

  ‘I believe, ‘said Nomerfide, ‘that if one loves perfectly, with a love rooted in God’s commandments, then one will not experience humiliation or dishonour, provided one does not go astray and fall from the perfection of one’s love. For the glory of loving truly knows no shame. And though her body was imprisoned, her heart was free and united with God and her husband, so that I believe she did not experience her solitude as imprisonment but regarded it rather as the highest liberty. For when one can no longer see the person one loves, one’s greatest pleasure is to think about that person incessantly. Prison walls are never confining when the mind is allowed to wander as it will.’

  ‘Nothing could be more true than what Nomerfide says,’ said Simontaut, ‘but the man who in his fury brought about the separation of the couple ought to consider himself miserable indeed, having offended as he did against God, against Love and against Honour.’

  ‘In all truth,’ said Geburon, ‘I am amazed by the varied nature of women’s love. It seems clear to me that women who love most are the most virtuous, but that those who love to a lesser degree cover up what love they have, because they wish to appear virtuous.’

  ‘It’s quite true,’ said Parlamente, ‘that a heart which opens itself virtuously to both God and men is capable of stronger love than a sinful heart, and is not afraid of anyone seeing into its true feelings.’

  ‘I’ve always heard it said, ‘said Simontaut, ‘that men should not be condemned for pursuing women, since it was God who put love in men’s breasts in the first place and gave them the boldness to do the asking, while He made women timid and chaste, so that they would do the refusing. If a man is punished for having used the powers implanted in him, he suffers an injustice.’

  ‘But,’ said Longarine, ‘it was extraordinary that the brother should have sung the young gentleman’s praises over such a long period of time. It seems to me that it’s either madness or cruelty if the keeper of a fountain praises the beauty of its waters to someone dying of thirst, only to kill him when he wants to drink from it!’

  ‘Without doubt,’ said Parlamente, ‘it was the brother with his fair words who kindled the fire, and he had no right to put it out with his sword.’

  ‘It astonishes me,’ Saffredent said, ‘that anyone should so disapprove of an ordinary gentilhomme, who after all used neither subterfuge nor coercion other than devoted service, merely because he succeeded in marrying a woman of high birth. For all the [ancient] philosophers assert that the lowliest of men is worth far more than the highest born and most virtuous woman in the world.’

  ‘The reason is,’ said Dagoucin, ‘that in order to maintain peace in the state, consideration is given only to the rank of families, the seniority of individuals and the provisions of the law, and not to men’s love and virtue, in order that the monarchy should not be undermined. Consequently, in marriages between social equals which are contracted according to the human judgement of the family concerned, the partners are often so different in the feelings of the heart and in temperament that far from entering into a state leading to salvation, they frequently find themselves on the outskirts of Hell.’

  ‘Equally,’ said Geburon, ‘there have been many couples who are extremely close in their feelings and in their temperament, couples who marry for love without considering differences of family and lineage, and who have never stopped regretting it. Great but indiscreet love of this kind frequently turns into violent jealousy.’

  ‘In my opinion,’ said Parlamente, ‘neither of these kinds of marriages is praiseworthy. If people submit to the will of God, they are concerned neither with glory, greed, nor sensual enjoyment, but wish only to live in the state of matrimony as God and Nature ordain, loving one another virtuously and accepting their parents’ wishes. Even though there is no condition in life that is without some tribulation, I have seen couples like this live together with no regrets. Indeed we are not so unfortunate that in our present gathering we have no such couples at all!’

  Hircan, Geburon, Simontaut and Saffredent affirmed that they had all been married in this way, and swore that they had never regretted it. True or not, the ladies concerned were so ple
ased at this, that, feeling they could wish to hear nothing better, they got up to go and give thanks to God for it, and found the monks were ready to say vespers. After the service they all had supper, returning to the subject of their own marriages, with the men going on to talk the whole evening about their experiences when wooing their wives. But they all kept interrupting one another, and it has been impossible to memorize their tales in full, tales which would have been no less delightful to record than the ones they told in the meadow. They enjoyed themselves so much that bedtime arrived without their noticing. Madame Oisille retired, and the others, still in merry mood, followed her. So happy were they all that I think the married couples amongst them did not do quite so much sleeping as the rest – what with talking about their love in the past and demonstrating it in the present. Thus the night passed sweetly till morning broke.