The Heptameron

by Marguerite de Navarre

  STORY FIFTY-SIX

  A French lady was passing through the town of Padua. Hearing that there was a Franciscan friar in the episcopal prison, and that everyone treated it as a great joke, she asked what it was all about. She was told that the friar in question was the elderly confessor of a highly devout and respectable widow with an only daughter. This lady was so fond of her daughter that she was prepared to do anything to provide her with a fortune and find her a good match. Seeing that her daughter was growing up, her constant concern was to find her someone who would live with them quietly and peacefully – in short, a person of as good a conscience as she considered herself to be. Now she had heard some foolish preacher say that it was better to do something wrong on the advice of the doctors of the Church, than to do a good act in the belief that one was inspired by the Holy Spirit. So she addressed herself to her fine father confessor, an already elderly man, who was a doctor of theology, and well regarded by the whole town as being a man of blameless reputation. She was sure that through his advice and through his prayers on her behalf she could not fail to find the security she desired for her daughter and herself. So she earnestly asked him to choose a husband for her daughter, the kind of husband he knew a God-fearing woman who cared for her honour ought to wish for. He replied that first of all he must seek the grace of the Holy Spirit through prayer and fasting, and that then, with God’s guidance, he hoped to be able to find her what she requested. So off went the Franciscan to think it over.

  Now he had been told by the good lady that she had saved five hundred ducats to give to the girl’s future husband, and also that she would provide the couple with a house and furnishings, and keep them in food and clothing. And it occurred to him that among his younger brethren there was a good-looking, well-built fellow to whom he could give the pretty girl, the house, the furnishings, the food and the clothing, while he himself could take the five hundred ducats to assuage his own burning greed. So he spoke to the young brother, and finding him in agreement, he went back to the girl’s mother.

  ‘I truly believe,’ he announced, ‘that God has sent His angel Raphael to me, even as He sent him to Tobias, so that he may find a perfect husband for your daughter. For I am able to tell you that I have [at hand] the most respectable young man in all Italy. He has on occasions seen your daughter, and is so much in love with her that, this very day, as I was at prayer, God sent him to me, and made known to me how much he desired this marriage. And I, who know his parents and family, and know that he is of distinguished lineage, have myself promised to speak to you on his behalf. There is, however, just one difficulty, which is known to me alone. It is that, desiring to save a friend whom another man was threatening to kill, this young man drew his sword to part them; but as fortune would have it, his friend killed the other man, so that the young man, although he himself struck not a single blow, has had to flee from his home town, because he was at the scene of the murder and had drawn his sword. On the advice of his parents he has sought refuge in this town, disguised as a student, and here he will remain until his parents have settled the affair, which he hopes they will have done very soon. For these reasons it is necessary that the marriage be concluded in secret, and that you should not object to his going out during the day to public lectures and returning in the evening to eat and sleep.’

  ‘Monsieur,’ the lady replied, ‘I find that what you have to say is greatly to my advantage, for, at least, I shall have by me that which I love most in all the world.’

  So the Franciscan acted as they had agreed and duly produced the young man for her, all dressed up in a crimson satin doublet. She was very pleased with what she saw. Indeed, no sooner had he arrived than they celebrated the betrothal, and no sooner had midnight sounded than they had mass said and the couple were married. Then they went to bed, and stayed there till the break of day, when the husband turned to his bride and said that to avoid being recognized he had to go back to his college. After putting on his crimson satin doublet, his long robe and of course his black silk cap, he came to say goodbye to his wife, who was still in bed. He assured her that he would come every evening and eat supper with her, but told her that she must not expect him for dinner. And so he went off for the day, leaving his wife thinking herself the happiest woman in the world for having found such a good match. The newly-wed young friar thus returned to his older brother, taking with him the five hundred ducats, as agreed in the marriage contract. And in the evening he went back to the poor girl who thought he was her husband. Indeed, she, and her mother, came to love him so much, that they would not have exchanged him for the greatest prince in the world.

  They lived happily together in this way for some time. But God in His goodness takes pity on those who in all good faith have been deceived, and by His grace and goodness it came to pass one morning that the good lady and her daughter were overcome by a fervent desire to hear mass at the Franciscan church, and to visit the good father confessor, who in their eyes had been responsible for providing them with such a fine husband and son-in-law. As it happened, neither the confessor nor anyone else they knew was to be found on their arrival, so they contented themselves with listening to high mass, which was just beginning, while they waited to see if he would come. The young wife followed the divine service and its sacred mystery attentively. When the priest turned round to say his Dominus vobiscum, she was dumbfounded. It was her husband, or else someone very like him! However, she kept quiet for the time being, waiting for him to turn round again, so that she could get a better look. The second time there was no doubt, and she nudged her mother, who was plunged into meditation.

  ‘Mother, alas! [what] do I see?’

  ‘What is it that you see?’ asked the mother.

  ‘It is he, my husband, saying the mass, or somebody who is exactly like him!’

  Her mother, who had not looked very carefully, replied:

  ‘You should not let such ideas enter your head, my daughter. It is quite impossible that such holy people should commit such a fraud. You would be sinning greatly against God to entertain such an idea!’

  All the same, the mother took care to have a good look, and when it came to the Ite missa est, she could see plainly enough that no two twin brothers were ever more alike. Even then, she was so simple-minded that she would readily have prayed, ‘My God, keep me from believing my own eyes!’ But as it was a matter which affected her daughter, she could not leave it without getting to the bottom of it, and she made up her mind to find out the truth. Just before the husband, who had not seen them in the church, was due to arrive home, the mother said to her daughter:

  ‘If you agree, we can find out the truth about your husband. As soon as he’s in bed, [I’ll come in to him], and you will pull off his cap from behind before he knows what’s happening. Then we shall see if he is tonsured like the one who said mass.’

  The plan was carried out just as they had arranged. As soon as the wicked husband came to bed, the old lady came in, and took hold of both his hands as if in jest. The daughter immediately pulled off the cap. There he sat, his crown completely bald! The two women were as horrified as it was possible to be. Without more ado, they called the servants and had him seized and tied up till the morning. Excuses and fine words were to no avail. When day came the lady sent for her confessor, pretending that she had something urgent to confide in him. He came in haste, and was immediately seized and bound like his young companion. Accusing him of fraud, she called in the Law, and handed them both over. And if they had honest men for judges, one must presume that they did not get off lightly.

  *

  ‘There you are, Ladies. That’s to show you that the men who make vows of poverty are not exempt from the temptations of avarice – a fact which gives rise to so much evil.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ said Saffredent, ‘to a lot of good! Because, thanks to those five hundred ducats which the old woman wanted to hoard up, a great deal of pleasure was procured. And the poor girl, who had waited so l
ong to have one husband, stood to have a second one and, in all truth, [to be able] to speak better about all kinds and conditions of men!’

  ‘You always express the most false opinions,’ said Oisille, ‘for you seem to think that all women have the same temperament as yourself.’

  ‘Madame, pardon me, but that is not so,’ he replied. ‘I dearly wish that they were as easily satisfied as we men are!’

  ‘That is wicked talk,’ said Oisille, ‘for there is no one here who does not know that the truth is the opposite of what you say. And that it is not true is clear from the story we have just heard, which shows how simple and innocent we poor women are, and how wicked are those men normally considered above the rest of you, for neither the old lady nor her daughter would ever do anything they wanted simply because they wished to, but always submitted their wishes to higher advice.’

  ‘Some women are so difficult to please,’ said Longarine, ‘that they seem to think only an angel will do for them.’

  ‘And that is why,’ said Simontaut, ‘they often end up with devils – especially women who do not place their trust in God’s grace, and imagine that their common sense or someone else’s will serve to achieve happiness in this world, whereas true happiness is given by, and can come from, God alone.’

  ‘Well, Simontaut!’ said Oisille. ‘I did not know that you were capable of such good thoughts!’

  ‘Madame,’ he replied, ‘it is a pity I am not tried out more often, for I can see that for want of knowing me better you have already formed a low opinion of me. After all, if a friar can turn his hand to my trade, why shouldn’t I turn my hand to his?’

  ‘So,’ said Parlamente, ‘you would say that your trade is deceiving women, would you? You condemn yourself out of your own mouth!’

  ‘Had I deceived a hundred thousand women,’ he replied, ‘I would still not have had my revenge for the suffering caused me by one woman alone!’

  ‘I know that you’re always bemoaning the treatment you receive from ladies,’ said Parlamente, ‘yet you always look so fit and cheerful, it’s hard to believe you’ve suffered as much as you say. But then, according to the Belle Dame sans Mercy, it is well to say it’s so, for such comfort as you may gain.’*

  ‘The celebrated doctor you are quoting,’ said Simontaut, ‘is not only disagreeable in himself, but causes the ladies who follow his doctrine to be disagreeable also.’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ she replied, ‘his doctrine is of greater value to young ladies than any other I know.’

  ‘If it were the case,’ he went on, ‘that all ladies were “sans mercy”, we might as well put our horses to grass and let our armour go rusty till the next war comes along, and think about nothing but domestic affairs. Is it, I ask you, to any lady’s good name to be known for being without pity, without charity, without love, in fact “sans mercy”?’

  ‘Charity and love,’ replied Parlamente, ‘she should not be without. But this word “mercy” has an unpleasant ring among women. They can’t use it without offending their honour, because mercy really means granting the favour that one is asked. And one well knows what favours men desire.’

  ‘Yet with all respect, Madame,’ he answered, ‘some men are so reasonable that they ask nothing more than the word.’

  ‘You remind me,’ said Parlamente, ‘of a man who was happy with nothing more than a lady’s glove.’

  ‘We must find out who this gracious lover was,’ said Hircan. ‘May I invite you to tell us the story?’

  ‘With pleasure,’ she replied, ‘for it is a chaste and noble tale.’

  STORY FIFTY-SEVEN

  King Louis XI sent to England as his ambassador the Seigneur de Montmorency, who was so well received there, so loved and so admired by the King and all his princes, that his advice would often be sought on the most secret matters. One day he was at a banquet given in his honour by the King and was sitting next to an English lord, a man from one of their most distinguished families. This man had attached to his cloak a small glove, a lady’s glove. It was fastened with gold hooks, and the fingers were covered with diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and pearls. The value of that glove was thought to be very high. The Seigneur de Montmorency kept looking at this object, and the English lord realized that he was curious to know why it was so extravagantly decorated. And thinking that the story which lay behind it could only redound to his praise, he launched into it.

  ‘I can see,’ he began, ‘that you find it strange that I have decorated a mere glove so richly. I am even more anxious to explain it to you, for I know you to be an honourable man who knows the power of the passion of love. I know you will applaud me if I have acted rightly. If not, you will, I know, excuse me for submitting to Love, who holds sway over every noble heart. I must tell you, then, that all my life I have loved a certain lady. I love her still, and even after death I shall love her. But my heart was bolder in choosing the object of its love than was my tongue in declaring it, and for seven years I did not dare give the slightest hint of it, for fear that if she perceived my love, I should lose such opportunities as I then had of being in her company – a possibility that was more dreadful to me than death itself. But one day, in a meadow, as I was gazing upon her, I was overcome by such a violent fluttering of the heart that I quite lost my colour and my composure. I collapsed. She noticed, and asked me what the matter was. I replied that I was sick at heart. Unbearably. She, not realizing that I was sick for love, expressed her concern for me. This made me beg and beseech her to place her hand upon my heart, so that she might know how fast it was beating. This she did, more out of kindness than affection. As I held her gloved hand upon my heart, it began to race and jump, and she saw that I had spoken the truth. Then, pressing her hand to my side, I said, “Alas! Madame, take this heart which strives to break my sides, so that it may leap into the hand of her from whom I hope for mercy, for pardon and for life. It is this heart that constrains me now to declare the love which for so long I have kept hidden, for neither my heart nor I are masters of this powerful god.” Taken aback by these words, she tried to withdraw her hand. But I held it tight, and as she pulled away her cruel hand, her glove remained. And because I had never before been so close to her – nor have I since – I affixed this glove as a sticking plaster, the most fitting I could find, to my wounded heart! I have adorned it with the richest rings in my possession, though the riches I receive from the glove itself I would not exchange for the crown of England. There is nothing in the world more precious to me than to feel it as it presses against my side.’

  The Seigneur de Montmorency, who would have rather had the hand than the glove, told him he admired his great chivalry. He was, he assured him, the truest lover he had ever come across, and deserved better treatment for prizing so little so much – although, he added, if he had got any further than the glove, he might in view of the magnitude of his love have expired in ecstasy. The English lord agreed with Montmorency on this point without the slightest suspicion that he was being mocked.

  *

  ‘If all the men in the world were so pure and noble in their intentions, then ladies could certainly trust them, since a glove is all it would cost them!’

  ‘I know Montmorency well enough,’ said Geburon, ‘to know that he wouldn’t have wanted to adopt English habits in these matters. If he’d satisfied himself with so little, he wouldn’t have had the good luck in love which he did have. As the old song says,

  Faint praise is all the part

  Of lovers faint in heart.’

  ‘You can just imagine the poor lady snatching her hand away when she felt his heart thumping,’ said Saffredent. ‘She must have thought he was about to die, and there’s nothing women hate more, so they say, than to touch a corpse!’

  ‘If you’d spent as much time around hospitals as you have around taverns,’ said Ennasuite, ‘you’d have seen the women laying out the dead, while men, however bold they may claim to be, are afraid to touch.’

  ‘It’s quite tru
e,’ said [Simontaut], ‘that there’s no one who’s had penance imposed on them who doesn’t do the reverse of the action which in the past has given them the most pleasure. For example, I once saw a young lady in a distinguished house making up for the pleasure she’d had from kissing a man she was in love with. She was found at four o’clock in the morning kissing the corpse of some nobleman who’d been killed the previous day, and for whom she had never had any particular affection. Everyone knew immediately that she was doing penance for past pleasures.’

  [‘That,’ said Oisille,] ‘is precisely the way in which men malign the good works that are done by women. And that is why I am of the opinion that men should not be kissed, alive or dead, unless it be according to God’s command.’

  ‘As far as I’m concerned,’ said Hircan, ‘I feel so little interest in kissing any other woman but my own wife that I’m quite ready to accept any laws anyone cares to mention. But I do feel sorry for young people – you’re taking away from them a harmless source of happiness, and nullifying the command of Saint Paul, who said that we should kiss in osculo sancto.’*

  ‘If Saint Paul had been a man like you,’ said Nomerfide, ‘we should have certainly demanded first-hand evidence of the spirit of God which spoke in him!’

  ‘In the end you would rather doubt Holy Scripture,’ said Geburon, ‘than fail to observe a single one of your petty ceremonies!’

  ‘Heaven forbid,’ exclaimed Oisille, ‘that we should doubt Holy Scripture, for we are far from believing in your lies. There is not one woman here who does not know what she should believe: never cast doubt on the word of God, and even less give credence to the word of men.’