The Heptameron

by Marguerite de Navarre

  And the servant replied: ‘If Judas could betray his master in such a way, then do not be surprised at the treachery of a woman!’

  So saying, they passed by. And his wife was a good deal happier to have outwitted him as she lay there among the reeds, than she had been to remain at home, in servitude, where her bed was warm and dry. As for the husband, he rode on to Autun, where he searched for her everywhere. But he soon realized that she had never even entered the town, and he retraced his steps, cursing her as he went, bemoaning his loss and threatening her with nothing less than death if he found her. Not that fear of death entered her mind, any more than her body felt the cold – though being in a place like that at that time of the year ought to have been quite enough to make her repent of having ever undertaken such a damnable journey. And anyone who did not know how the fire of Hell warms those who are filled with it, would marvel at how this poor woman, who had just jumped out of a nice warm bed, could remain for a whole day in such extreme cold. Yet she did not lose heart, nor did she abandon the journey, for as soon as night fell she set off once again. Arriving at Autun just as the town gates were about to be locked, the pilgrim made her way straight to the body of the saint who was the object of her devotion. He was so astonished to see her that he could scarcely believe his eyes. However, when he had had a good look at her and examined her all over, he found that she possessed bones and flesh, which a spirit does not. Thus he satisfied himself that she was indeed no ghost, and from that moment on there was such harmony between them that they lived together for some fourteen or fifteen years.

  For a while she was kept hidden, but as time went by she became less timid, and, what was worse, actually began to pride herself on having a lover who was so highly placed. So proud of herself was she, that she went to church, and assumed precedence over most of the other respectable women of the town, [whatever their station]. She had children by the canon, and one of her daughters was married to a rich merchant. The wedding was most elegant, and the ladies of the town muttered amongst themselves, but had no power to put matters right. Now it was around this time that Queen Claude, the consort of King Francis, was passing through Autun in the company of the Regent, the King’s mother, and of her daughter, the Duchess of Alençon. One of the Queen’s chamber women, a person by the name of Perrette, came to the Duchess and said: ‘Madame, I beg you, listen to me, and you will perform a far greater work than going to hear all the services of the day.’ The Duchess willingly agreed to listen, knowing that nothing but good counsel could come from her. Perrette went on to explain how she had engaged a small girl to help soap the Queen’s washing. When she had asked the girl for news of the town, she had been told how upset the respectable ladies living there had been at the way the canon’s wife took precedence over them. She had also been told something of the woman’s past history. The Duchess went at once and told this story to Madame the Regent and the Queen. Without further formality they had the unfortunate woman sent for. She made no attempt to conceal herself. Far from being ashamed, she had become proud of the distinction of being mistress in such a rich man’s household. So without the least sign of surprise or shame she presented herself to the ladies of the court, who were so shocked at this effrontery that at first they did not know what to do or to say. But Madame the Regent eventually addressed to her such a severe reprimand that any right-thinking woman would have been reduced to tears. Not so this poor woman. With extraordinary audacity she replied:

  ‘Ladies, I beg you not to let my honour be attacked, for I have lived so respectably and virtuously with the reverend canon that nobody alive could reproach me, and I thank God for it! Let no one imagine that my way of life contradicts the will of God. It is three years now since there was anything between us and we live as chastely and lovingly as two dear little angels without either of us ever uttering a word of disagreement or even wishing to disagree with the other. And it would be a sin to make us part, for the good canon is nearly eighty years old, while I am only forty-five, and he would not live for long without me!’

  You can imagine what the ladies [had to say to this stubborn creature], and the rebukes that each laid before her, when they saw that her obstinacy was in no way diminished by the words that had been addressed to her, or by her mature years, or by the noble company in which she found herself. And in order to humble her further, they sent for the good archdeacon of Autun, who sentenced her to a year’s prison on bread and water. They sent also for her husband, who agreed readily, as a result of their exhortations, to take her back once her penance was completed. But realizing that she was to be thrown into prison, and learning also that the canon had made up his mind never to have her back, she expressed thanks to the noble ladies for getting a veritable devil off her back, and was overcome by such profound and perfect penitence that her husband, instead of waiting for a year to go by, waited no longer than a fortnight before going to the archdeacon to ask for her return. And ever since they have lived together happily and peacefully.

  *

  ‘Thus, Ladies, are the chains of Saint Peter turned by corrupt ministers of the Church into the chains of Satan, chains so hard to break that the sacraments which cast devils from the body are for such people as these the means whereby devils are kept in their conscience even longer. For the best things are those which, when one abuses them, may be turned to evil ends.’

  ‘She was indeed an unfortunate woman,’ said Oisille, ‘but it was an appropriate punishment to be brought for judgement before the ladies whom you have mentioned. For so powerful and so full of virtue was the very gaze of Madame the Regent that there was no decent woman who did not fear to come into her presence, lest she should feel herself unworthy. And any woman who found herself looked on with favour considered it a great honour, for everyone knew that this noble lady could not look kindly on any woman who was other than virtuous.’

  ‘It would be a fine thing,’ observed Hircan, ‘if we were to stand more in awe of a woman’s eyes than of the holy sacraments – which, if they are not received in faith and charity, [are received] to one’s eternal damnation.’

  ‘Women who aren’t inspired by God,’ replied Parlamente, ‘go more in fear of temporal than of spiritual power, I can promise you. And I think the poor creature in the story was more chastened by being thrown into prison, and by the prospect of not seeing her canon, than she was by all the speeches of condemnation.’

  ‘But,’ said Simontaut, ‘you’re forgetting the main reason why she went back to her husband. The canon was eighty years of age, whereas the husband was younger than she was. So the good lady profited in all her transactions. If the canon had been young, she wouldn’t have been so ready to give him up. The ladies could have made as many speeches of condemnation as they liked – it would have had no more effect than the sacraments she had received.’

  ‘Even so,’ said Nomerfide, ‘it seems to me that she was right to be so reluctant to admit her guilt, because sins of this sort should be confessed humbly before God, and denied strenuously before men. Even if the accusation is true, by lying and swearing to the contrary, it is always possible to cast doubt on its truth.’

  ‘It’s difficult nevertheless,’ said Longarine, ‘for a sin to be kept so secret that it’s never revealed – unless God in His mercy grants concealment to those who truly repent for love of Him.’

  ‘Well, what do you say,’ said Hircan, ‘about the sort of women who no sooner commit some folly or other than they go off and tell somebody?’

  ‘I find it astonishing,’ replied Longarine. ‘It’s a sign that the sin they committed was not altogether unpleasant. As I’ve already said, it’s impossible for someone whose sin is not covered by God’s grace to deny it before men. There are a lot of women who derive some kind of pleasure from talking about such things, and feel some kind of pride in making their vices public. And there are also a lot of women who give themselves away by a slip of the tongue and make themselves their own accusers.’

  ‘I
f you know a story about such a woman,’ said Saffredent, ‘then I give you my place and beg you to tell it to us.’

  ‘Then listen carefully,’ said Longarine.

  STORY SIXTY-TWO

  There was, in the reign of Francis I, a certain lady of royal blood, endowed with honour, virtue and beauty, who was well-known for her ability to tell a good story in an elegant style, as well as for her ability to laugh at a good story told by others. On one occasion, while staying in one of her houses, she was being visited by her neighbours and dependants, for she was as much loved as any lady could be. Amongst the visitors was a young woman, who, hearing that everyone was in the habit of recounting tales for the royal lady’s amusement, decided that she would do likewise, and said: ‘Madame, I can tell you a fine story. But you must promise not to talk about it afterwards.’

  [Her request having been granted, she began thus:] ‘Madame, this is a true story. I vouch for it on my conscience. It is about a certain noblewoman, who was married, and who led a very respectable life with her husband, in spite of the fact that he was old and she was young. A young nobleman who was her neighbour, realizing she had married an old man, fell in love with her. He pressed her for several years, but received no response other than that which it behoves a lady in those circumstances to give. One day the man thought to himself that if he could catch her at a moment when he had the advantage over her, she might not be quite so cold. For a long time he weighed the risks, but in the end his love for the lady banished all fear, and he set about picking the right time and place. He kept his eyes open until an opportunity presented itself. One summer morning, the lady’s husband went away to one of his other houses, and set off at daybreak to avoid the heat. The young gallant then betook himself to the young lady’s house, where he found her asleep in bed, and noticed that the chambermaids had gone out of the room. Without even thinking to shut the door behind him, he jumped straight into bed with her, still wearing spurs, boots and leggings! When she woke up, she was as distressed as it was possible for anyone to be. But protest as she might, he took her by force, saying that if she told anyone about it he would say that she had sent for him. The lady was so terrified at this that she did not dare scream. Then some of the maids came in, and he scrambled out of bed as fast as he could. No one would have noticed a thing, if it had not been for the fact that his spur had caught on the top sheet, pulling it right off, and leaving the lady lying on the bed stark naked!’

  Although the lady had been telling the story as if about another person, she could not stop herself saying at the end: ‘No woman has ever been as embarrassed as I was, when I found myself completely naked!’

  The royal lady, who had been listening to this story, had so far followed without a smile, but when she heard this, she could not help laughing.

  ‘I can see,’ she said, ‘that you can indeed vouch for the truth of the story!’

  The poor woman did her best to try to retrieve her honour – but too late, the bird had flown and there was no calling it back!

  *

  ‘I can assure you, Ladies, that if this kind of act had been distasteful to her, she would have wanted to erase it completely from her memory. But as I’ve already said, a sin like hers would be revealed by the sinner herself sooner than it was discovered by other people, unless it were covered with that covering [which makes man blessed, so that with David we may truly say.

  O happy he whose sins committed

  Are through His grace at last remitted:

  Whose wickedness sees not the light

  And covered hides before God’s sight.]’

  ‘Upon my honour,’ said Ennasuite, ‘of all the fools I’ve ever heard of, she was the biggest, to make others laugh at her own expense!’

  ‘I don’t find it in the least strange that after committing the act, she went on to talk about it,’ Parlamente said, ‘for words come more easily than deeds.’

  ‘Good Heavens! What sin did she commit anyway?’ exclaimed Geburon. ‘There she was, asleep in bed, and this man threatens her with death and public humiliation! She only did the same as Lucretia herself, who is usually praised for it!’

  ‘It is true, I admit,’ said Parlamente, ‘that no one is so righteous that he or she may not lapse. But when one experiences disgust at some action, one also experiences disgust at the memory of it. That is why Lucretia killed herself, whereas the silly woman in the story we’ve just heard wanted people to find it amusing.’

  ‘All the same,’ said Nomerfide, ‘it does seem that she was a virtuous woman, since the man had several times made overtures to which she had never once succumbed – indeed, she was so firm that the man had to resort to deception and violence.’

  ‘What!’ exclaimed Parlamente. ‘It is your view that provided a woman has refused two or three times already, she can give in without endangering her honour? In that case we ought to consider as women of honour a great many women who are not usually so regarded. We’ve all seen women who have rejected the advances of men to whom they have in reality already abandoned their hearts. Sometimes they reject them in order to protect their honour, sometimes to make themselves all the more ardently loved and admired. So it follows that one should not give credit to a woman, unless she holds firm to the very end.’

  ‘What if a man were to reject a beautiful girl?’ asked Dagoucin. ‘Would you regard that as a great virtue?’

  ‘I should indeed find it praiseworthy,’ said Oisille, ‘if a healthy young man were to make such a refusal, but none the less difficult to believe.’

  ‘But I have known some young men who have refused to indulge in the sort of escapade that other young men of their age will deliberately look for,’ he replied.

  ‘Then I invite you to take my place,’ said Longarine, ‘and to tell us about it – only remember that here the truth must be told.’

  ‘I promise, ‘ he replied, ‘to tell the truth so purely that there will be no embroidery to disguise it.’

  STORY SIXTY-THREE

  There were once four girls living in Paris. Two of them were sisters, and all four of them were so young, fresh and beautiful that they were constantly besieged by would-be lovers. Now there was also a certain gentleman, who had recently been made Provost of Paris by the King. Aware that his royal master was young and of an age to find the company of four such beautiful girls highly desirable, he talked them all round so cleverly that each of them thought that the King was interested in her alone, and agreed to whatever the Provost suggested. What he proposed was that they would all go to a banquet, to which he would invite his master. The King had been told of the plan and wholeheartedly approved, as did also two other [high-born] lords of the court. All three agreed to take a share in the venture. As they were seeking a fourth person to join them, along came another noble lord, handsome, honourable, [and about ten years younger than the others], and he too was invited to the banquet. He accepted with good grace, although in his heart he had no desire to do so. For one thing he had a wife who had borne him fine children. He was very contented and would not for anything in the world have wanted to give her grounds for suspicion. For another thing, he was devoted to the service of one of the most beautiful women in France at that time, and he admired and loved her so greatly that all other women seemed plain beside her. From his earliest youth, even before his marriage, no one had been able to persuade him to frequent other women, however great their beauty. He derived more pleasure from seeing his lady and loving her in the perfection of true love than he could have ever derived from all the favours of other women. This young lord went home to his wife and told her in secret what his master was planning, and how he for his part would as soon die as carry out the promise he had made. For, unless he was driven by the violent extremes of passion that can blind the most virtuous of men, he would rather die than break his marriage for the sake of someone else’s carnal appetites – just as, although there was no man alive whom he would not dare attack in anger, he would rather die than commit
a premeditated and unprovoked murder, unless compelled by honour. Seeing such virtue and nobility in one so young, his wife felt more love and admiration for him than ever. She asked him how he could decline to participate, in view of the fact that high-born princes are in the habit of taking exception to those who do not applaud everything that they themselves enjoy, and he replied:

  ‘I have heard it said that the wise man always has some urgent journey or some indisposition up his sleeve to which he can resort when necessary. So I have decided that four or five days in advance I shall pretend to be seriously ill; and if you too would adopt a becoming bearing, my purpose would be well served.’

  ‘That is the kind of hypocrisy which one can rightly call good and holy,’ said the wife, ‘and I shall not fail to give you support with the most sorrowful countenance I can contrive. Blessed is he who can avoid offending God and avoid the wrath of the monarch!’

  They acted exactly as they had planned. The King was very distressed to hear from the wife of the young lord’s illness. It did not have to last very long, however, for the King, faced with some piece of pressing business, sacrificed pleasure to duty, and unexpectedly left Paris. But some time later he remembered that their venture had been left unfulfilled, and he said to the young lord: ‘We were foolish to have left in such haste, without seeing the four girls who were promised to us as the most beautiful in our kingdom.’