part ii

. nov. xvi.); Verboquet’s _Les Délices, &c_, 1623, p. 23; and Shirley’s _Love’s Cruelly_. These tales also inspired some of the Spanish dramatists, notably Calderon.--Ed. and L.

“I do not mean by this, ladies, to praise the President’s conscience, but rather to bring out the frailty of a woman and the great patience and prudence of a man. And I beg you, ladies, be not angered by the truth, which sometimes speaks as loudly against ourselves as against the men; for vice and virtue are common alike to men and women.”

“If all those,” said Parlamente, “who have fallen in love with their servants were obliged to eat salads of that kind, I know some who would be less fond of their gardens than they are at present, and who would pluck up the herbs to get rid of such as restore the honour of a family by compassing the death of a wanton mother.”

Hircan, who guessed why she had said this, angrily replied--“A virtuous woman should never judge another guilty of what she would not do herself.”

“Knowledge is not judgment nor yet foolishness,” returned Parlamente. “However, this poor woman paid the penalty that many others have deserved, and I think that the President, when desirous of vengeance, comported himself with wondrous prudence and wisdom.”

“And with great malevolence, also,” said Longarine. “‘Twas a slow and cruel vengeance, and showed he had neither God nor conscience before his eyes.”

“Why, what would you have had him do,” said Hircan, “to revenge himself for the greatest wrong that a woman can deal to a man?”

“I would have had him kill her in his wrath,” she replied. “The doctors say that since the first impulses of passion are not under a man’s control, such a sin may be forgiven; so it might have obtained pardon.” “Yes,” said Geburon, “but his daughters and descendants would have always borne the stain.”

“He ought not to have killed her at all,” said Longarine, “for, when his wrath was past, she might have lived with him in virtue, and nothing would ever have been said about the matter.”

“Do you think,” said Saffredent, “that he was appeased merely because he concealed his anger? For my part, I believe that he was as wrathful on the last day, when he made his salad, as he had been on the first, for there are persons whose first impulses have no rest until their passion has worked its will. I am well pleased you say that the theologians deem such sins easy to be pardoned, for I am of their opinion.”

“It is well to look to one’s words,” said Longarine, “in presence of persons so dangerous as you. What I said is to be understood of passion when it is so strong that it suddenly seizes upon all the senses, and reason can find no place.”

“It is so,” said Saffredent, “that I understood your words, and I thence conclude that, whatever a man may do, he can commit only venial sin if he be deeply in love. I am sure that, if Love hold him fast bound, Reason can never gain a hearing, whether from his heart or from his understanding. And if the truth be told, there is not one among us but has had knowledge of such passion; and not merely do I think that sin so committed is readily pardoned, but I even believe that God is not angered by it, seeing that such love is a ladder whereby we may climb to the perfect love of Himself. And none can attain to this save by the ladder of earthly love, (3) for, as St. John says, ‘He that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen?’” (4)

3 All this passage is borrowed, almost word for word, from Castiglione’s _Libro del Cortegiano_. See _ante_, vol. i. p. 10.--B.J.

4 i John iv. 20.--M.

“There is not a passage in Scripture,” said Oisille, “too good for you to turn to your own purposes. But beware of doing like the spider, which transforms sound meat into poison. Be advised that it is a perilous matter to quote Scripture out of place and without cause.”

“Do you call speaking the truth out of place and without cause?” said Saffredent. “You hold, then, that when, in speaking to you unbelieving women, we call God to our assistance, we take His name in vain; but if there be any sin in this, you alone must bear the blame, for it is your unbelief that compels us to seek out all the oaths that we can think of. And in spite of it all, we cannot kindle the flame of charity in your icy hearts.”

“That,” said Longarine, “proves that you all speak falsely. If truth were in your words, it is strong enough to make you be believed. Yet there is danger lest the daughters of Eve should hearken too readily to the serpent.”

“I see clearly,” said Saffredent, “that women are not to be conquered by men. So I shall be silent, and see to whom Ennasuite will give her vote.”

“I give it,” she said, “to Dagoucin, for I think he would not willingly speak against the ladies.”

“Would to God,” said Dagoucin, “that they were as well disposed towards me as I am towards them. To show you that I have striven to honour the virtuous among them by recalling their good deeds, I will now tell you the story of such a one. I will not deny, ladies, that the patience of the gentleman at Pampeluna, and of the President at Grenoble was great, but then it was equalled in magnitude by their vengeance. Moreover, when we seek to praise a virtuous man, we ought not so to exalt a single virtue as to make of it a cloak for the concealment of grievous vice; for none are praiseworthy save such as do virtuous things from the love of virtue alone, and this I hope to prove by telling you of the patient virtue of a lady whose goodness had no other object save the honour of God and the salvation of her husband.”

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[Illustration: 073a.jpg The Lady of Loué bringing her Husband the Basin of Water]

[The Lady of Loué bringing her Husband the Basin of Water]

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_TALE XXXVII_.

_The Lady of Loué so influenced her husband by her great patience and longsuffering, that she drew him from his evil ways, and they lived afterwards in greater love than before_.

There was a lady of the house of Loué (1) who was so prudent and virtuous, that she was loved and esteemed by all her neighbours. Her husband trusted her, as well he might, with all his affairs, and she managed them with such wisdom that his house came, by her means, to be one of the wealthiest and best appointed in either the land of Anjou or Touraine.

1 Loué is in Anjou, in the department of the Sarthe, being the chief locality of a canton of the arrondissement of Le Mans. The Lady of Loué referred to may be either Philippa de Beaumont-Bressuire, wife of Peter de Laval, knight, Lord of Loué, Benars, &c.; or her daughter-in-law, Frances de Maillé, who in or about 1500 espoused Giles de Laval, Lord of Loué. Philippa is known to have died in 1525, after bearing her husband five children. She had been wedded fifty years. However, the subject of this story is the same as that of the Lady of Langallier, or Languillier (also in Anjou), which will be found in chapter xvii. of _Le Livre du Chevalier de la Tour-Landry_, an English translation of which, made in the reign of Henry VI., was edited in 1868 by Mr. Thomas Wright for the Early English Text Society.--See also Le Roux de Lincy’s _Femmes célèbres de l’ancienne France,_ vol i. p. 356. Particulars concerning the Laval- Loué family will be found in Duchesne’s Histoire de la Maison de Montmorency.--L. and M.

In this fashion she lived a great while with her husband, to whom she bore several handsome children; but then, as happiness is always followed by its opposite, hers began to be lessened. Her husband, finding virtuous ease to be unendurable, laid it aside to seek for toil, and made it his wont to rise from beside his wife as soon as she was asleep, and not to return until it was nearly morning. The lady of Loué took this conduct ill, and falling into a deep unrest, of which she was fain to give no sign, neglected her household matters, her person and her family, like one that deemed herself to have lost the fruit of her toils, to wit, her husband’s exceeding love, for the preserving of which there was no pain that she would not willingly have endured. But having lost it, as she could see, she became careless of everything else in the house, and the lack of her care soon brought mischief to pass.

Her husband, on the one part, spent with much extravagance, while, on the other, she had ceased to control the management, so that ere long affairs fell into such great disorder, that the timber began to be felled, and the lands to be mortgaged.

One of her kinsfolk that had knowledge of her distemper, rebuked her for her error, saying that if love for her husband did not lead her to care for the advantage of his house, she should at least have regard to her poor children. Hereat her pity for them caused her to recover herself, and she tried all means to win back her husband’s love.

In this wise she kept good watch one night, and, when he rose from beside her, she also rose in her nightgown, let make her bed, and said her prayers until her husband returned. And when he came in, she went to him and kissed him, and brought him a basin full of water that he might wash his hands. He was surprised at this unwonted behaviour, and told her that there was no need for her to rise, since he was only coming from the latrines; whereat she replied that, although it was no great matter, it was nevertheless a seemly thing to wash one’s hands on coming from so dirty and foul a place, intending by these words to make him perceive and abhor the wickedness of his life. But for all that he did not mend his ways, and for a full year the lady continued to act in this way to no purpose.

Accordingly, seeing that this behaviour served her naught, one day, while she was waiting for her husband, who tarried longer than ordinary, she had a mind to go in search of him, and, passing from room to room, found him at last in a closet at the back of the house, lying asleep by the side of the ugliest, vilest, and filthiest serving-woman they had.

Thereupon, thinking she would teach him to leave so excellent a wife for so filthy and vile a woman, she took some straw and set it on fire in the middle of the room; but on seeing that it would as soon kill her husband as awaken him, she plucked him by the arm, crying out--

“Fire! fire!”

If the husband was ashamed and sorry at being found by so virtuous a wife in company with such a slut, he certainly had good reason for it. Then said his wife to him--

“For a year, sir, have I tried by gentle and patient means to draw you from this wickedness, and to show you that whilst washing the outside you should also cleanse that which is within. Finding that all I could do was of no avail, I have sought assistance from that clement which brings all things to an end, and I promise you, sir, that, if this do not mend you, I know not whether I shall a second time be able to deliver you from the danger as I have now done. I pray you remember that the deepest despair is that caused by love, and that if I had not had the fear of God before my eyes I could not have endured so much.”

The husband, glad to get off so easily, promised that he would never again cause her any pain on his account. This the lady was very willing to believe, and with her husband’s consent turned away the servant who had so offended her. And from that time forth they lived most lovingly together, so that even the errors of the past, by the good that had resulted from them, served but to increase their happiness.

“Should God give you such husbands, ladies, I pray you despair not until you have fully tried all means to win them back. There are twenty-four hours in the day in which a man may change his mind, and a wife who has gained her husband over by patience and longsuffering should deem herself more fortunate than if fate and her kinsfolk had given her one more perfect.”

“It is an example,” said Oisille, “that all married women ought to follow.”

“Follow it who will,” said Parlamente; “for my own part, I should find it impossible to be patient so long. Although in every condition patience is a seemly virtue, yet I think that in wedded life it finally produces ill-will. For, when suffering is caused you by your partner, you are compelled to keep yourself as much apart from him as possible; and from such estrangement there springs up contempt for the faithless one; and this contempt gradually lessens love, for a thing is loved in proportion as it is esteemed.”

“But there is a danger,” said Ennasuite, “that the impatient wife may meet with a passionate husband who, instead of patience, will bring her pain.”

“And what more,” said Parlamente, “could a husband do than was done by the husband in the story?”

“What more?” said Ennasuite. “Why, beat his wife soundly, and make her lie in the smaller bed, and his sweetheart in the larger.” (2)

2 At this period, and for some time afterwards, there were usually two beds in the master’s room, a large one for himself and his wife, and a small one in which slept a trusty servant, male or female. These little beds are shown in some of the designs engraved by Abraham Bosse in the seventeenth century.--L.

“It is my belief,” said Parlamente, “that a true woman would be less grieved by being beaten in anger than by being contemned for one of less worth than herself. After enduring the severance of love, nothing that her husband could do would be able to cause her any further pain. And in this wise the story says that the trouble she took to regain him was for the sake of her children--which I can well believe.”

“And do you think that it showed great patience on her part,” said Nomerfide, “to kindle a fire beneath the bed on which her husband was sleeping.”

“Yes,” said Longarine; “for when she saw the smoke she waked him, and herein, perhaps, was she most to blame; for the ashes of such a husband as hers would to my thinking have been good for the making of lye.”

“You are cruel, Longarine,” said Oisille, “but those are not the terms on which you lived with your own husband.”

“No,” said Longarine, “for, God be thanked, he never gave me cause. I have reason to regret him all my life long, not to complain of him.”

“But if he had behaved in such a manner towards you,” said Nomerfide, “what would you have done?”

“I loved him so dearly,” said Longarine, “that I believe I should have killed him, and myself as well. To die after taking such a vengeance would have been sweeter to me than to live faithfully with the faithless.”

“So far as I can see,” said Hircan, “you do not love your husbands except for your own sakes. If they are what you want them to be, you are very fond of them; but if they fall into the slightest error towards you, they lose on a Saturday the toil of an entire week. Thus you are minded to rule, and I for my part will consent to it provided, however, that all other husbands agree.”

“It is reasonable,” said Parlamente, “that man should rule us as our head, but not that he should forsake us or treat us ill.”

“God has provided so wisely,” said Oisille, “both for man and for woman, that I hold marriage, if it be not abused, to be the goodliest and securest condition imaginable, and I am sure that, whatever they may seem to do, all here present think the same. And if the man claims to be wiser than the woman, he will be the more severely blamed should the fault come from him. But enough of such talk. Let us now see to whom Dagoucin will give his vote.”

“I give it,” he said, “to Longarine.”

“You do me a great pleasure,” she replied, “for I have read a story that is worthy to follow yours. Since we are set upon praising the virtuous patience of ladies, I will show you one more worthy of praise than she of whom we have just been speaking. And she is the more deserving of esteem in that she was a city dame, and therefore one of those whose breeding is less virtuous than that of others.”

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[Illustration: 083a.jpg The Lady of Tours questioning her Husband’s Mistress]

[The Lady of Tours questioning her Husband’s Mistress]

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_TALE XXXVIII_.

_A towns-woman of Tours returned so much good for all the evil treatment she had received from her husband, that the latter forsook the mistress whom he was quietly maintaining, and returned to his wife_. (1)

1 It is probable that the incidents related in this tale occurred between 1460 and 1470. They will be found recorded in the _Ménagier de Paris_. (See Baron Pichon’s edition, 1847, vol. i. p. 237). A similar narrative figures in some editions of Morlini’s tales, notably the _Novello, Fabello, et Comedies, Neapoli_, 1520. We further find it in Gueudeville’s translation of Erasmus’s Colloquies (_Dialogue sur le mariage, collogues, &c., Leyden_, 1720, vol. i. p. 87), and Mr. Walter Keily has pointed out (the _Heptameron_, Bohn, 1864) that William Warner worked the same incidents into his poem _Albion’s England_, his stanzas being reproduced in Percy’s _Reliques_ under the title of _The Patient Countess_.--L. and Ed.

In the city of Tours there dwelt a chaste and comely townswoman, who, by reason of her virtues, was not only loved but feared also and respected by her husband. Nevertheless, with all the fickleness of men who grow weary of ever eating good bread, he fell in love with a farm tenant (2) of his own, and would oft-time leave Tours to visit the farm, where he always remained two or three days; and when he came back to Tours he was always in so sorry a plight that his wife had much ado to cure him, yet, as soon as he was whole again, he never failed to return to the place where pleasure caused him to forget all his ills.

2 The French word here is _métayère_. The _métayer_ (fem. métayère) was a farm tenant under the general control of his landlord, who supplied him with seed and took to himself a considerable portion of the produce. The system was done away with at the Revolution, but was revived here and there under the Restoration, when some of the nobles came to “their own” again, and there may even nowadays be a few instances of the kind.--Ed.

When his wife, who was anxious above all things for his life and health, found him constantly return home in so evil a plight, she went to the farm and found there the young woman whom her husband loved. Then, without anger but with graceful courage, she told her that she knew her husband often went to see her, but that she was ill-pleased to find him always return home exhausted in consequence of her sorry treatment of him. The poor woman, influenced as much by respect for her mistress as by regard for the truth, was not able to deny the fact, and craved forgiveness.

The lady asked to see the room and bed in which her husband was wont to sleep, and found it so cold and dirty and ill-appointed that she was moved to pity. Forthwith she sent for a good bed furnished with sheets, blankets and counterpane such as her husband loved; she caused the room to be made clean and neat and hung with tapestries; provided suitable ware for his meat and drink, a pipe of good wine, sweetmeats and confections, and begged the woman to send him back no more in so miserable a state.

It was not long before the husband again went, as was his wont, to see his tenant, and he was greatly amazed to find his poor lodging in such excellent order. And still more was he surprised when the woman gave him to drink in a silver cup; and he asked her whence all these good things had come. The poor woman told him, weeping, that they were from his wife, who had taken such great pity on his sorry treatment that she had furnished the house in this way, and had charged her to be careful of his health.

When the gentleman saw the exceeding generosity of his wife in returning so much good for all the evil turns that he had done her, he looked upon his own wrongdoing as no less great than her kindness; and, after giving some money to his tenant, he begged her to live in future as an honest woman. Then he went back to his wife, acknowledged his wrongdoing, and told her that, but for her great gentleness and generosity, he could never have forsaken the life that he had been leading. And thenceforward, forgetting the past, they lived in all peacefulness together.

“You may be sure, ladies, that there are but few husbands whom a wife’s love and patience cannot win at last, unless they be harder even than stone, which weak and yielding water will in time make hollow.”

“That woman,” said Parlamente, “had neither heart, gall nor liver.”

“What would you have had her do?” said Longarine. “She practised what God commands, and returned good for evil.” (3)

3 “Recompense to no man evil for evil.”--_Rom_. xii. 17. “Not rendering evil for evil, or railing for railing.”--1 _Pet_. iii. 9.--Ed.

“I think,” said Hircan, “she must have been in love with some Grey Friar, who had laid upon her the penance of having her husband well treated in the country, so that, meantime, she might be free to entertain herself well in the town.”

“Therein,” said Oisille, “you clearly show the wickedness of your own heart, judging ill of a good deed. I rather believe her to have been so subdued by the love of God that she cared for naught save the salvation of her husband’s soul.”

“It seems to me,” said Simontault, “that he had more reason to return to his wife when he was so cold at the farm than afterwards when he was treated so well.”

“From what I can see,” said Saffredent, “you are not of the same opinion as the rich man of Paris who, when he lay with his wife, could not put off his gear without being chilled, but who never felt the worse when he went without cap or shoes, in the depth of winter, to see his servant-maid in the cellar. Yet his wife was very beautiful and the maid very ugly.”

“Have you not heard,” said Geburon, “that God always aids lunatics, lovers and sots? Perhaps he was all three in one.”

“Do you thence conclude,” said Pariamente, “that God recks not of the wise, the chaste and the temperate? Help is not needed by those who can help themselves. He who said that He had come for the sick and not for the whole, (4) came by the law of His mercy to succour our infirmities, thereby annulling the decrees of His rigorous justice; and he that deems himself wise is a fool in the sight of God. But, to end the sermon, to whom will Longarine give her vote?”

4 “They that are whole have no need of the physician, but they that are sick.”--_St. Mark_ ii. 17. See also _St. Luke_ v. 31.--Ed.

“I give it,” she said, “to Saffredent.”

“Then I hope,” said Saffredent, “to prove to you that God does not favour lovers. For although it has already been said, ladies, that vice is common to men and women alike, yet will a subtle artifice be more readily and adroitly devised by a woman than by a man Of this I am now about to give you an instance.”

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[Illustration: 089a.jpg The Lord of Grignaulx catching the Pretended Ghost]

[The Lord of Grignaulx catching the Pretended Ghost]

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_TALE XXXIX_.

_The Lord of Grignaulx freed his house from a ghost which had so tormented his wife that for the space of two years she had dwelt elsewhere_.

A certain Lord of Grignaulx (1) who was gentleman of honour to the Queen of France, Anne, Duchess of Brittany, on returning to his house whence he had been absent during more than two years, found his wife at another estate, near by, and when he inquired the reason of this, she told him that a ghost was wont to haunt the house, and tormented them so much that none could dwell there. (2) Monsieur de Grig-naulx, who had no belief in such absurdities, replied that were it the devil himself he was not afraid of him, and so brought his wife home again.

At night he caused many candles to be lighted that he might see the ghost more clearly, and, after watching for a long time without hearing anything, he fell asleep; but immediately afterwards he was awaked by a buffet upon the cheek, and heard a voice crying, “Brenigne, Brenigne,” which had been the name of his grandmother. (3) Then he called to the serving-woman, who lay near them, (4) to light the candle, for all were now extinguished, but she durst not rise. And at the same time the Lord of Grig-naulx felt the covering pulled from off him, and heard a great noise of tables, trestles and stools falling about the room; and this lasted until morning. However, the Lord of Grignaulx was more displeased at losing his rest than afraid of the ghost, for indeed he never believed it to be any such thing.

1 This is John de Talleyrand, knight, lord of Grignols and Fouquerolles, Prince of Chalais, Viscount of Fronsac, mayor and captain of Bordeaux, chamberlain of Charles VIII., first majordomo and gentleman of honour in turn to two French Queens, Anne of Brittany and Mary of England. His wife was Margaret de la Tour, daughter of Anne de la Tour, Viscount of Turenne, and Mary de Beaufort. She bore him several children. It was John de Talleyrand who warned Louise of Savoy that her son Francis, then Count of Angoulême, was paying court to the young Queen, Mary of England, wife to Louis XII. Apprehensive lest this intrigue should destroy her son’s prospects, Louise prevailed on him to relinquish it (Brantôme’s _Dames Illustres_).--L. 4 89

2 The house haunted by the ghost would probably be Talleyrand’s château at Grignols, in the department of the Gironde. His lordship of Fouquerolles was only a few miles distant, in the Dordogne, and this would be the estate to which his wife had retired.--Ed.

3 Talleyrand’s grandmother on the paternal side was Mary of Brabant; the reference may be to his maternal grandmother, whose Christian name was possibly “Bénigne.” On the other hand, Boaistuau gives the name as Revigne, and among the old French _noblesse_ were the Revigné and Revigny families.-- Ed.

4 See _ante_, note 2 to Tale XXXVII.

On the following night he resolved to capture this ghost, and so, when he had been in bed a little while, he pretended to snore very loudly, and placed his open hand close to his face. Whilst he was in this wise waiting for the ghost, he felt that something was coming near him, and accordingly snored yet louder than before, whereat the ghost was so encouraged as to deal him a mighty blow. Forthwith, the Lord of Grignaulx caught the ghost’s hand as it rested on his face, and cried out to his wife--

“I have the ghost!”

His wife immediately rose up and lit the candle, and found that it was the serving-woman who slept in their room; and she, throwing herself upon her knees, entreated forgiveness and promised to confess the truth. This was, that she had long loved a serving-man of the house, and had taken this fine mystery in hand in order to drive both master and mistress away, so that she and her lover, having sole charge of the house, might be able to make good cheer as they were wont to do when alone. My Lord of Grignaulx, who was a somewhat harsh man, commanded that they should be soundly beaten so as to prevent them from ever forgetting the ghost, and this having been done, they were driven away. In this fashion was the house freed from the plaguy ghosts who for two years long had played their pranks in it. (5)

5 Talleyrand, who passes for having been the last of the “Rois des Ribauds” (see the Bibliophile Jacob’s historical novel of that title), was, like his descendant the great diplomatist, a man of subtle and caustic humour. Brantôme, in his article on Anne of Brittany in _Les Dames Illustres_, repeatedly refers to him, and relates that on an occasion when the Queen wished to say a few words in Spanish to the Emperor’s ambassador--there was a project of marrying her daughter Claude to Charles V.--she applied to Grignols to teach her a sentence or two of the Castilian language. He, however, taught her some dirty expression, but was careful to warn Louis XII., who laughed at it, telling his wife on no account to use the Spanish words she had learnt. On discovering the truth, Anne was so greatly vexed, that Grignols was obliged to withdraw from Court for some time, and only with difficulty obtained the Queen’s forgiveness.-- L. and Ed.

“It is wonderful, ladies, to think of the effects wrought by the mighty god of Love. He causes women to put aside all fear, and teaches them to give every sort of trouble to man in order to work their own ends. But if the purpose of the serving-woman calls for blame, the sound sense of the master is no less worthy of praise. He knew that when the spirit departs, it returns no more.” (6)

6 “A wind that passeth away, and cometh not again.”--_Psalm_ lxxviii. 39.--M.

“In sooth,” said Geburon, “love showed little favour to the man and the maid, but I agree that the sound sense of the master was of great advantage to him.”

“Nevertheless,” said Ennasuite, “the maid through her cunning lived for a long time at her ease.”

“‘Tis but a sorry ease,” said Oisille, “that is founded upon sin and that ends in shame and chastisement.”

“That is true, madam,” said Ennasuite, “but many persons reap pain and sorrow by living righteously, and lacking wit enough to procure themselves in all their lives as much pleasure as these two.”

“It is nevertheless my opinion,” said Oisille, “that there can be no perfect pleasure unless the conscience be at rest.”

“Nay,” said Simontault, “the Italian maintains that the greater the sin the greater the pleasure.” (7)

7 This may be a reference to Boccaccio or Castiglione, but the expression is of a proverbial character in many languages.--Ed.

“In very truth,” said Oisille, “he who invented such a saying must be the devil himself. Let us therefore say no more of him, but see to whom Saffredent will give his vote.”

“To whom?” said he. “Only Parlamente now remains; but if there were a hundred others, she should still receive my vote, as being the one from whom we shall certainly learn something.”

“Well, since I am to end the day,” said Parlamente, “and since I promised yesterday to tell you why Rolandine’s father built the castle in which he kept her so long a prisoner, I will now relate it to you.”

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[Illustration: 095a.jpg The Count of Jossebelin murdering his Sister’s Husband]

[The Count of Jossebelin murdering his Sister’s Husband]

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_TALE XL_.

_The sister of the Count of Jossebelin, after marrying unknown to her brother a gentleman whom he caused to be put to death (albeit except for his lowlier rank he had often desired him for his brother-in-law) did, with great patience and austerity of life, spend the remainder of her days in a hermitage_. (1)

This lord, who was the father of Rolandine and was called the Count of Jossebelin, had several sisters, some of whom were married to wealthy husbands, others becoming nuns, whilst one, who was beyond comparison fairer than all the rest, dwelt unwedded in his house. (2)

1 The events here narrated would have occurred in or about 1479.--L.

2 The so-called Count of Jossebelin is John II., Viscount de Rohan, previously referred to in Tale XXI. He was the son of Alan IX., Vicount of Rohan, by his second wife, Mary of Lorraine. Alan, by a first marriage with Margaret of Brittany, had three daughters, Jane, Margaret and Catherine, all three of whom were married advantageously. Contrary to Queen Margaret’s assertion above, none of them became nuns; Alan may, however, have had illegitimate daughters who took the veil. By his second wife he had a son, John II., and a daughter christened Catherine, like her half-sister. She died unmarried, says Anselme’s _Histoire Généalogique_ (vol. iv. p. 57), and would appear to be the heroine of Queen Margaret’s tale.--L. and B. J.

And so dearly did she love her brother that he, for his part, preferred her even to his wife and children.

She was asked in marriage by many of good estate, but her brother would never listen to them through dread of losing her, and also because he loved his money too well. She therefore spent a great part of her life un-wedded, living very virtuously in her brother’s house. Now there was a young and handsome gentleman who had been reared from childhood in this same house, and who, growing in comeliness and virtue as well as in years, had come to have a complete and peaceful rule over his master, in such sort that whenever the latter desired to give any charge to his sister he always did so by means of this young gentleman, (3) and he allowed him so much influence and intimacy, sending him morning and evening to his sister, that at last a great love sprang up between the two.

3 This is possibly a Count of Keradreux, whom John II. is known to have put to death, though the Breton and French chroniclers do not relate the circumstances of the crime.-- See_post_, p. 100, note 4.--Ed.

But as the gentleman feared for his life if he should offend his master, and the lady feared also for her honour, their love found gladness in speech alone, until the Lord of Jossebelin had often said to his sister that he wished the gentleman were rich and of as good a house as her own, for he had never known a man whom he would so gladly have had for his brother-in-law.

He repeated these sayings so often that, after debating them together, the lovers concluded that if they wedded one another they would readily be forgiven. Love, which easily believes what it desires, persuaded them that nothing but good could come of it; and in this hope they celebrated and consummated the marriage without the knowledge of any save a priest and certain women.

After they had lived for a few years in the delight that man and woman can have together in marriage, and as one of the handsomest and most loving couples in Christendom, Fate, vexed to find two persons so much at their ease, would no longer suffer them to continue in it, but stirred up against them an enemy, who, keeping watch upon the lady, came to a knowledge of her great happiness, and, ignorant the while of her marriage, went and told the Lord of Jossebelin that the gentleman in whom he had so much trust, went too often to his sister’s room, and that moreover at hours when no man should enter it. This the Count would not at first believe for the trust that he had in his sister and in the gentleman.

But the other, like one careful for the honour of the house, repeated the charge so often that a strict watch was set, and the poor folk, who suspected nothing, were surprised. For one evening the Lord of Jossebelin was advised that the gentleman was with his sister, and, hastening thither, found the poor love-blinded pair lying in bed together. His anger at the sight robbed him of speech, and, drawing his sword, he ran after the gentleman to kill him. But the other, being nimble of body, fled in nothing but his shirt, and, being unable to escape by the door, leaped through a window into the garden.

Then the poor lady, clad only in her chemise, threw herself upon her knees before her brother and said to him--

“Sir, spare the life of my husband, for I have indeed married him; and if you are offended punish only me, for what he did was done at my request.”

Her brother, beside himself with wrath, could only reply--

“Even if he be your husband one hundred thousand times over, yet will I punish him as a rascally servant who has deceived me.”

So saying, he went to the window and called out loudly to kill him, which was speedily done before the eyes of himself and his sister. The latter, on beholding the pitiful sight which no prayers on her part had been able to prevent, spoke to her brother like a woman bereft of reason.

“Brother,” she said, “I have neither father nor mother, and I am old enough to marry according to my own pleasure. I chose one whom many a time you said you would gladly have me marry, and for doing by your own counsels that which the law permits me to do without them, you have put to death the man whom you loved best of all the world. Well, since my prayers have been of no avail to preserve his life, I implore you, by all the love you have ever borne me, to make me now a sharer in his death even as I have been a sharer in all his living fortunes. In this way, while sating your unjust and cruel anger, you will give repose to the body and soul of one who cannot and will not live without him.” Although her brother was almost distracted with passion, (4) he had pity upon his sister, and so, without granting or denying her request, withdrew. After weighing well what he had done, and hearing that the gentleman had in fact married his sister, he would gladly have undone his grievous crime. Nevertheless, being afraid that his sister would seek justice or vengeance for it, he caused a castle to be built in the midst of a forest, (5) and, placing her therein, forbade that any should have speech with her.

4 John II. of Rohan was a man of the most passionate, resentful disposition, and the greater part of his life was spent in furthering ambitious schemes, stirring up feuds and factions, and desolating Brittany with civil war. In 1470 we find him leaving the service of the Duke, his master, to enter that of Louis XI., on whose side he fought till the peace of Senlis in 1475. Four years later the Duke of Brittany caused him to be arrested on the charge of murdering the Count of Keradreux, and he appears to have remained in prison till 1484, when it is recorded that he fled to France, and thence to Lorraine. In 1487 he leagued himself with several discontented nobles to drive away the Chancellor of Brittany and various foreign favourites around the Duke, and carried civil war into several parts of the duchy. Then for a brief space he made his peace with the Duke, but again took up arms for the French King, fought at St. Aubin du Cormier, captured Dinan and besieged and pillaged Guingamp. Charles VIII. appointed him Lieutenant- general of Lower Brittany in 1491, and he was first commissary of the King of France at the States of Brittany held at Vannes in 1491 and 1501. In 1507 he witnessed the marriage contract of the Princess Claude with Francis, Duke of Valois, afterwards Francis I. (Anselme’s _Histoire Généalogique_, vol. iv. p. 57). When Anne became Duchess of Brittany, John II. vainly strove to compel her to marry his son, James, and this was one of the causes of their life- long enmity (_ante_ vol. iii. Tale XXI.) John II. died in 1516.--L. and Ed.

5 If this be the chateau of Josselin, as some previous commentators think, Queen Margaret is in error here, for records subsist which prove that Josselin, now classed among the historical monuments of France, was built not by John II., but by his father, Alan IX. It rises on a steep rock on the bank of the Oust, at nine miles from Ploèrmel, and on the sculptured work, both inside and out, the letters A. V. (Alan, Viscount) are frequently repeated, with the arms of Rohan and Brittany quartered together, and bearing the proud device _A plus_. It seems to us evident that the incidents recorded in the early part of Queen Margaret’s tale took place at Josselin, and that Catherine de Rohan was imprisoned in some other chateau expressly erected by her brother.--D. and Ed.

Some time afterwards he sought, for the satisfaction of his conscience, to win her back again, and spoke to her of marriage; but she sent him word that he had given her too sorry a breakfast to make her willing to sup off the same dish, and that she looked to live in such sort that he should never murder a second husband of hers; for, she added, she could scarcely believe that he would forgive another man after having so cruelly used the one whom he had loved best of all the world.

And although weak and powerless for revenge, she placed her hopes in Him who is the true Judge, and who suffers no wickedness to go unpunished; and, relying upon His love alone, was minded to spend the rest of her life in her hermitage. And this she did, for she never stirred from that place so long as she lived, but dwelt there with such patience and austerity that her tomb was visited by every one as that of a saint.

From the time that she died, her brother’s house came to such a ruinous state, that of his six sons not one was left, but all died miserably; (6) and at last the inheritance, as you heard in the former story, passed into the possession of Rolandine, who succeeded to the prison that had been built for her aunt.

6 Queen Margaret is in error here. Instead of six sons, John II., according to the most reliable genealogical accounts of the Rohan family, had but two, James, Viscount of Rohan and Lord of Leon, who died childless in 1527, and Claud, Bishop of Cornouailles, who succeeded him as Viscount of Rohan (Anselme). These had two sisters, Anne, the Rolandine of Tale XXI., and Mary, who died in June 1542 (Dillaye).--Ed.

“I pray God, ladies, that this example may be profitable to you, and that none among you will seek to marry for her own pleasure without the consent of those to whom obedience is due; for marriage is a state of such long continuance that it should not be entered upon lightly and without the advice of friends and kin. And, indeed, however wisely one may act, there is always at least as much pain in it as there is pleasure.”

“In good faith,” said Oisille, “were there neither God nor law to teach maidens discretion, this example would suffice to give them more reverence for their kindred, and not to seek marriage according to their own pleasure.”

“Still, madam,” said Nomerfide, “whoso has but one good day in the year, is not unhappy her whole life long. She had the pleasure of seeing and speaking for a long time with him whom she loved better than herself, and she moreover enjoyed the delights of marriage with him without scruple of conscience. I consider such happiness so great, that in my opinion it surpassed the sorrow that she bore.”

“You maintain, then,” said Saffredent, “that a woman has more pleasure in lying with a husband, than pain in seeing him put to death before her eyes.”

“That is not my meaning,” said Nomerfide, “for it would be contrary to my experience of women. But I hold that an unwonted pleasure such as that of marrying the man whom one loves best of all the world, must be greater than that of losing him by death, which is common to all.”

“Yes,” said Geburon, “if the death be a natural one, but that in the story was too cruel. And I think it very strange, considering he was neither her father nor her husband but only her brother, and she had reached an age when the law suffers maidens to marry according to their own pleasure, that this lord should have had the daring to commit so cruel a deed.”

“I do not think it at all strange,” said Hircan, “for he did not kill his sister whom he dearly loved, and who was not subject to his control, but dealt with the gentleman whom he had bred as his son and loved as his brother. He had bestowed honour and wealth upon him in his service, and in return for all this the other sought his sister in marriage, a thing which was in nowise fitting for him to do.”

“Moreover,” said Nomerfide, “it was no ordinary or wonted pleasure for a lady of such high lineage to marry a gentleman servant for love. If the death was extraordinary, the pleasure also was novel, and it was the greater seeing that it had against it the opinions of all wise folk, for it was the happiness of a loving heart with tranquillity of soul, since God was in no wise offended by it And as for the death that you call cruel, it seems to me that, since death is unavoidable, the swifter it comes the better; for we know that it is a road by which all of us must travel. I deem those fortunate who do not long linger on the outksirts of death, but who take a speedy flight from all that can be termed happiness in this world to the happiness that is eternal.”

“What do you mean by the outskirts of death?” said Simontault.

“Such as have deep tribulation of spirit,” replied Nomerfide, “such, too, as have long been ill, and in their extreme bodily or spiritual pain have come to think lightly of death and find its approach too slow, such, I say, as these have passed through the outskirts of death and will tell you of the hostels where they knew more lamentation than rest. The lady of the story could not help losing her husband through death, but her brother’s wrath preserved her from seeing him a long time sick or distressed in mind. And turning the gladness that she had had with him to the service of Our Lord, she might well esteem herself happy.”

“Do you make no account,” said Longarine, “of the shame that she endured, or of her imprisonment?”

“I consider,” said Nomerfide, “that a woman who lives perfectly, with a love that is in keeping with the commands of her God, has no knowledge of shame or dishonour except when they impair or lessen the perfection of her love; for the glory of truly loving knows no shame. As for her imprisonment, I imagine that, with her heart at large and devoted to God and her husband, she thought nothing of it, but deemed her solitude the greatest freedom. When one cannot see what one loves, the greatest happiness consists in thinking constantly upon it, and there is no prison so narrow that thought cannot roam in it at will.”

“Nothing can be truer than what Nomerfide says,” observed Simontault, “but the man who in his passion brought this separation to pass must have deemed himself unhappy indeed, seeing that he offended God, Love and Honour.”

“In good sooth,” said Geburon, “I am amazed at the diversity of woman’s love. I can see that those who have most love have most virtue; but those who have less love conceal it in their desire to appear virtuous.”

“It is true,” said Parlamente, “that a heart which is virtuous towards God and man loves more deeply than a vicious one, and fears not to have its inmost purpose known.”

“I have always heard,” said Simontault, “that men should not be blamed if they seek the love of women, for God has put into the heart of man desire and boldness for asking, and in that of woman fear and chastity for refusal. If, then, a man be punished for using the powers that have been given him, he suffers wrong.”

“But it must be remembered,” said Longarine, “that he had praised this gentleman for a long time to his sister. It seems to me that it would be madness or cruelty in the keeper of a fountain to praise its fair waters to one fainting with thirst, and then to kill him when he sought to taste them.”

“The brother,” thereupon said Parlamente, “did indeed so kindle the flame by gentle words of his own, that it was not meet he should beat it out with the sword.”

“I am surprised,” said Saffredent, “to find it taken ill that a simple gentleman should by dint of love alone, and without deceit, have come to marry a lady of high lineage, seeing that the wisdom of the philosophers accounts the least of men to be of more worth than the greatest and most virtuous of women.”

“The reason is,” said Dagoucin, “that in order to preserve the commonwealth in peace, account is only taken of the rank of families, the age of persons, and the provisions of the laws, without regard to the love and virtue of individuals, and all this so that the kingdom may not be disturbed. Hence it comes to pass that, in marriages made between equals and according to the judgment of kinsfolk and society, the husband and wife often journey to the very outskirts of hell.”

“Indeed it has been seen,” said Geburon, “that those who, being alike in heart, character and temperament, have married for love and paid no heed to diversity of birth and lineage, have ofttime sorely repented of it; for a deep unreasoning love is apt to turn to jealousy and rage.”

“It seems to me,” said Parlamente, “that neither course is worthy of praise, but that folks should submit themselves to the will of God, and pay no heed to glory, avarice or pleasure, and loving virtuously and with the approval of their kinsfolk, seek only to live in the married state as God and nature ordain. And although no condition be free from tribulation, I have nevertheless seen such persons live together without regret; and we of this company are not so unfortunate as to have none of these married ones among the number.”

Hircan, Geburon, Simontault and Saffredent swore that they had wedded after this sort, and had never repented since. Whatever the truth of this declaration may have been, the ladies concerned were exceedingly content with it, and thinking that they could hear nothing to please them better, they rose up to go and give thanks for it to God, and found the monks at the church, ready for vespers.

When the service was over they went to supper, but not without much discourse concerning their marriages; and this lasted all the evening, each one relating the fortune that had befallen him whilst he was wooing his wife.

As it happened, however, that one was interrupted by another, it is not possible to set down these stories in full, albeit they would have been as pleasant to write as those which had been told in the meadow. Such great delight did they take in the converse, and so well did it entertain them, that, before they were aware of it, the hour for rest had come.

The Lady Oisille made the company separate, and they betook themselves to bed so joyously that, what with recounting the loves of the past, and proving those of the present, the married folk, methinks, slept no longer than the others.

And so the night was pleasantly spent until the morning.

[Illustration: 109.jpg Tailpiece]

FIFTH DAY.

_On the Fifth Day Tales are told of the virtue of those maids and matrons who held their honour in more consideration than their pleasure, also of those who did the contrary, and of the simplicity of certain others_.

PROLOGUE.

When morning was come, the Lady Oisille made ready for them a spiritual breakfast of such excellent flavour that it sufficed to strengthen both body and mind. The whole company was very attentive to it; it seemed to them that they had never harkened to a sermon with such profit before. Then, when the last bell rang for mass, they went to meditate upon the pious discourse which they had heard.

After listening to mass, and walking for a little while, they went to table feeling assured that the present day would prove as agreeable as any of the past. Saffredent even said that he would gladly have the bridge building for another month, so great was the pleasure that he took in their entertainment; but the Abbot was pressing the work with all speed, for it was no pleasure to him to live in the company of so many honourable persons, among whom he could not bring his wonted female pilgrims.

Having rested for a time after dinner, they returned to their accustomed diversion. When all were seated in the meadow, they asked Parlamente to whom she gave her vote.

“I think,” she replied, “that Saffredent might well begin this day, for his face does not look as though he wished us to weep.”

“Then, ladies, you will needs be very hard-hearted,” said Saffredent, “if you take no pity on the Grey Friar whose story I am going to relate to you. You may perhaps think, from the tales that some among us have already told of the monks, that misadventures have befallen hapless damsels simply because ease of execution induced the attempt to be fearlessly begun, but, so that you may know that it is the blindness of wanton lust which deprives the friars of all fear and prudence, I will tell you of what happened to one of them in Flanders.”

[Illustration: 115a.jpg The Beating of the Wicked Grey Friar]

[The Beating of the Wicked Grey Friar]

[Illustration: 115.jpg Page Image]

_TALE XLI_.

_A Grey Friar to whom a maiden had presented herself on Christmas night that he might confess her, laid upon her so strange a penance that she would not submit to it, but rose from before him without having received absolution; but her mistress, hearing of the matter, caused the Grey Friar to be flogged in her kitchen, and then sent him back, bound and gagged, to his Warden_.

In the year when my Lady Margaret of Austria came to Cambray on behalf of her nephew the Emperor, to treat of peace between him and the Most Christian King, who on his part was represented by his mother, my Lady Louise of Savoy, (1) the said Lady Margaret had in her train the Countess of Aiguemont, (2) who won, among this company, the renown of being the most beautiful of all the Flemish ladies.

1 It was in June 1529 that Margaret of Austria came to Cambrai to treat for peace, on behalf of Charles V. Louise of Savoy, who represented Francis I., was accompanied on this occasion by her daughter, Queen Margaret, who appears to have taken part in the conferences. The result of these was that the Emperor renounced his claims on Burgundy, but upheld all the other stipulations of the treaty of Madrid. Having been brought about entirely by feminine negotiators, the peace of Cambrai acquired the name of “La Paix des Dames,” or “the Ladies’ Peace.” Some curious particulars of the ceremonies observed at Cambrai on this occasion will be found in Leglay’s _Notice sur les fêles et cérémonies à Cambray depuis le XIe siècle_, Cambrai, 1827.--L. and B. J.

2 This is Frances of Luxemburg, Baroness of Fiennes and Princess of Gavre, wife of John IV., Count of Egmont, chamberlain to the Emperor Charles V. They were the parents of the famous Lamoral Count of Egmont, Prince of Gavre and Baron of Fiennes, born in 1522 and put to death by the Duke of Alba on June 5, 1568.--B.J.

When this great assembly separated, the Countess of Aiguemont returned to her own house, and, Advent being come, sent to a monastery of Grey Friars to ask for a clever preacher and virtuous man, as well to preach as to confess herself and her whole household. The Warden, remembering the great benefits that the Order received from the house of Aiguemont and that of Fiennes, to which the Countess belonged, sought out the man whom he thought most worthy to fill the said office.

Accordingly, as the Grey Friars more than any other order desire to obtain the esteem and friendship of great houses, they sent the most important preacher of their monastery, and throughout Advent he did his duty very well, and the Countess was well pleased with him.

On Christmas night, when the Countess desired to receive her Creator, she sent for her confessor, and after making confession in a carefully closed chapel, she gave place to her lady of honour, who in her turn, after being shriven, sent her daughter to pass through the hands of this worthy confessor. When the maiden had told all that was in her mind, the good father knew something of her secrets, and this gave him the desire and the boldness to lay an unwonted penance upon her.

“My daughter,” said he, “your sins are so great that to atone for them I command you the penance of wearing my cord upon your naked flesh.”

The maiden, who was unwilling to disobey him, made answer--

“Give it to me, father, and I will not fail to wear it.”

“My daughter,” said the good father, “it will be of no avail from your own hand. Mine, from which you shall receive absolution, must first bind it upon you; then shall you be absolved of all your sins.”

The maiden replied, weeping, that she would not suffer it.

“What?” said the confessor. “Are you a heretic, that you refuse the penances which God and our holy mother Church have ordained?”

“I employ confession,” said the maiden, “as the Church commands, and I am very willing to receive absolution and do penance. But I will not be touched by your hands, and I refuse this mode of penance.”

“Then,” said the confessor, “I cannot give you absolution.”

The maiden rose from before him greatly troubled in conscience, for, being very young, she feared lest she had done wrong in thus refusing to obey the worthy father.

When mass was over and the Countess of Aiguemont had received the “Corpus Domini,” her lady of honour, desiring to follow her, asked her daughter whether she was ready. The maiden, weeping, replied that she was not shriven.

“Then what were you doing so long with the preacher?” asked her mother.

“Nothing,” said the maiden, “for, as I refused the penance that he laid upon me, he on his part refused me absolution.”

Making prudent inquiry, the mother learnt the extraordinary penance that the good father had chosen for her daughter; and then, having caused her to be confessed by another, they received the sacrament together. When the Countess was come back from the church, the lady of honour made complaint to her of the preacher, whereupon the Countess was the more surprised and grieved, since she had thought so well of him. Nevertheless, despite her anger, she could not but feel very much inclined to laugh at the unwonted nature of the penance.

Still her laughter did not prevent her from having the friar taken and beaten in her kitchen, where he was brought by the strokes of the rod to confess the truth; and then she sent him bound hand and foot to his Warden, begging the latter for the future to commission more virtuous men to preach the Word of God.

“Consider, ladies, if the monks be not afraid to display their wantonness in so illustrious a house, what may they not do in the poor places where they commonly make their collections, and where opportunities are so readily offered to them, that it is a miracle if they are quit of them without scandal. And this, ladies, leads me to beg of you to change your ill opinion into compassion, remembering that he (3) who blinds the Grey Friars is not sparing of the ladies when he finds an opportunity.”

3 The demon.--B. J.

“Truly,” said Oisille, “this was a very wicked Grey Friar. A monk, a priest and a preacher to work such wickedness, and that on Christmas day, in the church and under the cloak of the confessional--all these are circumstances which heighten the sin.”

“It would seem from your words,” said Hircan, “that the Grey Friars ought to be angels, or more discreet than other men, but you have heard instances enough to show you that they are far worse. As for the monk in the story, I think he might well be excused, seeing that he found himself shut up all alone at night with a handsome girl.”

“True,” said Oisille, “but it was Christmas night.”

“That makes him still less to blame,” said Simontault, “for, being in Joseph’s place beside a fair virgin, he wished to try to beget an infant and so play the Mystery of the Nativity to the life.”

“In sooth,” said Parlamente, “if he had thought of Joseph and the Virgin Mary, he would have had no such evil purpose. At all events, he was a wickedly-minded man to make so evil an attempt upon such slight provocation.”

“I think,” said Oisille, “that the Countess punished him well enough to afford an excellent example to his fellows.”

“But ‘tis questionable,” said Nomerfide, “whether she did well in thus putting her neighbour to shame, or whether ‘twould not have been better to have quietly shown him his faults, rather than have made them so publicly known.”

“That would, I think, have been better,” said Geburon, “for we are commanded to rebuke our neighbour in secret, before we speak of the matter to any one else or to the Church. When a man has been brought to public disgrace, he will hardly ever be able to mend his ways, but fear of shame withdraws as many persons from sin as conscience does.”

“I think,” said Parlamente, “that we ought to observe the teaching of the Gospel towards all except those that preach the Word of God and act contrary to it. We should not be afraid to shame such as are accustomed to put others to shame; indeed I think it a very meritorious thing to make them known for what they really are, so that we take not a mock stone (4) for a fine ruby. But to whom will Saffredent give his vote?”

4 The French word here is _doublet_. The doublet was a piece of crystal, cut after the fashion of a diamond, and backed with red wax so as to give it somewhat the colour of a ruby.--B. J.

“Since you ask me,” he replied, “I will give it to yourself, to whom no man of understanding should refuse it.”

“Then, since you give it to me, I will tell you a story to the truth of which I can myself testify. I have always heard that when virtue abides in a weak and feeble vessel, and is assailed by its strong and puissant opposite, it especially deserves praise, and shows itself to be what it really is. If strength withstand strength, it is no very wonderful thing; but if weakness win the victory, it is lauded by every one. Knowing, as I do, the persons of whom I desire to speak, I think that I should do a wrong to virtue, (which I have often seen hidden under so mean a covering that none gave it any heed), if I did not tell of her who performed the praiseworthy actions that I now feel constrained to relate.”

[Illustration: 122.jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 123a.jpg The Girl refusing the Gift of the Young Prince]

[The Girl refusing the Gift of the Young Prince]

[Illustration: 123.jpg Page Image]

_TALE XLII_.

_A young Prince set his affections upon a young girl, and although she was of low and poor parentage, he could not, in spite of all his efforts, obtain from her what he had hoped to have. Accordingly, recognising her virtue and honour, the Prince desisted from his attempt, esteemed her highly all his life, and, marrying her to a follower of his own, bestowed great benefits upon her_.

In one of the best towns in Touraine there dwelt a lord of illustrious family, who had there been brought up from early youth. Of the perfections, graces, beauty and great virtues of this young Prince (1) I will say nothing, except that in his time his equal could not be found. Being fifteen years of age, he had more pleasure in hunting and hawking than in looking at beautiful ladies.

1 This is undoubtedly Francis I., then Count of Angoulême. M. de Lincy thinks that the scene of the story must be Amboise, where Louise of Savoy went to live with her children in 1499, and remained for several years; Louis XII. having placed the château there at her disposal. Francis, however, left Amboise to join the Court at Blois in August 1508, when less than fourteen years old (see Memoir of Queen Margaret, vol. i. p. xxiii.), and in the tale, above, he is said to have been fifteen at the time of the incidents narrated. These, then, would have occurred in the autumn of 1509. It will be seen that in the tale the young Prince’s sister (Margaret) is described as residing at the castle. Now Margaret married Charles of Alençon at Blois, in October 1509, and forthwith removed to Alençon. Possibly Francis, who was very precocious, especially in matters of gallantry, engaged in the love affair narrated by his sister at a yet earlier age than she asserts, in which case the town she refers to would undoubtedly be Amboise.--Ed.

One day in a church he beheld a young maiden who formerly, during her childhood, had been bred in the castle where he dwelt; but after her mother’s death, her father having married again, she had withdrawn into Poitou with her brother. This maiden, who was called Frances, had a bastard sister whom her father dearly loved, and whom he had married to the young Prince’s butler, who maintained her in as excellent a condition as that of any of her family. It came to pass that the father died and left to Frances as her portion what he possessed near the town aforementioned, and thither she returned after his death; nevertheless, being unmarried and only sixteen years of age, she would not live alone in her house, but went to lodge with her sister, the butler’s wife.

On perceiving this girl, who was passably beautiful for a light brunette, and possessed a grace beyond her condition (for, indeed, she seemed rather a lady or princess than a towns-woman), the young Prince gazed at her for a long time, and he, who never yet had loved, now felt in his heart an unwonted delight. On returning to his apartment he inquired concerning the maiden he had seen in the church, and then recollected that formerly in her youth she had come to the castle to have dolls’ play with his sister. He reminded the latter of her; and his sister sent for her, received her kindly, and begged her to come often to see her. This she did whenever there was a feast or entertainment; and the young Prince was so pleased to see her that he had in mind to be deeply in love with her, and, knowing her to be of low and poor parentage, hoped easily to obtain what he sought.

Having no means of speaking with her, he sent a gentleman of his chamber to her to conduct his intrigue. But she, being discreet and fearing God, told the gentleman that she did not believe so handsome and honourable a Prince as his master could have pleasure in looking upon one so ugly as herself, since he had so many beautiful ladies in the castle where he lived, that he had no need to search through the town; and she added that in her opinion the gentleman was speaking of his own authority, and without his master’s command.

When the young Prince received this reply, love, which becomes the more eager the more it meets with resistance, caused him to pursue his enterprise more hotly than before, and to write her a letter in which he begged that she would believe all the gentleman had told her.

Being well able to read and write, she read the letter through, but, in spite of all the gentleman’s entreaties, she would never send an answer to it. It was not for one of such low degree, she said, to write to so noble a Prince, and she begged the gentleman not to deem her foolish enough to believe that the Prince had so much love for her. Moreover, he was deceived if he thought that he could have her at his will by reason of her humble condition; for her heart was as virtuous as that of the greatest Princess in Christendom, and she looked upon all the treasures in the world as naught in comparison with honour and a good conscience. She therefore entreated him not to try to hinder her from keeping these treasures safe her whole life long, for she would never change her mind even were she threatened with death.

The young Prince did not find this reply to his liking, nevertheless he loved her dearly for it, and never failed to have his chair set in the church to which she went to hear mass, where, during the service, he would ever turn his eyes upon the same image. When she perceived this, she changed her place and went to another chapel--not indeed to flee the sight of him, for she would not have been a reasonable being had she not found pleasure in beholding him--but because she dreaded to be seen by him. She did not deem herself worthy to be loved by him in honour or marriage, and, on the other hand, she would not be loved wantonly and for pleasure. When she found that, in whatever part of the church she placed herself, the Prince heard mass close by, she would no longer go to the same church, but repaired every day to the remotest that she could find. And when there was feasting at the castle, although the Prince’s sister often sent for her, she would no longer go thither, but excused herself on the plea of sickness.

Finding that he could not have speech with her, the Prince had recourse to his butler, and promised him great rewards if he would lend assistance in the matter. This the butler, for the sake both of pleasing his master and of the gain that he expected, readily promised to do. Every day he would relate to the Prince what she said or did, telling him that she was especially careful to shun all opportunities of seeing him. However, the great desire that the Prince had of speaking with her at his ease, prompted him to devise the following plan.

One day he took his chargers, which he was beginning to manage excellently well, to a large open space in the town opposite to his butler’s house, in which Frances lived. After making many courses and leaps which she could easily see, he let himself fall from his horse into some deep mire, but so softly that he was not hurt. Nevertheless he uttered passably loud groans, and asked whether there was a house near in which he might change his dress. Every one offered his own, but on some one saying that the butler’s was the nearest and worthiest, it was chosen before all the others.

He found the room well furnished, and, as all his garments were soiled with the mud, he stripped himself to his shirt, and got into a bed. Then, when he saw that, except the gentleman aforementioned, every one was gone to bring him some clothes, he called his host and hostess and asked them where Frances was. They had much ado to find her, for, as soon as she had seen the young Prince coming in, she had gone to hide herself in the most retired nook in the house. Nevertheless her sister found her, and begged her not to be afraid to speak to so worshipful and virtuous a Prince.

“What! sister,” said Frances, “do you, whom I look upon as my mother, advise me to go and speak with a young lord, of whose purpose, as you are aware, I cannot be ignorant?”

However, her sister addressed so many remonstrances to her, and promised so often not to leave her alone, that she at last went with her, showing so pale and sorry a face that she seemed more likely to beget compassion than desire.

When the young Prince saw her by his bedside, he took hold of her hand, which was cold and trembling, and said to her--

“Frances, do you deem me so wicked a man, and so strange and cruel, that I eat the women I look upon? Why have you come to be so afraid of me who seek only your honour and profit? You know that I have sought to hold converse with you in all possible places, but all in vain; and, to grieve me still more, you have even shunned the places where I had been wont to see you at mass, so that my eyes might bring me as little gladness as my tongue. But all this has availed you naught, for I have never rested until I came hither in the manner you have seen, and I have risked my neck, in allowing myself to fall, in order that I might have the joy of speaking to you without hindrance. I therefore entreat you, Frances, that the opportunity gained by so much toil may not be thrown away, and that my deep love may avail to win your own.”

After waiting a long time for her reply, and seeing that her eyes were full of tears and fixed upon the ground, he drew her to him as closely as he could, and tried to embrace and kiss her. But she said to him--

“No, my lord, no; what you desire cannot be, for although I am but a worm of the earth compared with you, I hold my honour dear, and would rather die than lessen it for any pleasure that the world can give. And the dread I have lest those who have seen you come in should suspect the truth, makes me tremble and be afraid as you see. And, since it pleases you to do me the honour of speaking to me, you will also forgive me if I answer you according as my honour requires. I am not so foolish, my lord, nor so blind as not to perceive and recognise the comeliness and grace that God has given you, or not to consider that she who shall possess the person and love of such a Prince must be the happiest woman alive. But what does all this avail me, since it is not for me or any woman of my condition, and since even to long for it would, in me, be utter folly? What reason can I believe to be yours in addressing yourself to me except that the ladies in your house, whom you must love if you have any love for beauty and grace, are so virtuous that you dare not seek or expect from them what the lowliness of my condition has led you to expect from me? I am sure that if you obtained your desire from one such as I, it would afford matter for entertainment to your mistress during two good hours, to hear you tell her of your conquests over the weak. But, my lord, be pleased to bear in mind that I shall never be of their number. I have been brought up in your house, where I have learned what it is to love; my father and my mother were your faithful servants. Since, therefore, God has not made me a Princess to marry you, nor of sufficient rank to be your mistress and love, you will be pleased not to try to number me with the unfortunate, seeing that I deem and would have you to be one of the happiest Princes in Christendom. If for diversion you would have women of my condition, you will find in this town many who are beyond compare more beautiful than I, and who will spare you the pains of so many entreaties. Content yourself, then, with those to whom you will give pleasure by the purchase of their honour, and cease to trouble one who loves you more than she loves herself. For, indeed, if either your life or mine were required of God this day, I should esteem myself fortunate in offering mine to save yours. It is no lack of love that makes me shun your presence, but rather too great a love for your conscience and mine; for I hold my honour dearer than life. I will continue, my lord, if it please you, in your good grace, and will all my life pray God for your health and prosperity. And truly the honour that you have done me will lend me consideration among those of my own rank, for, after seeing you, where is the man of my own condition upon whom I could deign to look? So my heart will continue free save for the duty which shall always be mine of praying to God on your behalf. But no other service can you ever have of me.”

On hearing this virtuous reply, contrary though it was to his desires, the young Prince could not but esteem her as she deserved. He did all that he could to persuade her that he would never love another woman, but she was too prudent to suffer so unreasonable a thought to enter her mind. While they were talking together, word was often brought that his clothes were come from the castle, but such was his present pleasure and comfort, that he caused answer to be given that he was asleep. And this continued until the hour for supper was come, when he durst not fail to appear before his mother, who was one of the discreetest ladies imaginable.

Accordingly, the young man left his butler’s house thinking more highly than ever of the maiden’s virtue. He often spoke of her to the gentleman that slept in his room, and the latter, who deemed money to be more powerful than love, advised his master to offer her a considerable sum if she would yield to his wishes. The young Prince, whose mother was his treasurer, had but little money for his pocket, but, borrowing as much as he was able, he made up the sum of five hundred crowns, which he sent by the gentleman to the girl, begging her to change her mind.

But, when she saw the gift, she said to the gentleman--

“I pray you tell my lord that I have a good and virtuous heart, and that if it were meet to obey his commands his comeliness and grace would ere now have vanquished me; but, since these have no power against my honour, all the money in the world can have none. Take it, therefore, back to him again, for I would rather enjoy virtuous poverty than all the wealth it were possible to desire.”

On beholding so much stubbornness, the gentleman thought that violence must needs be used to win her, and threatened her with his master’s authority and power. But she laughed, and said--

“Make those fear him who have no knowledge of him. For my part, I know him to be so discreet and virtuous that such discourse cannot come from him, and I feel sure that he will disown it when you repeat it to him. But even though he were what you say, there is neither torment nor death that would make me change my mind; for, as I have told you, since love has not turned my heart, no imaginable evil or good can divert me one step from the path that I have chosen.”

The gentleman, who had promised his master to win her, brought him back this reply in wondrous anger, and counselled him to persevere in every possible way, telling him that it was not to his honour to be unable to win a woman of her sort.

The young Prince was unwilling to employ any means but such as honour enjoins, and was also afraid that if the affair made any noise, and so came to his mother’s ears, she would be greatly angered with him. He therefore durst make no attempt, until at last the gentleman proposed to him so simple a plan that he could already fancy her to be in his power. In order to carry it into execution he spoke to the butler; and he, being anxious to serve his master in any way that might be, begged his wife and sister-in-law one day to go and visit their vintages at a house he had near the forest. And this they promised to do.

When the day was come, he informed the Prince, who resolved to go thither alone with the gentleman, and caused his mule to be secretly held in readiness, that they might set out at the proper time. But God willed it that his mother should that day be garnishing a most beautiful cabinet, (2) and needed all her children with her to help her, and thus the young Prince lingered there until the hour was past.

There was, however, no hindrance to the departure of the butler, who had brought his sister-in-law to his house, riding behind him, (3) and had made his wife feign sickness, so that when they were already on horseback she had come and said that she could not go with them. But now, seeing that the hour at which the Prince should have come was gone by, he said to his sister-in-law--

“I think we may now return to the town.”

2 The French word here is _cabinet_, which some English translators have rendered as “little room.” We think, however, with the Bibliophile Jacob, that the allusion is to an article of furniture, such as we ourselves still call a cabinet in England, though in France the word has virtually lost that sense.--Ed.

3 The MSS. do not say whether she rode on a pillion, or simply bestrode the horse. This last fashion was still common at this period and long afterwards, even among women of high degree. See, for instance, several of the enamels in the Louvre, notably one which depicts Henry II. of France with Diana of Poitiers riding behind him. The practice is also referred to in a sixteenth century ballad. “La Superfluity des habitz des Dames” (_Anciennes Poésies Françaises_. Bib. Elzev. 1858, p. 308).--M.

“What is there to hinder us from doing so?” asked Frances.

“Why,” said the butler, “I was waiting here for my lord, who had promised me that he would come.”

When his sister-in-law heard this wickedness, she replied--

“Do not wait for him, brother, for I know that he will not come to-day.”

The brother-in-law believed her and brought her back again, and when she had reached home she let him know her extreme anger, telling him that he was the devil’s servant, and did yet more than he was commanded, for she was sure that the plan had been devised by him and the gentleman and not by the young Prince, whose money he would rather earn by aiding him in his follies, than by doing the duty of a good servant. However, now that she knew his real nature, she would remain no longer in his house, and thereupon indeed she sent for her brother to take her to his own country, and immediately left her sister’s dwelling.

Having thus failed in his attempt, the butler went to the castle to learn what had prevented the arrival of the young Prince, and he had scarcely come thither when he met the Prince himself sallying forth on his mule, and attended only by the gentleman in whom he put so much trust.

“Well,” the Prince asked of him, “is she still there?”

Thereupon the butler related all that had taken place.

The young Prince was deeply vexed at having failed in his plan, which he looked upon as the very last that he could devise, but, seeing that it could not be helped, he sought out Frances so diligently that at last he met her in a gathering from which she could not escape. He then upbraided her very harshly for her cruelty towards him, and for having left her brother-in-law, but she made answer that the latter was, in regard to herself, the worst and most dangerous man she had ever known, though he, the Prince, was greatly beholden to him, seeing that he was served by him not only with body and substance, but with soul and conscience as well.

When the Prince perceived by this that the case was a hopeless one, he resolved to urge her no more, and esteemed her highly all his life.

Seeing this maiden’s goodness, one of the said Prince’s attendants desired to marry her, but to this she would not consent without the command and license of the young Prince, upon whom she had set all her affection; and this she caused to be made known to him, and with his approval the marriage was concluded. And so she lived all her life in good repute, and the young Prince bestowed great benefits upon her. (4)

4 We take this concluding paragraph from MS. 1520; it is deficient in ours.--L.

“What shall we say to this, ladies? Have we hearts so base as to make our servants our masters--seeing that this woman was not to be subdued either by love or torment? Let us, I pray you, take example by her conduct and conquer ourselves, for this is the most meritorious conquest that we can make.”

“I see but one thing to be regretted,” said Oisille, “which is that these virtuous actions did not take place in the days of the old historians. Those who gave so much praise to their Lucretia would have neglected her to set down at length the virtues of this maiden.”

“They are indeed so great,” said Hircan, “that, were it not for the solemn vow that we have taken to speak the truth, I could not believe her to have been what you describe. We have often seen sick persons turn in disgust from good and wholesome meats to eat such as are bad and hurtful, and in the same way this girl may have had some gentleman of her own estate for whose sake she despised all nobility.”

But to this Parlemente replied that the girl’s whole life showed that she had never loved any living man save him whom she loved more than her very life, though not more than her honour.

“Put that notion out of your head,” said Saffredent, “and learn the origin of the term ‘honour’ as used among women; for perhaps those that speak so much of it are ignorant of how the name was devised. Know then that in the earliest times, when there was but little wickedness among men, love was so frank and strong that it was never concealed, and he who loved the most perfectly received most praise. But when greed and sinfulness fastened upon heart and honour, they drove out God and love, and in their place set up selfishness, hypocrisy and deceit. Then, when some ladies found that they fostered in their hearts the virtue of true love but that the word ‘hypocrisy’ was hateful among men, they adopted instead the word ‘honour.’ At last, too, even those who could feel no honourable love said that ‘honour’ forbade them, and cruelly made this a law for all, so that now even those who love perfectly use concealment, holding virtue for a vice. But such as have an excellent understanding and a sound judgment never fall into any such error. They know the difference between darkness and light, and are aware that true honour consists in manifesting the purity of their hearts, (which should live upon love alone), and not in priding themselves on the vice of dissimulation.”

“Yet,” said Dagoucin, “it is said that the most secret love is the most worthy of praise.”

“Ay, secret,” said Simontault, “from the eyes of those who might misjudge it, but open and manifest at least to the two persons whom it concerns.”

“So I take it,” said Dagoucin, “but it would be better to have one of the two ignorant of it rather than have it known to a third. I believe that the love of the woman in the story was all the deeper for not being declared.”

“Be that as it may,” said Longarine, “virtue should be esteemed, and the highest virtue is to subdue one’s own heart. Considering the opportunities that the maiden had of forgetting conscience and honour, and the virtue she displayed in all these opportunities and temptations by subduing her heart, will, and even him whom she loved better than herself, I say that she might well be called a strong woman. And, since you measure virtue by the mortification of self, I say that the lord deserved higher praise than she, if we remember the greatness of his love, his opportunities, and his power. Yet he would not offend against that rule of true love which renders prince and peasant equal, but employed only such means as honour allows.”

“There are many,” said Hircan, “who would not have acted in the same way.”

“So much the more is he to be esteemed,” said Longarine, “in having subdued the common craftiness of men. He who can do evil and yet does it not is happy indeed.”

“Your words,” said Geburon, “remind me of one who was more afraid of doing wrong in the eyes of men than of offending against God, her honour and love.”

“Then I pray you tell us the story,” said Parlamente, “for I give you my vote.”

“There are some persons,” said Geburon, “who have no God, or, if they believe in one, think Him so far away that He can neither see nor know the wicked acts that they commit; or, if He does, imagine that He pays no heed to things here below, and is too careless to punish them. Of this opinion was a lady, whose name I will alter for the sake of her family, and whom I will call Jambicque.( 5) She used often to say that a woman who had only God to deal with was very fortunate, if for the rest she was able to maintain her honour among men. But you will see, ladies, that her prudence and her hypocrisy did not prevent her secret from being discovered, as will appear from her story, wherein the truth shall be set forth in full, except that the names of persons and places will be changed.”

5 Some of the MSS. give the name as Camele or Camille, which is also that adopted by Boaistuau.--L.

[Illustration: 142.jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 143a.jpg Jambicque repudiating her Lover]

[Jambicque repudiating her Lover]

[Illustration: 143.jpg Page Image]

_TALE XLIII_.

_Jambicque, preferring the praise of the world to a good conscience, strove to appear before men other than site really was; but her friend and lover discovered her hypocrisy by means of a little chalk-mark, and made known to everybody the wickedness that she was at such pains to hide_.

There dwelt in a very handsome castle a high and mighty Princess, who had in her train a very haughty lady called Jambicque. (1) The latter had so deceived her mistress that the Princess did nothing save by her advice, deeming her the discreetest and most virtuous lady of her day.

1 There are no means of positively identifying this woman. Brantôme, who refers at length to the above tale in his _Vies des Dames Galantes_ (Lalanne’s edition, pp. 236-8), implies that he knew her name but would not tell it. He says, however, that “she was a widow and lady of honour to a very great Princess, and knew better how to play the prude than any other lady at Court.”--M.

This Jambicque used greatly to inveigh against wanton passion, and whenever she perceived any gentleman in love with one of her companions, she would chide them with much harshness, and, by making ill report of them to her mistress, often cause them to be rebuked; hence she was feared far more than she was loved by all the household. As for herself, she never spoke to a man except in a loud voice, and with much haughtiness, and was therefore reputed a deadly enemy to all love. Nevertheless, it was quite otherwise with her heart, for there was a gentleman in her mistress’s service towards whom she entertained so strong a passion that, at last, she could no longer endure it. (2)

2 Brantôme writes as follows concerning the gentleman referred to above: “According to what I have heard from my mother, [Anne de Vivonne, wife of Francis de Bourdeille], who was in the Queen of Navarre’s service and knew some of her secrets, and was herself one of the narrators [of the _Heptameron_, i.e., Ennasuite], this gentleman was my late uncle La Chastàigneraye, who was brusque, hasty, and rather fickle. The tale, however, is so disguised as to hide this, for my said uncle was never in the service of the great Princess, who was mistress of the lady [Jambicque], but in that of the King her brother.” This shows the Princess to have been Queen Margaret herself; and Jambicque, being described by Brantôme as a widow and lady of honour to the Princess, might possibly be Blanche de Tournon ( Madame de Chastillon), concerning whom see vol. i. of the present work, p. 84 (note 7) and pp. 122-4. Her successor as lady of honour to Margaret was Brantôme’s own grandmother, of whom he says that she was not so shrewd, artful, or ready-witted in love matters as her predecessor. On the other hand, Blanche de Tournon must have been over forty when La Chastàigneraye engaged in this adventure, even allowing that he was only a youth at the time.--Ed.

The regard which she had for honour and good name caused her to conceal her affection, but after she had been consumed by this passion for a full year, being unwilling to find relief as other lovers do in look and speech, she felt her heart so aflame that, in the end, she sought the final cure. And she resolved that it were better to satisfy her desire with none but God in the secret of her heart, rather than speak of it to a man who might some time make it known.

After taking this resolve, she chanced to be one day in her mistress’s apartment, when, looking out upon a terrace, she perceived walking there the man whom she so dearly loved. She gazed upon him until the falling darkness was hiding him from her sight, when she called a little page of hers, and pointing to the gentleman, said--

“Do you see yonder that gentleman who wears a crimson satin doublet and cloak of lynx fur? Go and tell him that one of his friends would speak with him in the garden gallery.”

As soon as the page was gone, she herself passed through her mistress’s wardrobe and into the gallery, having first put on her low hood and half-mask. (3)

3 See _ante_, vol. iii. p. 27.

When the gentleman was come to where she was waiting, she immediately shut the two doors by which they might have been surprised, and then, without taking off her mask, embraced him very closely, and in the softest whisper imaginable said--

“For a long time, sweetheart, the love I bear you has made me desire time and place for speaking with you, but fearfulness for my honour was for a while so strong as to oblige me, in my own despite, to conceal my passion. Albeit, in the end, the strength of love has vanquished fear, and, in the knowledge that I have of your honour, I protest to you that if you will promise to love me without ever speaking of the matter to any one, or asking of me who I am, I will be your true and faithful sweetheart, and will never love any man but you. But I would rather die than that you should know who I am.”

The gentleman promised her what she asked, which made her very ready to do as much for him, namely, to refuse him nothing he might desire to have. It was between five and six o’clock in winter-time, so that he could see nothing of the lady, but by the touch of her dress he perceived that it was of velvet, which at that time was not worn every day except by ladies of high and mighty lineage. And so far as his hand could let him judge of what was beneath, there was nothing there that was not excellent, trim, and plump. Accordingly, he was at pains to entertain her as well as he was able. She on her