Near the town of Bléré in Touraine there is a village called St.
Martin-le-Beau, whither a Grey Friar belonging to the monastery at
Tours was summoned to preach during the seasons of Advent and Lent.
This friar, who was more garrulous than learned, and now and then found
himself at a loss for matter to eke out his hour, would thereupon begin
telling tales which more or less agreeably satisfied the good villagers.
One Holy Thursday he preached about the Paschal Lamb, and while speaking
of how it was eaten at night, seeing that there were present at the
preaching some handsome young ladies of Amboise, who were newly
arrived to keep Easter at the village, and to stay there for a few days
afterwards, he wished to surpass himself, and thereupon asked all the
women-folk whether they knew what it was to eat raw flesh at night. “I
will tell you what it is, ladies,” he said, whereat the young men of
Amboise, who had just arrived with their wives, sisters, and nieces, and
who had no knowledge of the pilgrim’s humour, began to be scandalised;
though on listening further their indignation gave place to laughter,
even when he said that to eat the lamb it was needful to have one’s
loins girt, one’s feet in one’s shoes, and one’s hand on one’s staff.
The friar, seeing them laugh at this, and guessing the reason,
immediately corrected himself. “Well,” said he, “to have shoes on one’s
feet and a staff in one’s hand; ‘tis all one.”
That this sally was received with laughter you will readily believe.
Even the ladies could not refrain from merriment, and for them he
added other diverting sayings. Then finding the time was nearly up, and
wishing the ladies to be well pleased with him when they departed, he
said to them--“Now, fair ladies, when you are chatting presently with
your gossips, you will be asking one another: ‘Who, pray, is this Master
Friar, that speaks out so boldly? He must be a brisk fellow.’ I will
tell you, ladies, yes, I will tell you, and be not astonished if I speak
out boldly, for I am of Anjou, at your service.”
With these words he ended his sermon, leaving his hearers more disposed
to laugh at his foolish speeches than to weep in memory of our Lord’s
Passion which was then being commemorated.
The other sermons that he preached during the festival had much the
same value. You are aware that these friars never fail to go begging
for their Easter eggs, and receive not only eggs, but many other things,
such as linen, yarn, chitterlings, hams, chines, and similar trifles. So
when Easter Tuesday came, and the friar was making those exhortations to
charity of which such folks as he are no niggards, he said--
“I am bound to thank you, ladies, for the liberality you have shown to
our poor monastery, and yet I cannot forbear telling you that you have
hitherto not duly considered the nature of our wants. You have for the
most part given us chitterlings, but of these we ourselves have no lack.
God be praised, our monastery is indeed full of them. What then can we
do with so many? I will tell you. My advice, ladies, is that you should
mix your hams with our chitterlings; in this way you would bestow fine
alms.”
Then, continuing his sermon, he brought into it certain scandalous
matter, and, whilst discoursing upon it somewhat bluntly and quoting
sundry examples, he said in apparent amazement--
“Truly, ladies and gentlemen of Saint-Martin, I am greatly astonished
that you should be scandalised so unreasonably at what is less than
nothing, and should tell tales of me wherever you go, saying: ‘It is a
big business; who could have thought that the father would have got
his landlady’s daughter with child?’ A monk get a girl with child!” he
continued; “forsooth, what a wonder! But hark you, fair ladies, would
you not rather have had cause for wonderment, had the girl acted thus by
the monk?”
“Such, ladies, was the wholesome food on which this worshipful shepherd
fed the Lord’s flock. And so brazen was he, that after committing the
sin, he spake openly of it in the pulpit, where nought should be said
that tends to aught but the edification of one’s neighbour, and above
all to the glory of God.”
“Truly,” said Saffredent, “he was a master monk--I should have liked
him nearly as well as Brother Anjibaut, who gets credit for all the
jests that are spoken in merry company.”
“For my part, I can see nothing laughable in such mockery,” said
Oisille, “especially in such a place.”
“You forget, madam,” said Nomerfide, “that at that time, though it
was not so very long ago, the good villagers, and indeed most of the
dwellers in the large towns, who think themselves cleverer than other
people, had greater regard for such preachers as he than for those who
purely and simply preached the holy Gospel to them.”
“However that may be,” said Hircan, “he was not wrong in asking for hams
in exchange for chitterlings, for in hams there is far more eating. And
even if some devout creature had understood him amphibologically, as I
believe he wished to be understood, neither he nor his brethren would
have fared badly any more than the wench that had her bag full.”
“But how impudent of him,” said Oisille, “to pervert the meaning of
the text to suit his fancy, thinking that he had to do with beasts like
himself, and shamelessly trying to entice the poor little women so that
he might teach them how to eat raw flesh at night.”
“True,” said Simontault; “but you forget that he saw before him those
young tripe-sellers of Amboise in whose tub he would fain have washed
his ------ shall I name it? No, but you understand me--and have treated
them to a taste of it, not roasted, but stirring and frisking, so as to
please them the more.”
“Softly, softly, Simontault,” said Parlamente; “you forget yourself.
Have you laid aside your accustomed modesty to don it only in time of
necessity?”
“No, madam, no,” said he; “‘twas the unworthy monk that led me astray.
Wherefore, that we may return to the matter in hand, I beg Nomerfide,
who caused my offence, to give her vote to some one who will make the
company forget our common fault.”
“Since you include me in your transgression,” said Nomerfide, “I will
choose one who will atone for our failings, that is Dagoucin. He is so
discreet that to save his life he would not say a foolish thing.”
[Illustration: 100.jpg Tailpiece]
[Illustration: 101a.jpg The Gentleman killing the Duke]
[The Gentleman killing the Duke]
[Illustration: 101.jpg Page Image]
_TALE XII_.
_The Duke of Florence, having continually failed to make
known to a certain lady the love he bore her, confided in
her brother, and begged his assistance that he might attain
his ends. This, after many remonstrances, the brother agreed
to give, but it was a lip-promise only, for at the moment
when the Duke was expecting to vanquish her whom he had
deemed invincible, the gentleman slew him in his bed, in
this fashion freeing his country from a tyrant, and saving
both his own life and the honour of his house_. (1)
1 The basis of this story is historical. The event here
described--one of the most famous in the annals of
Florence--furnished Alfred de Musset with the subject of his
play _Lorenzaccio_, and served as the foundation of _The
Traitor_, considered to be Shirley’s highest achievement as
a dramatic poet. As Queen Margaret’s narrative contains
various errors of fact, Sismondi’s account of the affair, as
borrowed by him from the best Italian historians, is given
in the Appendix, C--Eu.
Ten years ago there reigned in the city of Florence a Duke of the house
of Medici who had married the Emperor’s natural daughter, Margaret.
(2) She was still so young that the marriage could not be lawfully
consummated, and, waiting till she should be of a riper age, the Duke
treated her with great gentleness, and to spare her, made love to
various ladies of the city, whom he was wont to visit at night, whilst
his wife was sleeping.
2 The Duke here referred to was Alexander de’ Medici, first
Duke of Florence, in which city he was born in 1510. His
mother, a slave named Anna, was the wife of a Florentine
coachman, but Lorenzo II. de’ Medici, one of this woman’s
lovers, acknowledged him as his offspring, though, according
to some accounts, his real father was one of the popes,
Clement VII. or Julius II. After the Emperor Charles V. had
made himself master of Florence in 1530, he confided the
governorship of the city to Alexander, upon whom he bestowed
the title of Duke. Two years later Alexander threw off the
imperial control, and soon afterwards embarked on a career
of debauchery and crime. In 1536, Charles V., being desirous
of obtaining the support of Florence against France, treated
with Alexander, and gave him the hand of his illegitimate
daughter, Margaret. The latter--whose mother was Margaret
van Gheenst, a Flemish damsel of noble birth--was at that
time barely fourteen, having been born at Brussels in 1522.
The Queen of Navarre’s statements concerning the
youthfulness of the Duchess are thus corroborated by fact.
After the death of Alexander de’ Medici, his widow was
married to Octavius Farnese, Duke of Parma, who was then
only twelve years old, but by whom she eventually became the
mother of the celebrated Alexander Farnese. Margaret of
Austria occupies a prominent place in the history of the
Netherlands, which she governed during a lengthy period for
her brother Philip II. She died in retirement at Ortonna in
Italy in 1586.--L. and Ed.
Among these there was one very beautiful, discreet, and honourable lady,
sister to a gentleman whom the Duke loved even as himself, and to whom
he gave such authority in his household that his orders were feared and
obeyed equally with the Duke’s own. And moreover the Duke had no secrets
that he did not share with this gentleman, so that the latter might have
been called his second-self. (3)
3 The gentleman here mentioned was the Duke’s cousin,
Lorenzo di Pier-Francesco de’ Medici, commonly called
Lorenzino on account of his short stature. He was born at
Florence in 1514, and, being the eldest member of the junior
branch of the Medici family, it had been decided by the
Emperor Charles V. that he should succeed to the Dukedom of
Florence, if Alexander died without issue. Lorenzino
cultivated letters, and is said to have possessed
considerable wit, but, on the other hand, instead of being a
high-minded man, as Queen Margaret pictures him, he was a
thorough profligate, and willingly lent a hand in
Alexander’s scandalous amours. The heroine of this story is
erroneously described as Lorenzino’s sister; in point of
fact she was his aunt, Catherine Ginori. See Appendix, C.--
Ed.
Finding the gentleman’s sister to be a lady of such exemplary virtue
that he was unable to declare his passion to her, though he sought
all possible opportunities for doing so, the Duke at last came to his
favourite and said to him--
“If there were anything in this world, my friend, that I might be
unwilling to do for you, I should hesitate to tell you what is in my
mind, and still more to beg your assistance. But such is the affection
I bear you that had I wife, mother, or daughter who could avail to
save your life, I would sacrifice them rather than allow you to die in
torment. I believe that your love for me is the counterpart of mine for
you, and that if I, who am your master, bear you so much affection,
you, on your part, can have no less for me. I will therefore tell you a
secret, the keeping of which has brought me to the condition you see. I
have no hope of any improvement except it be through death or else the
service which you are in a position to render me.”
On hearing these words from the Duke, and seeing his face unfeignedly
bathed in tears, the gentleman felt such great pity for him that he
said--
“Sir, I am your creature: all the wealth and honour that I am possessed
of in this world come from you. You may speak to me as to your own
soul, in the certainty that all that it be in my power to do is at your
command.”
Thereupon the Duke began to tell him of the love he bore his sister,
a love so deep and strong that he feared he could not live much longer
unless, by the gentleman’s help, he succeeded in satisfying his desire.
He was well aware that neither prayers nor presents would be of any
avail with the lady, wherefore he begged the gentleman--if he cared for
his master’s life as much as he, his master, cared for his--to devise
some means of procuring him the good fortune which, without such
assistance, he could never hope to obtain.
The brother, who loved his sister and the honour of his house far
more than the Duke’s pleasure, endeavoured to remonstrate with him,
entreating that he might be employed for any other purpose save the
cruel task of soliciting the dishonour of his own kin, and declaring
that the rendering of such a service was contrary alike to his
inclinations and his honour.
Inflamed with excessive wrath, the Duke raised his hand to his mouth and
bit his nails.
“Well,” said he in a fury, “since I find that you have no friendship for
me, I know what I have to do.”
The gentleman, who was acquainted with his master’s cruelty, felt
afraid, and answered--
“My lord, since such is your pleasure, I will speak to her, and tell you
her reply.”
“If you show concern for my life, I shall show it for yours,” replied
the Duke, and thereupon he went away.
The gentleman well understood the meaning of these words, and spent a
day or two without seeing the Duke, considering what he should do. On
the one hand he was confronted by the duty he owed his master, and the
wealth and honours he had received from him; on the other by the honour
of his house, and the fair fame and chastity of his sister. He well
knew that she would never submit to such infamy unless through his own
treachery she were overcome by violence, so unnatural a deed that if it
were committed he and his kindred would be disgraced for ever. In this
dilemma he decided that he would sooner die than so ill use his sister,
who was one of the noblest women in all Italy, and ought rather to
deliver his country of this tyrant who, abusing his power, sought to
cast such a slur upon his family; for he felt sure that if the Duke
were suffered to live, neither his own life nor the lives of his kindred
would be safe. So without speaking of the matter to his sister or to any
living creature, he determined to save his life and vindicate his honour
at one and the same time. Accordingly, when a couple of days had gone
by, he went to the Duke and told him that with infinite difficulty he
had so wrought upon his sister that she had at last consented to do his
will, provided that the matter were kept secret, and none but he, her
brother, knew of it.
The Duke, who was longing for these tidings, readily believed them, and
embracing the ambassador, promised him anything that he might ask. He
begged him to put his scheme quickly into execution, and they agreed
together upon the time when this should be done. The Duke was in great
joy, as may well be imagined; and on the arrival of that wished-for
night when he hoped to vanquish her whom he had deemed invincible, he
retired early, accompanied only by the lady’s brother, and failed not to
attire himself in a perfumed shirt and head-gear. Then, when every one
was gone to rest, he went with the gentleman to the lady’s abode, where
he was conducted into a well-appointed apartment.