“Yes; it is the hand that will keep faith with you. Do not fail,
therefore, to come when I send for you.”
With these words he went away to his own apartment, whilst she, more
dead than alive, went back into her room, and cried out aloud to her
servant-women, “Get up, my friends; you have slept only too well for me,
for thinking to trick you, I have myself been tricked.”
With these words she swooned away in the middle of the room. The
women rose at her cry, and were so astonished at seeing their mistress
stretched upon the floor, as well as at hearing the words, she had
uttered, that they were at their wits’ end, and sought in haste for
remedies to restore her. When she was able to speak, she said to them--
“You see before you, my friends, the most unhappy creature in the
world.”
And thereupon she went on to tell them the whole adventure, and begged
of them to help her, for she counted her life as good as lost.
While they were seeking to comfort her, a valet came with orders that
she was to repair to her husband instantly. Thereupon, clinging to two
of her women, she began to weep and wail, begging them not to suffer her
to go, for she was sure she would be killed. But the valet assured her
to the contrary, offering to pledge his life that she should receive no
hurt. Seeing that she lacked all means of resistance, she at last threw
herself into the servant’s arms, and said to him--
“Since it may not be otherwise, you must e’en carry this hapless body to
its death.”
Half fainting in her distress, she was then at once borne by the
valet to his master’s apartment. When she reached it, she fell at her
husband’s feet, and said to him--
“I beseech you, sir, have pity on me, and I swear to you by the faith I
owe to God that I will tell you the whole truth.”
“‘Fore God you shall,” he replied, like one beside himself, and
forthwith he drove all the servants from the room.
Having always found his wife very devout, he felt sure that she would
not dare to forswear herself on the Holy Cross. He therefore sent for a
very beautiful crucifix that belonged to him, and when they were alone
together, he made her swear upon it that she would return true replies
to his questions. Already, however, she had recovered from her first
dread of death, and taking courage, she resolved that if she was to die
she would make no concealment of the truth, but at the same time would
say nothing that might injure the gentleman she loved. Accordingly,
having heard all the questions that her husband had to put to her, she
replied as follows--
“I have no desire, sir, either to justify myself or to lessen to you the
love that I have borne to the gentleman you suspect; for if I did, you
could not and you should not believe me. Nevertheless, I desire to tell
you the cause of this affection. Know, then, sir, that never did wife
love husband more than I loved you, and that from the time I wedded you
until I reached my present age, no other passion ever found its way into
my heart. You will remember that while I was still a child, my parents
wished to marry me to one richer and more highly born than yourself,
but they could never gain my consent to this from the moment I had once
spoken to you. In spite of all their objections I held fast to you,
and gave as little heed to your poverty as to their remonstrances. You
cannot but know what treatment I have had at your hands hitherto, and
the fashion in which you have loved and honoured me; and this has caused
me so much grief and discontent that but for the succour of the lady
with whom you placed me, I should have been in despair. But at last,
finding myself fully grown and deemed beautiful by all but you, I began
to feel the wrong you did me so keenly that the love I had for you
changed into hate, and the desire of obeying you into one for revenge.
In this despairing condition I was found by a Prince who, being more
anxious to obey the King than Love, forsook me just as I was beginning
to feel my pangs assuaged by an honourable affection. When the Prince
had left me, I lighted upon this present gentleman; and he had no need
to entreat me, for his good looks, nobleness, grace, and virtue are
well worthy of being sought after and courted by all women of sound
understanding. At my instance, not at his own, he has loved me in all
virtue, so that never has he sought from me aught that honour might
refuse. And although I have but little cause to love you, and so might
be absolved from being loyal and true to you, my love of God and of my
honour has hitherto sufficed to keep me from doing aught that would call
for confession or shame. I will not deny that I went into a closet as
often as I could to speak with him, under pretence of going thither to
say my prayers, for I have never trusted the conduct of this matter to
any one, whether man or woman. Further, I will not deny that when in so
secret a place and safe from all suspicion I have kissed him with more
goodwill than I kiss you. But as I look to God for mercy, no other
familiarity has passed between us; he has never urged me to it, nor has
my heart ever desired it; for I was so glad at seeing him that methought
the world contained no greater pleasure.
“And now, sir, will you, who are the sole cause of my misfortune, take
vengeance for conduct of which you have yourself long since set me an
example, with, indeed, this difference, that in your case you thought
nought of either honour or conscience; for you know and I know too
that the woman you love does not rest content with what God and reason
enjoin. And albeit the law of man deals great dishonour to wives who
love other men than their husbands, the law of God does not exempt from
punishment the husbands who love other women than their wives. And if my
offences are to be weighed against yours, you are more to blame than
I, for you are a wise and experienced man, and of an age to know and
to shun evil, whilst I am young and have no experience of the might and
power of love. You have a wife who desires you, honours you, and loves
you more than her own life; while I have a husband who avoids me, hates
me, and rates me as lightly as he would a servant maid. You are in love
with a woman who is already old, of meagre figure, and less fair than I;
whilst I love a gentleman younger, handsomer, and more amiable than you.
You love the wife of one of the best friends you have in the world, the
mistress, moreover, of your King and master, so that you offend against
the friendship that is due to the first, and the respect that is due to
the second; whereas I am in love with a gentleman whose only tie is his
love for me. Judge then fairly which of us two is the more worthy of
punishment or pardon: you, a man of wisdom and experience, who through
no provocation on my part have acted thus ill not only towards me, but
towards the King, to whom you are so greatly indebted; or I, who am
young and ignorant, who am slighted and despised by you, and loved by
the handsomest and most worshipful gentleman in France, a gentleman whom
I have loved in despair of ever being loved by you.”
When the husband heard her utter these truths with so fair a
countenance, and with such a bold and graceful assurance as clearly
testified that she neither dreaded nor deserved any punishment, he was
overcome with astonishment, and could find nothing to reply except that
a man’s honour and a woman’s were not the same thing. However, since she
swore to him that there had been nothing between herself and her lover
but what she had told him, he was not minded to treat her ill, provided
she would act so no more, and that they both put away the memory of the
past. To this she agreed, and they went to bed in harmony together.
Next morning an old damosel who was in great fear for her mistress’s
life came to her at her rising, and asked--
“Well, madam, and how do you fare?”
“I would have you know,” said her mistress, laughing, “that there is not
a better husband than mine, for he believed me on my oath.”
And so five or six days passed by.
Meanwhile the husband had such care of his wife that he caused a watch
to be kept on her both night and day. But for all his care he could not
prevent her from again speaking with her lover in a dark and suspicious
place. However, she contrived matters with such secrecy that no one,
whether man or woman, could ever learn the truth, though a rumour was
started by some serving-man about a gentleman and a lady whom he had
found in a stable underneath the rooms belonging to the mistress of the
lady in question. At this her husband’s suspicions were so great that he
resolved to slay the gentleman, and gathered together a large number of
his relations and friends to kill him if he was anywhere to be found.
But the chief among his kinsmen was so great a friend of the gentleman
whom they sought, that instead of surprising him he gave him warning of
all that was being contrived against him, for which reason the other,
being greatly liked by the whole Court, was always so well attended that
he had no fear of his enemy’s power, and could not be taken unawares and
attacked.
However, he betook himself to a church to meet his lady’s mistress,
who had heard nothing of all that had passed, for the lovers had never
spoken together in her presence. But the gentleman now informed her of
the suspicion and ill-will borne him by the lady’s husband, and told her
that although he was guiltless he had nevertheless resolved to go on a
long journey in order to check the rumours, which were beginning greatly
to increase. The Princess, his lady’s mistress, was much astonished on
hearing this tale, and protested that the husband was much in the wrong
to suspect so virtuous a wife, and one in whom she had ever found all
worth and honour. Nevertheless, considering the husband’s authority, and
in order to quell these evil reports, she advised him to absent himself
for a time, assuring him that for her part she would never believe such
foolish suspicions.
Both the gentleman and the lady, who was present, were well pleased at
thus preserving the favour and good opinion of the Princess, who further
advised the gentleman to speak with the husband before his departure.
He did as he was counselled, and meeting with the husband in a gallery
close to the King’s apartment, he assumed a bold countenance, and said
to him with all the respect due to one of high rank--
“All my life, sir, I have desired to do you service, and my only reward
is to hear that last evening you lay in wait to kill me. I pray you,
sir, reflect that while you have more authority and power than I have, I
am nevertheless a gentleman even as you are. It would be grievous to me
to lose my life for naught. I pray you also reflect that you have a wife
of great virtue, and if any man pretend the contrary I will tell him
that he has foully lied. For my part, I can think of nothing that I have
done to cause you to wish me ill. If, therefore, it please you, I will
remain your faithful servant; if not, I am that of the King, and with
that I may well be content.”
The husband replied that he had in truth somewhat suspected him, but
he deemed him so gallant a man that he would rather have his friendship
than his enmity; and bidding him farewell, cap in hand, he embraced
him like a dear friend. You may imagine what was said by those who, the
evening before, had been charged to kill the gentleman, when they beheld
such tokens of respect and friendship. And many and diverse were the
remarks that each one made.
In this manner the gentleman departed, and as he had far less money than
good looks, his mistress delivered to him a ring that her husband had
given her of the value of three thousand crowns; and this he pledged for
fifteen hundred.
Some time after he was gone, the husband came to the Princess, his
wife’s mistress, and prayed her to grant his wife leave to go and dwell
for a while with one of his sisters. This the Princess thought very
strange, and so begged him to tell her the reasons of his request, that
he told her part of them, but not all. When the young lady had taken
leave of her mistress and of the whole Court without shedding any tears
or showing the least sign of grief, she departed on her journey to the
place whither her husband desired her to go, travelling under the care
of a gentleman who had been charged to guard her closely, and above all
not to suffer her to speak on the road to her suspected lover.
She knew of these instructions, and every day was wont to cause false
alarms, scoffing at her custodians and their lack of care. Thus one day,
on leaving her lodging, she fell in with a Grey Friar on horseback, with
whom, being herself on her palfrey, she talked on the road the whole
time from the dinner to the supper hour. And when she was a quarter of
a league from the place where she was to lodge that night, she said to
him--
“Here, father, are two crowns which I give you for the consolation you
have afforded me this afternoon. They are wrapped in paper, for I well
know that you would not venture to touch them. (2) And I beg you to
leave the road as soon as you have parted from me, and to take care
that you are not seen by those who are with me. I say this for your own
welfare, and because I feel myself beholden to you.”
2 The Grey Friars belonging to a mendicant order were
prohibited from demanding or accepting money; it was only
allowable for them to receive gifts in kind, mainly edible
produce. It was for this reason that the lady gave the friar
the two crowns wrapped in paper, knowing that he ought not
to touch the coins.--M. See also vol. i. p. 98, note 3.
The friar, well pleased with the two crowns, set off across the fields
at full gallop; and when he was some distance away the lady said aloud
to her attendants--
“You may well deem yourselves good servants and diligent guards. He as
to whom you were to be so careful has been speaking to me the whole day,
and you have suffered him to do so. Your good master, who puts so much
trust in you, should give you the stick rather than give you wages.”
When the gentleman who had charge of her heard these words he was so
angry that he could not reply, but calling two others to him, set spurs
to his horse, and rode so hard that he at last reached the friar, who on
perceiving his pursuers had fled as fast as he could. However, the poor
fellow was caught, being less well mounted than they were. He was quite
ignorant of what it all meant, and cried them mercy, taking off his hood
in order that he might entreat them with bareheaded humility. Thereupon
they realised that he was not the man whom they sought, and that their
mistress had been mocking them. And this she did with even better effect
upon their return to her.
“You are fitting fellows,” said she, “to receive ladies in your charge.
You suffer them to talk to any stranger, and then, believing whatever
they may say, you go and insult the ministers of God.”
After all these jests they arrived at the place that her husband had
commanded, and here her two sisters-in-law, with the husband of one of
them, kept her in great subjection.
In the meanwhile her husband had heard how his ring had been pledged
for fifteen hundred crowns, whereat he was exceedingly wrathful, and in
order to save his wife’s honour and to get back the ring, he bade his
sisters tell her to redeem it, he himself paying the fifteen hundred
crowns.
She cared nought for the ring since her lover had the money, but she
wrote to him saying that she was compelled by her husband to redeem it,
and in order that he might not suppose she was doing this through any
lessening of her affection, she sent him a diamond which her mistress
had given, her, and which she liked better than any ring she had.
Thereupon the gentleman forwarded her the merchant’s bond right
willingly; deeming himself fortunate in having fifteen hundred crowns
and a diamond, (3) and at being still assured of his lady’s favour.
However, as long as the husband lived, he had no means of communing with
her save by writing.
When the husband died, expecting to find her still what she had promised
him to be, he came in all haste to ask her in marriage; but he found
that his long absence had gained him a rival who was loved better than
himself. His sorrow at this was so great that he henceforth shunned the
companionship of ladies and sought out scenes of danger, and so at last
died in as high repute as any young man could have. (4)
3 The gentleman deemed it only natural that the woman he
honoured with his love should present him with money. In the
seventeenth century similar opinions were held, if one may
judge by some passages in Dancourt’s comedies, and by the
presents which the Duchess of Cleveland made to Henry
Jerrayn and John Churchill, afterwards Duke of Marlborough,
as chronicled in the _Memoirs of the Count de Gramont_.--M.
4 Brantôme tells a somewhat similar tale to this in his
_Vies des Dames Galantes_ (Dis. I.): “I knew,” he writes,
“two ladies of the Court, sisters-in-law to one another, one
of whom was married to a courtier, high in favour and very
skilful, but who did not make as much account of his wife as
by reason of her birth he should have done, for he spoke to
her in public as he might have spoken to a savage, and
treated her most harshly. She patiently endured this for
some time, until indeed her husband lost some of his credit,
when, watching for and taking the opportunity, she quickly
repaid him for all the disdain that he had shown her. And
her sister-in-law imitated her and did likewise; for having
been married when of a young and tender age, her husband
made no more account of her than if she had been a little
girl.... But she, advancing in years, feeling her heart beat
and becoming conscious of her beauty, paid him back in the
same coin, and made him a present of a fine pair of horns,
by way of interest for the past”--Lalanne’s _OEuvres de
Brantôme_, vol. ix. p. 157.--L.
“In this tale, ladies, I have tried, without sparing our own sex, to
show husbands that wives of spirit yield rather to vengeful wrath than
to the sweetness of love. The lady of whom I have told you withstood
the latter for a great while, but in the end succumbed to despair.
Nevertheless, no woman of virtue should yield as she did, for, happen
what may, no excuse can be found for doing wrong. The greater the
temptations, the more virtuous should one show oneself, by resisting and
overcoming evil with good, instead of returning evil for evil; and this
all the more because the evil we think to do to another often recoils
upon ourselves. Happy are those women who display the heavenly virtues
of chastity, gentleness, meekness, and long-suffering.”
“It seems to me, Longarine,” said Hircan, “that the lady of whom you
have spoken was impelled by resentment rather than by love; for had she
loved the gentleman as greatly as she appeared to do, she would not
have forsaken him for another. She may therefore be called resentful,
vindictive, obstinate, and fickle.”
“It is all very well for you to talk in that way,” said Ennasuite, “but
you do not know the heartbreak of loving without return.”
“It is true,” said Hircan, “that I have had but little experience in
that way. If I am shown the slightest disfavour, I forthwith forego lady
and love together.”
“That,” said Parlamente, “is well enough for you who love only your own
pleasure; but a virtuous wife cannot thus forsake her husband.”
“Yet,” returned Simontault, “the lady in the story forgot for a while
that she was a woman. No man could have taken a more signal revenge.”
“It does not follow,” said Oisille, “because one woman lacks discretion
that all the rest are the same.”
“Nevertheless,” said Saffredent, “you are all women, as any one would
find who looked carefully, despite all the fine clothes you may wear.”
“If we were to listen to you,” said Nomerlide, “we should spend the day
in disputes. For my part, I am so impatient to hear another tale, that I
beg Longarine to give some one her vote.”