“And what, pray, are your brothers that they should frighten a man of
mettle? If the whole breed of them were there together, I am sure they
would not tarry for the fourth thrust of my sword. Do you, therefore,
rest quietly in bed, and leave the guarding of this door to me.”
Then he wrapped his cloak about his arm, took his drawn sword in his
hand, and opened the door so that he might have a closer view of
the swords that he had heard. When the door was opened, he saw two
serving-women, who, holding a sword in each hand, had raised this alarm.
“Sir,” they said to him, “forgive us. We were commanded by our mistress
to act in this manner, but you shall be hindered by us no more.”
Seeing that they were women, the gentleman could do no more than bid
them go to the devil, and shut the door in their faces. Then he got into
bed to the lady with all imaginable speed, his passion for her being in
no wise diminished by fear; and forgetting to inquire the reason of this
skirmish, he thought only of satisfying his desire.
But when daybreak was drawing nigh, he begged his mistress to tell him
why she had treated him so ill, both in making him wait so long, and in
having played this last trick upon him.
“My intention,” she answered, laughing, “had been never to love again,
and I had observed it from the time I became a widow; but, after you
had spoken to me at the entertainment, your worth led me to change
my resolve, and to love you as much as you loved me. It is true that
honour, which had ever guided me, would not suffer me to be led by love
to do aught to the disparagement of my reputation. But as the poor hind
when wounded unto death thinks by change of place to change the pain it
carries with it, so did I go from church to church thinking to flee from
him whom I carried in my heart, and the proof of whose perfect devotion
has reconciled honour and love. However, that I might be the more
certain that I was giving my heart and love to a true man, I desired to
make this last proof by means of my serving-women. And I vow to you that
had I found you so timorous as to hide beneath my bed, either for fear
of your life or for any other reason, I was resolved to rise and go into
another room and never see you more. But since I have found that you are
possessed of more beauty, and grace, and virtue, and valour than rumour
had given you, and that fear has no power over your heart, nor can cool
one whit the love you bear me, I am resolved to cleave to you for the
remainder of my days. I feel sure that I could not place life and
honour in better hands than those of one whom I deem unmatched in every
virtue.”
And, just as though the human will could be unchangeable, they vowed and
promised what was not in their power, namely, perpetual affection. For
this is a thing that can neither spring up nor abide in the heart of
man, as only those ladies know who have had experience of how long such
feelings last. (4)
4 In Boaistuau’s edition of the _Heptameron_ the final part
of the above sentence is given as follows: “And those women
that have had experience of it know this, and also how long
such fancies last.” An extract from Brantôme in connection
with the story will be found in the Appendix to this volume,
D.
“So, ladies, if you are wise, you will beware of us even as the stag,
had he understanding, would beware of the hunter; for our glory,
happiness, and delight is to see you captured in order to rob you of
that which is more precious to you than life.”
“Why, Geburon,” said Hircan, “since when have you turned preacher? I can
remember a time when you did not talk after that fashion.”
“It is quite true,” said Geburon, “that I have just spoken contrary to
what I have always said my life long; but since my teeth are no longer
able to chew venison, I warn the hapless deer to beware of the hunters,
in order that I may atone in my old age for all the mischief which I
sought to do in my youth.”
“We thank you, Geburon,” said Nomerfide, “for warning us to our profit,
but for all that we do not feel very greatly beholden to you. You never
spoke in that way to one you truly loved, and this is a proof that
you have little love for us, and, moreover, would not have us loved.
Nevertheless, we hold ourselves as discreet and as virtuous as the
ladies whom you so long pursued in your youth. But old folk are commonly
vain enough to think that they have been wiser in their time than those
who come after them.”
“Well, Nomerfide,” said Geburon, “will you believe that I have told
you the truth when the faithlessness of one of your lovers has made you
acquainted with the evil nature of men?”
“It seems to me,” said Oisille to Geburon, “that the gentleman whom you
praise so highly for his boldness ought rather to be praised for the
ardour of his love. So strong is this passion, that it impels the most
cowardly to embark on enterprises about which the bravest would think
twice.”
“If, madam,” said Saffredent, “he’had not deemed the Italians to be
better at talking than acting, me-thinks he had reason to be afraid.”
“Yes,” said Oisille, “if he had not had in his heart the fire that
consumes fear.”
“Since you do not deem the boldness of this gentleman altogether worthy
of praise,” said Hircan, “you doubtless know of some one else more
deserving of commendation.”
“Nay,” said Oisille, “the gentleman in the story deserves praise, but I
do know of one who is more worthy of being admired.”
“I pray you, madam,” said Geburon, “if that be so, take my place and
tell us the tale.”
“If,” began Oisille, “a man who showed such boldness against the
Milanese to save his own life and his mistress’s honour is to be
esteemed so very brave, what shall be said of one who, without any need
for it, and from pure and simple valour, performed the deed of which I
will now tell you?”
[Illustration: 193.jpg Tailpiece]
[Illustration: 195a.jpg The King showing his Sword]
[The King showing his Sword]
[Illustration: 195.jpg Page Image]
_TALE XVII_.
_King Francis, being urged to banish Count William, who was said to have
received money to bring about his death, did not suffer it to appear
that he had any inkling of the scheme, but played the Count so shrewd a
trick that he himself took leave of the King and went into banishment_.
(1)
To the town of Dijon, in the Duchy of Burgundy, there came a German
Count to take service with King Francis. He was named William, (2) and
was of the House of Saxony, which is so closely allied with that of
Savoy that formerly they were but one. This Count, who was held for as
handsome and valiant a gentleman as Germany ever knew, was right well
received by the King, who not only took him into his service, but kept
him close to himself as a groom of the chamber.
1 The incidents of this story are historical. Francis I. is
known to have sojourned at Dijon in June and July 1521.--L.
2 This is William, eldest son of Wolfgang von Furstemberg,
chamberlain to Maximilian I., and privy counsellor to Philip
of Austria.--B. J. Various particulars concerning him are
given in the Appendix to this volume, E.
Now the Lord de la Trémoille, (3) Governor of Burgundy, an old knight
and a loyal servant to the King, was ever jealous and anxious for his
master’s safety, and was wont to have spies at all points to learn what
the King’s enemies were doing; and so prudently did he contrive matters,
that but few things were hidden from him. Among his informations there
came to him one day a letter from a friend telling him that Count
William had received a sum of money, with promise of more, for putting
the King to death in any such manner as he might find possible. (4)
3 This is Louis II., Sire de la Trémoille, Viscount of
Thouars and Prince of Talmont, born in 1460. The son of
Louis I. de la Trémoille and of Margaret d’Amboise, he
became one of the most remarkable men of his time. Favoured
by Anne de Beaujeu, who arranged his marriage with Gabrielle
de Bourbon, he commanded the royal troops at the battle of
St. Aubin du Cormier, in Brittany (1488), at which the
rebellious Duke of Orleans (afterwards Louis XII.) and the
Prince of Orange, with a large number of the nobles, their
partisans, were made prisoners. They were all invited to La
Trémoille’s table after the engagement, and, according to
Godefroi’s Latin history of Louis XII., at the close of the
repast two Franciscan monks entered the hall, whereupon La
Trémoille rose and said: “Princes, I refer your judgments to
the King, but as for you, Knights, who have broken your
faith and falsified your knightly oath, you shall pay for
your crime with your heads. If you have any remorse on your
consciences, here are monks who will shrive you.” The hall
resounded with lamentations, but the unhappy nobles were
promptly dragged into the courtyard, and there put to death;
both Orleans and Orange being too terror-stricken to
intercede for them. When the former came to the throne, he
forgave La Trémoille for his conduct in this affair, and
showed him great favour, appointing him Governor of Burgundy
in 1501. La Trémoille also became Admiral of Guienne and
Brittany, and figured conspicuously in the various Italian
campaigns of the period. He was killed at Pavia in 1525.
Jean Bouchet, a contemporary, wrote a curious life of this
remarkable man, entitled _Panegyric du Chevalier sans
reproche_. It will be found in Michaud and Poujoulat’s
_Collection de Mitnoires_,--L. and Ed.
4 It has been suggested that the instigator of this plot
was Charles V.’s famous minister, Cardinal Granvelle.--Ed.
The Lord de la Trémoille failed not to give speedy notice of the affair
to the King, and further made it known to the King’s mother, Louise of
Savoy, who, forgetting that she and this German were akin, begged the
King to banish him forthwith. But the King bade her speak no more of
it, saying that it was impossible so upright and honourable a gentleman
would undertake so vile a deed.
Some time afterwards a second warning arrived in confirmation of the
first, and the Governor, burning with love for his master, sought
permission either to banish the Count or else take him in hand in some
other fashion; but the King charged him expressly to keep the affair
secret, being persuaded that he might discover the truth by some other
means.
One day when going a-hunting, the King, as his sole weapon, buckled on
the finest sword it were possible to see, and took Count William along
with him, desiring that he would follow him close. After hunting the
stag for some time, seeing that all his people save the Count were far
off, he turned out of all the roads and tracks, till he found himself
alone with the Count in the deepest part of the forest, (5) when,
drawing his sword, he said:--
“Think you that this sword be handsome and trusty?”
5 This may be either the forest of Argilly or that of
Mondragon, both in the vicinity of Dijon.--ED.
The Count took it by the point, and answered that he had never seen one
that he liked better.
“You are right,” said the King; “and I think that, if a gentleman had
resolved to slay me, he would think twice before he attacked me if
he knew the strength of my arm, the stoutness-of my heart, and the
excellence of this sword. Yet, for all that, I should count him but a
craven scoundrel if, when we were face to face and alone, he durst not
execute what he had dared to undertake.”
“Sire,” replied Count William, with astonished countenance, “the
wickedness of the undertaking would be very great, but the folly of
seeking to execute it would be no less.”
The King laughed, sheathed his sword again, and hearing the hunt hard
by, spurred after it with all speed. When he reached his train he spoke
to none of what had passed, but he felt convinced that, although Count
William was as brave and ready a gentleman as might be, he was not the
man to carry out so high an enterprise.
However, Count William, fearing that he had been discovered or was at
least suspected, repaired the next morning to Robertet, Secretary
for the King’s Finances, (6) and told him that he had considered the
privileges and pay offered him to continue in the King’s service, and
that they would not suffice to support him for half the year. Unless
therefore it pleased the King to give him double, he would be forced to
depart; and he accordingly begged the said Robertet to acquaint him
as soon as might be with the will of the King. To this the Secretary
replied that he could not better advance the business than by going to
the King straightway; and he undertook the mission right willingly, for
he had seen the warnings that the Governor had received.
6 This is Florimond Robertet, the first of that family of
statesmen who served the French crown from Charles VIII. to
Henri III. It was Charles VIII. who appointed Florimond
Treasurer of France and Secretary of Finances, offices in
which he displayed great skill and honesty. Louis XII., who
confirmed him in his functions, habitually consulted him on
important political affairs. He acquired considerable
wealth, and was often called “the great baron,” after the
barony of Alluye, which he possessed in Le Perche. One of
the curiosities of Blois is the Hôtel d’Alluye, a house of
semi-Moorish style, erected by Robertet at the close of the
fifteenth century. Another of his residences was the château
of Bury, near Blois, where he set up Michael Angelo’s famous
bronze statue of David, presented to him by the city of
Florence, and the fate of which has furnished material for
so much speculation. Under Francis I. Robertet enjoyed the
same credit as during the two previous reigns. Fleuranges
declares that no one else was so intimate with the King, and
commends him as being the most experienced and competent
statesman of the times. According to the _Journal d’un
Bourgeois de Paris_, Robertet died “at the Palais (de
Justice) in Paris, of which he was concierge,” on November
29, 1527. Francis repeatedly visited him during his illness,
and, on his death, ordered that his remains should lie in
state, and be interred with great pomp and ceremony. Clement
Marot’s works contain a poem, four hundred lines in length,
celebrating Robertet’s virtues and talents.--L., B. J., and
Ed.
As soon, therefore, as the King was awake he failed not to lay the
matter before him in the presence of the Lord de la Trémoille and the
Admiral de Bonnivet, who were ignorant of the trick that the King had
played the Count the day before.
Then the King laughed, and said to them--“You desired to banish Count
William, and you see he is banishing himself. Wherefore, tell him
that if he be not content with the establishment which he accepted on
entering my service, and which many men of good families have deemed
themselves fortunate to have, he must e’en seek a better fortune
elsewhere. For my part, I will in no wise hinder him, but shall be well
pleased if he can find some condition wherein to live according to his
deserts.”
Robertet was as prompt to bear this answer to the Count as he had been
to prefer his request to the King. The Count replied that with the
King’s permission he was resolved to depart, and, like one whom fear
urges to flight, he did not tarry even four and twenty hours; but,
just as the King was sitting down to table, came to take leave of him,
feigning much sorrow that his need should force him from the Royal
presence.
He also went to take leave of the King’s mother, who parted from him
no less joyfully than she had formerly received him as a kinsman and
friend. And thus he returned to his own country; and the King, seeing
his mother and courtiers in amazement at his sudden departure, told
them of the fright he had given him, saying that, even if the Count
were innocent of that which was laid against him, his fear had been
sufficiently great to constrain him to leave a master whose temper he
had not yet come to know.
“For my part, ladies, I can see no reason why the King should have been
moved to risk himself thus against so famous a captain, except that,
forsaking the company and places where Kings find no inferiors ready to
give them battle, he desired to place himself on an equal footing with
one whom he suspected to be his enemy; and this that he might have the
satisfaction of testing the stoutness and valour of his own heart.”
“Without a doubt,” said Parlamente, “he was in the right; for all the
praise of man cannot so well satisfy a noble heart as its own particular
knowledge and experience of the virtues that God has placed in it.”
“The ancients,” said Geburon, “long ago showed us that to reach the
Temple of Fame it was necessary to pass through the Temple of Virtue,
and I, who am acquainted with the two persons in your tale, know
right well that the King is indeed one of the most valiant men in his
kingdom.”
“By my word,” said Hircan, “at the time when Count William came to
France, I should have feared his [the King’s] sword more than those of
the four most accomplished Italian gentlemen at Court.”
“We well know,” said Ennasuite, “that he is too famous for our praises
to equal his merit, and that the day would be spent before we each could
say all the good we think of him. And so, madam, I pray you, give your
vote to one who will tell us some further good of men, if such there
be.”