--
Sieur Guillaume de Roussillon slays his wife's paramour, Sieur Guillaume de
Cabestaing, and gives her his heart to eat. She, coming to wit thereof,
throws herself from a high window to the ground, and dies, and is buried
with her lover.
--
Neifile's story, which had not failed to move her gossips to no little pity,
being ended, none now remained to speak but the king and Dioneo, whose
privilege the king was minded not to infringe: wherefore he thus began:--I
propose, compassionate my ladies, to tell you a story, which, seeing that
you so commiserate ill-starred loves, may claim no less a share of your pity
than the last, inasmuch as they were greater folk of whom I shall speak, and
that which befell them was more direful.
You are to know, then, that, as the Provencals relate, there were once in
Provence two noble knights, each having castles and vassals under him, the
one yclept Sieur Guillaume de Roussillon, and the other Sieur Guillaume de
Cabestaing;(1) and being both most doughty warriors, they were as brothers,
and went ever together, and bearing the same device, to tournament or joust,
or other passage of arms. And, albeit each dwelt in his own castle, and the
castles were ten good miles apart, it nevertheless came to pass that, Sieur
Guillaume de Roussillon having a most lovely lady, and amorous withal, to
wife, Sieur Guillaume de Cabestaing, for all they were such friends and
comrades, became inordinately enamoured of the lady, who, by this, that, and
the other sign that he gave, discovered his passion, and knowing him for a
most complete knight, was flattered, and returned it, insomuch that she
yearned and burned for him above all else in the world, and waited only till
he should make his suit to her, as before long he did; and so they met from
time to time, and great was their love. Which intercourse they ordered with
so little discretion that 'twas discovered by the husband, who was very
wroth, insomuch that the great love which he bore to Cabestaing was changed
into mortal enmity; and, dissembling it better than the lovers their love,
he made his mind up to kill Cabestaing. Now it came to pass that, while
Roussillon was in this frame, a great tourney was proclaimed in France,
whereof Roussillon forthwith sent word to Cabestaing, and bade him to his
castle, so he were minded to come, that there they might discuss whether (or
no) to go to the tourney, and how. Cabestaing was overjoyed, and made answer
that he would come to sup with him next day without fail. Which message
being delivered, Roussillon wist that the time was come to slay Cabestaing.
So next day he armed himself, and, attended by a few servants, took horse,
and about a mile from his castle lay in ambush in a wood through which
Cabestaing must needs pass. He waited some time, and then he saw Cabestaing
approach unarmed with two servants behind, also unarmed, for he was without
thought of peril on Roussillon's part. So Cabestaing came on to the place of
Roussillon's choice, and then, fell and vengeful, Roussillon leapt forth
lance in hand, and fell upon him, exclaiming:--"Thou art a dead man!" and
the words were no sooner spoken than the lance was through Cabestaing's
breast. Powerless either to defend himself or even utter a cry, Cabestaing
fell to the ground, and soon expired. His servants waited not to see who had
done the deed, but turned their horses' heads and fled with all speed to
their lord's castle. Roussillon dismounted, opened Cabestaing's breast with
a knife, and took out the heart with his own hands, wrapped it up in a
banderole, and gave it to one of his servants to carry: he then bade none
make bold to breathe a word of the affair, mounted his horse and rode
back--'twas now night--to his castle. The lady, who had been told that
Cabestaing was to come to supper that evening, and was all impatience till
he should come, was greatly surprised to see her husband arrive without him.
Wherefore:--"How is this, my lord?" said she. "Why tarries Cabestaing?"
"Madam," answered her husband, "I have tidings from him that he cannot be
here until to-morrow:" whereat the lady was somewhat disconcerted.
Having dismounted, Roussillon called the cook, and said to him:--"Here is a
boar's heart; take it, and make thereof the daintiest and most delicious
dish thou canst, and when I am set at table serve it in a silver porringer."
So the cook took the heart, and expended all his skill and pains upon it,
mincing it and mixing with it plenty of good seasoning, and made thereof an
excellent ragout; and in due time Sieur Guillaume and his lady sat them down
to table. The meat was served, but Sieur Guillaume, his mind engrossed with
his crime, ate but little. The cook set the ragout before him, but he,
feigning that he cared to eat no more that evening, had it passed on to the
lady, and highly commended it. The lady, nothing loath, took some of it, and
found it so good that she ended by eating the whole. Whereupon:--"Madam,"
quoth the knight, "how liked you this dish?" "In good faith, my lord,"
replied the lady, "not a little." "So help me, God," returned the knight, "I
dare be sworn you did; 'tis no wonder that you should enjoy that dead, which
living you enjoyed more than aught else in the world." For a while the lady
was silent; then:--"How say you?" said she; "what is this you have caused me
to eat?" "That which you have eaten," replied the knight, "was in good sooth
the heart of Sieur Guillaume de Cabestaing, whom you, disloyal woman that
you are, did so much love: for assurance whereof I tell you that but a short
while before I came back, I plucked it from his breast with my own hands."
It boots not to ask if the lady was sorrow-stricken to receive such tidings
of her best beloved. But after a while she said:--"'Twas the deed of a
disloyal and recreant knight; for if I, unconstrained by him, made him lord
of my love, and thereby did you wrong, 'twas I, not he, should have borne
the penalty. But God forbid that fare of such high excellence as the heart
of a knight so true and courteous as Sieur Guillaume de Cabestaing be
followed by aught else." So saying she started to her feet, and stepping
back to a window that was behind her, without a moment's hesitation let
herself drop backwards therefrom. The window was at a great height from the
ground, so that the lady was not only killed by the fall, but almost reduced
to atoms. Stunned and conscience-stricken by the spectacle, and fearing the
vengeance of the country folk, and the Count of Provence, Sieur Guillaume
had his horses saddled and rode away. On the morrow the whole countryside
knew how the affair had come about; wherefore folk from both of the castles
took the two bodies, and bore them with grief and lamentation exceeding
great to the church in the lady's castle, and laid them in the same tomb,
and caused verses to be inscribed thereon signifying who they were that were
there interred, and the manner and occasion of their death.
(1) Boccaccio writes Guardastagno, but the troubadour, Cabestaing, or
Cabestany, is the hero of the story.