wholesome nutriment, which she did by reading of the acts and virtuous
deeds of the glorious knights and apostles of Jesus Christ, as related
by St. Luke, telling them withal that these relations should suffice to
make them long for the return of such a time, and to make them weep
for the uncomeliness of this age as compared with that. When she had
sufficiently read and expounded to them the beginning of this excellent
book, she begged them to go to the church in such union as that in which
the Apostles were wont to pray, seeking of God the mercy which is never
refused to those who ask for it in faith. Her counsel was approved by
all, and they came to the church just as the Mass of the Holy Spirit
was beginning; this seemed to them very apt to the occasion, and they
hearkened to the service in great devotion.
Afterwards they went to dinner, where they called to mind the apostolic
life, and took such great delight in it that it was as though their
undertaking had been forgotten. But Nomerfide, who was the youngest,
noticed this, and said, “The Lady Oisille has made us so devout that we
are letting slip the hour at which we are wont to withdraw, in order to
make ready for the relating of our tales.”
Her words caused the whole company to rise, and, after they had been for
a while in their rooms, they failed not to repair to the meadow as on
the day before. When they were seated at their ease, the Lady Oisille
said to Saffredent, “Although I am certain that you will say nothing to
the advantage of women, yet I must call upon you to tell the tale that
you had in readiness yester evening.”
“I protest, madam,” replied Saffredent, “against winning the repute of
a slanderer through telling the truth, or losing the favour of virtuous
ladies through relating the deeds of the wanton. I have felt what it is
to lack their presence, and had I equally lacked their fair favours, I
had not been alive to-day.”
So saying, he turned his eyes away from her who was the cause of his
happiness and of his woe; and, looking upon Ennasuite, caused her to
blush as deeply as though his words had been directed to her. Yet was he
none the less understood by her whom he desired should understand him.
The Lady Oisille then assured him that he might freely speak the truth
at the cost of any person concerned; whereupon he thus began:--
[Illustration: 105a. The Lady returning to her Lover, the Canon of Autun]
[The Lady returning to her Lover, the Canon of Autun]
[Illustration: 105.jpg Page Image]
_TALE LXI_.
_A husband is reconciled with his wife after she had lived
during fourteen or fifteen years with a Canon of Autun_.
Near the town of Autun there lived a very beautiful woman, who was
tall, fair, and as handsome of feature as any I have ever seen. She was
married to an honest man who seemed somewhat younger than herself, and
who loved and treated her well enough to give her reason for content.
A little while after they were married, he took her to the town of
Autun, where he had business; and while he was engaged with the law, his
wife would go to the church to pray God for him.
She repaired so often to this holy place that a very rich Canon fell in
love with her, and wooed her so urgently that the unhappy creature gave
herself up to him. Her husband had no suspicion of this, however, for he
gave more thought to the guarding of his property than of his wife.
When the time for departure was come, and they must needs return to
their home, which was full seven leagues from the town, great was the
woman’s sorrow. But the Canon promised that he would often go and see
her, and this he did, pretending to be making some journey which led
him past the house. The gentleman, however, was not so foolish as not to
perceive the truth, and he so skilfully contrived matters, that when the
Canon came thither he no longer met the wife, who was too well hidden
by her husband to allow of his having any speech with her. The wife,
knowing her husband’s jealousy, gave no sign that this was displeasing
to her; nevertheless, she resolved to set things to rights, for she felt
herself as it were in hell, deprived as she was of the sight of her God.
One day, when her husband was abroad, she found a means to occupy her
servants, both men and women, after such a fashion that she was left
alone in the house. Immediately, she took what was needful, and, with no
company save that of the wanton love she carried with her, she repaired
on foot to Autun. Here she arrived none too late to be recognised by her
Canon, who kept her shut up in hiding for more than a year, and this in
spite of the monitions and excommunications that were procured against
him by her husband.
The latter, finding that he had no other remedy, at last complained to
the Bishop, who had an Archdeacon, as worthy a man as any at that time
in France. This Archdeacon himself searched with great diligence through
all the Canon’s houses, until he discovered the one in which the woman
was being kept in concealment, whereupon he cast her into prison, and
laid heavy penance upon the Canon.
The husband, knowing that his wife had been recovered by the counsels of
the Archdeacon and divers other excellent persons, was content to take
her back on her swearing to him that she would live for the future as
beseemed a virtuous woman.
This the worthy man in his deep love for her readily believed, and,
bringing her back to his house, he treated her as honourably as before,
except that he gave her two old serving-women who never left her, one or
other of them being at all times with her.
But, however kindly her husband might use her, the wicked love she bore
towards the Canon caused her to regard all rest as torment. And although
she was a very beautiful woman and her husband a man of excellent
constitution, vigorous and strong, she never had any children by him,
her heart being always seven leagues away from her body; this, however,
she concealed so well that it seemed to her husband that, like himself,
she had wholly forgotten the past.
But in her great wickedness she was not so minded; for, just when she
saw her husband most in love with her and having least suspicion, she
pretended to fall ill, and continued in this pretence until her husband
was in wondrous distress, and anxious to spare nought that might relieve
her.
However, she played her part so exceedingly well that he, and all in the
house, thought that she was sick unto death, and was growing by degrees
weaker and weaker. Finding that her husband was no less grieved than he
should have been glad, she begged of him that he would authorise her to
make her will, and this with tears he did.
Having power of bequest, although she had no children, she gave to her
husband what she could, craving at the same time his forgiveness for
her wrong-doing towards him. Then she sent for the priest, confessed
herself, and received the Holy Sacrament of the Altar with such
devoutness, that all wept to see so glorious an end.
When the evening was come, she begged her husband to send for the
extreme unction, saying that, as she was growing very weak, she was in
fear lest she might not live to receive it. Her husband in all haste
caused it to be brought by the priest, and she, by receiving it with
very great humility, prompted every one to praise her.
After she had got through her brave mysteries, she told her husband
that, having through God’s grace received all that the Church commands,
she felt great peace of conscience, and would fain take some rest; and
she begged him to do the like, seeing that he had great need of it after
all his weeping and watching with her.
When her husband was gone, and all his servants with him, the poor old
women, who had so long watched her in health and now had no fear of
losing her except by death, went contentedly and comfortably to bed. As
soon as she heard them asleep and loudly snoring, she rose in nothing
but her shift, and went out of the room, listening to hear if any one
was yet astir in the house. Taking every precaution, she then (as she
well knew how) let herself out through a little garden-gate that was not
shut, and, barefooted and in her shift, journeyed all night long towards
Autun and the saint, who had preserved her from death.
It happened, however, that as the distance was great, she could not
accomplish the whole of it before daylight overtook her. Looking then
all along the road, she perceived two horsemen who were galloping at
full speed, and thinking that it might be her husband in search of her,
she hid herself entirely in a marsh, with her head among the reeds.
As her husband (for he it was) passed close beside her, he spoke to a
servant who was with him, in tones of deep despair, saying--
“Ah, the wicked woman! Who could have thought that so foul and
abominable a deed could be hidden under cloak of the holy sacraments of
the Church.”
“If Judas,” replied the servant, “feared not to betray his Master when
he was receiving the like, a woman’s treachery is but small matter for
wonder.”
At this point the husband passed on, and his wife remained among the
rushes, in greater gladness at having deceived and escaped him than she
had ever felt at home in a good bed but in subjection.
The poor husband sought her through all the town of Autun, but learning
for certain that she had not entered it, he retraced his steps,
complaining unceasingly of her and of his loss, and threatening her with
nothing short of death if he should find her. Of this she had as little
fear in her mind as she had of cold in her body, although the place and
season might well have caused her to repent of her evil journey. And any
one who did not know how the fire of hell inflames those that are filled
with it, must needs wonder how it was that this unhappy woman could so
leave a warm bed and continue for a whole day in the piercing cold.
Yet she neither lost courage nor gave up the journey, but, as soon as
night was come, went forward once more. Just as the gate at Autun was
being closed, this pilgrim arrived thither and repaired straight to the
shrine of her saint, who was in great wonder at her coming, and could
scarcely believe that it was indeed she. But when he had carefully
looked at her and examined her at all points, he found that, unlike
a spirit, she was really possessed of bone and flesh, and so became
convinced that she was no ghost.
And thenceforward they agreed so well together that she dwelt with the
Canon for fourteen or fifteen years.
Although for a time she lived in concealment, in the end she lost all
fear, and (what is worse) became so exceedingly proud of her lover that
at church she would set herself before most of the honourable women of
the town, wives of officials and others. Moreover, she had children
by the Canon, and among others a daughter who was married to a rich
merchant, and who had so magnificent a wedding that all the women of
the town murmured exceedingly, yet were powerless to set the affair to
rights.
Now it happened that at this time Queen Claude, wife of King Francis,
passed through the town of Autun, having with her my Lady the Regent,
mother of the King aforesaid, and the Duchess of Alençon, her daughter.
(1) One of the Queen’s waiting-women, named Perrette, came to the
Duchess and said--
“Madam, I pray you listen to me, and you will do a better deed than if
you went to hear the whole day’s service at the church.”
1 This would have occurred in the late autumn of 1515, when
the Court journeyed southward to meet Francis I. on his
return from the Marignano campaign.--Ed.
The Duchess gave ready heed, knowing that nought but good counsel could
come from her. Then Perrette forthwith told her how she had taken a
young girl to help her in washing the Queen’s linen, and how, on asking
the news of the town, she had heard from her the vexation which all the
honourable women endured at seeing the Canon’s mistress go before them,
together with some of the history of the wicked woman’s life.
The Duchess went immediately to the Queen and my Lady the Regent, and
told them the story; and they, without any form of law, sent for the
unhappy woman. The latter sought no concealment, for her shame was
turned to pride at being mistress in the household of so rich a man; and
hence, with no feeling of confusion or disgrace, she presented herself
before the ladies aforesaid, who were so abashed by her hardihood that
at first they knew not what to say. After a time, however, my Lady the
Regent rebuked her in a fashion which would have made a right-thinking
woman weep, though this unhappy creature did not do so, but with great
boldness said--
“I pray you, ladies, let my honour go unscathed, for, God be praised,
I have lived so well and virtuously with the Canon that no person alive
can say aught against me. And let it not be thought that I am living in
opposition to the will of God, since, for three years past, the Canon
has not come near me, and we live together as chastely and as lovingly
as two little angels, without any speech or wish between us to the
contrary. And any one separating us will commit a great sin, for the
worthy man, who is nigh eighty years old, will not live long without me,
who am forty-five.”
You may imagine how the ladies then comported themselves, and what
remonstrance they all made with her; but, in spite of the words that
were spoken, and her own age, and the honourable indignation of those
present, her obstinacy was not softened. That she might be the more
effectually humbled, they sent for the good Archdeacon of Autun, and he
condemned her to lie in prison for a year, faring on bread and water.
The ladies further sent for her husband, and he, after hearing their
excellent exhortations, was content to take her back again after she
should have performed her penance.
But when she found that she was a prisoner, and that the Canon was
resolved to have her back no more, she thanked the ladies for having
taken a devil off her shoulders, and showed such deep and perfect
contrition that her husband, instead of waiting until the year should
have expired, came and asked her of the Archdeacon before a fortnight
was over; and since then they have lived together in all peace and
affection.
“You see, ladies, how the chains of St. Peter are by wicked ministers
converted into those of Satan, which it is so hard to break that even
the sacraments, which cast out devils from the body, are here the means
of making them abide longer in the conscience; for the best things, when
abused, bring about most evil.”
“Truly,” said Oisille, “this woman was a very wicked one, but at the
same time she was well punished by her appearance before such judges as
the ladies you have named. The mere glance of the Lady Regent had such
power that never was there a woman, however virtuous, that did not dread
being found unworthy in her sight. Those who were looked upon kindly by
her deemed that they had earned a high honour, knowing as they did that
none but virtuous women were favoured by her.” (2)
2 We are asked to believe that Oisille is none other than
the Lady Regent (Louise of Savoy), but is it likely she
would thus speak of herself? We can scarcely conceive Queen
Margaret perpetrating such a flagrant anachronism.--Ed.
“It were indeed a fine thing,” said Hircan, “that there should be
greater dread of a woman’s eyes than of the Holy Sacrament, which, if it
be not received in faith and charity, brings with it eternal damnation.”
“Those,” said Parlamente, “who are not inspired by God are, I promise
you, in greater dread of the temporal than of the spiritual powers. And
I believe that the poor creature was brought to mend her ways rather by
her imprisonment and the thought of seeing her Canon no more, than by
any remonstrance that might have been made to her.”
“Nay,” said Simontault, “you have forgotten the chief cause of her
return to her husband, which was that the Canon was eighty years old,
whilst her husband was younger than herself; so the worthy lady had the
best of all her bargains. Had the Canon been young, she would not have
been willing to forsake him, and the admonitions of the ladies would
have been as ineffectual as the sacraments.”
“Further,” said Nomerfide, “I think she did well not to confess her sin
so readily; such an offence ought to be humbly acknowledged to God, but
stoutly denied before men. Even though it be true, still, by deception
and swearing, doubt may be cast upon it.”
“Not so,” said Longarine. “A sin can scarcely be so secret that it will
not become revealed, unless God in His pity conceal it, as in the case
of those who for love of Himself have truly repented.”
“And what,” said Hircan, “will you say of those women who have no sooner
done a deed of folly than they tell some one about it?”
“I think that a strange thing,” answered Longarine, “and a sign that sin
is not displeasing to them. If, as I said, a sin is not covered by
the mercy of God, it cannot be denied before men; there are many who,
delighting in such talk, glory to make their vices known, whilst others
who contradict themselves in this way become their own accusers.”
“If you know any such instance,” said Saffredent, “I give you my place
and beg you to tell it us.”
“Listen then,” said Longarine.
[Illustration: 117.jpg Tailpiece]
[Illustration: 119a. The Gentleman’s Spur catching in the Sheet]
[The Gentleman’s Spur catching in the Sheet]
[Illustration: 119.jpg Page Image]
_TALE LXII_.
_A lady’s tongue tripped so awkwardly whilst she was telling
a story, as if of another, to a dame of high degree, that
her honour thenceforward bore a stain which she could never
remove_.
In the time of King Francis the First there lived a lady of the blood
royal, who was endowed with honour, virtue and beauty, and well knew how
to tell a story with grace and to laugh at such as might be told to
her. (1) This lady being at one of her houses, all her subjects and
neighbours came to see her; for she was as much liked as it were
possible for woman to be.
1 M. de Lincy thinks that this lady may be Louise of Savoy,
who was very fond of listening to stories of an equivocal
character. This, it may be pointed out, is one of the
reasons why the commentators of the _Heptameron_ suppose her
to be Oisille, though the latter in the conversational
passages following the tales displays considerable prudery
and devoutness. That Louise was a woman of extremely amorous
tendency is well known; we need, indeed, no better proof of
it than her unseemly passion for the Constable de Bourbon
when she was five-and-forty years of age. If she be the lady
of royal blood spoken of above, the incidents of the tale
may have occurred in the Bourbonnais, a considerable portion
of which passed into her hands after the flight of the
Constable from France. It will be noted that allusion is
made to the lady’s subjects, showing that she exercised a
feudal sway. As one of the commentators of the _Heptameron_
has pointed out, Queen Margaret always saw her mother--that
“donna terribilissima!” as De Lussy called her--in such an
ideal light that M. de Lincy’s surmise may well be a correct
one despite the attributes of honour, virtue and beauty
bestowed on the lady whom she speaks of.--Ed.
Among others there came a lady who hearkened whilst the rest told every
story they could think of in order to amuse the Princess. This lady then
resolved that she would not be behind the others, and accordingly said--
“Madam, I will tell you a fine story, but you must promise me not to
speak of it.”
Then she forthwith continued--
“The story, madam, is on my conscience a perfectly true one, and
concerns a married lady who lived in all honour with her husband,
although he was old and she was young. A gentleman who was her
neighbour, seeing her married to this old man, fell in love with her,
and importuned her for several years; but never received of her any
reply save such as a virtuous woman should make. One day the gentleman
bethought him that if he could take her at a disadvantage she might
perchance be less harsh towards him, and, after he had for a long while
weighed the danger that he might run, his love for the lady wholly
banished his fears, and he resolved to find a time and place. He kept
excellent watch, and so one morning, when the lady’s husband was going
to another of his houses, and leaving at daybreak by reason of the heat,
the young gallant came to the house, where he found the lady asleep in
her bed, and perceived that the serving-women were gone out of the room.
“Then, without having sense enough to fasten the door, he got into the
lady’s bed all booted and spurred as he was, and when she awoke, she was
as distressed as she could possibly be. But in spite of any remonstrance
that she could make to him, he took her by force, saying that if she
should make the matter known he would tell every one that she had sent
for him; and at this the lady was so greatly afraid that she durst not
cry out. Afterwards, on some of her women coming in, he rose in haste
and would have been perceived by none if his spur, which had become
fastened in the upper sheet, had not drawn it right off, leaving the
lady quite naked in her bed.”
So far the lady had told the story as if of another, but at the end she
involuntarily said--
“Never was a woman so confounded as I was, when I found myself lying
quite naked.”
At these last words the lady, who had hitherto hearkened to the story
without laughing, could not refrain from doing so, and said--
“By what I can see, you are well qualified to tell the tale.”
The poor lady tried in every possible way to clear her honour, but it
was already flown so far away that she was never able to recall it.
“I assure you, ladies, that had she felt any deep displeasure in doing
such a deed, she would have desired to forget it. But, as I have told
you, sin will of itself be discovered before it could otherwise be
known, unless it be hidden by the mantle which, as David says, makes man
blessed.”
“In good sooth,” said Ennasuite, “she was the greatest fool I have ever
heard of, to make the others laugh at her own expense.”
“I do not deem it strange,” said Parlamente, “that the word should
follow the deed, for it is easier to say than to do.”
“Why,” said Geburon, “what sin had she committed? She was asleep in her
bed, he threatened her with shame and death; Lucrèce, who is so highly
praised, did just the same.”
“That is true,” said Parlamente, “and I confess that there is none too
righteous to fall. But when one has felt great offence in the deed, the
same holds good of the recollection; and whereas Lucrèce to efface the
latter killed herself, this foolish woman tried to make others laugh.”
“Nevertheless,” said Nomerfide, “it seems that she was a virtuous woman,
seeing that she had been many times entreated but would never consent,
so that the gentleman must needs resort to treachery and force in order
to wrong her.”
“What!” said Parlamente. “Do you think that a woman has answered for
her honour, when she gives herself up after refusing two or three times?
There would then be many virtuous women among those that are deemed the
opposite, for many of them have been known to refuse for a long while
those to whom their hearts had been given, some doing this through fear
for their honour, and others in order to make themselves still more
ardently loved and esteemed. No account, therefore, should be made of a
woman unless she stands firm to the end. But if a man refuse a beautiful
girl, do you regard that as great virtue?”
“Truly,” said Oisille, “if a young and lusty man so refused, I should
hold it worthy of high praise, but none the less difficult of belief.”
“Yet,” said Dagoucin, “I know one who refused to partake in amours that
were sought after by all his comrades.”
“I pray you,” said Longarine, “take my place and tell us the tale, yet
remember that you must here utter the truth.”
“I promise you,” said Dagoucin, “that I will tell it in all its
simplicity, without any colouring or disguise.”
[Illustration: 124.jpg Tailpiece]
[Illustration: 125a. The King asking the Young Lord to join his Banquet]
[The King asking the Young Lord to join his Banquet]
[Illustration: 125.jpg Page Image]
_TALE LXIII_.
_A gentleman’s refusal of an amour that was sought after by
all his comrades, was imputed to him as great virtue, and
his wife loved him and esteemed him in consequence far more
than before_. (1)
In the city of Paris there lived four girls, of whom two were sisters,
and such was their beauty, youth and freshness, that they were run after
by all the gallants. A gentleman, however, who at that time held the
office of Provost of Paris (2) from the King, seeing that his master was
young, of an age to desire such company, so cleverly contrived matters
with all four of the damsels that each, thinking herself intended for
the King, agreed to what the aforesaid Provost desired. This was that
they should all of them be present at a feast to which he invited his
master.
1 This story, omitted by Boaistuau, was included in
Gruget’s edition of the _Heptameron_.--L.