a sleeping varlet, since women of as lowly condition have frightened
noble Princes, without putting fire to their foreheads.”
“I am sure,” said Geburon, “that you know some such story, which you
are willing to relate; wherefore, if it please you, you shall take my
place.”
“The tale will not be a long one,” said Ennasuite, “but, could I recount
it just as it happened, you would have no desire to weep.”
[Illustration: 147.jpg Tailpiece]
[Illustration: 149a. The Old Serving-woman explaining her Mistake to
the Duke and Duchess of Vendôme]
[The Old Serving-woman explaining her Mistake to the Duke and Duchess
of Vendôme]
[Illustration: 149.jpg Page Image]
_TALE LXVI_.
_The Duke of Vendôme and the Princess of Navarre, whilst
resting together one afternoon, were surprised by an old
serving-woman, who took them for a prothonotary and a damsel
between whom she suspected some affection; and, through this
fine justicement, a matter, of which intimates were
ignorant, was made known to strangers_.
In the year when the Duke of Vendôme married the Princess of Navarre,
(1) the King and Queen, their parents, after feasting at Vendôme, went
with them into Guienne, and, visiting a gentleman’s house where there
were many honourable and beautiful ladies, the newly married pair
danced so long in this excellent company that they became weary, and,
withdrawing to their chamber, lay down in their clothes upon the bed and
fell asleep, doors and windows being shut and none remaining with them.
1 It was in October 1548, some eighteen months after Henry
II. had succeeded Francis I., that Anthony de Bourbon, Duke
of Vendôme, who after the King’s children held the first
rank in France, was married at Moulins to Margaret’s
daughter Jane of Navarre. The Duke was then thirty and Jane
twenty years old. “I never saw so joyous a bride,” wrote
Henry II. to Montmorency, “she never does anything but
laugh.” She was indeed well pleased with the match, the
better so, perhaps, as her husband had settled 100,000
livres on her, a gift which was the more acceptable by
reason of her extravagant tastes and love of display. Ste.
Marthe, in his _Oraison Funèbre_ on Queen Margaret, speaks
of her daughter’s marriage as “a most fortunate
conjunction,” and refers to her son-in-law as “the most
valiant and magnanimous Prince Anthony, Duke of Vendôme,
whose admirable virtues have so inclined all France to love
and revere him, that princes and nobles, the populace, the
great and the humble alike, no sooner hear his name
mentioned than they forthwith wish him and beg God to bestow
on him all possible health and prosperity.”--Ed
Just, however, when their sleep was at its soundest, they were awakened
by their door being opened from without, and the Duke drew the curtain
and looked to see who it might be, suspecting indeed that it was one of
his friends who was minded to surprise him. But he perceived a tall, old
bed-chamber woman come in and walk straight up to their bed, where, for
the darkness of the room, she could not recognise them. Seeing them,
however, quite close together, she began to cry out--
“Thou vile and naughty wanton! I have long suspected thee to be what
thou art, yet for lack of proof spoke not of it to my mistress. But now
thy vileness is so clearly shown that I shall in no sort conceal it; and
thou, foul renegade, who hast wrought such shame in this house by the
undoing of this poor wench, if it were not for the fear of God, I would
e’en cudgel thee where thou liest. Get up, in the devil’s name, get up,
for methinks even now thou hast no shame.”
The Duke of Vendôme and the Princess hid their faces against each other
in order to have the talk last longer, and they laughed so heartily that
they were not able to utter a word. Finding that for all her threats
they were not willing to rise, the serving-woman came closer in order to
pull them by the arms. Then she at once perceived both from their faces
and from their dress that they were not those whom she sought, and,
recognising them, she flung herself upon her knees, begging them to
pardon her error in thus robbing them of their rest.
But the Duke of Vendôme was not content to know so little, and rising
forthwith, he begged the old woman to say for whom she had taken them.
This at first she was not willing to do; but at last, after he had sworn
to her never to reveal it, she told him that there was a girl in the
house with whom a prothonotary (2) was in love, and that she had long
kept a watch on them, since it pleased her little to see her mistress
trusting in a man who was working this shame towards her. She then left
the Prince and Princess shut in as she had found them, and they laughed
for a long while over their adventure. And, although they afterwards
told the story they would never name any of the persons concerned.
2 The office of apostolic prothonotary was instituted by
Pope Clement I., there being at first twelve such officers,
whose duty was to write the lives of the saints and other
apostolic records. Gradually their number so increased, that
in the fifteenth century the title of prothonotary had come
to be merely an honorary dignity, conferred as a matter of
course on doctors of theology of noble family, or otherwise
of note. In the role of Francis I.’s household for 1522, we
find but one prothonotary mentioned, but in that for 1529
there are twelve. More than one of them might have been
called _un letrado que no tenia muchas letras_, as Brantôme
wrote of Thomas de Lescun, Prothonotary of Foix and
afterwards Marshal of France. “In those days,” adds the
author of _Les Grands Capitaines Français_, “it was usual
for prothonotaries and even for those of good family not to
have much learning, but to enjoy themselves, hunt, make love
and seduce the wives of the poor gentlemen who were gone to
the wars.”--_OEuvres complètes de Brantôme_, 8vo edit., vol.
ii. p. 144.--L. and Ed.
“You see, ladies, how the worthy dame, whilst thinking to do a fine deed
of justice, made known to strange princes a matter of which the servants
of the house had never heard.”
“I think I know,” said Parlamente, “in whose house it was, and who the
prothonotary is; for he has governed many a lady’s house, and when he
cannot win the mistress’s favour he never fails to have that of one of
the maids. In other matters, however, he is an honourable and worthy
man.”
“Why do you say ‘in other matters’?” said Hircan. “Tis for that very
behaviour that I deem him so worthy a man.”
“I can see,” said Parlamente, “that you know the sickness and the
sufferer, and that, if he needed excuse, you would not fail him as
advocate. Yet I would not trust myself to a man who could not contrive
his affairs without having them known to the serving-women.”
“And do you imagine,” said Nomerfide, “that men care whether such a
matter be known if only they can compass their end? You may be sure
that, even if none spoke of it but themselves, it would still of
necessity be known.”
“They have no need,” said Hircan angrily, “to say all that they know.”
“Perhaps,” she replied, blushing, “they would not say it to their own
advantage.”
“Judging from your words,” said Simontault, “it would seem that men
delight in hearing evil spoken about women, and I am sure that you
reckon me among men of that kind. I therefore greatly wish to speak well
of one of your sex, in order that I may not be held a slanderer by all
the rest.”
“I give you my place,” said Ennasuite, “praying you withal to control
your natural disposition, so that you may acquit yourself worthily in
our honour.”
Forthwith Simontault began--
“Tis no new thing, ladies, to hear of some virtuous act on your part
which, methinks, should not be hidden but rather written in letters
of gold, that it may serve women as an example, and give men cause for
admiration at seeing in the weaker sex that from which weakness is prone
to shrink. I am prompted, therefore, to relate something that I heard
from Captain Robertval and divers of his company.”
[Illustration: 154.jpg Tailpiece]
[Illustration: 155a. The Wife Reading to her Husband on the Desert Island]
[The Wife Reading to her Husband on the Desert Island]
[Illustration: 155.jpg Page Image]
_TALE LXVII_.
_A poor woman risked her own life to save that of her
husband, whom she forsook not until death_.
The Captain Robertval aforesaid once made a voyage across the seas
to the island of Canadas, (1) himself being chief in command by the
appointment of the King, his master. And there, if the air of the
country were good, he had resolved to dwell and to build towns and
castles. With this work he made such a beginning as is known to all;
and to people the country with Christians he took with him all kinds of
artificers, among whom was a most wicked man, who betrayed his master
and put him in danger of being captured by the natives. But God willed
that his attempt should be discovered before any evil befell the
Captain, who, seizing the wicked traitor, was minded to punish him as
he deserved. And this he would have done but for the man’s wife, who had
followed her husband through the perils of the deep and would not now
leave him to die, but with many tears so wrought upon the Captain and
all his company that, for pity of her and for the sake of the services
she had done them, her request was granted. In consequence, husband and
wife were left together on a small island in the sea, inhabited only
by wild beasts, and were suffered to take with them such things as were
needful.
1 Canada had been discovered by Cabot in 1497; and in 1535
James Cartier sailed up the St. Lawrence and, taking
possession of the country in the name of Francis I., called
it La Nouvelle France. Seven years later a gentleman of
Picardy, named John Francis de La Roque, Lord of Robertval,
accompanying Cartier, established a colony on the Isle
Royale, and subsequently built the fort of Charlebourg. One
of his pilots, named Alphonse of Saintonge, meanwhile
reconnoitred the coasts both of Canada and Labrador. About
this time (1542) the incidents related in the above tale
must have occurred.--L.
The poor folk, finding themselves all alone and surrounded by wild and
cruel beasts, had no recourse but to God, who had ever been this poor
woman’s steadfast hope; and, since she found all her consolation in Him,
she carried the New Testament with her for safeguard, nourishment and
consolation, and in it read unceasingly. Further, she laboured with her
husband to make them a little dwelling as best they might, and when the
lions (2) and other animals came near to devour them, the husband with
his arquebuss and she with stones made so stout a defence that not only
were the beasts afraid to approach, but often some were slain that were
very good for food. And on this flesh and the herbs of the land, they
lived for some time after their bread failed them.
2 This mention of lions on a small desert island in the
Canadian seas would be rather perplexing did we not know how
great at that time was the general ignorance on most matters
connected with natural history. Possibly the allusion may be
to the _lion marin_, as the French call the leonine seal.
This, however, is anything but an aggressive animal.
Curiously enough, Florimond de Rémond, the sixteenth century
writer, speaks of a drawing of a “marine lion” given to him
“by that most illustrious lady Margaret Queen of Navarre, to
whom it had been presented by a Spanish gentleman, who was
taking a second copy of it to the Emperor Charles V., then
in Spain.”--Ed.
At last, however, the husband could no longer endure this nutriment,
and by reason of the waters that they drank became so swollen that in
a short while he died, and this without any service or consolation save
from his wife, she being both his doctor and his confessor; and when
he had joyously passed out of the desert into the heavenly country, the
poor woman, left now in solitude, buried him in the earth as deeply as
she was able. Nevertheless the beasts quickly knew of it, and came to
eat the dead body; but the poor woman, firing with the arquebuss from
her cabin, saved her husband’s flesh from finding such a grave.
Leading thus in regard to her body the life of a brute, and in regard
to her soul the life of an angel, she passed her time in reading,
meditations, prayers and orisons, having a glad and happy mind in a
wasted and half-dead body. But He who never forsakes His own, and who
manifests His power when others are in despair, did not suffer the
virtue that he had put into this woman to be unknown by men, but willed
that it should be made manifest to His own glory. He therefore brought
things so to pass, that after some time, when one of the ships of the
armament was passing by the island, those that were looking that way
perceived some smoke, which reminded them of the persons who had been
left there, and they resolved to go and see what God had done with them.
The poor woman, seeing the ship draw nigh, dragged herself to the shore,
and there they found her on their arrival. After giving praise to God,
she brought them to her poor cottage and showed them on what she had
lived during her abode in that place. This would have seemed to them
impossible of belief, but for their knowledge that God is as powerful to
feed His servants in a desert as at the greatest banquet in the world.
As the poor woman could not continue in such a spot, they took her with
them straight to La Rochelle, where, their voyage ended, they arrived.
And when they had made known to the inhabitants the faithfulness and
endurance of this woman, she was very honourably received by all the
ladies, who gladly sent their daughters to her to learn to read and
write. In this honest calling she maintained herself for the rest of
her life, having no other desire save to admonish every one to love and
trust Our Lord, and setting forth as an example the great compassion
that He had shown towards her.
“Now, ladies, you cannot say I do not praise the virtues which God
has given you, and which show the more when possessed by one of lowly
condition.”
“Why, we are not sorry,” said Oisille, “to hear you praise the mercies
of Our Lord, for in truth all virtue comes from Him; but we must confess
that man assists in the work of God as little as women. Neither can by
heart or will do more than plant. God alone giveth the increase.”
“If you have studied Scripture,” said Saffredent, “you know that St.
Paul says that Apollos planted and he himself watered; (3) but he does
not speak of women as having set hand to the work of God.”
3 The text is just the contrary: “I have planted, Apollos
watered; but God gave the increase.”--I _Corinthians_ iii.
6.--Ed.
“You would follow,” said Parlamente, “the opinion of those wicked men
who take a passage of Scripture that is in their favour and leave one
that is against them. If you had read St. Paul to the end, you would
have found that he commends himself to the ladies, who greatly laboured
with him in the work of the Gospel.”
“However that may be,” said Longarine, “the woman in the story is well
worthy of praise both for the love she bore her husband, on whose behalf
she risked her own life, and for the faith she had in God, who, as we
see, did not forsake her.”
“I think,” said Ennasuite, “as far as the first is concerned, that there
is no woman present but would do as much to save her husband’s life.”
“I think,” said Parlamente, “that some husbands are such brutes that the
women who live with them should not find it strange to live among their
fellows.”
Ennasuite, who took these words to herself, could not refrain from
saying--
“Provided the beasts did not bite me, their company would be more
pleasant to me than that of men, who are choleric and intolerable. But I
abide by what I have said, that, if my husband were in a like danger, I
should not leave him to die.”
“Beware,” said Nomerfide, “of loving too fondly, for excess of love will
deceive both him and you. There is a medium in all things, and through
lack of knowledge love often gives birth to hate.”
“Methinks,” said Simontault, “you have not carried your discourse so far
without having an instance to confirm it. If, then, you know such a one,
I give you my place that you may tell it to us.”
“Well,” said Nomerfide, “the tale shall, as is my wont, be a short and a
merry one.”
[Illustration: 161.jpg Tailpiece]
[Illustration: 163a. The Apothecary’s Wife giving the Dose of Cantharides
to her Husband]
[The Apothecary’s Wife giving the Dose of Cantharides to her Husband]
[Illustration: 163.jpg Page Image]
_TALE LXVIII_.
_An apothecary’s wife, finding that her husband made no
great account of her, and wishing to be better loved by him,
followed the advice that he had given to a “commère” (1) of
his, whose sickness was of the same kind as her own; but she
prospered not so well as the other, and instead of love
reaped hate_.
1 Mr W. Kelly has pointed out (Bohn’s _Heptameron_, p. 395)
that in France the godfather and godmother of a child are
called in reference to each other compère and commère, terms
implying mutual relations of an extremely friendly kind. “The
same usage exists in all Catholic countries,” adds Mr Kelly,
“and one of the novels of the _Decameron_ is founded on a
very general opinion in Italy that an amorous connection
between a _compadre_ and his _commadre_ partook almost of
the nature of incest.”
In the town of Pau in Beam there was an apothecary whom men called
Master Stephen. He had married a virtuous wife and a thrifty, with
beauty enough to content him. But just as he was wont to taste different
drugs, so did he also with women, that he might be the better able to
speak of all kinds. His wife was greatly tormented by this, and at
last lost all patience; for he made no account of her except by way of
penance during Holy Week.
One day when the apothecary was in his shop, and his wife had hidden
herself behind him to listen to what he might say, a woman, who was
“commère” to the apothecary, and was stricken with the same sickness as
his own wife, came in, and, sighing, said to him--
“Alas, good godfather, I am the most unhappy woman alive. I love my
husband better than myself, and do nothing but think of how I may serve
and obey him; but all my labour is wasted, for he prefers the wickedest,
foulest, vilest woman in the town to me. So, godfather, if you know of
any drug that will change his humour, prithee give it me, and, if I be
well treated by him, I promise to reward you by all means in my power.”
The apothecary, to comfort her, said that he knew of a powder which, if
she gave it to her husband with his broth or roast, after the fashion
of Duke’s powder, (2) would induce him to entertain her in the best
possible manner. The poor woman, wishing to behold this miracle, asked
him what the powder was, and whether she could have some of it. He
declared that there was nothing like powder of cantharides, of which
he had a goodly store; and before they parted she made him prepare
this powder, and took as much of it as was needful for her purpose. And
afterwards she often thanked the apothecary, for her husband, who was
strong and lusty, and did not take too much, was none the worse for it.
2 Boaistuau and Gruget call this preparation _poudre de
Dun_, as enigmatical an appellation as _poudre de Duc_. As
for the specific supplied by the apothecary, the context
shows that this was the same aphrodisiac as the Marquis de
Sades put to such a detestable use at Marseilles in 1772,
when, after fleeing from justice, he was formally sentenced
to death, and broken, in effigy, upon the wheel. See P.
Lacroix’s _Curiosités de l’histoire de France, IIème Série_,
Paris, 1858.--Ed.
The apothecary’s wife heard all this talk, and thought within herself
that she had no less need of the recipe than her husband’s “commère.”
Observing, therefore, the place where her husband put the remainder of
the powder, she resolved that she would use some of it when she found
an opportunity; and this she did within three or four days. Her husband,
who felt a coldness of the stomach, begged her to make him some good
soup, but she replied that a roast with Duke’s powder would be better
for him; whereupon he bade her go quickly and prepare it, and take
cinnamon and sugar from the shop. This she did, not forgetting also to
take the remainder of the powder given to the “commère,” without any
heed to dose, weight or measure.
The husband ate the roast, and thought it very good. Before long,
however, he felt its effects, and sought to soothe them with his wife,
but this he found was impossible, for he felt all on fire, in such wise
that he knew not which way to turn. He then told his wife that she had
poisoned him, and demanded to know what she had put into the roast. She
forthwith confessed the truth, telling him that she herself required the
recipe quite as much as his “commère.” By reason of his evil plight,
the poor apothecary could belabour her only with hard words; however,
he drove her from his presence, and sent to beg the Queen of Navarre’s
apothecary (3) to come and see him. This the Queen’s apothecary did, and
whilst giving the other all the remedies proper for his cure (which in
a short time was effected) he rebuked him very sharply for his folly
in counselling another to use drugs that he was not willing to take
himself, and declared that his wife had only done her duty, inasmuch as
she had desired to be loved by her husband.
3 It was from her apothecary no doubt that Queen Margaret
heard this story.--Ed.
Thus the poor man was forced to endure the results of his folly in
patience, and to own that he had been justly punished in being brought
into such derision as he had proposed for another.
“Methinks, ladies, this woman’s love was as indiscreet as it was great.”
“Do you call it loving her husband,” said Hircan, “to give him pain for
the sake of the delight that she herself looked to have?”
“I believe,” said Longarine, “she only desired to win back her husband’s
love, which she deemed to have gone far astray; and for the sake of such
happiness there is nothing that a woman will not do.” “Nevertheless,”
said Geburon, “a woman ought on no account to make her husband eat or
drink anything unless, either through her own experience or that
of learned folk, she be sure that it can do him no harm. Ignorance,
however, must be excused, and hers was worthy of excuse; for the most
blinding passion is love, and the most blinded of persons is a woman,
since she has not strength enough to conduct so weighty a matter
wisely.”
“Geburon,” said Oisille, “you are departing from your own excellent
custom so as to make yourself of like mind with your fellows; but there
are women who have endured love and jealousy in patience.”
“Ay,” said Hircan, “and pleasantly too; for the most sensible are those
who take as much amusement in laughing at their husbands’ doings, as
their husbands take in secretly deceiving them. If you will make it
my turn, so that the Lady Oisille may close the day, I will tell you a
story about a wife and her husband who are known to all of us here.”
“Begin, then,” said Nomerfide; and Hircan, laughing, began thus:--
[Illustration: 168.jpg Tailpiece]
[Illustration: 169a. The Wife discovering her Husband in the Hood of
their Serving-maid]
[The Wife discovering her Husband in the Hood of their Serving-maid]
[Illustration: 169.jpg Page Image]
_TALE LXIX_.
_On finding her husband bolting meal in the garb of her
serving-woman, whom he was awaiting in the hope that he
would obtain from her what he desired, a certain lady showed
such good sense that she was content to laugh and make merry
at his folly_.
At the castle of Odoz (1) in Bigorre, there dwelt one Charles, equerry
to the King and an Italian by birth, who had married a very virtuous
and honourable woman. After bearing him many children, she was now
grown old, whilst he also was not young. And he lived with her in all
peacefulness and affection, for although he would at times speak with
his serving-women, his excellent wife took no notice of this, but
quietly dismissed them whenever she found that they were becoming too
familiar in her house.