“You are a wicked servant to try to create contention in this way
between my wife and me. I dismiss you, and will pay you what I owe you
for your services to me, and more besides; but be speedily gone, and
take care that you are not in the town twenty-four hours from now.”
The President paid him for five or six years in advance, and, knowing
him to be a faithful servant, resolved to reward him still further.
When the servant was gone weeping away, the President made Nicholas come
forth from the closet, and after telling them both what he thought of
their wickedness, he commanded them to give no hint of the matter to
anyone. He also charged his wife to dress more bravely than was her
wont, and to attend all assemblies, dances and feasts; and he told
Nicholas to make more merry than before, but, as soon as he whispered
to him, “Begone,” to see that he was out of the town before three hours
were over. Having arranged matters in this way, he returned to the
court, none being any the wiser. And for a fortnight, contrary to his
wont, he entertained his friends and neighbours, and after the banquet
had the tabourers, so that the ladies might dance.
One day, seeing that his wife was not dancing, he commanded Nicholas to
lead her out. The clerk, thinking that the past had been forgotten, did
so gladly, but when the dance was over, the President, under pretence of
charging him with some household matter, whispered to him, “Begone,
and come back no more.” And albeit Nicholas was grieved to leave his
mistress, yet was he no less glad that his life was spared.
When the President had convinced all his kinsfolk and friends and the
whole countryside of the deep love that he bore his wife, he went into
his garden one fine day in the month of May to gather a salad, of such
herbs that his wife did not live for twenty-four hours after eating of
them; whereupon he made such a great show of mourning that none could
have suspected him of causing her death; and in this way he avenged
himself upon his enemy, and saved the honour of his house. (2)
2 Whilst admitting the historical basis of this story, M.
Le Roux de Lincy conceives it to be the same as No. xlvii.
of the _Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles_, printed half-a-century
before the _Heptameron_ was written. Beyond the
circumstance, however, that in both cases a judge is shown
privily avenging himself on his wife for her infidelity,
there is no resemblance between the two tales. There is good
reason for believing that Queen Margaret’s narrative is
based on absolute fact, and not on the story in the _Cent
Nouvelles_. Both tales have often been imitated. See for
instance Bonaventure Despéricr’s _Contes, Nouvelles, et
joyeux Devis_ (tale xcii., or, in some editions, xc. ); _Les
Heures de Récréation de Louis Guicciardini_, p. 28; G.
Giraldi Cinthio’s _Hecatommithi, overro cento Novelle, &c_.
(dec. iii. nov. vi. ); Malespini’s _Ducento Novelle _(part
ii. nov. xvi.); Verboquet’s _Les Délices, &c_, 1623, p. 23;
and Shirley’s _Love’s Cruelly_. These tales also inspired
some of the Spanish dramatists, notably Calderon.--Ed. and
L.
“I do not mean by this, ladies, to praise the President’s conscience,
but rather to bring out the frailty of a woman and the great patience
and prudence of a man. And I beg you, ladies, be not angered by the
truth, which sometimes speaks as loudly against ourselves as against the
men; for vice and virtue are common alike to men and women.”
“If all those,” said Parlamente, “who have fallen in love with their
servants were obliged to eat salads of that kind, I know some who would
be less fond of their gardens than they are at present, and who would
pluck up the herbs to get rid of such as restore the honour of a family
by compassing the death of a wanton mother.”
Hircan, who guessed why she had said this, angrily replied--“A virtuous
woman should never judge another guilty of what she would not do
herself.”
“Knowledge is not judgment nor yet foolishness,” returned Parlamente.
“However, this poor woman paid the penalty that many others have
deserved, and I think that the President, when desirous of vengeance,
comported himself with wondrous prudence and wisdom.”
“And with great malevolence, also,” said Longarine. “‘Twas a slow and
cruel vengeance, and showed he had neither God nor conscience before his
eyes.”
“Why, what would you have had him do,” said Hircan, “to revenge himself
for the greatest wrong that a woman can deal to a man?”
“I would have had him kill her in his wrath,” she replied. “The doctors
say that since the first impulses of passion are not under a man’s
control, such a sin may be forgiven; so it might have obtained pardon.”
“Yes,” said Geburon, “but his daughters and descendants would have
always borne the stain.”
“He ought not to have killed her at all,” said Longarine, “for, when
his wrath was past, she might have lived with him in virtue, and nothing
would ever have been said about the matter.”
“Do you think,” said Saffredent, “that he was appeased merely because he
concealed his anger? For my part, I believe that he was as wrathful on
the last day, when he made his salad, as he had been on the first, for
there are persons whose first impulses have no rest until their passion
has worked its will. I am well pleased you say that the theologians deem
such sins easy to be pardoned, for I am of their opinion.”
“It is well to look to one’s words,” said Longarine, “in presence of
persons so dangerous as you. What I said is to be understood of passion
when it is so strong that it suddenly seizes upon all the senses, and
reason can find no place.”
“It is so,” said Saffredent, “that I understood your words, and I thence
conclude that, whatever a man may do, he can commit only venial sin
if he be deeply in love. I am sure that, if Love hold him fast bound,
Reason can never gain a hearing, whether from his heart or from his
understanding. And if the truth be told, there is not one among us but
has had knowledge of such passion; and not merely do I think that sin
so committed is readily pardoned, but I even believe that God is not
angered by it, seeing that such love is a ladder whereby we may climb
to the perfect love of Himself. And none can attain to this save by the
ladder of earthly love, (3) for, as St. John says, ‘He that loveth not
his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not
seen?’” (4)
3 All this passage is borrowed, almost word for word, from
Castiglione’s _Libro del Cortegiano_. See _ante_, vol. i. p.
10.--B.J.