“Truly,” said Oisille, “this was a very wicked Grey Friar. A monk, a
priest and a preacher to work such wickedness, and that on Christmas
day, in the church and under the cloak of the confessional--all these
are circumstances which heighten the sin.”
“It would seem from your words,” said Hircan, “that the Grey Friars
ought to be angels, or more discreet than other men, but you have heard
instances enough to show you that they are far worse. As for the monk
in the story, I think he might well be excused, seeing that he found
himself shut up all alone at night with a handsome girl.”
“True,” said Oisille, “but it was Christmas night.”
“That makes him still less to blame,” said Simontault, “for, being in
Joseph’s place beside a fair virgin, he wished to try to beget an infant
and so play the Mystery of the Nativity to the life.”
“In sooth,” said Parlamente, “if he had thought of Joseph and the Virgin
Mary, he would have had no such evil purpose. At all events, he was
a wickedly-minded man to make so evil an attempt upon such slight
provocation.”
“I think,” said Oisille, “that the Countess punished him well enough to
afford an excellent example to his fellows.”
“But ‘tis questionable,” said Nomerfide, “whether she did well in thus
putting her neighbour to shame, or whether ‘twould not have been better
to have quietly shown him his faults, rather than have made them so
publicly known.”
“That would, I think, have been better,” said Geburon, “for we are
commanded to rebuke our neighbour in secret, before we speak of the
matter to any one else or to the Church. When a man has been brought to
public disgrace, he will hardly ever be able to mend his ways, but fear
of shame withdraws as many persons from sin as conscience does.”
“I think,” said Parlamente, “that we ought to observe the teaching of
the Gospel towards all except those that preach the Word of God and act
contrary to it. We should not be afraid to shame such as are accustomed
to put others to shame; indeed I think it a very meritorious thing to
make them known for what they really are, so that we take not a mock
stone (4) for a fine ruby. But to whom will Saffredent give his vote?”
4 The French word here is _doublet_. The doublet was a
piece of crystal, cut after the fashion of a diamond, and
backed with red wax so as to give it somewhat the colour of
a ruby.--B. J.
“Since you ask me,” he replied, “I will give it to yourself, to whom no
man of understanding should refuse it.”
“Then, since you give it to me, I will tell you a story to the truth of
which I can myself testify. I have always heard that when virtue abides
in a weak and feeble vessel, and is assailed by its strong and puissant
opposite, it especially deserves praise, and shows itself to be what
it really is. If strength withstand strength, it is no very wonderful
thing; but if weakness win the victory, it is lauded by every one.
Knowing, as I do, the persons of whom I desire to speak, I think that
I should do a wrong to virtue, (which I have often seen hidden under so
mean a covering that none gave it any heed), if I did not tell of her
who performed the praiseworthy actions that I now feel constrained to
relate.”
[Illustration: 122.jpg Tailpiece]
[Illustration: 123a.jpg The Girl refusing the Gift of the Young Prince]
[The Girl refusing the Gift of the Young Prince]
[Illustration: 123.jpg Page Image]
_TALE XLII_.
_A young Prince set his affections upon a young girl, and
although she was of low and poor parentage, he could not, in
spite of all his efforts, obtain from her what he had hoped
to have. Accordingly, recognising her virtue and honour, the
Prince desisted from his attempt, esteemed her highly all
his life, and, marrying her to a follower of his own,
bestowed great benefits upon her_.
In one of the best towns in Touraine there dwelt a lord of illustrious
family, who had there been brought up from early youth. Of the
perfections, graces, beauty and great virtues of this young Prince (1) I
will say nothing, except that in his time his equal could not be found.
Being fifteen years of age, he had more pleasure in hunting and hawking
than in looking at beautiful ladies.
1 This is undoubtedly Francis I., then Count of Angoulême.
M. de Lincy thinks that the scene of the story must be
Amboise, where Louise of Savoy went to live with her
children in 1499, and remained for several years; Louis XII.
having placed the château there at her disposal. Francis,
however, left Amboise to join the Court at Blois in August
1508, when less than fourteen years old (see Memoir of Queen
Margaret, vol. i. p. xxiii.), and in the tale, above, he is
said to have been fifteen at the time of the incidents
narrated. These, then, would have occurred in the autumn of
1509. It will be seen that in the tale the young Prince’s
sister (Margaret) is described as residing at the castle.
Now Margaret married Charles of Alençon at Blois, in October
1509, and forthwith removed to Alençon. Possibly Francis,
who was very precocious, especially in matters of gallantry,
engaged in the love affair narrated by his sister at a yet
earlier age than she asserts, in which case the town she
refers to would undoubtedly be Amboise.--Ed.
One day in a church he beheld a young maiden who formerly, during her
childhood, had been bred in the castle where he dwelt; but after her
mother’s death, her father having married again, she had withdrawn into
Poitou with her brother. This maiden, who was called Frances, had a
bastard sister whom her father dearly loved, and whom he had married
to the young Prince’s butler, who maintained her in as excellent a
condition as that of any of her family. It came to pass that the father
died and left to Frances as her portion what he possessed near the town
aforementioned, and thither she returned after his death; nevertheless,
being unmarried and only sixteen years of age, she would not live alone
in her house, but went to lodge with her sister, the butler’s wife.
On perceiving this girl, who was passably beautiful for a light
brunette, and possessed a grace beyond her condition (for, indeed, she
seemed rather a lady or princess than a towns-woman), the young Prince
gazed at her for a long time, and he, who never yet had loved, now
felt in his heart an unwonted delight. On returning to his apartment
he inquired concerning the maiden he had seen in the church, and then
recollected that formerly in her youth she had come to the castle to
have dolls’ play with his sister. He reminded the latter of her; and his
sister sent for her, received her kindly, and begged her to come often
to see her. This she did whenever there was a feast or entertainment;
and the young Prince was so pleased to see her that he had in mind to
be deeply in love with her, and, knowing her to be of low and poor
parentage, hoped easily to obtain what he sought.
Having no means of speaking with her, he sent a gentleman of his chamber
to her to conduct his intrigue. But she, being discreet and fearing God,
told the gentleman that she did not believe so handsome and honourable a
Prince as his master could have pleasure in looking upon one so ugly as
herself, since he had so many beautiful ladies in the castle where he
lived, that he had no need to search through the town; and she added
that in her opinion the gentleman was speaking of his own authority, and
without his master’s command.
When the young Prince received this reply, love, which becomes the
more eager the more it meets with resistance, caused him to pursue his
enterprise more hotly than before, and to write her a letter in which he
begged that she would believe all the gentleman had told her.
Being well able to read and write, she read the letter through, but, in
spite of all the gentleman’s entreaties, she would never send an answer
to it. It was not for one of such low degree, she said, to write to so
noble a Prince, and she begged the gentleman not to deem her foolish
enough to believe that the Prince had so much love for her. Moreover, he
was deceived if he thought that he could have her at his will by reason
of her humble condition; for her heart was as virtuous as that of the
greatest Princess in Christendom, and she looked upon all the treasures
in the world as naught in comparison with honour and a good conscience.
She therefore entreated him not to try to hinder her from keeping these
treasures safe her whole life long, for she would never change her mind
even were she threatened with death.
The young Prince did not find this reply to his liking, nevertheless he
loved her dearly for it, and never failed to have his chair set in the
church to which she went to hear mass, where, during the service, he
would ever turn his eyes upon the same image. When she perceived this,
she changed her place and went to another chapel--not indeed to flee the
sight of him, for she would not have been a reasonable being had she not
found pleasure in beholding him--but because she dreaded to be seen by
him. She did not deem herself worthy to be loved by him in honour or
marriage, and, on the other hand, she would not be loved wantonly and
for pleasure. When she found that, in whatever part of the church she
placed herself, the Prince heard mass close by, she would no longer
go to the same church, but repaired every day to the remotest that she
could find. And when there was feasting at the castle, although the
Prince’s sister often sent for her, she would no longer go thither, but
excused herself on the plea of sickness.
Finding that he could not have speech with her, the Prince had
recourse to his butler, and promised him great rewards if he would lend
assistance in the matter. This the butler, for the sake both of pleasing
his master and of the gain that he expected, readily promised to do.
Every day he would relate to the Prince what she said or did, telling
him that she was especially careful to shun all opportunities of seeing
him. However, the great desire that the Prince had of speaking with her
at his ease, prompted him to devise the following plan.
One day he took his chargers, which he was beginning to manage
excellently well, to a large open space in the town opposite to his
butler’s house, in which Frances lived. After making many courses and
leaps which she could easily see, he let himself fall from his horse
into some deep mire, but so softly that he was not hurt. Nevertheless he
uttered passably loud groans, and asked whether there was a house near
in which he might change his dress. Every one offered his own, but on
some one saying that the butler’s was the nearest and worthiest, it was
chosen before all the others.
He found the room well furnished, and, as all his garments were soiled
with the mud, he stripped himself to his shirt, and got into a bed.
Then, when he saw that, except the gentleman aforementioned, every one
was gone to bring him some clothes, he called his host and hostess and
asked them where Frances was. They had much ado to find her, for, as
soon as she had seen the young Prince coming in, she had gone to hide
herself in the most retired nook in the house. Nevertheless her sister
found her, and begged her not to be afraid to speak to so worshipful and
virtuous a Prince.
“What! sister,” said Frances, “do you, whom I look upon as my mother,
advise me to go and speak with a young lord, of whose purpose, as you
are aware, I cannot be ignorant?”
However, her sister addressed so many remonstrances to her, and promised
so often not to leave her alone, that she at last went with her, showing
so pale and sorry a face that she seemed more likely to beget compassion
than desire.
When the young Prince saw her by his bedside, he took hold of her hand,
which was cold and trembling, and said to her--
“Frances, do you deem me so wicked a man, and so strange and cruel, that
I eat the women I look upon? Why have you come to be so afraid of me who
seek only your honour and profit? You know that I have sought to hold
converse with you in all possible places, but all in vain; and, to
grieve me still more, you have even shunned the places where I had
been wont to see you at mass, so that my eyes might bring me as little
gladness as my tongue. But all this has availed you naught, for I have
never rested until I came hither in the manner you have seen, and I have
risked my neck, in allowing myself to fall, in order that I might have
the joy of speaking to you without hindrance. I therefore entreat you,
Frances, that the opportunity gained by so much toil may not be thrown
away, and that my deep love may avail to win your own.”
After waiting a long time for her reply, and seeing that her eyes were
full of tears and fixed upon the ground, he drew her to him as closely
as he could, and tried to embrace and kiss her. But she said to him--
“No, my lord, no; what you desire cannot be, for although I am but a
worm of the earth compared with you, I hold my honour dear, and would
rather die than lessen it for any pleasure that the world can give. And
the dread I have lest those who have seen you come in should suspect the
truth, makes me tremble and be afraid as you see. And, since it pleases
you to do me the honour of speaking to me, you will also forgive me if
I answer you according as my honour requires. I am not so foolish, my
lord, nor so blind as not to perceive and recognise the comeliness and
grace that God has given you, or not to consider that she who shall
possess the person and love of such a Prince must be the happiest woman
alive. But what does all this avail me, since it is not for me or any
woman of my condition, and since even to long for it would, in me,
be utter folly? What reason can I believe to be yours in addressing
yourself to me except that the ladies in your house, whom you must love
if you have any love for beauty and grace, are so virtuous that you dare
not seek or expect from them what the lowliness of my condition has led
you to expect from me? I am sure that if you obtained your desire from
one such as I, it would afford matter for entertainment to your mistress
during two good hours, to hear you tell her of your conquests over the
weak. But, my lord, be pleased to bear in mind that I shall never be of
their number. I have been brought up in your house, where I have learned
what it is to love; my father and my mother were your faithful servants.
Since, therefore, God has not made me a Princess to marry you, nor of
sufficient rank to be your mistress and love, you will be pleased not to
try to number me with the unfortunate, seeing that I deem and would have
you to be one of the happiest Princes in Christendom. If for diversion
you would have women of my condition, you will find in this town many
who are beyond compare more beautiful than I, and who will spare you the
pains of so many entreaties. Content yourself, then, with those to whom
you will give pleasure by the purchase of their honour, and cease to
trouble one who loves you more than she loves herself. For, indeed, if
either your life or mine were required of God this day, I should esteem
myself fortunate in offering mine to save yours. It is no lack of love
that makes me shun your presence, but rather too great a love for your
conscience and mine; for I hold my honour dearer than life. I will
continue, my lord, if it please you, in your good grace, and will all my
life pray God for your health and prosperity. And truly the honour that
you have done me will lend me consideration among those of my own rank,
for, after seeing you, where is the man of my own condition upon whom
I could deign to look? So my heart will continue free save for the duty
which shall always be mine of praying to God on your behalf. But no
other service can you ever have of me.”
On hearing this virtuous reply, contrary though it was to his desires,
the young Prince could not but esteem her as she deserved. He did all
that he could to persuade her that he would never love another woman,
but she was too prudent to suffer so unreasonable a thought to enter her
mind. While they were talking together, word was often brought that his
clothes were come from the castle, but such was his present pleasure and
comfort, that he caused answer to be given that he was asleep. And this
continued until the hour for supper was come, when he durst not fail
to appear before his mother, who was one of the discreetest ladies
imaginable.
Accordingly, the young man left his butler’s house thinking more highly
than ever of the maiden’s virtue. He often spoke of her to the gentleman
that slept in his room, and the latter, who deemed money to be more
powerful than love, advised his master to offer her a considerable sum
if she would yield to his wishes. The young Prince, whose mother was his
treasurer, had but little money for his pocket, but, borrowing as much
as he was able, he made up the sum of five hundred crowns, which he sent
by the gentleman to the girl, begging her to change her mind.