The lady, who had dealt so sternly with him, knew very well that his
sickness was caused by her refusal alone, and she sent to him an old
woman in whom she trusted, to tell him that, since she saw his love to
be genuine and unfeigned, she was now resolved to grant him all that
which she had refused him so long. She had therefore devised a means to
leave her house and go to a place where he might privately see her.
The gentleman, who that same morning had been bled in the arm,
found himself better cured by this message than by any medicine or
bloodletting he could have had, and he sent word that he would be at the
place without fail at the hour she had appointed. He added that she had
wrought an evident miracle, since with one word she had cured a man of a
sickness for which all the doctors were not able to find a remedy.
The longed-for evening being come, the gentleman repaired to the
appointed place with such extreme joy as must needs come soon to an end,
since increase of it were not possible. He had waited but a short time
after his arrival, when she whom he loved more dearly than his own soul
came to meet him. He did not occupy himself with making long speeches,
for the fire that consumed him prompted him to seek with all speed that
which he could scarcely believe to be at last within his power. But
whilst, intoxicated beyond measure with love and joy, he was in one
direction seeking a cure that would give him life, he brought to pass
in another the hastening of his death; for, heedless of himself for his
sweetheart’s sake, he perceived not that his arm became unbound, and
that the newly-opened wound discharged so much blood that he was, poor
gentleman, completely bathed in it. Thinking, however, that his weakness
had been caused by his excess, he bethought himself of returning home.
Then love, which had too closely united them, so dealt with him that, as
he was parting from his sweetheart, his soul parted from his body, and,
by reason of his great loss of blood, he fell dead at his lady’s feet.
She, on her side, stood there in astonishment, contemplating the loss of
so perfect a lover, of whose death she had herself been the sole cause.
Reflecting, on the other hand, on the shame and sorrow that would be
hers if the dead body were found in her house, she carried it, with a
serving-woman whom she trusted, into the street in order that the matter
might not be known. Nevertheless, she felt that she could not leave it
there alone. Taking up the dead man’s sword, she was fain to share his
fate, and, indeed, to punish her heart, which had been the cause of all
his woe, she pierced it through and through, so that her dead body fell
upon that of her lover.
When her father and mother came out of their house in the morning,
they found this pitiful sight, and, after making such mourning as was
natural, they buried the lovers together.
“Thus, ladies, may it be seen that excessive love brings with it other
woe.”
“This is what I like to see,” said Simontault, “a love so equal that
when one died the other could not live. Had I, by the grace of God,
found such a mistress, I think that none could ever have ioved her more
perfectly than I.”
“Yet am I of opinion,” said Parlamente, “that you would not have been so
blinded by love as not to bind up your arm better than he did. The days
are gone when men were wont to forget their lives for the ladies’ sake.”
“But those are not gone,” said Simontault, “when ladies are apt to
forget their lovers’ lives for their pleasure’s sake.”
“I think,” said Ennasuite, “that there is no living woman that can take
pleasure in the death of a man, no, not even though he were her enemy.
Still, if men will indeed kill themselves, the ladies cannot prevent
them.”
“Nevertheless,” said Saffredent, “she that denies the gift of bread to a
poor starving man is held to be a murderess.”
“If your requests,” said Oisille, “were as reasonable as those of a poor
man seeking to supply his needs, it would be over cruel of the ladies to
refuse you. God be thanked, however, your sickness kills none but such
as must of necessity die within the year.”
“I do not understand, madam,” said Saffredent, “that there can be any
greater need than that which causes all others to be forgotten. When
love is deep, no bread and no meat whatsoever can be thought of save the
glance and speech of the woman whom one loves.”
“If you were allowed to fast,” said Oisille, “with no other meat but
that, you would tell a very different tale.”
“I acknowledge,” he replied, “that the body might fail, but not so the
heart and will.”
“Then,” said Parlamente, “God has dealt very mercifully with you in
leading you to have recourse to a quarter where you find such little
contentment that you must needs console yourself with eating and
drinking. Methinks in these matters you acquit yourself so well, that
you should praise God for the tenderness of His cruelty.”
“I have been so nurtured in torment,” he replied, “that I am beginning
to be well pleased with woes of which other men complain.”
“Perhaps,” said Longarine, “our complaints debar you from company where
your gladness makes you welcome; for nothing is so vexatious as an
importunate lover.”
“Say, rather,” answered Simontault, “as a cruel lady ------’”
“I clearly see,” said Oisille, “now that the matter touches Simontault,
that, if we stay until he brings his reasonings to an end, we shall find
ourselves at complines (3) rather than vespers. Let us, therefore, go
and praise God that this day has passed without graver dispute.”