Tale XIX. The Parting between Pauline and The Gentlemen.
Tale XX. The Lord de Riant finding the Widow with her Groom.
Tale XXI. Rolandine Conversing With Her Husband.
Tale XXII. Sister Marie and the Prior.
Tale XXIII. The Grey Friar deceiving the Gentleman Of Périgord.
Tale XXIV. Elisor showing the Queen her own Image.
Tale XXV. The Advocate’s Wife attending on the Prince.
Tale XXVI. The Lord of Avannes paying His Court in Disguise.
Tale XXVII. The Secretary imploring the Lady not To Tell Of His
Wickedness.
Tale XXVIII. The Secretary Opening the Pasty.
Tale XXIX. The Husbandman surprised by the Fall of the Winnowing Fan.
Tale XXX. The Young Gentleman embracing his Mother.
[Illustration: 001a.jpg The Parting between Pauline and The Gentlemen]
[The Parting between Pauline and The Gentlemen]
[Illustration: 001.jpg Page Image]
_TALE XIX_.
_Pauline, being in love with a gentleman no less than he was with her,
and finding that he, because forbidden ever again to speak with her, had
entered the monastery of the Observance, gained admittance for her
own part into the convent of St. Clara, where she took the veil; thus
fulfilling the desire she had conceived to bring the gentleman’s love
and her own to a like ending in respect of raiment, condition and manner
of life. (1)_
In the time of the Marquis of Mantua, (2) who had married the sister
of the Duke of Ferrara, there lived in the household of the Duchess
a damsel named Pauline, who was greatly loved by a gentleman in the
Marquis’s service, and this to the astonishment of every one; for being
poor, albeit handsome and greatly beloved by his master, he ought, in
their estimation, to have wooed some wealthy dame, but he believed that
all the world’s treasure centred in Pauline, and looked to his marriage
with her to gain and possess it.
1 The incidents related in this tale appear to have taken
place at Mantua and Ferrara. M. de Montaiglon, however,
believes that they happened at Lyons, and that Margaret laid
the scene of her story in Italy, so that the personages she
refers to might not be identified. The subject of the tale
is similar to that of the poem called _L’Amant rendu
Cordelier à l’Observance et Amour_, which may perhaps have
supplied the Queen of Navarre with the plot of her
narrative.--M. and Ed.
2 This was John Francis II. of Gonzaga, who was born in
1466, and succeeded his father, Frederic I., in 1484. He
took an active part in the wars of the time, commanding the
Venetian troops when Charles VIII. invaded Italy, and
afterwards supporting Ludovico Sforza in the defence of
Milan. When Sforza abandoned the struggle against France,
the Marquis of Mantua joined the French king, for whom he
acted as viceroy of Naples. Ultimately, however, he espoused
the cause of the Emperor Maximilian, when the latter was at
war with Venice in 1509, and being surprised and defeated
while camping on the island of La Scala, he fled in his
shirt and hid himself in a field, where, by the treachery of
a peasant who had promised him secrecy, he was found and
taken prisoner. By the advice of Pope Julius II., the
Venetians set him at liberty after he had undergone a year’s
imprisonment. In 1490 John Francis married Isabella d’Esté,
daughter of Hercules I. Duke of Ferrara, by whom he had
several children. He died at Mantua in March 1519, his widow
surviving him until 1539. Among the many dignities acquired
by the Marquis in the course of his singularly chequered
life was that of gonfalonier of the Holy Church, conferred
upon him by Julius II.--L. and En.
The Marchioness, who desired that Pauline should through her favour
make a more wealthy marriage, discouraged her as much as she could from
wedding the gentleman, and often hindered the two lovers from talking
together, pointing out to them that, should the marriage take place,
they would be the poorest and sorriest couple in all Italy. But such
argument as this was by no means convincing to the gentleman, and though
Pauline, on her side, dissembled her love as well as she could, she none
the less thought about him as often as before.
With the hope that time would bring them better fortune, this love of
theirs continued for a long while, during which it chanced that a war
broke out (3) and that the gentleman was taken prisoner along with a
Frenchman, whose heart was bestowed in France even as was his own in
Italy.
3 This would be the expedition which Louis XII. made into
Italy in 1503 in view of conquering the Kingdom of Naples,
and which was frustrated by the defeats that the French army
sustained at Seminara, Cerignoles, and the passage of the
Garigliano.--D.
Finding themselves comrades in misfortune, they began to tell their
secrets to one another, the Frenchman confessing that his heart was a
fast prisoner, though he gave not the name of its prison-house. However,
as they were both in the service of the Marquis of Mantua, this French
gentleman knew right well that his companion loved Pauline, and in all
friendship for him advised him to lay his fancy aside. This the Italian
gentleman swore was not in his power, and he declared that if the
Marquis of Mantua did not requite him for his captivity and his faithful
service by giving him his sweetheart to wife, he would presently turn
friar and serve no master but God. This, however, his companion could
not believe, perceiving in him no token of devotion, unless it were that
which he bore to Pauline.
At the end of nine months the French gentleman obtained his freedom, and
by his diligence compassed that of his comrade also, who thereupon used
all his efforts with the Marquis and Marchioness to bring about his
marriage with Pauline. But all was of no avail; they pointed out to him
the poverty wherein they would both be forced to live, as well as the
unwillingness of the relatives on either side; and they forbade him
ever again to speak with the maiden, to the end that absence and lack of
opportunity might quell his passion.
Finding himself compelled to obey, the gentleman begged of the
Marchioness that he might have leave to bid Pauline farewell, promising
that he would afterwards speak to her no more, and upon his request
being granted, as soon as they were together he spoke to her as
follows:--
“Heaven and earth are both against us, Pauline, and hinder us not only
from marriage but even from having sight and speech of one another. And
by laying on us this cruel command, our master and mistress may well
boast of having with one word broken two hearts, whose bodies, perforce,
must henceforth languish; and by this they show that they have never
known love or pity, and although I know that they desire to marry each
of us honourably and to worldly advantage,--ignorant as they are that
contentment is the only true wealth,--yet have they so afflicted and
angered me that never more can I do them loyal service. I feel sure that
had I never spoken of marriage they would not have shown themselves so
scrupulous as to forbid me from speaking to you; but I would have you
know that, having loved you with a pure and honourable love, and wooed
you for what I would fain defend against all others, I would rather die
than change my purpose now to your dishonour. And since, if I continued
to see you, I could not accomplish so harsh a penance as to restrain
myself from speech, whilst, if being here I saw you not, my heart,
unable to remain void, would fill with such despair as must end in woe,
I have resolved, and that long since, to become a monk. I know, indeed,
full well that men of all conditions may be saved, but would gladly have
more leisure for contemplating the Divine goodness, which will, I trust,
forgive me the errors of my youth, and so change my heart that it may
love spiritual things as truly as hitherto it has loved temporal things.
And if God grant me grace to win His grace, my sole care shall be to
pray to Him without ceasing for you; and I entreat you, by the true and
loyal love that has been betwixt us both, that you will remember me
in your prayers, and beseech Our Lord to grant me as full a measure
of steadfastness when I see you no more, as he has given me of joy
in beholding you. Finally, I have all my life hoped to have of you in
wedlock that which honour and conscience allow, and with this hope have
been content; but now that I have lost it and can never have you
to wife, I pray you at least, in bidding me farewell, treat me as a
brother, and suffer me to kiss you.”
When the hapless Pauline, who had always treated him somewhat
rigorously, beheld the extremity of his grief and his uprightness,
which, amidst all his despair, would suffer him to prefer but this
moderate request, her sole answer was to throw her arms around his neck,
weeping so bitterly that speech and strength alike failed her, and
she swooned away in his embrace. Thereupon, overcome by pity, love
and sorrow, he must needs swoon also, and one of Pauline’s companions,
seeing them fall one on one side and one on the other, called aloud for
aid, whereupon remedies were fetched and applied, and brought them to
themselves.
Then Pauline, who had desired to conceal her love, was ashamed at having
shown such transports; yet were her pity for the unhappy gentleman a
just excuse. He, unable to utter the “Farewell for ever!” hastened away
with heavy heart and set teeth, and, on entering his apartment, fell
like a lifeless corpse upon his bed. There he passed the night in such
piteous lamentations that his servants thought he must have lost all his
relations and friends, and whatsoever he possessed on earth.
In the morning he commended himself to Our Lord, and having divided
among his servants what little worldly goods he had, save a small sum
of money which he took, he charged his people not to follow him, and
departed all alone to the monastery of the Observance, (4) resolved to
take the cloth there and never more to quit it his whole life long.
4 The monastery of the Observance here referred to would
appear to be that at Ferrara, founded by Duke Hercules I.,
father of the Marchioness of Mantua. The name of
“Observance” was given to those conventual establishments
where the rules of monastic life were scrupulously observed,
however rigorous they might be. The monastery of the
Observance at Ferrara belonged to the Franciscan order,
reformed by the Pope in 1363.--D. and L.
The Warden, who had known him in former days, at first thought he was
being laughed at or was dreaming, for there was none in all the land
that less resembled a Grey Friar than did this gentleman, seeing that
he was endowed with all the good and honourable qualities that one
would desire a gentleman to possess. Albeit, after hearing his words and
beholding the tears that flowed (from what cause he knew not) down his
face, the Warden compassionately took him in, and very soon afterwards,
finding him persevere in his desire, granted him the cloth: whereof
tidings were brought to the Marquis and Marchioness, who thought it all
so strange that they could scarcely believe it.
Pauline, wishing to show herself untrammelled by any passion, strove as
best she might to conceal her sorrow, in such wise that all said she had
right soon forgotten the deep affection of her faithful lover. And so
five or six months passed by without any sign on her part, but in the
meanwhile some monk had shown her a song which her lover had made a
short time after he had taken the cowl. The air was an Italian one and
pretty well known; as for the words, I have put them into our own tongue
as nearly as I can, and they are these:--
What word shall be
Hers unto me,
When I appear in convent guise
Before her eyes?
Ah! sweet maiden,
Lone, heart-laden,
Dumb because of days that were;
When the streaming
Tears are gleaming
‘Mid the streaming of thy hair,
Ah! with hopes of earth denied thee,
Holiest thoughts will heavenward guide thee
To the hallowing cloister’s door.
What word shall be, &c.
What shall they say,
Who wronged us, they
Who have slain our heart’s desire,
Seeing true love
Doth flawless prove,
Thus tried as gold in fire?
When they see my heart is single,
Their remorseful tears shall mingle,
Each and other weeping sore.
What word shall be, &c.
And should they come
To will us home,
How vain were all endeavour!
“Nay, side by side,
“We here shall bide
“Till soul from soul shall sever.
“Though of love your hate bereaves us
“Yet the veil and cowl it leaves us,
“We shall wear till life be o’er.”
What word shall be, &c.
And should they move
Our flesh to love
Once more the mockers, singing
Of fruits and flowers
In golden hours
For mated hearts upspringing;
We shall say: “Our lives are given,
Flower and fruit, to God in Heaven,
Who shall hold them evermore.”
What word shall be, &c.
O victor Love!
Whose might doth move
My wearied footsteps hither,
Here grant me days
Of prayer and praise,
Grant faith that ne’er shall wither;
Love of each to either given,
Hallowed by the grace of Heaven,
God shall bless for evermore.
What word shall be, &c.
Avaunt Earth’s weal!
Its bands are steel
To souls that yearn for Heaven;
Avaunt Earth’s pride!
Deep Hell shall hide
Hearts that for fame have striven.
Far be lust of earthly pleasure,
Purity, our priceless treasure,
Christ shall grant us of His store.
What word shall be, &c.
Swift be thy feet,
My own, my sweet,
Thine own true lover follow;
Fear not the veil,
The cloister’s pall
Keeps far Earth’s spectres hollow.
Sinks the fire with fitful flashes,
Soars the Phoenix from his ashes,
Love yields Life for evermore.
What word shall be, &c.
Love, that no power
Of dreariest hour,
Could change, no scorn, no rage,
Now heavenly free
From Earth shall be,
In this, our hermitage.
Winged of love that upward, onward,
Ageless, boundless, bears us sunward,
To the heavens our souls shall soar.
What word shall be, &c.
On reading these verses through in a chapel where she was alone, Pauline
began to weep so bitterly that all the paper was wetted with her tears.
Had it not been for her fear of showing a deeper affection than was
seemly, she would certainly have withdrawn forthwith to some hermitage,
and never have looked upon a living being again; but her native
discretion moved her to dissemble for a little while longer. And
although she was now resolved to leave the world entirely, she feigned
the very opposite, and so altered her countenance, that in company she
was altogether unlike her real self. For five or six months did she
carry this secret purpose in her heart, making a greater show of mirth
than had ever been her wont.
But one day she went with her mistress to the Observance to hear high
mass, and when the priest, the deacon and the sub-deacon came out of the
vestry to go to the high altar, she saw her hapless lover, who had not
yet fulfilled his year of novitiate, acting as acolyte, carrying the
two vessels covered with a silken cloth, and walking first with his
eyes upon the ground. When Pauline saw him in such raiment as did rather
increase than diminish his comeliness, she was so exceedingly moved and
disquieted, that to hide the real reason of the colour that came into
her face, she began to cough. Thereupon her unhappy lover, who knew this
sound better than that of the cloister bells, durst not turn his head;
still on passing in front of her he could not prevent his eyes from
going the road they had so often gone before; and whilst he thus
piteously gazed on Pauline, he was seized in such wise by the fire which
he had considered well-nigh quelled, that whilst striving to conceal it
more than was in his power, he fell at full length before her. However,
for fear lest the cause of his fall should be known, he was led to say
that it was by reason of the pavement of the church being broken in that
place.
When Pauline perceived that the change in his dress had not wrought any
change in his heart, and that so long a time had gone by since he had
become a monk, that every one believed her to have forgotten him, she
resolved to fulfil the desire she had conceived to bring their love to
a like ending in respect of raiment, condition and mode of life, even
as these had been akin at the time when they abode together in the
same house, under the same master and mistress. More than four months
previously she had carried out all needful measures for taking the veil,
and now, one morning she asked leave of the Marchioness to go and hear
mass at the convent of Saint Clara, (5) which her mistress granted her,
not knowing the reason of her request. But in passing by the monastery
of the Grey Friars, she begged the Warden to summon her lover, saying
that he was her kinsman, and when they met in a chapel by themselves,
she said to him:--
5 There does not appear to have been a church of St. Clara
at Mantua, but there was one attached to a convent of that
name at Ferrara.--M. and D.
“Had my honour suffered me to seek the cloister as soon as you, I should
not have waited until now; but having at last by my patience baffled
the slander of those who are more ready to think evil than good, I am
resolved to take the same condition, raiment and life as you have taken.
Nor do I inquire of what manner they are; if you fare well, I shall
partake of your welfare, and if you fare ill, I would not be exempt. By
whatsoever path you are journeying to Paradise I too would follow; for I
feel sure that He who alone is true and perfect, and worthy to be called
Love, has drawn us to His service by means of a virtuous and reasonable
affection, which He will by His Holy Spirit turn wholly to Himself. Let
us both, I pray you, put from us the perishable body of the old Adam,
and receive and put on the body of our true Spouse, who is the Lord
Jesus Christ.”
The monk-lover was so rejoiced to hear of this holy purpose, that he
wept for gladness and did all that he could to strengthen her in her
resolve, telling her that since the pleasure of hearing her words was
the only one that he might now seek, he deemed himself happy to dwell in
a place where he should always be able to hear them. He further declared
that her condition would be such that they would both be the better for
it; for they would live with one love, with one heart and with one mind,
guided by the goodness of God, whom he prayed to keep them in His hand,
wherein none can perish. So saying, and weeping for love and gladness,
he kissed her hands; but she lowered her face upon them, and then,
in all Christian love, they gave one another the kiss of hallowed
affection.
And so, in this joyful mood Pauline left him, and came to the convent of
Saint Clara, where she was received and took the veil, whereof she sent
tidings to her mistress, the Marchioness, who was so amazed that she
could not believe it, but came on the morrow to the convent to see
Pauline and endeavour to turn her from her purpose. But Pauline replied
that she, her mistress, had had the power to deprive her of a husband in
the flesh, the man whom of all men she had loved the best, and with
that she must rest content, and not seek to sever her from One who was
immortal and invisible, for this Was neither in her power nor in that of
any creature upon earth.
The Marchioness, finding her thus steadfast in her resolve, kissed her
and left her, with great sorrow.
And thenceforward Pauline and her lover lived such holy and devout
lives, observing all the rules of their order, that we cannot doubt that
He whose law is love told them when their lives were ended, as He had
told Mary Magdalene: “Your sins are forgiven, for ye have loved
much;” and doubtless He removed them in peace to that place where the
recompense surpasses all the merits of man.
“You cannot deny, ladies, that in this case the man’s love was the
greater of the two; nevertheless, it was so well requited that I would
gladly have all lovers equally rewarded.”
“Then,” said Hircan, “there would be more manifest fools among men and
women than ever there were.”
“Do you call it folly,” said Oisille, “to love virtuously in youth and
then to turn this love wholly to God?”
“If melancholy and despair be praiseworthy,” answered Hircan, laughing,
“I will acknowledge that Pauline and her lover are well worthy of
praise.”
“True it is,” said Geburon, “that God has many ways of drawing us to
Himself, and though they seem evil in the beginning, yet in the end they
are good.”
“Moreover,” said Parlamente, “I believe that no man can ever love God
perfectly that has not perfectly loved one of His creatures in this
world.”
“What do you mean by loving perfectly?” asked Saffredent. “Do you
consider that those frigid beings who worship their mistresses in
silence and from afar are perfect lovers?”
“I call perfect lovers,” replied Parlamente, “those who seek perfection
of some kind in the objects of their love, whether beauty, or goodness,
or grace, ever tending to virtue, and who have such noble and upright
hearts that they would rather die than do base things, contrary and
repugnant to honour and conscience. For the soul, which was created for
nothing but to return to its sovereign good, is, whilst enclosed in the
body, ever desirous of attaining to it. But since the senses, through
which the soul receives knowledge, are become dim and carnal through the
sin of our first parent, they can show us only those visible things that
approach towards perfection; and these the soul pursues, thinking to
find in outward beauty, in a visible grace and in the moral virtues, the
supreme, absolute beauty, grace and virtue. But when it has sought and
tried these external things and has failed to find among them that which
it really loves, the soul passes on to others; wherein it is like a
child, which, when very young, will be fond of dolls and other trifles,
the prettiest its eyes can see, and will heap pebbles together in the
idea that these form wealth; but as the child grows older he becomes
fond of living dolls, and gathers together the riches that are needful
for earthly life. And when he learns by greater experience that in all
these earthly things there is neither perfection nor happiness, he
is fain to seek Him who is the Creator and Author of happiness and
perfection. Albeit, if God should not give him the eye of Faith, he will
be in danger of passing from ignorance to infidel philosophy, since it
is Faith alone that can teach and instil that which is right; for this,
carnal and fleshly man can never comprehend.” (6)
6 The whole of this mystical dissertation appears to have
been inspired by some remarks in Castiglione’s _Libro del
Cortegiano_--which Margaret was no doubt well acquainted
with, as it was translated into French in 1537 by Jacques
Colin, her brother’s secretary. This work, which indeed
seems to have suggested several passages in the
_Heptameron_, was at that time as widely read in France as
in Italy and Spain.--B. J. and D.
“Do you not see,” said Longarine, “that uncultivated ground which bears
plants and trees in abundance, however useless they may be, is valued by
men, because it is hoped that it will produce good fruit if this be sown
in it? In like manner, if the heart of man has no feeling of love for
visible things, it will never arrive at the love of God by the sowing of
His Word, for the soul of such a heart is barren, cold and worthless.”
“That,” said Saffredent, “is the reason why most of the doctors are
not spiritual. They never love anything but good wine and dirty,
ill-favoured serving-women, without making trial of the love of
honourable ladies.”
“If I could speak Latin well,” said Simontault, “I would quote you St.
John’s words: ‘He that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can
he love God whom he hath not seen?’ (7) From visible things we are led
on to love those that are invisible.”
“If,” said Ennasuite, “there be a man as perfect as you say, _quis est
ille et laudabimus eum?_” (8)