“Alas,” said Oisille, “how many virtuous persons did that Prior deceive!
For I saw people put more trust in him than even in God.”
“_I_ should not have done so,” said Nomerfide, “for such is my horror of
monks that I could not confess to one. I believe they are worse than
all other men, and never frequent a house without leaving disgrace or
dissension behind them.”
“There are good ones among them,” said Oisille, “and they ought not
to be judged by the bad alone; but the best are those that least often
visit laymen’s houses and women.”
“You are right,” said Ennasuite. “The less they are seen, the less
they are known, and therefore the more highly are they esteemed; for
companionship with them shows what they really are.”
“Let us say no more about them,” said Nomerfide, “and see to whom
Geburon will give his vote.”
“I shall give it,” said he, “to Madame Oisille, that she may tell us
something to the credit of Holy Church.” (12)
12 In lieu of this phrase, the De Thou MS. of the
_Heptameron_ gives the following: “To make amends for his
fault, if fault there were in laying bare the wretched and
abominable life of a wicked Churchman, so as to put others
on their guard against the hypocrisy of those resembling
him, Geburon, who held Madame Oysille in high esteem, as one
should hold a lady of discretion, who was no less reluctant
to speak evil than prompt to praise and publish the worth
which she knew to exist in others, gave her his vote,
begging her to tell something to the honour of our holy
religion.”--L.
“We have sworn,” said Oisille, “to speak the truth, and I cannot
therefore undertake such a task. Moreover, in telling your tale you have
reminded me of a very pitiful story which I feel constrained to relate,
seeing that I am not far from the place where, in my own time, the
thing came to pass. I shall tell it also, ladies, to the end that the
hypocrisy of those who account themselves more religious than their
neighbours, may not so beguile your understanding as to turn your faith
out of the right path, and lead you to hope for salvation from any other
than Him who has chosen to stand alone in the work of our creation and
redemption. He is all powerful to save us unto life eternal, and,
in this temporal life, to comfort us and deliver us from all our
tribulations. And knowing that Satan often transforms himself into an
angel of light so that the outward eye, blinded by the semblance of
holiness and devotion, cannot apprehend that from which we ought to
flee, I think it well to tell you this tale, which came to pass in our
own time.”
[Illustration: 095.jpg Tailpiece]
[Illustration: 097a.jpg The Grey Friar deceiving the Gentleman Of Périgord]
[The Grey Friar deceiving the Gentleman Of Périgord]
[Illustration: 097.jpg Page Image]
_TALE XXIII_.
_The excessive reverence shown by a gentleman of Périgord to
the Order of St. Francis, brought about the miserable death
of his wife, his little child and himself_. (1)
1 Etienne introduces this tale into his _Apologie pour
Hérodote_, ch. xxi.--B. J.
In the county of Périgord dwelt a gentleman whose devotion to St.
Francis was such that in his eyes all who wore the saint’s robe must
needs be as holy as the saint himself. To do honour to the latter,
he had caused rooms and closets to be furnished in his house for the
lodgment of the brethren, and he regulated all his affairs by their
advice, even to the most trifling household matters, believing that he
must needs pursue the right path if he followed their good counsels.
Now it happened that this gentleman’s wife, who was a beautiful woman
and as discreet as she was virtuous, was brought to bed of a fine boy,
whereat the love which her husband bore her was increased twofold.
One day, in order to entertain his dear, he sent for one of his
brothers-in-law, and just as the hour for supper was drawing nigh, there
arrived also a Grey Friar, whose name I will keep secret out of regard
for his Order. The gentleman was well pleased to see his spiritual
father, from whom he had no secrets, and after much talk among his wife,
his brother-in-law and the monk, they sat down to supper. While they
were at table the gentleman cast his eyes upon his wife, who was indeed
beautiful and graceful enough to be desired of a husband, and thereupon
asked this question aloud of the worthy father--
“Is it true, father, that a man commits mortal sin if he lies with his
wife at the time of her lying-in?” (2)
2 Meaning the period between her delivery and her
churching.--Ed.
The worthy father, whose speech and countenance belied his heart,
answered with an angry look--
“Undoubtedly, sir, I hold this to be one of the very greatest sins that
can be committed in the married state. The blessed Virgin Mary would not
enter the temple until the days of her purification were accomplished,
although she had no need of these; and if she, in order to obey the law,
refrained from going to the temple wherein was all her consolation,
you should of a surety not fail to abstain from such slight pleasure.
Moreover, physicians say that there is great risk to the offspring so
begotten.”
When the gentleman heard these words, he was greatly downcast, for he
had hoped that the good Friar would give him the permission he sought;
however, he said no more. Meanwhile the worthy father, who had drunk
more than was needful, looked at the lady, (3) thinking to himself that,
if he were her husband, he would ask no Friar’s advice before lying
with her; and just as a fire kindles little by little until at last it
envelops the whole house, so this monk began to burn with such exceeding
lust that he suddenly resolved to satisfy a desire which for three years
he had carried hidden in his heart.
3 The French word here is _damoiselle_, by which
appellation the lady is called throughout the story. Her
husband, being a petty nobleman, was a _damoiseau_, whence
the name given to his wife. The word _damoiselle_ is
frequently employed in the _Heptameron_, and though
sometimes it merely signifies an attendant on a lady, the
reference is more frequently to a woman of gentle birth,
whether she be spinster, wife or widow. Only women of high
nobility and of the blood royal were at that time called
_Madame_.--Ed.
After the tables had been withdrawn, he took the gentleman by the
hand, and, leading him to his wife’s bedside, (4) said to him in her
presence--
“It moves my pity, sir, to see the great love which exists between you
and this lady, and which, added to your extreme youth, torments you so
sore. I have therefore determined to tell you a secret of our sacred
theology which is that, although the rule be made thus strict by reason
of the abuses committed by indiscreet husbands, it does not suffer
that such as are of good conscience like you should be balked of all
intercourse. If then, sir, before others I have stated in all its
severity the command of the law, I will now reveal to you, who are a
prudent man, its mildness also. Know then, my son, that there are women
and women, just as there are men and men. In the first place, my
lady here must tell us whether, three weeks having gone by since her
delivery, the flow of blood has quite ceased?”
4 The supper would appear to have been served in the
bedroom, and the tables were taken away as soon as the
repast was over. It seems to us very ridiculous when on the
modern stage we see a couple of lackeys bring in a table
laden with viands and carry it away again as soon as the
_dramatis personæ_ have dined or supped. Yet this was the
common practice in France in Queen Margaret’s time.--Ed.
The lady replied that it had.
“Then,” said the Friar, “I permit you to lie with her without scruple,
provided that you are willing to promise me two things.”
The gentleman replied that he was willing.
“The first,” said the good father, “is that you speak to no one
concerning this matter, but come here in secret. The second is that
you do not come until two hours after midnight, so that the good lady’s
digestion be not hindered.”
These things the gentleman promised; and he confirmed his promise with
so strong an oath that the other, knowing him to be foolish rather than
false, was quite satisfied.
After much converse the good father withdrew to his chamber, giving them
good-night and an abundant blessing. But, as he was going, he took the
gentleman by the hand, and said to him--
“You too, sir, i’ faith must come, nor keep your poor lady longer
awake.”
Thereupon the gentleman kissed her. “Sweetheart,” said he, and the good
father heard him plainly, “leave the door of your room open for me.”
And so each withdrew to his own chamber.
On leaving them the Friar gave no heed to sleep or to repose, and, as
soon as all the noises in the house were still, he went as softly as
possible straight to the lady’s chamber, at about the hour when he was
wont to go to matins, and finding the door open in expectation of the
master’s coming, he went in, cleverly put out the light, and speedily
got into bed with the lady, without speaking a single word.