be ’twas pronounced by this same Comte Thibaut, who very like, either
because he was treated ill of her as concerning that he was fain of, or
that his love was scorned altogether, or another preferred before him,
did conceive in his heart such a disgust and discontent as did urge him
to his ruin in the wars and troubles of the time. So doth it often
fall out when a fair and high-born Queen or Princess or great lady doth
set her to govern a State, that every man doth love to serve her, and
to honour and pay respect to her, as well for the good happiness of
being agreeable to her and high in her favour, as to the end he may
boast him of governing and ruling the State along with her, and drawing
profit therefrom. I could allege many examples, but I had liever
refrain.[112*]
Be this as it may, this Comte Thibaut did find inducement in the fair
subject I have named to write excellent verses, and mayhap to pose the
question which M. Pasquier doth cite for us. To this latter I do refer
the curious reader, and do say naught here of rhymes good or ill; for
’twould be pure waste of words so to do. ’Twill be enough for me at
this present to declare what I think thereanent, whether of mine own
judgment or of that of other more experienced lovers than I.
1.
OF THE SENSE OF TOUCH IN LOVE
Now as to touch, it must be allowed that touching is very delightsome,
for that the perfection of love is to enjoy the delight thereof, and
the said enjoyment cannot be had without touching. For even as hunger
and thirst can in no wise be assuaged or appeased except by eating and
drinking, so too doth not love pass by dint either of seeing or hearing
only, but by touching, kissing and the practice of Venus’ rites. To
this did that witty coxcomb Diogenes the Cynic allude facetiously, yet
somewhat nastily, when he said he only wished he could relieve his
hunger by rubbing his belly, even as _frottant la verge_ he did appease
the paroxysm of desire. I would fain have put this in plainer words,
but ’tis a thing must needs be passed over trippingly. He was something
like that lover of Lamia,[113*] who having been too extravagantly
fleeced by her to be able to enjoy her love any more, could not or
would not consent to lose the pleasure of her. Wherefore he did devise
this plan: he would think of her, and so thinking corrupt himself, and
in this fashion enjoy her in imagination. But she hearing of this, did
summon him before the Judge to render her satisfaction and payment for
his enjoyment. Whereupon the Judge did order that he should but _show_
her the money, whose sound and tinkle would be payment enough, and she
would so enjoy the gold in imagination just as the other in dreams and
fancy had had the gratification of _his_ desire.
True, many other sorts of love may be alleged against what I say, the
which the old philosophers do feign; but for these I do refer me to
these same philosophers and the like subtle persons who will fain be
discussing such points. In any case forasmuch as the fruit of mere
earthly love is no other thing but enjoyment thereof, it must needs be
deemed to be rightly attained only by dint of touching and kissing. So
likewise have many held this pleasure to be but thin and poor, apart
from seeing and speaking; whereof we have a good example in the _Cent
Nouvelles_ of the Queen of Navarre. An honourable gentleman, having
several separate times enjoyed the favours of a certain honourable
lady, at night time and disguised with a small hand-mask, (for regular
masks as now used were not yet employed), in a dark, ill-lighted
gallery or passage, albeit he was right well assured by the sense of
touch there was nothing here but what was good, tasty and exquisite,
yet was not content, but was fain to know with whom he had to do.
Wherefore one day as he was a-kissing her and did hold her in his
arms, he did make a mark with chalk on the back of her gown, which
was of black velvet; and then in the evening after supper, (for their
assignations were at a certain fixed hour), as the ladies were coming
into the ball-room, he did place himself behind the door. Thus noting
them attentively as they passed in, he saw his own fair one enter with
the chalk mark on her shoulder; and lo! it was such an one as he would
never have dreamed of, for in mien and face and words she might have
been taken for the very Wisdom of Solomon, and by that name the Queen
was wont to describe her.
Who then was thunderstruck? Who but the gentleman, by reason of his
great good fortune, thus loved of a woman which he had deemed least
like so to yield of all the ladies of the Court? True it is he was fain
to go further, and not stop at this; for he did much desire to discover
all, and know wherefore she was so set on hiding herself from him,
and would lief have herself thus served under cover and by stealth.
But she, crafty and wily as she was, did deny and re-deny everything,
to the renunciation of her share in Paradise and the damnation of her
immortal soul,—as is the way of women, when we will throw in their
faces love secrets they had rather not have known, albeit we be certain
of the fact, and they be otherwise most truthtelling.
She grew angry at his persistence; and in this way did the gentleman
lose his good fortune. For good it was of a surety, seeing the lady
was a great lady and well worth winning. Moreover as she was for
playing the sugared, chaste, demure prude, herein he might well have
found double pleasure,—part for the sensual enjoyment of so sweet,
good and delicate a morsel, part that of gazing at her oft times in
company, with her demure, coy mien, her cold and modest look and her
conversation all chaste, strict and precise, thinking the while in his
own mind of her wanton ways, her gay abandonment and naughtiness whenas
they two were alone together.
Thus we see the said gentleman was much at fault to have asked her any
questions. Rather should he have steadily pursued his pleasure and
eaten his meat in quiet, just as tasty without candle at all as if
illuminated by all the lights of a festal chamber. Still he had a right
to know who she was! and in a way his inquisitiveness was praiseworthy,
seeing, as the Tale doth declare, he was afeared he had to do with some
kind of demon. For devils of the sort love to change shape and take the
form of women for to have intercourse with men, and do so deceive them
sore. However, as I have heard sundry skilled in magic arts declare,
such do find it more easy to take on the shape and countenance of a
woman than to imitate her speech.
And this is why the said gentleman was right in wishing to see and
know with whom he had to do; and by what he said himself, ’twas her
refraining altogether from speech that did cause him more apprehension
than what he saw, and did set him on thinking of the Devil. And herein
he but showed a proper fear of God.
But surely, after having discovered all the truth, he should have said
never a word. But, nay! another will say to this, friendship and love
be not perfect but when openly declared of heart and mouth; and for
this cause the gentleman would fain have told her his passion. Anyhow
he did gain naught thereby; but rather lost all. Moreover by any who
had known the real honour of this gentleman, he will be excused, for
he was in no wise so cold or so discreet as naturally to play this
game and display such overcaution; and by what I have heard my mother
say, which was in the service of the Queen of Navarre, and did know
sundry secrets concerning the _Nouvelles_, and was one of the devisers
of this work, the hero of the Tale was my own uncle, the late M. de la
Chastaigneraie, a man of a rough, ready and somewhat fickle disposition.
The Tale is so disguised however as to carefully hide who it was; for
in reality the said mine Uncle was never in the service of the great
Princess, the mistress of the lady in question, though he was in that
of the King, her brother. And so he did continue, for he was much loved
both of the King and the Princess. As for the lady, I will by no means
tell her name; but she was a widow and lady-in-waiting to a very great
Princess, and one that was better at showing the part of a prude than
of a Court lady.
I have heard tell of another Court lady under our late Sovereigns, and
one I do know by acquaintance, who being enamoured of a very honourable
gentleman of the Court, was fain to imitate the way of love adopted by
the aforenamed lady. But every time she did return from her assignation
and rendez-vous, she would betake her to her chamber and there have
herself examined by one of her maids or chamberwomen on all sides, to
make sure she was not marked; by the which means she did guard herself
from being discovered and recognized. Nor was she ever marked until
the ninth time of meeting, when the mark was at once discovered and
noted by her women. Wherefore, for dread of being brought to shame
and falling into disgrace, she did break it all off, and never after
returned to the tryst.
It had been better worth her while, it may be suggested, to have let
her lover make these marks at his good pleasure, and then, directly
they were made, have unmade and rubbed out the same. In this way she
would have had double pleasure,—first of the amorous delight enjoyed,
and secondly that of making mock of her man, who was so keen to
discover his philosopher’s stone, to wit to find out and recognize her,
yet could never succeed.
I have heard tell of another in the days of King Francis in connection
with that handsome Squire, Gruffy by name, which was a squire of the
Stable under the said King, and died at Naples in the suite of M. de
Lantric on his journey thither. The dame in question was a very great
lady of the Court and did fall deep in love with him; for indeed he
was exceedingly handsome, and was commonly known by no other title
than _the handsome Gruffy_. I have seen the man’s portrait, which doth
certainly show him to have been so.[114*]
She did secretly summon one day her valet of the chamber, in whom she
had trust, but yet a man unknown to most by sight, into her closet.
This man she did charge to go tell Gruffy, the messenger being
handsomely dressed to seem to be one of her gentlemen, that a very
honourable and fair lady did send him greeting, and that she was so
smit with love for him she did greatly desire his acquaintance,—more
than that of any man at court. Yet must it be under this condition
that for nothing in all the wide world must he see her or discover who
she was. But at the hour of retiring, and when every member of the
Court should be abed, he would come for him and meet him at a certain
spot he would indicate, and from whence he would lead him to the
chamber of his lady. However there was yet a further condition, to wit
that he was to muffle his eyes in a fair white kerchief, like a trumpet
led into an enemy’s city at a truce, to the end he might not see nor
recognize the place and chamber wither he was to lead him, and that he
was to hold him by the hands all the time to hinder him from undoing
the said kerchief. For such were the conditions his mistress had
ordered him to offer, to the end she might not be known of him before a
certain fixed and given time which he did name and appoint to him. All
which being so, he was to ponder it over and decide at leisure whether
he would agree to the said conditions, and was to let the messenger
know his answer the next day. For he said he would come for him then
at a certain place he did name; but above all he must be alone. And
he said he would take him on so good an errand he would never regret
having gone on the same.
Truly an agreeable assignation, but conjoined with strange conditions!
I like no less that of a Spanish lady, which did summon one to a
meeting, but with the charge he should bring with him thither three
S.S.S.,[115*] which were to signify _sabio_, _solo_, _segreto_,
“prudent, alone and secret.” The other did assure her he would come,
but that she should adorn and furnish herself with three F.F.F., that
is she must not be _fea_, _flaca_ nor _fria_, “ill-favoured, slack nor
cold.”
To return to Gruffy’s story,—the go-between now left him, having
delivered his message. Who so embarrassed and full of thought as he?
Indeed, he had much cause for thought, whether it were not a trick
played him by some enemy at Court, to bring him into trouble,—his death
mayhap or at least the King’s displeasure. He pondered too what lady it
could be, tall, short or of middle stature, well or ill favoured,—which
last did most trouble him, though truly all cats be grey at night time,
they say, and all spots alike in the dark. However, after confiding
the matter to one of his intimate comrades, he did resolve to try
the risk, deeming that to win the love of a great lady, which he did
conclude her to be, he must suffer no fear or apprehension to stay him.
Wherefore the next night, when the King, the Queen and her ladies,
all the gentlemen and ladies of the Court, were retired to bed, he
made no fail to be at the spot the messenger had appointed him. The
latter in likewise soon came for him there with a companion to help
him keep guard, if the other were followed neither by page, lackey nor
gentleman. The instant he saw him, he said this only, “Come, Sir! the
lady waits you.” Then in a moment he bound his eyes, and did conduct
him through dark, narrow places and unknown passages, in such wise that
the other told him frankly he had no notion whither he was taking him.
Thus did he introduce him to the lady’s chamber, which was so dim and
dark he could see or distinguish naught therein, no more than in an
oven.
Well, there he did find the lady smelling right sweet and richly
perfumed, the which made him hope for some dainty treat. Whereupon
the valet did straightway make him disrobe, and himself aided him;
and next led him by the hand, after taking off the kerchief from his
face, to the lady’s bed, who was awaiting him with right good will.
Then did he lay himself down beside her, and began to caress her, in
the which he found naught but what was good and delicious, as well her
skin as her linen and magnificent bed, which he did explore with his
hands. So with right merry cheer did he spend his night with the fair
lady. I have heard her name, but will not repeat it. In a word he was
well and thoroughly satisfied at all points; and recognized how he was
excellently well lodged for the night. The only thing that troubled
him, he said, was that he could never draw one single word out of her.
She took good heed of this, seeing he was used oft times to speak with
her by day, as with other Court ladies, and so would have known her
voice directly. Yet at the same time, of frolickings and fondlings,
handlings and caresses, and every sort of love shows and wantonness,
she was most lavish; and he did find his entertainment much to his mind.
Next morning at break of day the messenger did not fail to come and
wake him, make him get up, and dress him, then bind eyes as before,
lead him back to the spot whence he had taken him, and commend him to
God till his next return, which he promised should be soon. Nor did
he omit to ask him if he had lied at all, and if he were not glad to
have trusted him, and whether he thought he had showed himself a good
quartermaster, and had found him good harbourage.
The handsome Gruffy, after thanking him an hundred times, bade him
farewell, saying he would always be ready to come back again for
such good entertainment, and would be very willing to return when he
pleased. This did he, and the merry doings continued a whole month,
at the end of which time it behoved Gruffy to depart on his Naples
journey. So he took leave of his mistress and bade her adieu with much
regret, yet without drawing one single word from her lips, but only
sighs and the tears which he did note to flow from her eyes. The end
was he did finally leave her without in the least recognizing her or
discovering who she was.
Since then ’tis said this lady did practice the same way of life with
two or three others in similar fashion, in this manner taking her
enjoyment. And some declared she was fain to adopt this crafty device,
because that she was very niggardly, and in this wise did spare her
substance, and was not liable to make gifts to her lovers. For in
truth is every great lady bound by her honour to give, be it much or
little, whether money or rings or jewels or it may be richly wrought
favours. In this way the gallant dame was able to afford her person
disport, yet spare her purse, merely by never revealing who she was;
and by this means could incur no reproof in relation to either of her
purses, whether the natural or the artificial, as she did never let her
identity be known. A sorry humour truly for a high-born dame to indulge!
Some will doubtless find her method good, while others will blame her,
and others again deem her a very astute person. Certain folk will
esteem her an excellent manager and a wise, but for myself I do refer
me to others better qualified to form a good judgement thereon than
I. At any rate she can in no wise incur such severe censure as that
notorious Queen which did dwell in the Hôtel de Nesle at Paris.[116]
This wicked woman did keep watch on the passers-by, and such as liked
her for their looks and pleased her best, whatsoever sort of folk they
were, she would have summoned to her side. Then after having gotten of
them what she would, she did have them cast down from the Tower, the
which is yet standing, into the water beneath, and so drowned them.[117]
I cannot say for sure if this be a true tale. At any rate the common
folk, at least the most of them at Paris, do declare it is. And so
familiar is the tale, that if one but point to the Tower, and ask about
it, they will of their own accord recount the story.
Well, let us quit these unholy loves, which be nothing better than
sheer monstrosities. The better part of our ladies of to-day do abhor
such, as they are surely right to do, preferring to have free and frank
intercourse with their lovers and not to deal with them as though they
were of stone or marble. Rather, having well and carefully chosen them,
they know well how to be bravely and generously served and loved of
them. Then when they have thoroughly tried their fidelity and loyalty,
they do give themselves up to an ardent love with them, and take their
pleasure with the same not masked, nor silent, nor dumb, nor yet in
the darkness of night and mystery. Nay! but in the free and open light
of day they do suffer them to see, touch, taste and kiss their fair
bodies, entertaining them the while with fine, lecherous discourse,
merry, naughty words and wanton conversation. Yet sometimes will
they have recourse to masks; for there be ladies which are at times
constrained to wear them when a-doing of it, whether it be on account
of sun-burn they do so, for fear of spoiling their complexion, or for
other causes. Or they may use them to the end that, if they do get
too hot in the work, and are suddenly surprised, their red cheeks may
escape note, and the disorder of their countenances. I have known such
cases. But the mask doth hide all, and so they befool the world.
2.
OF THE POWER OF SPEECH IN LOVE
I have heard many fair ladies and cavaliers which have practised love
declare how that, but for sight and speech, they had rather be like
brute beasts, that following a mere natural appetite of the senses,
have no thought of love or affection, but only to satisfy their sensual
rage and animal heat.
Likewise have I heard many lords and gallants which have lain with
high-born ladies say, that they have ever found these an hundred times
more lascivious and outspoken in words than common women and the like.
Herein do they show much art, seeing it is impossible for a man, be
he as vigorous as he may, to be always hard at the collar and in full
work. So when the lover cometh to lie still and relax his efforts,
he doth find it so pleasant and so appetizing whenas his lady doth
entertain him with naughty tales and words of wit and wantonness, that
Venus, no matter how soundly put to sleep for the time being, is of a
sudden waked up again. Nay! more, many ladies, conversing with their
lovers in company, whether in the apartments of Queens and Princesses
or elsewhere, will strangely lure them on, for that they will be saying
such lascivious and enticing words to them that both men and women will
be just as wanton as in a bed together. Yet all the while we that be
onlookers will deem their conversation to be of quite other matters.
This again is the reason why Mark Antony did so love Cleopatra and
preferred her before his own wife Octavia, who was an hundred times
more beautiful and lovable than the Egyptian Queen. But this Cleopatra
was mistress of such happy phrases and such witty conversation, with
such wanton ways and seductive graces, that Antony did forget all else
for love of her.
Plutarch doth assure us, speaking of sundry quips and tricks of tongue
she was used to make such pretty play withal, that Mark Antony, when
he would fain imitate her, was in his bearing (albeit he was only too
anxious to play the gallant lover) like naught so much as a common
soldier or rough man-at-arms, as compared with her and her brilliant
ways of talk.[118*]
Pliny doth relate a story of her which I think excellent, and so I will
repeat the same here in brief. One day, being in one of her wildest
moods, she was attired most enticingly and to great advantage, and
especially did wear on her head a garland of divers blossoms most
suitable to provoke wanton imaginings. Well, as they sat at table,
and Mark Antony was fain to drink, she did amuse him with pleasant
discourse, and meanwhile all the time she spake, she kept plucking out
one by one fair flowers from her garland (but they were really strewed
over every one with poisonous essences), and tossing the same from time
to time into the cup Antony held ready to drink from. Presently when
she had ended her discourse and Mark Antony was on the point of lifting
the goblet to his lips to drink, Cleopatra doth stay him suddenly with
her hand, and having stationed some slave or condemned criminal ready
to hand, she did call this fellow to her and made them give him the
draught Mark Antony was about to swallow. On drinking this he fell down
dead; and she turning to Antony, said, “And if I did not love you as I
do, I should e’en now have been rid of you; yea! and would gladly have
had it so, only that I see plainly I cannot live without you.” These
words and this device were well fitted to confirm Mark Antony in his
passion, and to make him even more submissive before his charmer’s feet.
In such ways did her cleverness of tongue serve Cleopatra, whom all the
Historians do describe as having been exceedingly ready of speech. Mark
Antony was used never to call her anything but “the Queen,” by way of
greater distinction. So he did write to Octavius Cæsar, previous to the
time when they were declared open enemies: “What hath changed you,” he
writes, “concerning my loving the Queen? She is my wife. Is it but now
I have begun the connection? You fondle Drusilla, Tortalé, Leontiphé
and a dozen others; what reck you on whom you do bestow your favour,
when the caprice seizeth you?”
In this letter Mark Antony was for extolling his own constancy, and
reproaching the other’s changeableness, for loving so many women at
once, while himself did love only the Queen. And I only wonder Octavius
did not love her too after Antony’s death. It may well be he had his
pleasure when he had her come alone to his chamber, and he there beheld
her beauty and heard her address him; or mayhap he found her not so
fair as he had thought, or scorned her for some other reason, and did
wish to make his triumph of her at Rome and show her in his public
procession. But this indignity she did forestall by her self-inflicted
death.
There can be no doubt, to return to our first point, that when a woman
is fain after love, or is once well engaged therein, no orator in all
the world can talk better than she. Consider how Sophonisba hath been
described to us by Livy, Appian and other writers, and how eloquent she
did show herself in Massinissa’s case, when she did come to him for
to win over and claim his love, and later again when it behooved to
swallowed the fatal poison. In short, every woman, to be well loved, is
bound to possess good powers of speech; and in very deed there be few
known which cannot speak well and have not words enough to move heaven
and earth, yea! though this were fast frozen in mid winter.
Above all must they have this gift which devote themselves to love. If
they can say naught, why! they be so savourless, the morsel they give
us hath neither taste nor flavour. Now when M. du Bellay, speaking of
his mistress and declaring her ways, in the words,