Transcriber’s Note
In the following transcription, italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Small capitals in the original text have been transcribed as ALL
CAPITALS.
Superscripts in the text are denoted by a prefixing caret symbol (^).
A letter (as in 8^o), or letters in curly braces (as in I^{er}), that
follow the caret symbol are to be read as superscripts.
See end of this document for details of corrections and other changes.
—————————————— Start of Book ——————————————
Lives of
Fair and Gallant Ladies
————
VOLUME II
[Illustration: Marguerite of Valois
_From an old engraving._]
Lives
Of
Fair and Gallant Ladies
By
The Seigneur De Brantôme
TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL
————
VOLUME II
————
The Alexandrian Society, Inc.
London and New York
1922
COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY
THE ALEXANDRIAN SOCIETY, INC.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
[Illustration: Decorative scrollwork above chapter start]
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION. BY GEORG HARSDÖRFER vii
FIFTH DISCOURSE
TELLING HOW FAIR AND HONORABLE LADIES DO LOVE
BRAVE AND VALIANT MEN, AND BRAVE MEN COURAGEOUS
WOMEN 3
SIXTH DISCOURSE
OF HOW WE SHOULD NEVER SPEAK ILL OF LADIES, AND
OF THE CONSEQUENCES OF SO DOING 91
SEVENTH DISCOURSE
CONCERNING MARRIED WOMEN, WIDOWS AND MAIDS: TO WIT, WHICH
OF THESE SAME BE BETTER THAN THE OTHER TO LOVE 151
ARTICLE I. OF THE LOVE OF MARRIED WOMEN 156
ARTICLE II. OF THE LOVE OF MAIDS 171
ARTICLE III. OF THE LOVE OF WIDOWS 203
NOTES 335
[Illustration: Decorative scrollwork above chapter start]
INTRODUCTION
The Mondragola of Machiavelli, which reflects Italian morals at the
time of the Renaissance, is well known. Lafontaine has later made use
of this motif in one of his humorous stories. In the fourth chapter
Liguro arrays in battle order an officer, a valet and a doctor, for a
humorous love expedition. Liguro says: “In the right corner we shall
place Callimaque; I shall place myself in the extreme left corner, and
the doctor in the middle. He will be called St. Cuckold.”
An interlocutor: “Who is this Saint?”
“The greatest Saint of France.”
This question and the answer given are delicious. Brantôme might have
made this witticism even in his time. Perhaps he merely did not write
it down, for after all he could not make too extensive use of his
favorite play with the word “cocu.”
“The cuckold, the greatest Saint of France”; this might have been the
motto of the “Dames Galantes.” Philarete Chasles would have denied
this, of course. He always maintained that Gaul was pure and chaste,
and that if France was full of vice, it had merely been infected by
neighboring peoples. But this worthy academician was well informed
merely regarding Italian influence. He was extremely unaware of the
existence of the cuckold in the sixteenth century. He even asserts in
the strongest terms (in his preface to the edition of 1834) that all
of this had not been so serious; the courtiers had merely desired to
be immoral in an elegant fashion. He even calls Brantôme “un fanfaron
de licence,” a braggart of vice. Indeed he would feel unhappy if he
could not reassure us: “Quand il se plonge dans les impuretes, c’est,
croyez-moi, pure fanfaronnade de vice.” Who would not smile at this
worthy academician who has remained so unfamiliar with the history of
his kings? His “believe me” sounds very well. But the best is yet to
come. The book of the “Dames Galantes” was by no means to be considered
merely a frivolous collection of scandalous anecdotes, but a “curious
historical document.”
There will probably always be a difference of opinion regarding
Brantôme’s position in the history of civilization. It will probably
be impossible to change the judgments of the ordinary superficial
reader. But we do not wish to dispose of Brantôme as simply as that.
It is very easy for a Puritan to condemn him. But we must seek to form
a fairer judgment. Now in order to overcome this difficulty, it is, of
course, very tempting simply to proclaim his importance for the history
of civilization and to put him on the market as such. This would not
be wrong, but this method has been used altogether too freely, both
properly and improperly. Besides, Brantôme is too good to be labelled
in this manner. He does not need it either, he is of sufficient
historical importance even without its being pointed out. The question
now arises: From what point of view are we then to comprehend Brantôme?
We could answer, from the time in which he lived. But that, speaking
in such general terms, is a commonplace. It is not quite correct
either. For in spite of the opinions of the educated we must clearly
distinguish between Brantôme as an author and Brantôme as a man—and we
shall hear more of this bold anarchistic personality, who almost throws
his chamberlain’s key back at the king. This is another striking case
where the author must by no means be identified with his book. These
events might have passed through another person’s mind; they would
have remained the same nevertheless. For Brantôme did not originate
them, he merely chronicled them. Now it usually happens that things
are attributed to an author of which he is entirely innocent (does not
Society make an author pay for his confessions in book-form?). He
is even charged with a crime when he merely reports such events. The
responsibility which Brantôme must bear for his writings is greatly
to be limited. And if our educated old maids simply refuse to be
reconciled with his share we need merely tell them that this share is
completely neutralized by his own personal life.
Brantôme undoubtedly considered himself an historian. That was a
pardonable error. There is a great difference of opinion regarding the
historical value of his reports, the most general opinion being that
Brantôme’s accuracy is in no way to be relied upon, and that he was
more a chronicler and a writer of memoirs. To be sure, Brantôme cannot
prove the historical accuracy of every statement he makes. Who would be
able to give an exact account of this kaleidoscope of details? But the
significance, the symbolic value is there.
In order to substantiate this sharp distinction between the book of
Fair and Gallant Ladies and the supposed character of its author, I
must be permitted to describe France of the sixteenth century. Various
essayists have said that this period had been quite tame and pure
in morals, that Brantôme had merely invented and exaggerated these
stories. But when they began to cite examples, it became evident that
their opinion was like a snake biting its own tail. Their examples
proved the very opposite of their views.
Brantôme’s book could only have been written at the time of the last of
the Valois. These dissolute kings furnished material for his book. Very
few of these exploits can be charged to his own account, and even these
he relates in an impersonal manner. Most of them he either witnessed or
they were related to him, largely by the kings themselves. No matter
in what connection one may read the history of the second half of the
sixteenth century, the dissolute, licentious and immoral Valois are
always mentioned. The kings corrupted this period to such an extent
that Brantôme would have had to be a Heliogabalus in order to make his
own contributions felt.
At the beginning of this period we meet with the influence of the
Italian Renaissance. Through the crusades of Charles VIII., France
came into close contact with it. These kings conducted long wars for
the possession of Milan, Genoa, Siena and Naples. A dream of the
South induced the French to cross the Alps, and every campaign was
followed by a new flood of Italian culture. If at the beginning of the
sixteenth century France was not yet the Capital of grand manners,
it approached this condition with giant strides during the reign of
Francis I. For now there was added an invasion of Spanish culture. Next
to Rome, Madrid had the greatest influence upon Paris. Francis I., this
chivalrous king (1515–1547), introduced a flourishing court life. He
induced Italian artists such as Leonardo and Cellini to come to Blois
and try to introduce the grand Spanish manners into his own court. For
a time France still seemed to be an imitation of Italy, but a poor
one. With the preponderance of the Spanish influence the Etiquette of
Society approached its perfection.
Francis I. therefore brought knighthood into flower. He considered a
nobleman the foremost representative of the people and prized chivalry
more than anything else. The court surrendered itself to a life of
gaiety and frivolity; even at this period the keeping of mistresses
became almost an official institution. “I have heard of the king’s
wish,” Brantôme relates, “that the noblemen of his court should not
be without a lady of their heart and if they did not do as he wished
he considered them simpletons without taste. But he frequently asked
the others the name of their mistresses and promised to help and to
speak for them. Such was his kindness and intimacy.” Francis I. is
responsible for this saying: “A court without women is like a year
without a spring, like a spring without roses.” To be sure, there was
also another side to this court life. There were serious financial
troubles, corruption in administration and sale of offices. The Italian
architects who constructed the magnificent buildings of Saint Germain,
Chantilly, Chambord and Chenonceaux were by no means inexpensive. Great
interest was also taken in literary things. A more refined French was
developed at this period. In Blois a library, Chambre de Librarye,
was established. All of the Valois had great talent in composing
poetic epistles, songs and stories, not merely Marguerite of Navarre,
the sister of Francis I., who following the example of her brother
was a patroness of the arts. To be sure, mention is also made of the
“terrifying immorality” in Pau, even though this may not have been
so bad. Brantôme is already connected with this court life in Pau.
His grandmother, Louise of Daillon, Seneschal of Poitiers, was one
of the most intimate ladies-in-waiting of the Queen of Navarre. His
mother, Anne of Bourdeille, is even introduced in several stories of
the _Heptameron_. She is called Ennasuite, and his father Francis of
Bourdeille appears as Simontaut. Life in the Louvre became more and
more lax. Francis I., this royal Don Juan, is even said to have been
a rival of his son, without our knowing, however, whether this refers
to Catherine of Medici or to Diana of Poitiers. Another version of the
story makes Henri II. a rival of his father for the favor of Diana of
Poitiers. But the well known revenge of that deceived nobleman which
caused the death of Francis I. was entirely unnecessary. It is said
that the king had been intentionally infected. He could not be healed
and died of this disease. At any rate, his body was completely poisoned
by venereal ulcers, when he died. This physical degeneration was a
terrible heritage which he left to his son, Henri II. (1547–1550).
The latter had in the meantime married Catherine of Medici. Italian
depravities now crossed the Alps in even greater numbers. She was
followed by a large number of astrologers, dancers, singers, conjurors
and musicians who were like a plague of locusts. She thus accelerated
the cultural process, she steeped the court of Henri II. as well as
that of his three sons in the spirit of Italy and Spain. (The numerous
citations of Brantôme indicate the frequency and closeness of
relations at this time between France and Spain, the classical country
of chivalry.) But her greed for power was always greater than her
sensual desires. Though of imposing exterior, she was not beautiful,
rather robust, ardently devoted to hunting, and masculine also in the
quantity of food she consumed. She talked extremely well and made
use of her literary skill in her diplomatic correspondence, which is
estimated at about 6,000 letters. She was not, however, spared the
great humiliation of sharing the bed and board of her royal husband
with Madame de Valentinois, Diana of Poitiers, the mistress of Henri
II. In this difficult position with an ignorant and narrow-minded
husband who was moreover completely dominated by his favorites, she
maintained a very wise attitude. Catherine of Medici was, of course, an
intriguing woman who later tried to carry out her most secret purposes
in the midst of her own celebrations.
Henri II. had four sons and a daughter, who were born to him by
Catherine of Medici after ten years of sterility. In them the tragic
fate of the last of the Valois was fulfilled. One after the other
mounts the throne which is devoid of any happiness. The last of them
is consumed when he has barely reached it. The blood of the Valois
would have died out completely but for its continuation in the Bourbons
through Marguerite, the last of the Valois, who with her bewitching
beauty infatuated men and as the first wife of Henri IV. filled the
world with the reports of her scandalous life. There is tragedy in the
fact that the book of Fair and Gallant Ladies was dedicated to Alençon,
the last and youngest of the Valois. Of these four sons each was more
depraved than the other; they furnished the material for Brantôme’s
story. The book of Fair and Gallant Ladies, therefore, also seals the
end of the race.
The line began with Francis II. He mounted the throne when he was a boy
of sixteen. He was as weak mentally as he was physically. He died in
1560, less than a year later, “as a result of an ulcer in the head.”
Then Catherine of Medici was Regent for ten years. In 1571 the next
son, Charles, was old enough to mount the throne. He was twenty-two
years old, tall and thin, weak on his legs, with a stooping position
and sickly pale complexion. Thus he was painted by François Clouet,
called Janet, a famous painting which is now in possession of the Duke
of Aumale. While a young prince, he received the very best education.
His teachers were Amyot and Henri Estienne, with whom he read Plotin,
Plato, Virgil, Cicero, Tacitus, Polybius and Machiavelli. Amyot’s
translation of Plutarch’s Lives delighted the entire court. “The
princesses of the House of France,” Brantôme relates, “together with
their ladies-in-waiting and maids-of-honor, took the greatest pleasure
in the sayings of the Greeks and Romans which have been preserved
by sweet Plutarch.” Thus literature came into its own even in this
court life. But they did not merely do homage to the old classical
literature, all of them were also versed in the art of the sonnet, and
were able to rhyme graceful love songs as well as Ronsard. Charles IX.
himself wrote poetry and translated the Odes of Horace into French.
His effeminate nature, at one moment given to humiliating excesses
and in the next consumed by pangs of conscience, was fond of graceful
and frivolous poetry. But there was also some good in this movement.
Whereas the French language had been officially designated in 1539
as the Language of Law, to be used also in lectures, Charles IX. now
gave his consent in 1570 for the founding of a Society to develop
and purify the language. But even in this respect the honest de Thou
denounced “this depraved age” and spoke of “the poisoning of women
by immoral songs.” This worthy man himself wrote Latin, of course.
A time of disorder was now approaching, the revolts of the Huguenots
were sweeping through France. But these very disorders and dangers
encouraged a certain bold carelessness and recklessness. Murder was
slinking through the streets. It was the year of St. Bartholomew’s Eve.
The Duke of Anjou himself relates that he feared to be stabbed by his
own brother king, Charles IX., and later when he himself mounted the
throne his brother Alençon was in conspiracy against him. The Mignons
and the Rodomonts, the coxcombs and braggarts, were increasing at this
depraved court. Soon it was able seriously to compete with Madrid and
Naples. Indeed the people down there now began to look up to France as
the centre of fashion. Brantôme was the first to recognize this and he
was glad of it. Indeed he even encouraged it. Even at that time the
Frenchman wished to be superior to all other people.
The king was completely broken by the results of St. Bartholomew’s Eve.
His mind wandered back and forth. He became gloomy and vehement, had
terrible hallucinations, and heard the spirits of the dead in the air.
By superhuman exertions he tried to drown his conscience and procure
sleep. He was constantly hunting, remaining in the saddle continuously
from twelve to fourteen hours and often three days in succession. When
he did not hunt he fenced or played ball or stood for three to four
hours at the blacksmith’s anvil swinging an enormous hammer. Finally,
consumption forced him to stay in bed. But even now he passed his time
by writing about his favorite occupation, he was composing the _Livre
du Roy Charles_, a dissertation on natural history and the deer hunt.
When he reached the twenty-ninth chapter death overtook him. This
fragment deserves praise, it was well thought out and not badly written.
It is always unpleasant to say of a king that he had more talent to
be an author than a king. It is unfortunate but true that the Valois
were a literary race. But France itself in 1577 was in a sorry state.
Everywhere there were ruins of destroyed villages and castles. There
were enormous stretches of uncultivated land and cattle-raising was
greatly diminished. There were many loafing vagabonds accustomed to war
and robbery who were a danger to the traveller and the farmer. Every
province, every city, almost every house was divided against itself.
Francis of Alençon, the fourth of these brothers, who felt himself
coming of age, the last of the Valois, had already begun his agitation.
Charles IX. despised him and suspected his secret intrigues. His other
brother, Henri, had to watch his every step in order to feel secure.
Henri III. (1574–1589), formerly Henri of Anjou, was barely twenty-five
years old when his strength was exhausted. But his greed of power which
had already made him king of the Polish throne was still undiminished.
He was the most elegant, the most graceful and the most tasteful of the
Valois. It was therefore only to be expected that he would introduce
new forms of stricter etiquette. D’Aubigne relates that he was a good
judge of the arts, and that he was “one of the most eloquent men of
his age.” He was always on the search for poetry to gratify his erotic
impulses. A life of revelry and pleasure now began in the palace.
Immorality is the mildest reproach of his contemporary chroniclers.
Although well educated and a friend of the Sciences, of Poetry and the
Arts, as well as gifted by nature with a good mind, he was nevertheless
very frivolous, indifferent, physically and mentally indolent. He
almost despised hunting as much as the conscientious discharge of
government affairs. He greatly preferred to be in the society of women,
himself dressed in a feminine fashion, with two or three rings in
each ear. He usually knew what was right and proper, but his desires,
conveniences and other secondary matters prevented him from doing it.
He discharged all the more serious and efficient men and surrounded
himself with insignificant coxcombs, the so-called Mignons, with
whom he dallied and adorned himself, and to whom he surrendered the
government of the state. These conceited young men, who were without
any redeeming merit, simply led a gay life at the court. In his History
of France (I, 265), Ranke relates: “He surrounded himself with young
people of pleasing appearance who tried to outdo him in cleanliness of
dress and neatness of appearance. To be a favorite, a Mignon, was not
a question of momentary approval but a kind of permanent position.”
Assassinations were daily occurrences. D’Aubigne severely criticized
the terrifying conditions in the court and public life in general. A
chronicler says: “At that time anything was permitted except to say
and do what was right and proper.” This frivolous, scandalous court
consumed enormous sums of money. Such a miserable wretch as Henri III.
required for his personal pleasures an annual sum of 1,000,000 gold
thalers, which is equivalent to about $10,000,000 in present values,
and yet the entire state had to get along with 6,000,000 thalers. For
this was all that could be squeezed out of the country. Ranke says
(page 269): “In a diary of this period, the violent means of obtaining
money and the squandering of the same by the favorites are related side
by side, and it shows the disagreeable impression that these things
made.” Then there was also the contrast between his religious and his
worldly life. At one time he would steep his feelings in orgies, then
again he would parade them in processions. He was entirely capable of
suddenly changing the gayest raiment for sackcloth and ashes. He would
take off his jewel-covered belt and put on another covered with skulls.
And in order that Satan might not be lacking, the criminal court
(“chambre ardente”) which was established at Blois had plenty of work
to do during his reign. It was also evident that he would never have
any children with his sickly wife.
This same Henry III. while still Duke of Orleans tried to gain the
favor of Brantôme, who was then twenty-four years old, and when he
entered upon his reign appointed him his chamberlain. This appointment
took place in 1574. At the same time, however, Francis of Alençon
sought his favor. Subsequently Brantôme entered into very intimate
relations with him.
Alençon is described to us as being small though well built but with
coarse, crude features, with the temper and irritability of a woman and
even greater cowardliness, likewise unreliable, ambitious and greedy.
He was a very vain, frivolous person without political or religious
convictions. From his youth up he was weak and sickly. His brother
Henri despised and hated him and kept him a barely concealed prisoner
as long as he could. Then Alençon revolted, gathered armies, founded a
new Ultra-Royal party and moved on Paris. He even wished at one time to
have his mother removed from the court, who was still carrying on her
intrigues throughout the entire kingdom. They were obliged to negotiate
with him and he succeeded in extorting an indemnity which was almost
equal to a royal authority. He received five duchies and four earldoms
and his court had the power of passing death sentences. He had a guard
and a corps of pages in expensive liveries and conducted a brilliant
court. We must try and picture him as Ranke describes him, “small
and stocky, of an obstinate bearing, bushy black hair over his ugly
pock-marked face, which, however, was brightened by a fiery eye.”
The book of Fair and Gallant Ladies is dedicated to Alençon, but he did
not see it any more. Brantôme, however, must have begun it while he was
still living. Alençon died in 1584 at the age of thirty-one.
Five years later Henri III. was stabbed by Jacques Clement. Thus the
race of Henri III., which was apparently so fruitful, had withered in
his sons. The remaining sister, who was inferior according to the Salic
Law, was also extremely immoral.
Her husband, Henry IV., entered a country that was completely
exhausted. The state debt at the time he entered upon his reign clearly
showed the spirit of the previous governments. In 1560 the state debt
was 43,000,000 livres. At the end of the century it had risen to
300,000,000. The Valois sold titles and dignities to the rich, squeezed
them besides and were finally capable of mortgaging anything they could
lay their hands upon. In 1595 Henri IV. remarked in Blois that “the
majority of the farms and almost all the villages were uninhabited and
empty.” This mounting of the state debt clearly indicates the extent of
the depravity of the court. During the reign of Charles IX. and Henri
III., that is between 1570 and 1590, the dissoluteness reached its
height and this made it possible for Brantôme to collect such a large
number of stories and anecdotes. Catherine of Medici, who outlived her
race by a year and whose influence continued during this entire period,
does not seem to have been a saint herself. But the last three of the
Valois were the worst, the most frivolous and lascivious of them all.
It was during their reign that the rule of mistresses was at its height
in the Louvre and the royal castles which furnished Brantôme with his
inexhaustible material. Such were the Valois.
This is the background of Brantôme’s life. We should like to know more
about him. He has written about many generals and important women of
his age, but there are only fragments regarding himself.
The family Bourdeille is one of the most important in Perigord. Like
other old races they sought to trace their ancestors back into the
times of Gaul and Rome. Charlemagne is said to have founded the Abbey
Brantôme.
Brantôme’s father was the “first page of the royal litter.” His son
speaks of him as “un homme scabreaux, haut a la main et mauvais
garçon.” His mother, a born Châtaigneraie, was lady-in-waiting of the
Queen of Navarre. Pierre was probably also born in Navarre, but nothing
is known as to the exact day of birth. Former biographers simply
copied, one from the other, that he had died in 1614 at the age of
eighty-seven. This would make 1528 the year of his birth. But now it is
well known that Brantôme spent the first years of his life in Navarre.
Queen Marguerite died in 1549 and Brantôme later writes of his sojourn
at her court: “Moy estant petit garçon en sa court.” Various methods of
calculation seem to indicate that he was born in 1540.
After the death of the Queen of Navarre—this is also a matter of
record—Brantôme went to Paris to take up his studies. From Paris,
where he probably also was a companion of the _enfants sanssouci_, he
went to Poitiers to continue them. There in 1555, while still “a young
student,” he became acquainted with the beautiful Gotterelle, who is
said to have had illicit relations with the Huguenot students. When he
had completed his studies in 1556 he as the youngest son had to enter
the church. He also received his share of the Abbey Brantôme from Henri
II. as a reward for the heroisms of his older brother. This young abbot
was about sixteen years old. His signature and his title in family
documents in this period are very amusing: “Révérend père en Dieu abbè
de Brantôme.” As an abbot he had no ecclesiastical duties. He was his
own pastor, could go to war, get married and do as he pleased. But
nevertheless, this ecclesiastical position did not suit him, and so he
raised 500 gold thalers by selling wood from his forests with which he
fitted himself out and then went off to Italy at the age of eighteen:
“Portant L’coquebuse a meche et un beau fourniment de Milan, monte
sur une haquenee de cent ecus et menant toujours six on sept gentils
hommes, armes et montes de meme, et bien en point sur bons courtands.”
He simply went off wherever there was war. In Piedmont he was shot in
the face by an arrow which almost deprived him of his sight. There he
was lying in Portofino in these marvellously beautiful foothills along
the Genoese coast, and there he was strangely healed: “Une fort belle
dame de la ma jettait dans les yeux du lait de ses beaux et blancs
tetins” (_Vies des Capitaines français_, Ch. IV, 499). Then he went
to Naples with François de Guise. He himself describes his reception
by the Duke of Alcala. Here he also became acquainted with Madame de
Guast, die Marquise del Vasto.
In 1560 he left Italy and took up the administration of his estates
which heretofore had been in the hands of his oldest brother, Andre.
He joined the court in Amboise, where Francis II. was conducting
tournaments. At the same time the House of Guise took notice of him.
In recollection of his uncle, La Châtaigneraie, he was offered high
protection at the court of Lorraine. From this time on he was at the
court for over thirty years. At first he accompanied the Duke of Guise
to his castle. Then after the death of Francis II. he accompanied his
widow, Mary Stuart, to England in August, 1561, and heard her final
farewell to France.
Although Brantôme could not say enough in praise of the princes of
Lorraine, the Guises, he did not go over to their side. Once at a later
period when he was deeply embittered he allowed himself to be carried
away by them. At the outbreak of the civil wars, Brantôme, of course,
sided with the court. He also participated in the battle of Dreux. If
there happened to be no war in France he would fight somewhere abroad.
In 1564 he entered into closer relations with the court of the Duke of
Orleans (later Henri III.). He became one of his noblemen and received
600 livres annually. (The receipts are still in existence.) In the
same year he also took part in an expedition against the Berbers on
the Coast of Morocco. We find him in Lisbon and in Madrid, where he
was highly honored by the courts. When Sultan Soliman attacked Malta,
Brantôme also hurried thither. He returned by way of Naples and again
presented himself to the Marquise de Guast. He thought that at last he
had found his fortune but he felt constrained to continue his journey.
He later denounces this episode in the most vehement terms. “Toujours
trottant, traversant et vagabondant le monde.” He was on his way to a
new war in Hungary, but when he arrived in Venice he heard that it was
not worth while. He returned by way of Milan and Turin, where he gave
the impression of being greatly impoverished, but he was too proud to
accept the purse of the Duchess of Savoy.
In the meantime, the Huguenots had forced the king to make greater
and greater concessions. Prince Condé and Admiral Coligny had the
upper hand. The Huguenots, who heard that Brantôme had reasons to
be displeased with the king, tried to induce him to commit treason.
But Brantôme remained firm. He was given the title Captain (“Maître
de camp”) of two companies even though he only had one—but that is
typical of the French. This company (enseigne) was under his command in
the Battle of St. Venis (1567). In the following year, 1568, Charles
IX. engaged him as a paid chamberlain. After the Battle of Jarnac in
the following year he was seized by a fever, as a result of which he
had to spend almost a year on his estates in order to recover.
As soon as he was well again he wished to go off to war somewhere.
He complained that it had been impossible for him to participate
in the Battle of Lepanto. His friend, Strozzi, was now getting
ready an expedition to Peru, which was to recompense him. But some
misunderstanding caused his separation from Strozzi shortly afterwards.
The preparations for this expedition had, however, kept him away from
St. Bartholomew’s Eve, even though later he cursed them for personal
reasons.
Brantôme was not religious. He cannot be considered a good judge in
affairs of the Huguenots, for he was more than neutral in religious
matters. He took an indifferent attitude towards the League. For as
a secular priest, he had the very best reasons for being neither in
favor of the League nor of the Huguenots. He speaks with great respect
of Coligny. They frequently met and the admiral was always friendly.
Brantôme disapproved of the Massacre of St. Bartholomew’s Eve and
considered it entirely reprehensible and purposeless. This good warrior
would have greatly preferred to have seen these restless spirits
engaged in a foreign war. He says of this bloody eve: “Mort malheurse
lu puis—je bien appeller pour toute la France.” To be sure, in the
following year he was present at the Siege of La Rochelle, the White
City.
He was at the court when Charles IX. died. He accompanied the corpse
from Notre Dame to St. Denis and then entered the services of Henri
III., who finally bestowed some favors upon the brothers Bourdeille and
gave them the Bishopric of Perigneux.
Then this restless soul was driven to approach Alençon, the youngest
of the Valois. Bussy d’Amboise, the foremost nobleman of Alençon, was
his friend. Alençon overwhelmed him with kindness and Brantôme had to
beg the angry king’s pardon for his defection.
But now an event occurred which almost drove Brantôme into open
rebellion. In 1582 his oldest brother died. The Abbey had belonged
to both of them, but his brother had appointed his own heir and the
king was helpless against this. Brantôme became very angry because he
was not the heir. “Je ne suis qu’un ver de terre,” he writes. He now
desired that the king should at least give his share of the Abbey to
his nephew, but he was unsuccessful in this as well. Aubeterre became
Seneschal and Governor of Perigord. This fault-finder could not control
his anger: “Un matin, second jour de premier de l’an ... je luy en fis
ma plainte; il m’en fit des excuses, bien qu’il fust mon roy. Je ne luy
respondis autre chose sinon: Eh bien, Sire, vous ne m’avez donne se
coup grand subject de vous faire jainais service comme j’ay faict.” And
so he ran off “fort despit.” As he left the Louvre he noticed that the
golden chamberlain’s key was still hanging on his belt; he tore it off
and threw it into the Seine, so great was his anger.
(When Aubeterre died in 1593 these posts were returned to the family
Bourdeille.)
(Other reasons which angered Brantôme were less serious. Thus he could
not bear Montaigne because the latter was of more recent nobility. He
himself has shown that a man of the sword could very well take up the
pen to pass the time. But he could not understand that the opposite
might happen, and a sword given to a man of the pen. He was appointed
a knight in the Order of St. Michael. But this did not satisfy his
ambition very much when he looked around and saw that he had to share
this distinction with many other men. He wished to have it limited
to the nobility of the sword. Now his neighbor, Michel de Montaigne,
received the same order. Brantôme writes regarding this: “We have seen
councillors leave the courts of justice, put down their robe and their
four-cornered hat and take up a sword. Immediately the king bestowed
the distinction upon them without their ever having gone to war. This
has happened to Monsieur de Montaigne, who would have done better
to remain at his trade and continue to write his essays rather than
exchange his pen for a sword which was not nearly so becoming.”)
Henri II. pardoned him his unmannerly behavior, but the king’s rooms
were closed to him. Then the Duke of Alençon wished to gain his
allegiance and appointed him chamberlain, thereby rewarding him for the
intimate relationship which had existed between them ever since 1579.
The duke was the leader of the dissatisfied and so this fault-finder
was quite welcome to him. The book of Fair and Gallant Ladies is the
direct result of the conversations at the Court of Alençon, for we hear
that Brantôme soon wrote a few discourses which he dedicated to the
prince. Brantôme sold himself to Alençon, which is almost to be taken
literally. Then Alençon died. Brantôme’s hopes were now completely
crushed.
What was he to do now? He was angry at the king. His boundless anger
almost blinded him. Then the Guises approached him and tried to induce
him to swear allegiance to the enemies of the Valois. He was quite
ready to do this and was at the point of committing high treason, for
the King of Spain was behind the Guises, to whom he swore allegiance.
But the outbreak of the war of the Huguenots, which resulted in a
temporary depreciation of all estates, prevented him from carrying
out his plans immediately. He could not sell anything, and without
money life in Spain was impossible. But this new state of affairs gave
him new energy and new life. He walked about with “sprightly vigor.”
He later described his feelings in the _Capitaines français_ (Ch.
IV, 108): “Possible que, si je fusse venu an bout de vies attantes
et propositions, J’eusse faut plus de mal a ma patrie que jamais n’a
faict renegat d’Alger a’la sienne, dont J’en fusse este mandict a
perpetuite, possible de Dieu et des hommes.”
Then a horse that he was about to mount, shied, rose up and fell,
rolling over him, so that all his ribs were broken. He was confined to
his bed for almost four years; crippled and lame, without being able to
move because of pain.
When he was able to rise again the new order of things was in full
progress, and when the iron hand of Henri IV., this cunning Navarrese
and secret Huguenot, swept over France, the old court life also
disappeared. Brantôme was sickly and when the old Queen-mother Medici
also died (1590) he buried himself completely in his abbey and took no
interest henceforth in the events of his time.
“Chaffoureur du papier”—this might be the motto of his further life.
Alas, writing was also such a resignation for Brantôme, otherwise he
would not have heaped such abuse upon it. But we must not imagine
that his literary talent only developed after his unfortunate fall.
Naturally he made quite different and more extensive use of it under
these conditions than he otherwise would have done. Stirring up his old
memories became more and more a means of mastering the sterile life
of that period. Literature is a product of impoverished life. It is
the opium intoxication of memory, the conjuring up of bygone events.
The death-shadowed eyes of Alençon had seen the first fragments of the
book of Fair and Gallant Ladies. The _Rondomontades Espagnoles_ must
have been finished in 1590, for he offered them to the Queen of Navarre
in the Castle of Usson in Auvergne. But beginning in 1590 there was a
conscious exchange of the sword for the pen. He knew himself well. On
his bed of pain the recollections of his varied life, his sufferings
and the complaints of his thwarted ambitions became a longed-for
distraction. He died July 15, 1614, and was buried in the Chapel of
Richemond.
His manuscripts had a strange fate. They were the principal care of his
last will and testament. This in itself is a monument to his pride.
“J’ai bien de l’ambition,” he writes, “je la veux encore monstrer
apres ma mort.” He had decided elements of greatness. The books in his
library were to remain together, “set up in the castle and not to be
scattered hither and thither or loaned to anyone.” He wished to have
the library preserved “in eternal commemoration of himself.” He was
particularly interested in having his works published. He pretended to
be a knight, and a nobleman, and yet he prized most highly these six
volumes beautifully bound in blue, green and black velvet. His books,
furthermore, were not to be published with a pseudonym, but his own
name was to be openly printed on the title-page. He does not wish to be
deprived of his labors and his fame. He gave the strictest instructions
to his heirs, but he was constantly forced to make additions to the
will, because his executors died. He outlived too many of them and had
made his will too early. The instructions regarding the printing of his
books are very amusing: “Pour les faire imprimer mieux a ma fantaisie,
... y’ordonne et veux, que l’on prenne sur ma lotate heredite l’argent
qu ’en pouvra valoir la dite impression, et qui ne se pouvra certes
monter a beaucoup, cur j’ay veu force imprimeurs ... que s’ils out mis
une foys la veue, en donneront plusoost pour les imprimer qu’ils n’en
voudraient recepvoir; car ils en impriment plusierus gratis que no
valent pas les mieux. Je m’en puys bien vanter, mesmes que je les ay
monstrez au moins en partie, a aueuns qui les ont voulu imprimer sans
rien.... Mais je n’ay voulu qu ils fussent imprimez durant mon vivant.
Surtout, je veux que la dicte impression en soit en belle et gross
lettre, et grand colume, pour mieux paroistre....” The typographical
directions are quite modern. The execution of the will finally came
into the hands of his niece, the Countess of Duretal, but on account of
the offence that these books might give, she hesitated to carry out the
last will of her uncle. Then his later heirs refused to have the books
published, and locked the manuscripts in the library. In the course of
time, however, copies came into circulation, more and more copies were
made, and one of them found its way into the office of a printer. A
fragment was smuggled into the memoirs of Castelnau and was printed
with them in 1659. A better edition was now not far off. In 1665 and
1666 the first edition was published in Leyden by Jean Sambix. It
comprised nine volumes in Elzevir. This very incomplete and unreliable
edition was printed from a copy. Speculating printers now made a number
of reprints. A large number of manuscripts were now in circulation
which were named according to the copyists. In the 17th and 18th
centuries these books were invariably printed from copies. The edition
of 1822, _Oeuvres completes du seigneur de Brantôme_ (Paris: Foucault),
was the first to go back to the original manuscripts in possession of
the family Bourdeille. Monmergue edited it. The manuscript of the book
of Fair and Gallant Ladies was in the possession of the Baroness James
Rothschild as late as 1903. After her death in the beginning of 1904,
it came into possession of the National Library in Paris, which now has
all of Brantôme’s manuscripts, and also plans to publish a critical
revised edition of his collected works.
The two books, _Vies des Dames illustres_ and _Vies des Dames
galantes_, were originally called by Brantôme Premier and Second Livre
des Dames. The new titles were invented by publishers speculating on
the taste of the times, which from 1660 to 1670 greatly preferred the
words illustre and galante. The best subsequent edition of the Fair and
Gallant Ladies is that printed by Abel Ledoux in Paris, 1834, which
was edited by Philarete Chasles, who also supplied an introduction and
notes. On the other hand, the critical edition of his collected works
in 1822 still contains the best information regarding Brantôme himself,
and the remarks by the editor Monmergue are very excellent and far
superior to the opinions which Philarete Chasles expresses, poetic as
they may be. The crayon-drawings and copper-cuts of Famous and Gallant
Ladies of the sixteenth century contained in Bouchot’s book, _Les
femmes de Brantôme_, are very good; Bouchot’s text, however, is merely
a re-hash of Brantôme himself. Neither must one over-estimate his
reflections regarding the author of the Fair and Gallant Ladies.
There is a great difference between the two Livres des Dames. What is
an advantage in the one is a disadvantage in the other. Undoubtedly
Brantôme’s genius is best expressed in the _Dames Galantes_. In this
book the large number of symbolical anecdotes is the best method of
narration. In the other they are more or less unimportant. Of course,
Brantôme could not escape the questionable historical methods of
that period, but shares these faults with all of his contemporaries.
Besides, he was too good an author to be an excellent historian. The
devil take the historical connection, as long as the story is a good
one.
The courtier Brantôme sees all of history from the perspective of
boudoir-wit. Therefore his portraits of famous ladies of his age are
mere mosaics of haphazard observations and opinions. He is a naïve
story-teller and therefore his ideas are seldom coherent. The value
of his biographical portraits consists in the fact that they are
influenced by his manner of writing, that they are the result of
scandal and gossip which he heard in the Louvre, or of conversations
in the saddle or in the trenches. He always preserves a respectful
attitude and restrains himself from spicing things too freely. He did
not allow himself to become a purveyor of malicious gossip, he took
great care not to offend his high connections by unbridled speech, but
his book lost interest on that account.
If we wish to do justice to Brantôme as the author of Fair and Gallant
Ladies, we must try and picture his position in his age and in his
society. It is not to be understood that he suddenly invented all
of these stories during his long illness. Let us try and follow the
origin of these memoirs. At that time the most primitive conceptions
of literary work in general prevailed. The actual writing down of the
stories was the least. An author laboriously working out his stories
was ridiculous. The idea and the actual creative work came long before
the moment when the author sat down to write. None of Brantôme’s
stories originated in his abbey, but in Madrid, in Naples, in Malta
before La Rochelle, in the Louvre, in Blois and in Alençon. Writing
down a story was a reproduction of what had already been created, of
what had been formed and reformed in frequent retelling and polished
to perfection. The culture of the court was of great aid to him in his
style, but his own style was nevertheless far superior.
For decades Brantôme was a nobleman of his royal masters. He was
constantly present at the court and participated in all of the major
and minor events of its daily life, in quarrels and celebrations. He
was a courtier. He was entirely at home in the halls and chambers
of the Louvre, but even though he stopped to chat with the idle
courtiers in the halls of the Louvre he never lowered himself to their
level. He could be extremely boisterous, yet inwardly he was reserved
and observant. He was the very opposite of the noisy, impetuous
Bussy-Rabutin. His intelligence and his wisdom made him a source of
danger among the chamberlains. His was a dual nature, he was at the
same time cynical and religious, disrespectful and enthusiastic,
refined and brutal, at the same time abbot, warrior and courtier. Like
Bernhard Palissy he ridiculed the astrologers, yet he was subject to
the superstitions of his age. His temperament showed that his cradle
had not been far from the banks of the Garonne, near the Gascogne.
There was combined with his bold, optimistic, adventurous and restless
spirit, with his chivalrous ideas and prejudices, a boundless vanity.
A contemporary said of him: “He was as boastful as Cellini.” Indeed
he believed himself far superior to his class, he not only boasted
of himself and his family, but also of his most insignificant deeds.
He was irreconcilable in hate, and even admonished his heirs to
revenge him. His royal masters he treated with respect tempered by
irony. As a contemporary of Rabelais, Marot and Ronsard, he was an
excellent speaker. If Rabelais had a Gallic mind then Brantôme’s was
French. His cheerful and lively conversation was pleasing to all. He
had a reputation of being a brilliant man. But he was also known as
a discreet person. Alençon, who was a splendid story-teller himself
and liked to hear love stories more than anything else, preferred
conversation with him to anyone. His naïveté and originality made
friends for him everywhere. He had a brave and noble nature and was
proud of being a Frenchman, he was the personified _gentilhomme
français_.
And thus his book originated. He must have taken up his pen quite
spontaneously one day. Now from the great variety of his own
experiences at court and in war, he poured forth a remarkable wealth
of peculiar and interesting features which his memory had preserved.
It is a book of the love-life during the reign of the Valois. These
stories were not invented, but they were anecdotes and reports taken
from real life. He was able to evade the danger of boredom. There is
style even in his most impudent indiscretions. He only stopped at mere
obscenities. On the other hand, he never hesitated to be cynical. As
this age was fond of strong expressions, a puritanical language was out
of the question. Not until the reign of Louis XIV. did the language
become more polite. Neither was Brantôme a Puritan, how could he have
been? But he had character. He took pleasure in everything which was
a manifestation of human energy. He loved passion and the power to
do good or evil. (To be sure he also had some splendid things to say
against immoderacy and vehemence of passions. So he was a fit companion
of the Medici and the Valois.)