wedded without money dowry, to the end men might marry them for their
merits, and not from greed. But, what kind of virtue was it? Why! on
their solemn feast-days the Spartan maids were used to sing and dance
in public stark naked with the lads, and even wrestle in the open
market-place,—the which however was done in all honesty and good faith,
so History saith. But what sort of honesty and purity was this, we may
well ask, to look on at these pretty maids so performing publicly?
Honesty was it never a whit, but pleasure in the sight of them, and
especially of their bodily movements and dancing postures, and above
all in their wrestling; and chiefest of all when they came to fall one
atop of the other, as they say in Latin, _illa sub, ille super_; _ille
sub et illa super_,—“she underneath, he atop; he underneath, she atop.”
You will never persuade me, ’twas all honesty and purity herein with
these Spartan maidens. I ween there is never chastity so chaste that
would not have been shaken thereby, or that, so making in public and
by day these feint assaults, they did not presently in privity and by
night and on assignation proceed to greater combats and night-attacks.
And no doubt all this might well be done, seeing how the said Lycurgus
did suffer such men as were handsome and well grown to borrow other
citizens’ wives to sow seed therein as in a good and fruitful soil. So
was it in no wise blameworthy for an old outwearied husband to lend his
young and beautiful wife to some gallant youth he did choose therefor.
Nay! the lawgiver did pronounce it permissible for the wife herself to
choose for to help her procreation the next kinsman of her husband,
then an if he pleased her fancy, to couple with him, to the end the
children they might engender should at least be of the blood and race
of the husband. Indeed there is some sense in the practice, and had not
the Jews likewise the same law of license betwixt sister-in-law and
brother-in-law? On the other hand our Christian law hath reformed all
this, albeit our Holy Father hath in divers cases granted dispensations
founded on divers reasons. In Spain ’tis a practice much adopted, but
never without dispensation.
Well! to say something more, and as soberly as we may, of some other
sorts of widows,—and then an end.
One sort there is, widows which do absolutely refuse to marry again,
hating wedlock like the plague. So one, a lady of a great house and a
witty woman withal, when that I asked her if she were not minded to
make her vow once again to the god Hymen, did reply: “Tell me this,
by’r lady; suppose a galley-slave or captive to have tugged years
long at the oar, tied to the chain, and at last to have got back his
freedom, would he not be a fool and a very imbecile, an if he did not
hie him away with a good heart, determined never more to be subject
to the orders of a savage corsair? So I, after being in slavery to an
husband, an if I should take a fresh master, what should I deserve to
get, prithee, since without resorting to that extreme, and with no
risk at all, I can have the best of good times?” Another great lady,
and a kinswoman of mine own, on my asking her if she had no wish to
wed again, replied: “Never a bit, coz, but only to bed again,” playing
on the words _wed_ and _bed_, and signifying she would be glad enough
to give herself some treat, but without intervention of any second
husband,—according to the old proverb which saith, “A safer fling unwed
than wed.” Another saying hath it, that women be always good hostesses,
in love as elsewhere; and a right saying ’tis, for they be mistresses
of the situation, and queens wherever they be,—that is the pretty ones
be so.
I have heard tell of another, which was asked of a gentleman which
was fain to try his ground as a suitor for her hand, an if she would
not like an husband. “Nay! sir,” she answered, “never talk to me of
an husband, I’ll have no more of them; but for a lover, I’m not so
sure.”—“Then, Madame, prithee, let me be that lover, since husband I
may not be.” Her reply was, “Court me well, and persevere; mayhap you
will succeed.”
A fair and honourable widow lady, of some thirty summers, one day
wishing to break a jest with an honourable gentleman, or to tell truth,
to provoke him to love-making, and having as she was about to mount her
horse caught the front of her mantle on something and torn it somewhat
in detaching it, taking it up said to him: “Look you, what you have
done, so and so” (accosting him by his name); “you have ripped my
front.”
“I should be right sorry to hurt it, Madam; ’tis too sweet and pretty
for that.”
“Why! what know you of it?” she replied; “you have never seen it.”
“What! can you deny,” retorted the other, “that I have seen it an
hundred times over, when you were a little lassie?”
“Ah! but,” said she, “I was then but a stripling, and knew not yet what
was what.”
“Still, I suppose ’tis yet in the same place as of old, and hath not
changed position. I ween I could even now find it in the same spot.”
“Oh, yes! ’tis there still, albeit mine husband hath rolled it and
turned it about, more than ever did Diogenes with his tub.”
“Yes! and nowadays how doth it do without movement?”
“’Tis for all the world like a clock that is left unwound.”
“Then take you heed, lest that befall you that doth happen to clocks
when they be not wound up, and continue so for long; their springs do
rust by lapse of time, and they be good for naught after.”
“’Tis not a fair comparison,” said she, “for that the springs of the
clock you mean be not liable to rust at all, but keep in good order,
wound or unwound, always ready to be set a-going at any time.”
“Please God,” cried the gentleman, “whenas the time for winding come, I
might be the watchmaker to wind it up!”
“Well, well!” returned the lady, “when that day and festive hour shall
arrive, we will not be idle, but will do a right good day’s work. So
God guard from ill him I love not as well as you.”
After this keen and heart pricking interchange of wit, the lady did
mount her horse, after kissing the gentleman with much good-will,
adding as she rode away, “Goodbye, till we meet again, and enjoy our
little treat!”
But alas! as ill fate would have it, the fair lady did die within
six weeks whereat her lover did well nigh die of chagrin. For these
enticing words, with others she had said afore, had so heartened him
with good hope that he was assured of her conquest, as indeed she was
ready enough to be his. A malison on her untimely end, for verily she
was one of the best and fairest dames you could see anywhere, and well
worth a venial fault to possess,—or even a mortal sin!
Another fair young widow was asked by an honourable gentleman if she
did keep Lent, and abstain from eating meat, as folks do then. “No!”
she said, “I do not.”—“So I have observed,” returned the gentleman;
“I have noted you made no scruple, but did eat meat at that season
just as at any other, both raw and cooked.”—“That was at the time mine
husband was alive; now I am a widow, I have reformed and regulated my
living more seemly.”—“Nay! beware,” then said the other, “of fasting
so strictly, for it doth readily happen to such as go fasting and
anhungered, that anon, when the desire of meat cometh on them, they do
find their vessels so narrow and contracted, as that they do thereby
suffer much incommodity.”—“Nay! that vessel of my body,” said the
lady, “that you mean, is by no means so narrow or hunger-pinched, but
that, when mine appetite shall revive, I may not afford it good and
sufficient refreshment.”
I knew another great lady, which all through her unmarried and married
life was in all men’s mouths by reason of her exceeding stoutness.
Afterward she came to lose her husband, and did mourn him with so
extreme a sorrow that she grew as dry as wood.[128] Yet did she never
cease to indulge her in the joys of former days, even going so far as
to borrow the aid of a certain Secretary she had, and of other such
to boot, and even of her cook, so ’twas reported. For all that, she
did not win back her flesh, albeit the said cook, who was all fat and
greasy, ought surely, I ween, to have made her fat. So she went on,
taking now one, now another of her serving-men, all the while playing
the part of the most prudish and virtuous dame in all the Court, with
pious phrases ever on her lips, and naught but scandal against all
other women, and never a word of good for any of them. Of like sort was
that noble woman of Dauphiné, in the _Cent Nouvelles_ of the Queen
of Navarre, which was found lying flat on the grass with her groom or
muleteer by a certain gentleman, that was ready to die of love for her
but this sight did quick cure his love sickness for him.
I have heard speak of a very beautiful woman at Naples, which had the
repute of going in like manner with a Moor, the ugliest fellow in the
world, who was her slave and groom, but something made her love him.
12.
I have read in an old Romance, _Jehan de Saintré_, printed in black
letter, how the late King John of France did rear the hero Jehan as his
page. Now by custom of former days, great folk were used to send their
pages to carry messages, as is done likewise to-day. But then they were
wont to go everywhere, and up and down the countryside, a-horseback;
I have even heard our fathers say they were not seldom sent on minor
embassies, for by despatching a page and horse and a broad piece,
the thing was done and so much expense well spared. This same little
Jehan de Saintré (for so he did long continue to be called)[129*] was
very much loved of his master the King, for that he was full of wit
and intelligence, and was often sent to carry trifling messages to
his sister, who was at the time a widow,—though the book saith not
whose widow. This great lady did fall enamoured of the lad, after he
had been several times on errands to her; so one day, finding a good
opportunity and no one nigh, she did question him, asking him an if he
did not love some lady or other at Court, and which of them all liked
him best. This is a way a great many ladies have, whenas they be fain
to score the first point and deliver their first attack on one they
fancy, as myself have seen done. Well! little Jehan de Saintré, who
had never so much as dreamed of love, told her, “No! not yet,” going
on to describe several Court ladies, and what he thought of them. Then
did she hold forth to him on the beauties and delights of love, but he
only answered, “Nay! I care less than ever for’t.” For in those old
days, even as to-day, some of our greatest ladies were slaves to love
and much subject to detraction; for indeed folk so adroit as they have
grown since, and ’twas only the cleverest that had the good fortune
to impose on their husbands and pass as good women by virtue of their
hypocrisies and little wiles. The lady then, seeing the lad to be
well-favoured, goes on to tell him how she would give him a mistress
that would love him well, provided he was a true lover to her, making
him promise under pain of instant shame and disgrace, that above all he
should be sure and secret. Eventually she did make her avowal to him,
and tell him herself would fain be his lady and darling,—for in those
days the word _mistress_ was not as yet in vogue. At this the young
page was sore astonished, thinking she did but make a mock of him, or
wished to trap him and get him a whipping.
However she did very soon show so many unequivocal signs of fire and
heat of love and such tender familiarities, as that he perceived ’twas
no mockery; while she kept on telling him she would train and form
him and make him a great man. The end was their loves and mutual joys
did last a long while, during his pagehood and after he was no more a
page, till at the last he had to depart on a distant journey,—when she
did change him for a great, fat Abbé. This is the tale we find in the
_Nouvelles du monde advantureux_, writ by a gentleman of the chamber
to the Queen of Navarre, wherein we see the Abbé put an affront on the
said Jehan de Saintré, that was so brave and valiant; yet did he in no
long while pay the worthy Abbé back in good coin and three times over.
’Tis an excellent Tale, and cometh from the book I have named.[130*]
Here we see how ’tis not only of to-day that fair ladies do love pages,
above all when they be gay and speckled like partridges. And verily,
what creatures women be!—that be ready enough to have lovers galore,
but husbands not! This they do for the love of freedom, which is indeed
a noble thing. For they think, when once they be out of their husband’s
rule, they are in Paradise, having their fine dower and spending it
themselves, managing all the household, and handling the coin. All
goeth through their hands; and instead of being servants, they be now
mistresses, and do make free choice of their pleasures, and such as do
best minister to the same.
Others again there be, which do surely hate the notion of making a
second marriage, from distaste to lose their rank and dignity, their
goods, riches and honours, their soft and luxurious living, and for
this cause do restrain their passions. So have I known and heard
speak of not a few great dames and Princesses, which from mere dread
of their failing to find again the grandeurs of their first match,
and so losing rank, would never marry again. Not that they did cease
therefor one whit to follow after love and turn the same to their joy
and delight,—yet all the while never losing their rank and dignity,
their stools of state and honourable seats in Queens’ chambers and
elsewhere. Lucky women, to enjoy their grandeur and mount high,
yet abase them low, at one and the same time! But to say a word of
reproach or remonstrance to them, never dream no such thing! Else no
end would there be of anger and annoyance, denials and protestations,
contradiction and revenge.
I have heard a tale told of a widow lady, and indeed I knew her
myself, which had long enjoyed the love of an honourable gentleman,
under pretext she would marry him; but he did in no wise make himself
obtrusive. A great Princess, the lady’s mistress, was for reproaching
her for her conduct. But she, wily and corrupt, did answer her:
“Nay! Madam, but should it be denied us to love with an honourable
love? surely that were too cruel.” Only God knoweth, this love she
called honourable, was really a most lecherous passion. And verily
all loves be so; they be born all pure, chaste and honourable, but
anon do lose their maidenhead, so to speak, and by magic influence of
some philosopher’s stone, be transformed into base metal, and grow
dishonourable and lecherous.
The late M. de Bussy, who was one of the wittiest talkers of his time,
and no less pleasing as a story-teller, one day at Court seeing a
great lady, a widow, and of ripe years, who did still persist in her
amorous doings, did exclaim: “What! doth this hackney yet frequent the
stallion?” The word was repeated to the lady, which did vow mortal hate
against the offender. On M. de Bussy’s learning this, “Well, well!” he
said, “I know how to make my peace, and put this all right. Prithee,
go tell her I said not so, but that this is what I really said, ‘Doth
this _filly_[131] yet go to be mounted? For sure I am she is not wroth
because I take her for a light o’ love, but for an old woman; and when
she hears I called her filly, that is to say a young mare, she will
suppose I do still esteem her a young woman.’” And so it was; for the
lady, on hearing this change and improvement in the wording, did relax
her anger and made it up with M. de Bussy; whereat we did all have a
good laugh. Yet for all she might do, she was always deemed an old,
half-foundered jade, that aged as she was, still went whinnying after
the male.
This last was quite unlike another lady I have also heard tell of, who
having been a merry wench in her earlier days, but getting well on in
years, did set her to serve God with fast and prayer. An honourable
gentleman remonstrating and asking her wherefore she did make such
long vigils at Church and such severe fasts at table, and if it were
not to vanquish and deaden the stings of the flesh, “Alas!” said she,
“these be all over and done with for me.” These words she did pronounce
as piteously as ever spake Milo of Croton, that strong and stalwart
wrestler of old, (I have told the tale elsewhere, methinks), who having
one day gone down into the arena, or wrestlers’ ring, but only for to
view the game, for he was now grown very old, one of the band coming
up to him did ask, an if he would not try yet a fall of the old sort.
But he, baring his arms and right sadly turning back his sleeves, said
only, gazing the while at his muscles and sinews: “Alas! they be dead
now.”
Another like incident did happen to a gentleman I wot of, similar to
the tale I have just told of M. de Bussy. Coming to Court, after an
absence of six months, he there beheld a lady which was used to attend
the academy, lately introduced at Court by the late King. “Why!”
saith he, “doth the academy then still exist? I was told it had been
abolished.”—“Can you doubt,” a courtier answered him, “her attendance?
Why! her master is teaching her philosophy, which doth speak and treat
of perpetual motion.” And in good sooth, for all the beating of brains
these same philosophers do undergo, to discover perpetual motion, yet
is there none more surely so than the motion Venus doth teach in _her_
school.
A lady of the great world did give even a better answer of another,
whose beauty they were extolling highly, only that her eyes did ever
remain motionless, she never turning the same one way or the other. “We
must suppose,” she said, “all her care doth go to move other portions
of her body, and so hath she none to spare for her eyes.”
However, an if I would put down in writing all the witty words and
good stories I know, to fill out my matter, I should never get me
done. And so, seeing I have other subjects to attack, I will desist,
and finish with this saying of Boccaccio, already cited above, namely,
that women, maids, wives and widows alike, at least the most part of
them, be one and all inclined to love. I have no thought to speak of
common folk, whether in country or in town, for such was never mine
intention in writing, but only of well-born persons, in whose service
my pen is aye ready to run nimbly. But for mine own part, if I were
asked my true opinion, I should say emphatically there is naught like
married women, all risk and peril on their husbands’ side apart, for
to win good enjoyment of love withal, and to taste quick the very
essence of its delights. The fact is their husbands do heat them so,
they be like a furnace, continually poked and stirred, that asks naught
but fuel, water and wood or charcoal to keep up its heat for ever. And
truly he that would have a good light, must always be putting more oil
in the lamp. At the same time let him beware of a foul stroke, and
those ambushes of jealous husbands wherein the wiliest be oft times
caught![132*]
Yet is a man bound to go as circumspectly as he may, and as boldly
to boot, and do like the great King Henri, who was much devoted to
love, but at the same time exceeding respectful toward ladies, and
discreet, and for these reasons much loved and well received of them.
Now whenever it fell out that this monarch was changing night quarters
and going to sleep in the bed of a new mistress, which expecting him,
he would never go thither (as I learn on very good authority) but by
the secret galleries of Saint-Germain, Blois or Fontainebleau, and
the little stealthy back-stairs, recesses and garrets of his castles.
First went his favourite valet of the chamber, Griffon by name, which
did carry his boar-spear before him along with the torch, and the King
next, his great cloak held before his face or else his night-gown,
and his sword under his arm. Presently, being to bed with the lady,
he would aye have his spear and sword put by the bed’s-head, the door
well shut, and Griffon guarding it, watching and sleeping by turns.
Now I leave it to you, an if a great King did give such heed to his
safety (for indeed there have been some caught, both kings and great
princes,—for instance the Duc de Fleurance Alexandre in our day),
what smaller folks should do, following the example of this powerful
monarch. Yet there are to be found proud souls which do disdain all
precaution; and of a truth they be often trapped for their pains.
I have heard a tale related of King Francis, how having a fair lady
as mistress,[133*] a connection that had long subsisted betwixt them,
and going one day unexpectedly to see the said lady, and to sleep with
her at an unusual hour, ’gan knock loudly on the door, as he had both
right and might to do, being the master. She, who was at the moment in
company of the Sieur de Bonnivet, durst not give the reply usual with
the Roman courtesans under like circumstances, _Non si puo, la signora
è accompagnata_,—“You cannot come in; Madam has company with her.” In
this case the only thing to do was to devise quick where her gallant
could be most securely hid. By good luck ’twas summer time, so they had
put an heap of branches and leaves in the fire-place, as the custom is
in France. Accordingly she did counsel and advise him to make at once
for the fire-place, and there hide him among the leafage, all in his
shirt as he was,—and ’twas a fortunate thing for him it was not winter.
After the King had done his business with the lady, he was fain to
make water; so getting up from the bed, he went to the fire-place to
do so, for lack of other convenience. And so sore did he want to, that
he did drown the poor lover worse than if a bucket of water had been
emptied over him, for he did water him thoroughly, as with a garden
watering-pot, all round and about, and even over the face, eyes, nose,
mouth and everywhere; albeit by tight shut lips he may have escaped all
but a drop or so in his chops. I leave you to fancy what a sorry state
the poor gentleman was in, for he durst not move, and what a picture
of patience and grim endurance he did present! The King having done,
withdrew, and bidding his mistress farewell, left the chamber. The lady
had the door immediately shut behind him, and calling her lover into
her, did warm the poor man, giving him a clean shift to put on. Nor was
it without some fun and laughter, after the fright they had had; for
an if he had been discovered, both he and she had been in very serious
peril.
’Twas the same lady, which being deep in love with this M. de Bonnivet,
and desiring to convince the King of the contrary, for that he had
conceived some touch of jealousy on the subject, would say thus to him:
“Oh! but he’s diverting, that Sieur de Bonnivet, who thinks himself so
handsome! and the more I tell him he is a pretty fellow, the more he
doth believe it. ’Tis my great pastime, making fun of the man, for he’s
really witty and ready-tongued, and no one can help laughing in his
company, such clever retorts doth he make.” By these words she was for
persuading the King that her common discourse with Bonnivet had naught
to do with love and alliance, or playing his Majesty false in any wise.
How many fair dames there be which do practise the like wiles, and to
cloak the intrigues they are pursuing with some lover, do speak ill
of him, and make fun of him before the world, though in private they
soon drop this fine pretense; and this is what they call cunning and
contrivance in love.
I knew a very great lady,[134*] who one day seeing her daughter, which
was one of the fairest of women, grieving for the love of a certain
gentleman, with whom her brother was sore angered, did say this to
her amongst other things: “Nay! my child, never love that man. His
manners and form be so bad, and he’s such an ugly fellow. He’s for all
the world like a village pastry cook!” At this the daughter burst out
a-laughing, making merry at his expense and applauding her mother’s
description, allowing his likeness to a pastry-cook, red cap and all.
For all that, she had her way; but some while after, in another six
months that is, she did leave him for another man.
I have known not a few ladies which had no words bad enough to cast
at women that loved inferiors,—their secretaries, serving-men and
the like low-born persons, declaring publicly they did loathe such
intrigues worse than poison. Yet would these very same ladies be
giving themselves up to these base pleasures as much as any. Such
be the cunning ways of women; before the world they do show fierce
indignation against these offenders, and do threaten and abuse them;
but all the while behind backs they do readily enough indulge the same
vice themselves. So full of wiles are they! for as the Spanish proverb
saith, _Mucho sabe la zorra; mas sabe mas la dama enamorada_,—“The fox
knoweth much, but a woman in love knoweth more.”
13.