Margaret, Queen Of Navarre - The Tales Of The Heptameron, Vol. II. (of V.)

M >> Margaret, Queen Of Navarre >> The Tales Of The Heptameron, Vol. II. (of V.)

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2 The Duke here referred to was Alexander de' Medici, first
Duke of Florence, in which city he was born in 1510. His
mother, a slave named Anna, was the wife of a Florentine
coachman, but Lorenzo II. de' Medici, one of this woman's
lovers, acknowledged him as his offspring, though, according
to some accounts, his real father was one of the popes,
Clement VII. or Julius II. After the Emperor Charles V. had
made himself master of Florence in 1530, he confided the
governorship of the city to Alexander, upon whom he bestowed
the title of Duke. Two years later Alexander threw off the
imperial control, and soon afterwards embarked on a career
of debauchery and crime. In 1536, Charles V., being desirous
of obtaining the support of Florence against France, treated
with Alexander, and gave him the hand of his illegitimate
daughter, Margaret. The latter--whose mother was Margaret
van Gheenst, a Flemish damsel of noble birth--was at that
time barely fourteen, having been born at Brussels in 1522.
The Queen of Navarre's statements concerning the
youthfulness of the Duchess are thus corroborated by fact.
After the death of Alexander de' Medici, his widow was
married to Octavius Farnese, Duke of Parma, who was then
only twelve years old, but by whom she eventually became the
mother of the celebrated Alexander Farnese. Margaret of
Austria occupies a prominent place in the history of the
Netherlands, which she governed during a lengthy period for
her brother Philip II. She died in retirement at Ortonna in
Italy in 1586.--L. and Ed.

Among these there was one very beautiful, discreet, and honourable lady,
sister to a gentleman whom the Duke loved even as himself, and to whom
he gave such authority in his household that his orders were feared and
obeyed equally with the Duke's own. And moreover the Duke had no secrets
that he did not share with this gentleman, so that the latter might have
been called his second-self. (3)

3 The gentleman here mentioned was the Duke's cousin,
Lorenzo di Pier-Francesco de' Medici, commonly called
Lorenzino on account of his short stature. He was born at
Florence in 1514, and, being the eldest member of the junior
branch of the Medici family, it had been decided by the
Emperor Charles V. that he should succeed to the Dukedom of
Florence, if Alexander died without issue. Lorenzino
cultivated letters, and is said to have possessed
considerable wit, but, on the other hand, instead of being a
high-minded man, as Queen Margaret pictures him, he was a
thorough profligate, and willingly lent a hand in
Alexander's scandalous amours. The heroine of this story is
erroneously described as Lorenzino's sister; in point of
fact she was his aunt, Catherine Ginori. See Appendix, C.--
Ed.

Finding the gentleman's sister to be a lady of such exemplary virtue
that he was unable to declare his passion to her, though he sought
all possible opportunities for doing so, the Duke at last came to his
favourite and said to him--

"If there were anything in this world, my friend, that I might be
unwilling to do for you, I should hesitate to tell you what is in my
mind, and still more to beg your assistance. But such is the affection
I bear you that had I wife, mother, or daughter who could avail to
save your life, I would sacrifice them rather than allow you to die in
torment. I believe that your love for me is the counterpart of mine for
you, and that if I, who am your master, bear you so much affection,
you, on your part, can have no less for me. I will therefore tell you a
secret, the keeping of which has brought me to the condition you see. I
have no hope of any improvement except it be through death or else the
service which you are in a position to render me."

On hearing these words from the Duke, and seeing his face unfeignedly
bathed in tears, the gentleman felt such great pity for him that he
said--

"Sir, I am your creature: all the wealth and honour that I am possessed
of in this world come from you. You may speak to me as to your own
soul, in the certainty that all that it be in my power to do is at your
command."

Thereupon the Duke began to tell him of the love he bore his sister,
a love so deep and strong that he feared he could not live much longer
unless, by the gentleman's help, he succeeded in satisfying his desire.
He was well aware that neither prayers nor presents would be of any
avail with the lady, wherefore he begged the gentleman--if he cared for
his master's life as much as he, his master, cared for his--to devise
some means of procuring him the good fortune which, without such
assistance, he could never hope to obtain.

The brother, who loved his sister and the honour of his house far
more than the Duke's pleasure, endeavoured to remonstrate with him,
entreating that he might be employed for any other purpose save the
cruel task of soliciting the dishonour of his own kin, and declaring
that the rendering of such a service was contrary alike to his
inclinations and his honour.

Inflamed with excessive wrath, the Duke raised his hand to his mouth and
bit his nails.

"Well," said he in a fury, "since I find that you have no friendship for
me, I know what I have to do."

The gentleman, who was acquainted with his master's cruelty, felt
afraid, and answered--

"My lord, since such is your pleasure, I will speak to her, and tell you
her reply."

"If you show concern for my life, I shall show it for yours," replied
the Duke, and thereupon he went away.

The gentleman well understood the meaning of these words, and spent a
day or two without seeing the Duke, considering what he should do. On
the one hand he was confronted by the duty he owed his master, and the
wealth and honours he had received from him; on the other by the honour
of his house, and the fair fame and chastity of his sister. He well
knew that she would never submit to such infamy unless through his own
treachery she were overcome by violence, so unnatural a deed that if it
were committed he and his kindred would be disgraced for ever. In this
dilemma he decided that he would sooner die than so ill use his sister,
who was one of the noblest women in all Italy, and ought rather to
deliver his country of this tyrant who, abusing his power, sought to
cast such a slur upon his family; for he felt sure that if the Duke
were suffered to live, neither his own life nor the lives of his kindred
would be safe. So without speaking of the matter to his sister or to any
living creature, he determined to save his life and vindicate his honour
at one and the same time. Accordingly, when a couple of days had gone
by, he went to the Duke and told him that with infinite difficulty he
had so wrought upon his sister that she had at last consented to do his
will, provided that the matter were kept secret, and none but he, her
brother, knew of it.

The Duke, who was longing for these tidings, readily believed them, and
embracing the ambassador, promised him anything that he might ask. He
begged him to put his scheme quickly into execution, and they agreed
together upon the time when this should be done. The Duke was in great
joy, as may well be imagined; and on the arrival of that wished-for
night when he hoped to vanquish her whom he had deemed invincible, he
retired early, accompanied only by the lady's brother, and failed not to
attire himself in a perfumed shirt and head-gear. Then, when every one
was gone to rest, he went with the gentleman to the lady's abode, where
he was conducted into a well-appointed apartment.

Having undressed him and put him to bed, the gentleman said--

"My lord, I will now go and fetch you one who will assuredly not enter
this room without blushing; but I hope that before morning she will have
lost all fear of you."

Leaving the Duke, he then went to his own room, where he found one of
his servants, to whom he said--

"Are you brave enough to follow me to a place where I desire to avenge
myself upon my greatest living enemy?"

The other, who was ignorant of his master's purpose, replied--

"Yes, sir, though it were the Duke himself."

Thereupon the gentleman led him away in such haste as to leave him no
time to take any weapon except a poignard that he was wearing.

The Duke, on hearing the gentleman coming back again, thought that he
was bringing the loved one with him, and, opening his eyes, drew back
the curtains in order to see and welcome the joy for which he had so
long been waiting. But instead of seeing her who, so he hoped, was to
preserve his life, he beheld something intended to take his life away,
that is, a naked sword which the gentleman had drawn, and with which he
smote the Duke. The latter was wearing nothing but his shirt, and lacked
weapons, though not courage, for sitting up in the bed he seized the
gentleman round the body, saying--

"Is this the way you keep your promise?"

Then, armed as he was only with his teeth and nails, he bit the
gentleman's thumb, and wrestled with him so stoutly that they both fell
down beside the bed.

The gentleman, not feeling altogether confident, called to his servant,
who, finding the Duke and his master so closely twined together that
he could not tell the one from the other, dragged them both by the feet
into the middle of the room, and then tried to cut the Duke's throat
with his poignard. The Duke defended himself until he was so exhausted
through loss of blood that he could do no more, whereupon the gentleman
and his servant lifted him upon the bed and finished him with their
daggers. They then drew the curtain and went away, leaving the dead body
shut up in the room.

Having vanquished his great enemy, by whose death he hoped to free
his country, the gentleman reflected that his work would be incomplete
unless he treated five or six of the Duke's kindred in the same fashion.
The servant, however, who was neither a dare-devil nor a fool, said to
him--

"I think, sir, that you have done enough for the present, and that it
would be better to think of saving your own life than of taking the
lives of others, for should we be as long in making away with each of
them as we were in the case of the Duke, daylight would overtake our
enterprise before we could complete it, even should we find our enemies
unarmed."

Cowed by his guilty conscience, the gentleman followed the advice of his
servant, and taking him alone with him, repaired to a Bishop (4) whose
office it was to have the city gates opened, and to give orders to the
guard-posts.

4 Probably Cardinal Cybo, Alexander's chief minister, who
according to Sismondi, was the first to discover the
murder.--Ed.

"I have," said the gentleman to the Bishop, "this evening received
tidings that one of my brothers is at the point of death. I have just
asked leave of the Duke to go to him, and he has granted it me; and
I beg you to send orders that the guards may furnish me with two good
horses, and that the gatekeeper may let me through."

The Bishop, who regarded the gentleman's request in the same light as an
order from his master the Duke, forthwith gave him a note, by means of
which the gate was opened for him, and horses supplied to him as he had
requested; but instead of going to see his brother he betook himself
straight to Venice, where he had himself cured of the bites that he had
received from the Duke, and then passed over into Turkey. (5)

5 On leaving Florence, Lorenzo repaired first to Bologna
and then to Venice, where he informed Philip Strozzi of how
he had rid his country of the tyrant. After embracing him in
a transport, and calling him the Tuscan Brutus, Strozzi
asked the murderer's sisters, Laudamina and Magdalen de'
Medici, in marriage for his own sons, Peter and Robert. From
Venice Lorenzino issued a _memoire justificatif_, full of
quibbles and paradoxes, in which he tried to explain his
lack of energy after the murder by the indifference shown by
the Florentines. He took no part in the various enterprises
directed against Cosmo de' Medici, who had succeeded
Alexander at Florence. Indeed his chief concern was for his
own safety, which was threatened alike by Cosmo and the
Emperor Charles V., and to escape their emissaries he
proceeded to Turkey, and thence to France, ultimately
returning to Venice, where, despite all his precautions
against danger, he was assassinated in 1547, together with
his uncle, Soderini, by some spadassins in the pay of Cosmo
I.--Ed.

In the morning, finding that their master delayed his return so long,
all the Duke's servants suspected, rightly enough, that he had gone to
see some lady; but at last, as he still failed to return, they began
seeking him on all sides. The poor Duchess, who was beginning to love
him dearly, was sorely distressed on learning that he could not be
found; and as the gentleman to whom he bore so much affection was
likewise nowhere to be seen, some went to his house in quest of him.
They found blood on the threshold of the gentleman's room, which they
entered, but he was not there, nor could any servant or other person
give any tidings of him. Following the blood-stains, however, the Duke's
servants came at last to the room in which their master lay. The door
of it was locked, but this they soon broke open, and on seeing the floor
covered with blood they drew back the bed-curtain, and found the unhappy
Duke's body lying in the bed, sleeping the sleep from which one cannot
awaken.

You may imagine the mourning of these poor servants as they carried
the body to the palace, whither came the Bishop, who told them how the
gentleman had departed with all speed during the night under pretence of
going to see his brother. And by this it was clearly shown that it was
he who had committed the murder. And it was further proved that his poor
sister had known nothing whatever of the matter. For her part, albeit
she was astounded by what had happened, she could but love her brother
the more, seeing that he had not shrunk from risking his life in order
to save her from so cruel a tyrant. And so honourable and virtuous was
the life that she continued leading, that although she was reduced to
poverty by the confiscation of the family property, both she and her
sister found as honourable and wealthy husbands as there were in all
Italy, and lived ever afterwards in high and good repute.

"This, ladies, is a story that should make you dread that little god who
delights in tormenting Prince and peasant, strong and weak, and so far
blinds them that they lose all thought of God and conscience, and even
of their own lives. And greatly should Princes and those in authority
fear to offend such as are less than they; for there is no man but can
wreak injury when it pleases God to take vengeance on a sinner, nor any
man so great that he can do hurt to one who is in God's care."

This tale was commended by all in the company, (6) but it gave rise
to different opinions among them, for whilst some maintained that the
gentleman had done his duty in saving his own life and his sister's
honour, as well as in ridding his country of such a tyrant, others
denied this, and said it was rank ingratitude to slay one who had
bestowed on him such wealth and station. The ladies declared that the
gentleman was a good brother and a worthy citizen; the men, on the
contrary, that he was a treacherous and wicked servant.

6 In MS. No. 1520 (Bib. Nat.) this sentence begins: "The
tale was attentively listened to by all," &c.--L.

And pleasant was it to hear the reasons which were brought forward on
both sides; but the ladies, as is their wont, spoke as much from passion
as from judgment, saying that the Duke was so well worthy of death that
he who struck him down was a happy man indeed.

Then Dagoucin, seeing what a controversy he had set on foot, said to
them--

"In God's name, ladies, do not quarrel about a thing that is past and
gone. Take care rather that your own charms do not occasion more cruel
murders than the one which I have related."

"'La belle Dame sans Mercy,'" (7) replied Parlamente, "has taught us to
say that but few die of so pleasing an ailment."

7 _La belle Dame sans Merci_ (The Pitiless Beauty) is one
of Alain Chartier's best known poems. It is written in the
form of a dialogue between a lady and her lover: the former
having obstinately refused to take compassion on the
sufferings of her admirer, the latter is said to have died
of despair. The lines alluded to by Margaret are spoken by
the lady, and are to the following effect--"So graceful a
malady seldom puts men to death; yet the sooner to obtain
comfort, it is fitting one should say that it did. Some
complain and worry greatly who have not really felt the most
bitter affliction; and if indeed Love doth cause such great
torment, surely it were better there should be but one
sufferer rather than two." The poem, as here quoted, will be
found in Andre Duchesne's edition of the _OEuvres de Maistre
Alain Chartier_, Paris, 1617, p. 502.--L.

"Would to God, madam," answered Dagoucin, "that all the ladies in this
company knew how false that saying is. I think they would then scarcely
wish to be called pitiless, or to imitate that unbelieving beauty who
suffered a worthy lover to die for lack of a gracious answer to his
suit."

"So," said Parlamente, "you would have us risk honour and conscience to
save the life of a man who says he loves us."

"That is not my meaning," replied Dagoucin, "for he who loves with a
perfect love would be even more afraid of hurting his lady's honour than
would she herself. I therefore think that an honourable and graceful
response, such as is called for by perfect and seemly love, must tend to
the increase of honour and the satisfaction of conscience, for no true
lover could seek the contrary."

"That is always the end of your speeches," said Ennasuite; "they begin
with honour and end with the contrary. However, if all the gentlemen
present will tell the truth of the matter, I am ready to believe them on
their oaths."

Hircan swore that for his own part he had never loved any woman but
his own wife, and even with her had no desire to be guilty of any gross
offence against God.

Simontault declared the same, and added that he had often wished all
women were froward excepting his own wife.

"Truly," said Geburon to him, "you deserve that your wife should be what
you would have the others. For my own part, I can swear to you that I
once loved a woman so dearly that I would rather have died than have led
her to do anything that might have diminished my esteem for her. My love
for her was so founded upon her virtues, that for no advantage that I
might have had of her would I have seen them blemished."

At this Saffredent burst out laughing.

"Geburon," he said, "I thought that your wife's affection and your own
good sense would have guarded you from the danger of falling in love
elsewhere, but I see that I was mistaken, for you still use the very
phrases with which we are wont to beguile the most subtle of women, and
to obtain a hearing from the most discreet. For who would close her ears
against us when we begin our discourse by talking of honour and virtue?
(8) But if we were to show them our hearts just as they are, there is
many a man now welcome among the ladies whom they would reckon of but
little account. But we hide the devil in our natures under the most
angelic form we can devise, and in this disguise receive many favours
before we are found out. And perhaps we lead the ladies' hearts so far
forward, that when they come upon vice while believing themselves on the
high road to virtue, they have neither opportunity nor ability to draw
back again."

8 This sentence is borrowed from MS. No. 1520 (Bib. Nat.)--
L.

"Truly," said Geburon, "I thought you a different man than your words
would show you to be, and fancied that virtue was more pleasing to you
than pleasure."

"What!" said Saffredent. "Is there any virtue greater than that of
loving in the way that God commands? It seems to me that it is much
better to love one woman as a woman than to adore a number of women as
though they were so many idols. For my part, I am firmly of opinion that
use is better than abuse."

The ladies, however, all sided with Geburon, and would not allow
Saffredent to continue, whereupon he said--

"I am well content to say no more on this subject of love, for I have
been so badly treated with regard to it that I will never return to it
again."

"It is your own maliciousness," said Longarine, "that has occasioned
your bad treatment; for what virtuous woman would have you for a lover
after what you have told us?"

"Those who did not consider me unwelcome," answered Saffredent, "would
not care to exchange their virtue for yours. But let us say no more
about it, that my anger may offend neither myself nor others. Let us see
to whom Dagoucin will give his vote."

"I give it to Parlamente," said Dagoucin, "for I believe that she must
know better than any one else the nature of honourable and perfect
love."

"Since I have been chosen to tell the third tale," said Parlamente, "I
will tell you something that happened to a lady who has always been one
of my best friends, and whose thoughts have never been hidden from me."

[Illustration: 117.jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 119a.jpg The Sea-captain talking to the Lady]

[The Sea-captain talking to the Lady]

[Illustration: 119.jpg Page Image]

_TALE XIII_.

_A sea-captain, being greatly in love with a lady, sent her a diamond;
but she despatched it to his wife, whom he had long neglected, and in
this wise so atoned for his conduct that his wife was reconciled to him
in perfect affection_. (1)

1 M. Le Roux de Lincy believes that this story has some
historical basis, and, Louise of Savoy being termed the
Regent, he assigns the earlier incidents to the year 1524.
But Louise was Regent, for the first time, in 1515, and we
incline to the belief that Queen Margaret alludes to this
earlier period. Note the reference to a Court journey to
Normandy (post, p. 136), which was probably the journey that
Francis I. and his mother are known to have made to Rouen
and Alencon in the autumn of 1517. See vol. i. p. xxviii.--
Ed. 2 119

In the household of the Lady-Regent, mother of King Francis, there was
a very pious lady married to a gentleman of like mind with herself, and,
albeit her husband was old and she was young and pretty, she served and
loved him as though he had been the handsomest and youngest man in the
world. So that she might give him no cause for sorrow, she set herself
to live as though she were of the same age as himself, eschewing all
such company, dress, dances, and amusements as young women are wont to
love, and finding all her pleasure and recreation in the service of God;
on which account her husband so loved and trusted her, that she ruled
him and his household as she would.

One day it happened that the gentleman told his wife that from his youth
up he had desired to make a journey to Jerusalem, and asked her what she
thought of it. She, whose only wish was to please him, replied--

"Since God has withheld children from us, sweetheart, and has granted
us sufficient wealth, I would willingly use some portion of it in making
this sacred journey with you, for indeed, whether you go thither or
elsewhere, I am resolved never to leave you."

At this the good man was so pleased, that it seemed to him as though he
were already on Mount Calvary.

While they were deliberating on this matter, there came to the Court
a gentleman, the Captain of a galley, who had often served in the wars
against the Turks, (2) and was now soliciting the King of France to
undertake an expedition against one of their cities, which might yield
great advantage to Christendom. The old gentleman inquired of him
concerning this expedition, and after hearing what he intended to do,
asked him whether, on the completion of this business, he would make
another journey to Jerusalem, whither he himself and his wife had a
great desire to go. The Captain was well pleased on hearing of this
laudable desire, and he promised to conduct them thither, and to keep
the matter secret.

2 M. Paul Lacroix, who believes that the heroine of this
tale is Margaret herself (she is described as telling it
under the name of Parlamente), is also of opinion that the
gentleman referred to is the Baron de Malleville, a knight
of Malta, who was killed at Beyrout during an expedition
against the Turks, and whose death was recounted in verse by
Clement Marot (_OEuvres_, 1731, vol. ii. p. 452-455).
Margaret's gentleman, however, is represented as being
married, whereas M. de Malleville, as a knight of Malta, was
necessarily a bachelor. Marot, moreover, calls Malleville a
Parisian, whereas the gentleman in the tale belonged to
Normandy (see _post_, p. 136).--B. J. and L.

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