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

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

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The Queen, beside herself with wrath, commanded that Rolandine should
be taken from her sight and put into a room alone, where she might have
speech with no one. However, her governess was not taken from her, and
through her Rolandine acquainted the Bastard with all that had befallen
her, and asked him what he would have her do. He, thinking that his
services to the King might avail him something, came with all speed to
the Court. Finding the King at the chase, he told him the whole truth,
entreating him to favour a poor gentleman so far as to appease the Queen
and bring about the consummation of the marriage.

The King made no reply except to ask--

"Do you assure me that you have wedded her?"

"Yes, sire," said the Bastard, "but by word of mouth alone; however, if
it please you, we'll make an ending of it."

The King bent his head, and, without saying anything more, returned
straight towards the castle, and when he was nigh to it summoned the
Captain of his Guard, and charged him to take the Bastard prisoner.

However, a friend who knew and could interpret the King's visage, warned
the Bastard to withdraw and betake himself to a house of his that was
hard by, saying that if the King, as he expected, sought for him, he
should know of it forthwith, so that he might fly the kingdom; whilst
if, on the other hand, things became smoother, he should have word to
return. The Bastard followed this counsel, and made such speed that the
Captain of the Guards was not able to find him.

The King and Queen took counsel together as to what they should do with
the hapless lady who had the honour of being related to them, and by
the Queen's advice it was decided that she should be sent back to her
father, and that he should be made acquainted with the whole truth.

But before sending her away they caused many priests and councillors to
speak with her and show her that, since her marriage consisted in words
only, it might by mutual agreement readily be made void; and this, they
urged, the King desired her to do in order to maintain the honour of the
house to which she belonged.

She made answer that she was ready to obey the King in all such things
as were not contrary to her conscience, but that those whom God had
brought together man could not put asunder. She therefore begged them
not to tempt her to anything so unreasonable; for if love and goodwill
founded on the fear of God were the true and certain marriage ties, she
was linked by bonds that neither steel nor flame nor water could sever.
Death alone might do this, and to death alone would she resign her ring
and her oath. She therefore prayed them to gainsay her no more; for so
strong of purpose was she that she would rather keep faith and die than
break it and live.

This steadfast reply was repeated to the King by those whom he had
appointed to speak with her, and when it was found that she could by no
means be brought to renounce her husband, she was sent to her father,
and this in so pitiful a plight that all who beheld her pass wept to see
her. And although she had done wrong, her punishment was so grievous and
her constancy so great, that her wrongdoing was made to appear a virtue.

When her father heard the pitiful tale, he would not see her, but sent
her away to a castle in a forest, which he had aforetime built for a
reason well worthy to be related. (14) There he kept her in prison for a
long time, causing her to be told that if she would give up her husband
he would treat her as his daughter and set her free.

14 The famous chateau of Josselin in Morbihan. See notes to
Tale XL., vol. lv.--Ed.

Nevertheless she continued firm, for she preferred the bonds of prison
together with those of marriage, to all the freedom in the world without
her husband. And, judging from her countenance, all her woes seemed but
pleasant pastimes to her, since she was enduring them for one she loved.

And now, what shall I say of men? The Bastard, who was so deeply
beholden to her, as you have seen, fled to Germany where he had many
friends, and there showed by his fickleness that he had sought Rolandine
less from true and perfect love than from avarice and ambition; for he
fell deeply in love with a German lady, and forgot to write to the woman
who for his sake was enduring so much tribulation. However cruel Fortune
might be towards them, they were always able to write to each other,
until he conceived this foolish and wicked love. And Rolandine's heart
gaining an inkling of it, she could no longer rest.

And afterwards, when she found that his letters were colder and
different from what they had been before, she suspected that some new
love was separating her from her husband, and doing that which all the
torments and afflictions laid upon herself had been unable to effect.
Nevertheless, her perfect love would not pass judgment on mere
suspicion, so she found a means of secretly sending a trusty servant,
not to carry letters or messages to him, but to watch him and discover
the truth. When this servant had returned from his journey, he told her
that the Bastard was indeed deeply in love with a German lady, and that
according to common report he was seeking to marry her, for she was very
rich.

These tidings brought extreme and unendurable grief to Rolandine's
heart, so that she fell grievously sick. Those who knew the cause of
her sickness, told her on behalf of her father that, with this great
wickedness on the part of the Bastard before her eyes, she might now
justly renounce him. They did all they could to persuade her to that
intent, but, notwithstanding her exceeding anguish, she could not be
brought to change her purpose, and in this last temptation again gave
proof of her great love and surpassing virtue. For as love grew less and
less on his part, so did it grow greater on hers, and in this way make
good that which was lost. And when she knew that the entire and perfect
love that once had been shared by both remained but in her heart alone,
she resolved to preserve it there until one or the other of them should
die. And the Divine Goodness, which is perfect charity and true love,
took pity upon her grief and long suffering, in such wise that a few
days afterwards the Bastard died while occupied in seeking after another
woman. Being advised of this by certain persons who had seen him laid in
the ground, she sent to her father and begged that he would be pleased
to speak with her.

Her father, who had never spoken to her since her imprisonment, came
without delay. He listened to all the pleas that she had to urge, and
then, instead of rebuking her or killing her as he had often threatened,
he took her in his arms and wept exceedingly.

"My daughter," he said, "you are more in the right than I, for if there
has been any wrongdoing in this matter, I have been its principal cause.
But now, since God has so ordered it, I would gladly atone for the
past."

He took her home and treated her as his eldest daughter. A gentleman
who bore the same name and arms as did her own family sought her in
marriage; he was very sensible and virtuous, (15) and he thought so much
of Rolandine, whom he often visited, that he gave praise to what
others blamed in her, perceiving that virtue had been her only aim.
The marriage, being acceptable both to Rolandine and to her father, was
concluded without delay.

It is true, however, that a brother she had, the sole heir of their
house, would not grant her a portion, for he charged her with having
disobeyed her father. And after his father's death he treated her so
harshly that she and her husband (who was a younger son) had much ado to
live. (16)

15 Peter de Rohan-Gie, Lord of Frontenay, third son of
Peter de Rohan, Lord of Gie, Marshal of Prance and preceptor
to Francis I. As previously stated, the marriage took place
in 1517, and eight years later the husband was killed at
Pavia.--Ed.

16 Anne de Rohan (Rolandine) had two brothers, James and
Claud. Both died without issue. Some particulars concerning
them will be found in the notes to Tale XL. The father's
death, according to Anselme, took place in 1516, that is,
prior to Anne's marriage.--Ed.

However, God provided for them, for the brother that sought to keep
everything died suddenly one day, leaving behind him both her wealth,
which he was keeping back, and his own.

Thus did she inherit a large and rich estate, whereon she lived piously
and virtuously and in her husband's love. And after she had brought up
the two sons that God gave to them, (17) she yielded with gladness her
soul to Him in whom she had at all times put her perfect trust.

17 Anne's sons were Rene and Claud. Miss Mary Robinson (_The
Fortunate Lovers_, London, 1887) believes Rene to be
"Saffredent," and his wife Isabel d'Albret, sister of Queen
Margaret's husband Henry of Navarre, to be "Nomerfide."--Ed.

"Now, ladies, let the men who would make us out so fickle come forward
and point to an instance of as good a husband as this lady was a good
wife, and of one having like faith and steadfastness. I am sure they
would find it so difficult to do this, that I will release them from
the task rather than put them to such exceeding toil. But as for you,
ladies, I would pray you, for the sake of maintaining your own fair
fame, either to love not at all, or else to love as perfectly as she
did. And let none among you say that this lady offended against her
honour, seeing that her constancy has served to heighten our own."

"In good sooth, Parlamente," said Oisille, "you have indeed told us
the story of a woman possessed of a noble and honourable heart; but her
constancy derives half its lustre from the faithlessness of a husband
that could leave her for another."

"I think," said Longarine, "that the grief so caused must have been
the hardest to bear. There is none so heavy that the love of two united
lovers cannot support it; but when one fails in his duty, and leaves
the whole of the burden to the other, the load becomes too heavy to be
endured."

"Then you ought to pity us," said Geburon, "for we have to bear the
whole burden of love, and you will not put out the tip of a finger to
relieve us."

"Ah, Geburon," said Parlamente, "the burdens of men and of women are
often different enough. The love of a woman, being founded on godliness
and honour, is just and reasonable, and any man that is false to it must
be reckoned a coward, and a sinner against God and man. On the other
hand, most men love only with reference to pleasure, and women, being
ignorant of their ill intent, are sometimes ensnared; but when God shows
them how vile is the heart of the man whom they deemed good, they may
well draw back to save their honour and reputation, for soonest ended is
best mended."

"Nay, that is a whimsical idea of yours," said Hircan, "to hold that an
honourable woman may in all honour betray the love of a man; but that
a man may not do as much towards a woman. You would make out that the
heart of the one differs from that of the other; but for my part, in
spite of their differences in countenance and dress, I hold them to
be alike in inclination, except indeed that the guilt which is best
concealed is the worst."

Thereto Parlamente replied with some heat--

"I am well aware that in your opinion the best women are those whose
guilt is known."

"Let us leave this discourse," said Simontault; "for whether we take
the heart of man or the heart of woman, the better of the twain is worth
nothing. And now let us see to whom Parlamente is going to give her
vote, so that we may hear some fine tale."

"I give it," she said, "to Geburon."

"Since I began," (18) he replied, "by talking about the Grey friars, I
must not forget those of Saint Benedict, nor an adventure in which they
were concerned in my own time. Nevertheless, in telling you the story of
a wicked monk, I do not wish to hinder you from having a good opinion of
such as are virtuous; but since the Psalmist says 'all men are liars,'
and in another place, 'there is none that doeth good, no not one,' (19)
I think we are bound to look upon men as they really are. If there be
any virtue in them, we must attribute it to Him who is its source, and
not to the creature. Most people deceive themselves by giving overmuch
praise or glory to the latter, or by thinking that there is something
good in themselves. That you may not deem it impossible for exceeding
lust to exist under exceeding austerity, listen to what befel in the
days of King Francis the First."

18 See the first tale he tells, No. 5, vol. i.--Ed.

19 Psalms cxvi. 11 and xiv. 3.

[Illustration: 071.jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 073a.jpg Sister Marie and the Prior]

[Sister Marie and the Prior]

[Illustration: 073.jpg Page Image]

_TALE XXII_.

_Sister Marie Heroet, being unchastely solicited by a Prior
of Saint-Martin-in-the-Fields, was by the grace of God
enabled to overcome his great temptations, to the Prior's
exceeding confusion and her own glory_. (1)

1 This story is historical, and though M. Frank indicates
points of similarity between it and No. xxvii. of St. Denis'
_Comptes du Monde Adventureux_, and No. vi. of Masuccio de
Solerac's _Novellino_, these are of little account when one
remembers that the works in question were written posterior
to the _Heptameron_. The incidents related in the tale must
have occurred between 1530 and 1535. The Abbey of Saint-
Martin-in-the-Fields stood on the site of the present
Conservatoire des Arts et Metiers, Paris.--Ed.

In the city of Paris there was a Prior of Saint-Martin-in-the-Fields,
whose name I will keep secret for the sake of the friendship I bore him.
Until he reached the age of fifty years, his life was so austere that
the fame of his holiness was spread throughout the entire kingdom, and
there was not a prince or princess but showed him high honour when he
came to visit them. There was further no monkish reform that was not
wrought by his hand, so that people called him the "father of true
monasticism." (2)

He was chosen visitor to the illustrious order of the "Ladies of
Fontevrault," (3) by whom he was held in such awe that, when he visited
any of their convents, the nuns shook with very fear, and to soften his
harshness towards them would treat him as though he had been the King
himself in person. At first he would not have them do this, but at last,
when he was nearly fifty-five years old, he began to find the treatment
he had formerly contemned very pleasant; and reckoning himself the
mainstay of all monasticism, he gave more care to the preservation of
his health than had heretofore been his wont. Although the rules of
his order forbade him ever to partake of flesh, he granted himself a
dispensation (which was more than he ever did for another), declaring
that the whole burden of conventual affairs rested upon him; for which
reason he feasted himself so well that, from being a very lean monk he
became a very fat one.

2 This prior was Stephen Gentil, who succeeded Philip
Bourgoin on December 15, 1508, and died November 6, 1536.
The _Gallia Christiana_ states that in 1524 he reformed an
abbey of the diocese of Soissons, but makes no mention of
his appointment as visitor to the abbey of Fontevrault.
Various particulars concerning him will be found in Manor's
_Monasterii Regalis S. Martini de Campis, &c. Parisiis_,
1636, and in _Gallia Christiana_, vol. vii. col. 539.--L.

3 The abbey of Fontevrault, near Saumur, Maine-et-Loire, was
founded in 1100 by Robert d'Arbrissel, and comprised two
conventual establishments, one for men and the other for
women. Prior to his death, d'Arbrissel abdicated his
authority in favour of Petronilla de Chemille, and from her
time forward monks and nuns alike were always under the sway
of an abbess--this being the only instance of the kind in
the history of the Roman Catholic Church. Fourteen of the
abbesses were princesses, and several of these were of the
blood royal of France. In the abbey church were buried our
Henry II., Eleanor of Guienne, Richard Coeur-de-Lion, and
Isabella of Angouleme; their tombs are still shown, though
the abbey has become a prison, and its church a refectory.--
Ed.

Together with this change of life there was wrought also a great change
of heart, so that he now began to cast glances upon countenances which
aforetime he had looked at only as a duty; and, contemplating charms
which were rendered even more desirable by the veil, he began to hanker
after them. Then, to satisfy this longing, he sought out such cunning
devices that at last from being a shepherd he became a wolf, so that in
many a convent, where there chanced to be a simple maiden, he failed
not to beguile her. But after he had continued this evil life for a
long time, the Divine Goodness took compassion upon the poor, wandering
sheep, and would no longer suffer this villain's triumph to endure, as
you shall hear.

One day he went to visit the convent of Gif, (4) not far from Paris,
and while he was confessing all the nuns, it happened that there was one
among them called Marie Heroet, whose speech was so gentle and pleasing
that it gave promise of a countenance and heart to match.

4 Gif, an abbey of the Benedictine order, was situated at
five leagues from Paris, in the valley of Chevreuse, on the
bank of the little river Yvette. A few ruins of it still
remain. It appears to have been founded in the eleventh
century.--See Le Beuf s _Histoire du Diocese de Paris_, vol.
viii. part viii. p. 106, and _Gallia Christiana_, vol. vii.
col. 596.--L. and D.

The mere sound of her voice moved him with a passion exceeding any that
he had ever felt for other nuns, and, while speaking to her, he bent
low to look at her, and perceiving her rosy, winsome mouth, could not
refrain from lifting her veil to see whether her eyes were in keeping
therewith. He found that they were, and his heart was filled with so
ardent a passion that, although he sought to conceal it, his countenance
became changed, and he could no longer eat or drink. When he returned
to his priory, he could find no rest, but passed his days and nights in
deep disquiet, seeking to devise a means whereby he might accomplish his
desire, and make of this nun what he had already made of many others.
But this, he feared, would be difficult, seeing that he had found her
to be prudent of speech and shrewd of understanding; moreover, he knew
himself to be old and ugly, and therefore resolved not to employ words
but to seek to win her by fear.

Accordingly, not long afterwards, he returned to the convent of Gif
aforesaid, where he showed more austerity than he had ever done before,
and spoke wrathfully to all the nuns, telling one that her veil was not
low enough, another that she carried her head too high, and another
that she did not do him reverence as a nun should do. So harsh was he in
respect of all these trifles, that they feared him as though he had been
a god sitting on the throne of judgment.

Being gouty, he grew very weary in visiting all the usual parts of the
convent, and it thus came to pass that about the hour for vespers, an
hour which he had himself fixed upon, he found himself in the dormitory,
when the Abbess said to him--

"Reverend father, it is time to go to vespers."

"Go, mother," he replied, "do you go to vespers. I am so weary that I
will remain here, yet not to rest but to speak to Sister Marie, of
whom I have had a very bad report, for I am told that she prates like a
worldly-minded woman."

The Abbess, who was aunt to the maiden's mother, begged him to
reprove her soundly, and left her alone with him and a young monk who
accompanied him.

When he found himself alone with Sister Marie, he began to lift up her
veil, and to tell her to look at him. She answered that the rule of her
order forbade her to look at men.

"It is well said, my daughter," he replied, "but you must not consider
us monks as men."

Then Sister Marie, fearing to sin by disobedience, looked him in the
face; but he was so ugly that she though it rather a penance than a sin
to look at him.

The good father, after telling her at length of his goodwill towards
her, sought to lay his hand upon her breasts; but she repulsed him, as
was her duty; whereupon, in great wrath, he said to her--

"Should a nun know that she has breasts?"

"I know that I have," she replied, "and certes neither you nor any other
shall ever touch them. I am not so young and ignorant that I do not know
the difference between what is sin and what is not."

When he saw that such talk would not prevail upon her, he adopted a
different plan, and said--

"Alas, my daughter, I must make known to you my extreme need. I have an
infirmity which all the physicians hold to be incurable unless I have
pleasure with some woman whom I greatly love. For my part, I would
rather die than commit a mortal sin; but, when it comes to that, I know
that simple fornication is in no wise to be compared with the sin of
homicide. So, if you love my life, you will preserve it for me, as well
as your own conscience from cruelty."

She asked him what manner of pleasure he desired to have. He replied
that she might safely surrender her conscience to his own, and that he
would do nothing that could be a burden to either.

Then, to let her see the beginning of the pastime that he sought, he
took her in his arms and tried to throw her upon a bed. She, recognising
his evil purpose, defended herself so well with arms and voice that he
could only touch her garments. Then, when he saw that all his devices
and efforts were being brought to naught, he behaved like a madman and
one devoid not only of conscience but of natural reason, for, thrusting
his hand under her dress, he scratched wherever his nails could reach
with such fury that the poor girl shrieked out, and fell swooning at
full length upon the floor.

Hearing this cry, the Abbess came into the dormitory; for while at
vespers she had remembered that she had left her niece's daughter alone
with the good father, and feeling some scruples of conscience, she had
left the chapel and repaired to the door of the dormitory in order to
learn what was going on. On hearing her niece's voice, she pushed open
the door, which was being held by the young monk.

And when the Prior saw the Abbess coming, he pointed to her niece as she
lay in a swoon, and said--

"Assuredly, mother, you are greatly to blame that you did not inform me
of Sister Marie's condition. Knowing nothing of her weakness, I caused
her to stand before me, and, while I was reproving her, she swooned away
as you see."

They revived her with vinegar and other remedies, and found that she had
wounded her head in her fall. When she was recovered, the Prior, fearing
that she would tell her aunt the reason of her indisposition, took her
aside and said to her--

"I charge you, my daughter, if you would be obedient and hope for
salvation, never to speak of what I said to you just now. You must know
that it was my exceeding love for you that constrained me, but since
I see that you do not wish to love me, I will never speak of it to you
again. However, if you be willing, I promise to have you chosen Abbess
of one of the three best convents in the kingdom."

She replied that she would rather die in perpetual imprisonment than
have any lover save Him who had died for her on the cross, for she
would rather suffer with Him all the evils the world could inflict than
possess without Him all its blessings. And she added that he must never
again speak to her in such a manner, or she would inform the Abbess;
whereas, if he kept silence, so would she.

Thereupon this evil shepherd left her, and in order to make himself
appear quite other than he was, and to again have the pleasure of
looking upon her he loved, he turned to the Abbess and said--

"I beg, mother, that you will cause all your nuns to sing a _Salve
Regina_ in honour of that virgin in whom I rest my hope."

While this was being done, the old fox did nothing but shed tears, not
of devotion, but of grief at his lack of success. All the nuns, thinking
that it was for love of the Virgin Mary, held him for a holy man, but
Sister Marie, who knew his wickedness, prayed in her heart that one
having so little reverence for virginity might be brought to confusion.

And so this hypocrite departed to St. Martin's, where the evil fire that
was in his heart did not cease burning night and day alike, prompting
him to all manner of devices in order to compass his ends. As he above
all things feared the Abbess, who was a virtuous woman, he hit upon a
plan to withdraw her from the convent, and betook himself to Madame de
Vendome, who was at that time living at La Fere, where she had founded
and built a convent of the Benedictine order called Mount Olivet. (5)

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