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

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5 This is Mary of Luxemburg, Countess of St. Paul-de-
Conversan, Marie and Soissons, who married, first, James of
Savoy, and secondly, Francis de Bourbon, Count of Vendome.
The latter, who accompanied Charles VIII. to Italy, was
killed at Vercelli in October 1495, when but twenty-five
years old. His widow did not marry again, but retired to her
chateau of La Fere near Laon (Aisne), where late in 1518 she
founded a convent of Benedictine nuns, which, according to
the _Gallia Christiana_, she called the convent of Mount
Calvary. This must be the establishment alluded to by Queen
Margaret, who by mistake has called it Mount Olivet, i.e.,
the Mount of Olives. Madame de Vendome died at a very
advanced age on April 1, 1546.--See Anselme's _Histoire
Genealogique_, vol. i. p. 326.--L.

Speaking in the quality of a prince of reformers, he gave her to
understand that the Abbess of the aforesaid Mount Olivet lacked the
capacity to govern such a community. The worthy lady begged him to
give her another that should be worthy of the office, and he, who asked
nothing better, counselled her to have the Abbess of Gif, as being the
most capable in France. Madame de Vendome sent for her forthwith, and
set her over the convent of Mount Olivet.

As the Prior of St. Martin's had every monastic vote at his disposal, he
caused one who was devoted to him to be chosen Abbess of Gif, and this
being accomplished, he went to Gif to try once more whether he might win
Sister Marie Heroet by prayers or honied words. Finding that he could
not succeed, he returned in despair to his priory of St. Martin's, and
in order to achieve his purpose, to revenge himself on her who was so
cruel to him, and further to prevent the affair from becoming known, he
caused the relics of the aforesaid convent of Gif to be secretly stolen
at night, and accusing the confessor of the convent, a virtuous and
very aged man, of having stolen them, he cast him into prison at St.
Martin's.

Whilst he held him captive there, he stirred up two witnesses who in
ignorance signed what the Prior commanded them, which was a statement
that they had seen the confessor in a garden with Sister Marie, engaged
in a foul and wicked act; and this the Prior sought to make the old monk
confess. But he, who knew all the Prior's misdoings, entreated him to
bring him before the Chapter, saying that there, in presence of all the
monks, he would tell the truth of all that he knew. The Prior, fearing
that the confessor's justification would be his own condemnation, would
in no wise grant this request; and, finding him firm of purpose, he
treated him so ill in prison that some say he brought about his death,
and others that he forced him to lay aside his robe and betake himself
out of the kingdom of France. Be that as it may, the confessor was never
seen again.

The Prior, thinking that he had now a sure hold upon Sister Marie,
repaired to the convent, where the Abbess, chosen for this purpose,
gainsaid him in nothing. There he began to exercise his authority as
visitor, and caused all the nuns to come one after the other into a room
that he might hear them, as is the fashion at a visitation. When the
turn of Sister Marie, who had now lost her good aunt, had come, he began
speaking to her in this wise--

"Sister Marie, you know of what crime you are accused, and that your
pretence of chastity has availed you nothing, since you are well known
to be the very contrary of chaste."

"Bring here my accuser," replied Sister Marie, with steadfast
countenance, "and you will see whether in my presence he will abide by
his evil declaration."

"No further proof is needed," he said, "since the confessor has been
found guilty."

"I hold him for too honourable a man," said Sister Marie, "to have
confessed so great a lie; but even should he have done so, bring him
here before me, and I will prove the contrary of what he says."

The Prior, finding that he could in no wise move her, thereupon said--

"I am your father, and seek to save your honour. For this reason I will
leave the truth of the matter to your own conscience, and will believe
whatever it bids you say. I ask you and conjure you on pain of mortal
sin to tell me truly whether you were indeed a virgin when you were
placed in this house?"

"My father," she replied, "I was then but five years old, and that age
must in itself testify to my virginity."

"Well, my daughter," said the Prior, "have you not since that time lost
this flower?"

She swore that she had kept it, and that she had had no hindrance in
doing so except from himself. Whereto he replied that he could not
believe it, and that the matter required proof.

"What proof," she asked, "would you have?"

"The same as from the others," said the Prior; "for as I am visitor of
souls, even so am I visitor of bodies also. Your abbesses and prioresses
have all passed through my hands, and you need have no fear if I visit
your virginity. Wherefore throw yourself upon the bed, and lift the
forepart of your garments over your face."

"You have told me so much of your wicked love for me," Sister Marie
replied in wrath, "that I think you seek rather to rob me of my
virginity than to visit it. So understand that I shall never consent."

Thereupon he said to her that she was excommunicated for refusing him
the obedience which Holy Church commanded, and that, if she did not
consent, he would dishonour her before the whole Chapter by declaring
the evil that he knew of between herself and the confessor.

But with fearless countenance she replied--

"He that knows the hearts of His servants shall give me as much honour
in His presence as you can give me shame in the presence of men; and
since your wickedness goes so far, I would rather it wreaked its cruelty
upon me than its evil passion; for I know that God is a just judge."

Then the Prior departed and assembled the whole Chapter, and, causing
Sister Marie to appear on her knees before him, he said to her with
wondrous malignity--

"Sister Marie, it grieves me to see that the good counsels I have given
you have been of no effect, and to find you fallen into such evil ways
that, contrary to my wont, I must needs lay a penance upon you. I have
examined your confessor concerning certain crimes with which he is
charged, and he has confessed to me that he has abused your person in
the place where the witnesses say that they saw him. And so I command
that, whereas I had formerly raised you to honourable rank as Mistress
of the Novices, you shall now be the lowest placed of all, and further,
shall eat only bread and water on the ground, and in presence of all
the Sisters, until you have shown sufficient penitence to receive
forgiveness."

Sister Marie had been warned by one of her companions, who was
acquainted with the whole matter, that if she made any reply displeasing
to the Prior, he would put her _in pace_--that is, in perpetual
imprisonment--and she therefore submitted to this sentence, raising her
eyes to heaven, and praying Him who had enabled her to withstand sin,
to grant her patience for the endurance of tribulation. The Prior of St.
Martin's further commanded that for the space of three years she should
neither speak with her mother or kinsfolk when they came to see her, nor
send any letters save such as were written in community.

The miscreant then went away and returned no more, and for a long time
the unhappy maiden continued in the tribulation that I have described.
But her mother, who loved her best of all her children, was much
astonished at receiving no tidings from her; and told one of her sons,
who was a prudent and honourable gentleman, (6) that she thought her
daughter was dead, and that the nuns were hiding it from her in order
that they might receive the yearly payment. She, therefore, begged him
to devise some means of seeing his sister.

6 It is conjectured by M. Lacroix that this "prudent and
honourable gentleman," Mary Heroet's brother, was Antoine
Heroet or Herouet, alias La Maisonneuve, who at one time was
a valet and secretary to Queen Margaret, and so advanced
himself in life that he died Bishop of Digne in 1544. He was
the author of _La Parfaite Amie, L'Androgyne, and De n'aimer
point sans etre aime_, poems of a semi-metaphysical, semi-
amorous character such as might have come from Margaret's
own pen. Whether he was Mary Heroet's brother or not, it is
at least probable that he was her relative.-B. J. and L.

He went forthwith to the convent, where he met with the wonted excuses,
being told that for three years his sister had not stirred from her bed.
But this did not satisfy him, and he swore that, if he did not see
her, he would climb over the walls and force his way into the convent.
Thereupon, being in great fear, they brought his sister to him at the
grating, though the Abbess stood so near that she could not tell her
brother aught that was not heard. But she had prudently set down in
writing all that I have told you, together with a thousand others of the
Prior's devices to deceive her, which 'twould take too long to relate.

Yet I must not omit to mention that at the time when her aunt was
Abbess, the Prior, thinking that his ugliness was the cause of her
refusal, had caused Sister Marie to be tempted by a handsome young monk,
in the hope that if she yielded to this man through love, he himself
might afterwards obtain her through fear. The young monk aforesaid spoke
to her in a garden with gestures too shameful to be mentioned, whereat
the poor maiden ran to the Abbess, who was talking with the Prior, and
cried out--

"Mother, they are not monks, but devils, who visit us here!"

Thereupon the Prior, in great fear of discovery, began to laugh, and
said--

"Assuredly, mother, Sister Marie is right."

Then, taking Sister Marie by the hand, he said to her in presence of the
Abbess--

"I had heard that Sister Marie spoke very well, and so constantly that
she was deemed to be worldly-minded. For this reason I constrained
myself, contrary to my natural inclination, to speak to her in the way
that worldly men speak to women--at least in books, for in point
of experience I am as ignorant as I was on the day when I was born.
Thinking, however, that only my years and ugliness led her to discourse
in so virtuous a fashion, I commanded my young monk to speak to her as
I myself had done, and, as you see, she has virtuously resisted him.
So highly, therefore, do I think of her prudence and virtue, that
henceforward she shall rank next after you and shall be Mistress of the
Novices, to the intent that her excellent disposition may ever increase
in virtue."

This act, with many others, was done by this worthy monk during the
three years that he was in love with the nun. She, however, as I have
said, gave her brother in writing, through the grating, the whole story
of her pitiful fortunes; and this her brother brought to her mother, who
came, overwhelmed with despair, to Paris. Here she found the Queen of
Navarre, only sister to the King, and showing her the piteous story,
said--

"Madam, trust no more in these hypocrites. I thought that I had placed
my daughter within the precincts of Paradise, or on the high road
thither, whereas I have placed her in the precincts of Hell, and in the
hands of the vilest devils imaginable. The devils, indeed, do not tempt
us unless temptation be our pleasure, but these men will take by force
when they cannot win by love."

The Queen of Navarre was in great concern, for she trusted wholly in
the Prior of St. Martin's, to whose care she had committed her
sisters-inlaw, the Abbesses of Montivilliers and Caen. (7) On the
other hand, the enormity of the crime so horrified her and made her
so desirous of avenging the innocence of this unhappy maiden, that she
communicated the matter to the King's Chancellor, who happened also to
be Legate in France. (8)

7 The abbess of Montivilliers was Catherine d'Albret,
daughter of John d'Albret, King of Navarre and sister of
Queen Margaret's husband, Henry. At first a nun at the abbey
of St. Magdalen at Orleans, she became twenty-eighth abbess
of Montivilliers near Havre. She was still living in 1536.
(_Gallia Christ_., vol. xi. col. 285). The abbess of Caen
was Magdalen d'Albret, Catherine's sister. She took the veil
at Fontevrault in 1527, subsequently became thirty-third
abbess of the Trinity at Caen, and died in November 1532.
(_Gallia Christ_., vol. xi. col. 436).--L.

8 This is the famous Antony Duprat, Francis I.'s favourite
minister. Born in 1463, he became Chancellor in 1515, and
his wife dying soon afterwards, he took orders, with the
result that he was made Archbishop of Sens and Cardinal. It
was in 1530 that he was appointed Papal Legate in France, so
that the incidents related in this tale cannot have occurred
at an earlier date. Duprat died in July 1535, of grief, it
is said, because Francis I. would not support him in his
ambitious scheme to secure possession of the papal see, as
successor to Clement VII.-B. J. and Ed.

The Prior was sent for, but could find nothing to plead except that he
was seventy years of age, and addressing himself to the Queen of Navarre
he begged that, for all the good she had ever wished to do him, and in
token of all the services he had rendered or had desired to render her,
she would be pleased to bring these proceedings to a close, and he would
acknowledge that Sister Marie was a pearl of honour and chastity.

On hearing this, the Queen of Navarre was so astonished that she could
make no reply, but went off and left him there. The unhappy man then
withdrew in great confusion to his monastery, where he would suffer
none to see him, and where he lived only one year afterwards. And Sister
Marie Heroet, now reputed as highly as she deserved to be, by reason of
the virtues that God had given her, was withdrawn from the convent of
Gif, where she had endured so much evil, and was by the King made Abbess
of the the convent of Giy (9) near Montargis.

9 Giy-les-Nonains, a little village on the river Ouanne, at
two leagues and a half from Montargis, department of the
Loiret.--L.

This convent she reformed, and there she lived like one filled with the
Spirit of God, whom all her life long she ever praised for having of His
good grace restored to her both honour and repose.

"There, ladies, you have a story which clearly proves the words of the
Gospel, that 'God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound
the things which are mighty, and things which are despised of men hath
God chosen to bring to nought the glory of those who think themselves
something but are in truth nothing.' (10) And remember, ladies, that
without the grace of God there is no good at all in man, just as there
is no temptation that with His assistance may not be overcome. This
is shown by the abasement of the man who was accounted just, and the
exaltation of her whom men were willing to deem a wicked sinner. Thus
are verified Our Lord's words, 'Whosoever exalteth himself shall be
abased; and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted.'" (11)

10 I Corinthians i. 27, 28, slightly modified.

11 St. Luke xiv. 11 and xviii. 14.

"Alas," said Oisille, "how many virtuous persons did that Prior deceive!
For I saw people put more trust in him than even in God."

"_I_ should not have done so," said Nomerfide, "for such is my horror of
monks that I could not confess to one. I believe they are worse than
all other men, and never frequent a house without leaving disgrace or
dissension behind them."

"There are good ones among them," said Oisille, "and they ought not
to be judged by the bad alone; but the best are those that least often
visit laymen's houses and women."

"You are right," said Ennasuite. "The less they are seen, the less
they are known, and therefore the more highly are they esteemed; for
companionship with them shows what they really are."

"Let us say no more about them," said Nomerfide, "and see to whom
Geburon will give his vote."

"I shall give it," said he, "to Madame Oisille, that she may tell us
something to the credit of Holy Church." (12)

12 In lieu of this phrase, the De Thou MS. of the
_Heptameron_ gives the following: "To make amends for his
fault, if fault there were in laying bare the wretched and
abominable life of a wicked Churchman, so as to put others
on their guard against the hypocrisy of those resembling
him, Geburon, who held Madame Oysille in high esteem, as one
should hold a lady of discretion, who was no less reluctant
to speak evil than prompt to praise and publish the worth
which she knew to exist in others, gave her his vote,
begging her to tell something to the honour of our holy
religion."--L.

"We have sworn," said Oisille, "to speak the truth, and I cannot
therefore undertake such a task. Moreover, in telling your tale you have
reminded me of a very pitiful story which I feel constrained to relate,
seeing that I am not far from the place where, in my own time, the
thing came to pass. I shall tell it also, ladies, to the end that the
hypocrisy of those who account themselves more religious than their
neighbours, may not so beguile your understanding as to turn your faith
out of the right path, and lead you to hope for salvation from any other
than Him who has chosen to stand alone in the work of our creation and
redemption. He is all powerful to save us unto life eternal, and,
in this temporal life, to comfort us and deliver us from all our
tribulations. And knowing that Satan often transforms himself into an
angel of light so that the outward eye, blinded by the semblance of
holiness and devotion, cannot apprehend that from which we ought to
flee, I think it well to tell you this tale, which came to pass in our
own time."

[Illustration: 095.jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 097a.jpg The Grey Friar deceiving the Gentleman Of Perigord]

[The Grey Friar deceiving the Gentleman Of Perigord]

[Illustration: 097.jpg Page Image]

_TALE XXIII_.

_The excessive reverence shown by a gentleman of Perigord to
the Order of St. Francis, brought about the miserable death
of his wife, his little child and himself_. (1)

1 Etienne introduces this tale into his _Apologie pour
Herodote_, ch. xxi.--B. J.

In the county of Perigord dwelt a gentleman whose devotion to St.
Francis was such that in his eyes all who wore the saint's robe must
needs be as holy as the saint himself. To do honour to the latter,
he had caused rooms and closets to be furnished in his house for the
lodgment of the brethren, and he regulated all his affairs by their
advice, even to the most trifling household matters, believing that he
must needs pursue the right path if he followed their good counsels.

Now it happened that this gentleman's wife, who was a beautiful woman
and as discreet as she was virtuous, was brought to bed of a fine boy,
whereat the love which her husband bore her was increased twofold.
One day, in order to entertain his dear, he sent for one of his
brothers-in-law, and just as the hour for supper was drawing nigh, there
arrived also a Grey Friar, whose name I will keep secret out of regard
for his Order. The gentleman was well pleased to see his spiritual
father, from whom he had no secrets, and after much talk among his wife,
his brother-in-law and the monk, they sat down to supper. While they
were at table the gentleman cast his eyes upon his wife, who was indeed
beautiful and graceful enough to be desired of a husband, and thereupon
asked this question aloud of the worthy father--

"Is it true, father, that a man commits mortal sin if he lies with his
wife at the time of her lying-in?" (2)

2 Meaning the period between her delivery and her
churching.--Ed.

The worthy father, whose speech and countenance belied his heart,
answered with an angry look--

"Undoubtedly, sir, I hold this to be one of the very greatest sins that
can be committed in the married state. The blessed Virgin Mary would not
enter the temple until the days of her purification were accomplished,
although she had no need of these; and if she, in order to obey the law,
refrained from going to the temple wherein was all her consolation,
you should of a surety not fail to abstain from such slight pleasure.
Moreover, physicians say that there is great risk to the offspring so
begotten."

When the gentleman heard these words, he was greatly downcast, for he
had hoped that the good Friar would give him the permission he sought;
however, he said no more. Meanwhile the worthy father, who had drunk
more than was needful, looked at the lady, (3) thinking to himself that,
if he were her husband, he would ask no Friar's advice before lying
with her; and just as a fire kindles little by little until at last it
envelops the whole house, so this monk began to burn with such exceeding
lust that he suddenly resolved to satisfy a desire which for three years
he had carried hidden in his heart.

3 The French word here is _damoiselle_, by which
appellation the lady is called throughout the story. Her
husband, being a petty nobleman, was a _damoiseau_, whence
the name given to his wife. The word _damoiselle_ is
frequently employed in the _Heptameron_, and though
sometimes it merely signifies an attendant on a lady, the
reference is more frequently to a woman of gentle birth,
whether she be spinster, wife or widow. Only women of high
nobility and of the blood royal were at that time called
_Madame_.--Ed.

After the tables had been withdrawn, he took the gentleman by the
hand, and, leading him to his wife's bedside, (4) said to him in her
presence--

"It moves my pity, sir, to see the great love which exists between you
and this lady, and which, added to your extreme youth, torments you so
sore. I have therefore determined to tell you a secret of our sacred
theology which is that, although the rule be made thus strict by reason
of the abuses committed by indiscreet husbands, it does not suffer
that such as are of good conscience like you should be balked of all
intercourse. If then, sir, before others I have stated in all its
severity the command of the law, I will now reveal to you, who are a
prudent man, its mildness also. Know then, my son, that there are women
and women, just as there are men and men. In the first place, my
lady here must tell us whether, three weeks having gone by since her
delivery, the flow of blood has quite ceased?"

4 The supper would appear to have been served in the
bedroom, and the tables were taken away as soon as the
repast was over. It seems to us very ridiculous when on the
modern stage we see a couple of lackeys bring in a table
laden with viands and carry it away again as soon as the
_dramatis personae_ have dined or supped. Yet this was the
common practice in France in Queen Margaret's time.--Ed.

The lady replied that it had.

"Then," said the Friar, "I permit you to lie with her without scruple,
provided that you are willing to promise me two things."

The gentleman replied that he was willing.

"The first," said the good father, "is that you speak to no one
concerning this matter, but come here in secret. The second is that
you do not come until two hours after midnight, so that the good lady's
digestion be not hindered."

These things the gentleman promised; and he confirmed his promise with
so strong an oath that the other, knowing him to be foolish rather than
false, was quite satisfied.

After much converse the good father withdrew to his chamber, giving them
good-night and an abundant blessing. But, as he was going, he took the
gentleman by the hand, and said to him--

"You too, sir, i' faith must come, nor keep your poor lady longer
awake."

Thereupon the gentleman kissed her. "Sweetheart," said he, and the good
father heard him plainly, "leave the door of your room open for me."

And so each withdrew to his own chamber.

On leaving them the Friar gave no heed to sleep or to repose, and, as
soon as all the noises in the house were still, he went as softly as
possible straight to the lady's chamber, at about the hour when he was
wont to go to matins, and finding the door open in expectation of the
master's coming, he went in, cleverly put out the light, and speedily
got into bed with the lady, without speaking a single word.

The lady, believing him to be her husband, said--

"How is this, love? you have kept but poorly the promise you gave
last evening to our confessor that you would not come here before two
o'clock."

The Friar, who was more eager for action than for contemplation, and
who, moreover, was fearful of being recognised, gave more thought to
satisfying the wicked desires that had long poisoned his heart than to
giving her any reply; whereat the lady wondered greatly. When the friar
found the husband's hour drawing near, he rose from the lady's side and
returned with all speed to his own chamber.

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