Margaret, Queen Of Navarre - The Tales Of The Heptameron, Vol. IV. (of V.)
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Margaret, Queen Of Navarre >> The Tales Of The Heptameron, Vol. IV. (of V.)
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"Do you make no account," said Longarine, "of the shame that she
endured, or of her imprisonment?"
"I consider," said Nomerfide, "that a woman who lives perfectly, with a
love that is in keeping with the commands of her God, has no knowledge
of shame or dishonour except when they impair or lessen the perfection
of her love; for the glory of truly loving knows no shame. As for her
imprisonment, I imagine that, with her heart at large and devoted to God
and her husband, she thought nothing of it, but deemed her solitude
the greatest freedom. When one cannot see what one loves, the greatest
happiness consists in thinking constantly upon it, and there is no
prison so narrow that thought cannot roam in it at will."
"Nothing can be truer than what Nomerfide says," observed Simontault,
"but the man who in his passion brought this separation to pass must
have deemed himself unhappy indeed, seeing that he offended God, Love
and Honour."
"In good sooth," said Geburon, "I am amazed at the diversity of woman's
love. I can see that those who have most love have most virtue; but
those who have less love conceal it in their desire to appear virtuous."
"It is true," said Parlamente, "that a heart which is virtuous towards
God and man loves more deeply than a vicious one, and fears not to have
its inmost purpose known."
"I have always heard," said Simontault, "that men should not be blamed
if they seek the love of women, for God has put into the heart of man
desire and boldness for asking, and in that of woman fear and chastity
for refusal. If, then, a man be punished for using the powers that have
been given him, he suffers wrong."
"But it must be remembered," said Longarine, "that he had praised this
gentleman for a long time to his sister. It seems to me that it would be
madness or cruelty in the keeper of a fountain to praise its fair waters
to one fainting with thirst, and then to kill him when he sought to
taste them."
"The brother," thereupon said Parlamente, "did indeed so kindle the
flame by gentle words of his own, that it was not meet he should beat it
out with the sword."
"I am surprised," said Saffredent, "to find it taken ill that a simple
gentleman should by dint of love alone, and without deceit, have come to
marry a lady of high lineage, seeing that the wisdom of the philosophers
accounts the least of men to be of more worth than the greatest and most
virtuous of women."
"The reason is," said Dagoucin, "that in order to preserve the
commonwealth in peace, account is only taken of the rank of families,
the age of persons, and the provisions of the laws, without regard to
the love and virtue of individuals, and all this so that the kingdom may
not be disturbed. Hence it comes to pass that, in marriages made between
equals and according to the judgment of kinsfolk and society, the
husband and wife often journey to the very outskirts of hell."
"Indeed it has been seen," said Geburon, "that those who, being alike in
heart, character and temperament, have married for love and paid no heed
to diversity of birth and lineage, have ofttime sorely repented of it;
for a deep unreasoning love is apt to turn to jealousy and rage."
"It seems to me," said Parlamente, "that neither course is worthy of
praise, but that folks should submit themselves to the will of God, and
pay no heed to glory, avarice or pleasure, and loving virtuously and
with the approval of their kinsfolk, seek only to live in the married
state as God and nature ordain. And although no condition be free from
tribulation, I have nevertheless seen such persons live together without
regret; and we of this company are not so unfortunate as to have none of
these married ones among the number."
Hircan, Geburon, Simontault and Saffredent swore that they had wedded
after this sort, and had never repented since. Whatever the truth of
this declaration may have been, the ladies concerned were exceedingly
content with it, and thinking that they could hear nothing to please
them better, they rose up to go and give thanks for it to God, and found
the monks at the church, ready for vespers.
When the service was over they went to supper, but not without much
discourse concerning their marriages; and this lasted all the evening,
each one relating the fortune that had befallen him whilst he was wooing
his wife.
As it happened, however, that one was interrupted by another, it is not
possible to set down these stories in full, albeit they would have been
as pleasant to write as those which had been told in the meadow.
Such great delight did they take in the converse, and so well did it
entertain them, that, before they were aware of it, the hour for rest
had come.
The Lady Oisille made the company separate, and they betook themselves
to bed so joyously that, what with recounting the loves of the past,
and proving those of the present, the married folk, methinks, slept no
longer than the others.
And so the night was pleasantly spent until the morning.
[Illustration: 109.jpg Tailpiece]
FIFTH DAY.
_On the Fifth Day Tales are told of the virtue of those
maids and matrons who held their honour in
more consideration than their pleasure,
also of those who did the contrary,
and of the simplicity of
certain others_.
PROLOGUE.
When morning was come, the Lady Oisille made ready for them a spiritual
breakfast of such excellent flavour that it sufficed to strengthen both
body and mind. The whole company was very attentive to it; it seemed to
them that they had never harkened to a sermon with such profit before.
Then, when the last bell rang for mass, they went to meditate upon the
pious discourse which they had heard.
After listening to mass, and walking for a little while, they went to
table feeling assured that the present day would prove as agreeable
as any of the past. Saffredent even said that he would gladly have the
bridge building for another month, so great was the pleasure that he
took in their entertainment; but the Abbot was pressing the work with
all speed, for it was no pleasure to him to live in the company of so
many honourable persons, among whom he could not bring his wonted female
pilgrims.
Having rested for a time after dinner, they returned to their accustomed
diversion. When all were seated in the meadow, they asked Parlamente to
whom she gave her vote.
"I think," she replied, "that Saffredent might well begin this day, for
his face does not look as though he wished us to weep."
"Then, ladies, you will needs be very hard-hearted," said Saffredent,
"if you take no pity on the Grey Friar whose story I am going to relate
to you. You may perhaps think, from the tales that some among us have
already told of the monks, that misadventures have befallen hapless
damsels simply because ease of execution induced the attempt to be
fearlessly begun, but, so that you may know that it is the blindness of
wanton lust which deprives the friars of all fear and prudence, I will
tell you of what happened to one of them in Flanders."
[Illustration: 115a.jpg The Beating of the Wicked Grey Friar]
[The Beating of the Wicked Grey Friar]
[Illustration: 115.jpg Page Image]
_TALE XLI_.
_A Grey Friar to whom a maiden had presented herself on
Christmas night that he might confess her, laid upon her so
strange a penance that she would not submit to it, but rose
from before him without having received absolution; but her
mistress, hearing of the matter, caused the Grey Friar to be
flogged in her kitchen, and then sent him back, bound and
gagged, to his Warden_.
In the year when my Lady Margaret of Austria came to Cambray on behalf
of her nephew the Emperor, to treat of peace between him and the Most
Christian King, who on his part was represented by his mother, my
Lady Louise of Savoy, (1) the said Lady Margaret had in her train the
Countess of Aiguemont, (2) who won, among this company, the renown of
being the most beautiful of all the Flemish ladies.
1 It was in June 1529 that Margaret of Austria came to
Cambrai to treat for peace, on behalf of Charles V. Louise
of Savoy, who represented Francis I., was accompanied on
this occasion by her daughter, Queen Margaret, who appears
to have taken part in the conferences. The result of these
was that the Emperor renounced his claims on Burgundy, but
upheld all the other stipulations of the treaty of Madrid.
Having been brought about entirely by feminine negotiators,
the peace of Cambrai acquired the name of "La Paix des
Dames," or "the Ladies' Peace." Some curious particulars of
the ceremonies observed at Cambrai on this occasion will be
found in Leglay's _Notice sur les feles et ceremonies a
Cambray depuis le XIe siecle_, Cambrai, 1827.--L. and B. J.
2 This is Frances of Luxemburg, Baroness of Fiennes and
Princess of Gavre, wife of John IV., Count of Egmont,
chamberlain to the Emperor Charles V. They were the parents
of the famous Lamoral Count of Egmont, Prince of Gavre and
Baron of Fiennes, born in 1522 and put to death by the Duke
of Alba on June 5, 1568.--B.J.
When this great assembly separated, the Countess of Aiguemont returned
to her own house, and, Advent being come, sent to a monastery of Grey
Friars to ask for a clever preacher and virtuous man, as well to preach
as to confess herself and her whole household. The Warden, remembering
the great benefits that the Order received from the house of Aiguemont
and that of Fiennes, to which the Countess belonged, sought out the man
whom he thought most worthy to fill the said office.
Accordingly, as the Grey Friars more than any other order desire to
obtain the esteem and friendship of great houses, they sent the most
important preacher of their monastery, and throughout Advent he did his
duty very well, and the Countess was well pleased with him.
On Christmas night, when the Countess desired to receive her Creator,
she sent for her confessor, and after making confession in a carefully
closed chapel, she gave place to her lady of honour, who in her turn,
after being shriven, sent her daughter to pass through the hands of this
worthy confessor. When the maiden had told all that was in her mind, the
good father knew something of her secrets, and this gave him the desire
and the boldness to lay an unwonted penance upon her.
"My daughter," said he, "your sins are so great that to atone for them I
command you the penance of wearing my cord upon your naked flesh."
The maiden, who was unwilling to disobey him, made answer--
"Give it to me, father, and I will not fail to wear it."
"My daughter," said the good father, "it will be of no avail from your
own hand. Mine, from which you shall receive absolution, must first bind
it upon you; then shall you be absolved of all your sins."
The maiden replied, weeping, that she would not suffer it.
"What?" said the confessor. "Are you a heretic, that you refuse the
penances which God and our holy mother Church have ordained?"
"I employ confession," said the maiden, "as the Church commands, and I
am very willing to receive absolution and do penance. But I will not be
touched by your hands, and I refuse this mode of penance."
"Then," said the confessor, "I cannot give you absolution."
The maiden rose from before him greatly troubled in conscience, for,
being very young, she feared lest she had done wrong in thus refusing to
obey the worthy father.
When mass was over and the Countess of Aiguemont had received the
"Corpus Domini," her lady of honour, desiring to follow her, asked her
daughter whether she was ready. The maiden, weeping, replied that she
was not shriven.
"Then what were you doing so long with the preacher?" asked her mother.
"Nothing," said the maiden, "for, as I refused the penance that he laid
upon me, he on his part refused me absolution."
Making prudent inquiry, the mother learnt the extraordinary penance that
the good father had chosen for her daughter; and then, having caused her
to be confessed by another, they received the sacrament together. When
the Countess was come back from the church, the lady of honour made
complaint to her of the preacher, whereupon the Countess was the
more surprised and grieved, since she had thought so well of him.
Nevertheless, despite her anger, she could not but feel very much
inclined to laugh at the unwonted nature of the penance.
Still her laughter did not prevent her from having the friar taken and
beaten in her kitchen, where he was brought by the strokes of the rod
to confess the truth; and then she sent him bound hand and foot to his
Warden, begging the latter for the future to commission more virtuous
men to preach the Word of God.
"Consider, ladies, if the monks be not afraid to display their
wantonness in so illustrious a house, what may they not do in the
poor places where they commonly make their collections, and where
opportunities are so readily offered to them, that it is a miracle if
they are quit of them without scandal. And this, ladies, leads me to beg
of you to change your ill opinion into compassion, remembering that
he (3) who blinds the Grey Friars is not sparing of the ladies when he
finds an opportunity."
3 The demon.--B. J.
"Truly," said Oisille, "this was a very wicked Grey Friar. A monk, a
priest and a preacher to work such wickedness, and that on Christmas
day, in the church and under the cloak of the confessional--all these
are circumstances which heighten the sin."
"It would seem from your words," said Hircan, "that the Grey Friars
ought to be angels, or more discreet than other men, but you have heard
instances enough to show you that they are far worse. As for the monk
in the story, I think he might well be excused, seeing that he found
himself shut up all alone at night with a handsome girl."
"True," said Oisille, "but it was Christmas night."
"That makes him still less to blame," said Simontault, "for, being in
Joseph's place beside a fair virgin, he wished to try to beget an infant
and so play the Mystery of the Nativity to the life."
"In sooth," said Parlamente, "if he had thought of Joseph and the Virgin
Mary, he would have had no such evil purpose. At all events, he was
a wickedly-minded man to make so evil an attempt upon such slight
provocation."
"I think," said Oisille, "that the Countess punished him well enough to
afford an excellent example to his fellows."
"But 'tis questionable," said Nomerfide, "whether she did well in thus
putting her neighbour to shame, or whether 'twould not have been better
to have quietly shown him his faults, rather than have made them so
publicly known."
"That would, I think, have been better," said Geburon, "for we are
commanded to rebuke our neighbour in secret, before we speak of the
matter to any one else or to the Church. When a man has been brought to
public disgrace, he will hardly ever be able to mend his ways, but fear
of shame withdraws as many persons from sin as conscience does."
"I think," said Parlamente, "that we ought to observe the teaching of
the Gospel towards all except those that preach the Word of God and act
contrary to it. We should not be afraid to shame such as are accustomed
to put others to shame; indeed I think it a very meritorious thing to
make them known for what they really are, so that we take not a mock
stone (4) for a fine ruby. But to whom will Saffredent give his vote?"
4 The French word here is _doublet_. The doublet was a
piece of crystal, cut after the fashion of a diamond, and
backed with red wax so as to give it somewhat the colour of
a ruby.--B. J.
"Since you ask me," he replied, "I will give it to yourself, to whom no
man of understanding should refuse it."
"Then, since you give it to me, I will tell you a story to the truth of
which I can myself testify. I have always heard that when virtue abides
in a weak and feeble vessel, and is assailed by its strong and puissant
opposite, it especially deserves praise, and shows itself to be what
it really is. If strength withstand strength, it is no very wonderful
thing; but if weakness win the victory, it is lauded by every one.
Knowing, as I do, the persons of whom I desire to speak, I think that
I should do a wrong to virtue, (which I have often seen hidden under so
mean a covering that none gave it any heed), if I did not tell of her
who performed the praiseworthy actions that I now feel constrained to
relate."
[Illustration: 122.jpg Tailpiece]
[Illustration: 123a.jpg The Girl refusing the Gift of the Young Prince]
[The Girl refusing the Gift of the Young Prince]
[Illustration: 123.jpg Page Image]
_TALE XLII_.
_A young Prince set his affections upon a young girl, and
although she was of low and poor parentage, he could not, in
spite of all his efforts, obtain from her what he had hoped
to have. Accordingly, recognising her virtue and honour, the
Prince desisted from his attempt, esteemed her highly all
his life, and, marrying her to a follower of his own,
bestowed great benefits upon her_.
In one of the best towns in Touraine there dwelt a lord of illustrious
family, who had there been brought up from early youth. Of the
perfections, graces, beauty and great virtues of this young Prince (1) I
will say nothing, except that in his time his equal could not be found.
Being fifteen years of age, he had more pleasure in hunting and hawking
than in looking at beautiful ladies.
1 This is undoubtedly Francis I., then Count of Angouleme.
M. de Lincy thinks that the scene of the story must be
Amboise, where Louise of Savoy went to live with her
children in 1499, and remained for several years; Louis XII.
having placed the chateau there at her disposal. Francis,
however, left Amboise to join the Court at Blois in August
1508, when less than fourteen years old (see Memoir of Queen
Margaret, vol. i. p. xxiii.), and in the tale, above, he is
said to have been fifteen at the time of the incidents
narrated. These, then, would have occurred in the autumn of
1509. It will be seen that in the tale the young Prince's
sister (Margaret) is described as residing at the castle.
Now Margaret married Charles of Alencon at Blois, in October
1509, and forthwith removed to Alencon. Possibly Francis,
who was very precocious, especially in matters of gallantry,
engaged in the love affair narrated by his sister at a yet
earlier age than she asserts, in which case the town she
refers to would undoubtedly be Amboise.--Ed.
One day in a church he beheld a young maiden who formerly, during her
childhood, had been bred in the castle where he dwelt; but after her
mother's death, her father having married again, she had withdrawn into
Poitou with her brother. This maiden, who was called Frances, had a
bastard sister whom her father dearly loved, and whom he had married
to the young Prince's butler, who maintained her in as excellent a
condition as that of any of her family. It came to pass that the father
died and left to Frances as her portion what he possessed near the town
aforementioned, and thither she returned after his death; nevertheless,
being unmarried and only sixteen years of age, she would not live alone
in her house, but went to lodge with her sister, the butler's wife.
On perceiving this girl, who was passably beautiful for a light
brunette, and possessed a grace beyond her condition (for, indeed, she
seemed rather a lady or princess than a towns-woman), the young Prince
gazed at her for a long time, and he, who never yet had loved, now
felt in his heart an unwonted delight. On returning to his apartment
he inquired concerning the maiden he had seen in the church, and then
recollected that formerly in her youth she had come to the castle to
have dolls' play with his sister. He reminded the latter of her; and his
sister sent for her, received her kindly, and begged her to come often
to see her. This she did whenever there was a feast or entertainment;
and the young Prince was so pleased to see her that he had in mind to
be deeply in love with her, and, knowing her to be of low and poor
parentage, hoped easily to obtain what he sought.
Having no means of speaking with her, he sent a gentleman of his chamber
to her to conduct his intrigue. But she, being discreet and fearing God,
told the gentleman that she did not believe so handsome and honourable a
Prince as his master could have pleasure in looking upon one so ugly as
herself, since he had so many beautiful ladies in the castle where he
lived, that he had no need to search through the town; and she added
that in her opinion the gentleman was speaking of his own authority, and
without his master's command.
When the young Prince received this reply, love, which becomes the
more eager the more it meets with resistance, caused him to pursue his
enterprise more hotly than before, and to write her a letter in which he
begged that she would believe all the gentleman had told her.
Being well able to read and write, she read the letter through, but, in
spite of all the gentleman's entreaties, she would never send an answer
to it. It was not for one of such low degree, she said, to write to so
noble a Prince, and she begged the gentleman not to deem her foolish
enough to believe that the Prince had so much love for her. Moreover, he
was deceived if he thought that he could have her at his will by reason
of her humble condition; for her heart was as virtuous as that of the
greatest Princess in Christendom, and she looked upon all the treasures
in the world as naught in comparison with honour and a good conscience.
She therefore entreated him not to try to hinder her from keeping these
treasures safe her whole life long, for she would never change her mind
even were she threatened with death.
The young Prince did not find this reply to his liking, nevertheless he
loved her dearly for it, and never failed to have his chair set in the
church to which she went to hear mass, where, during the service, he
would ever turn his eyes upon the same image. When she perceived this,
she changed her place and went to another chapel--not indeed to flee the
sight of him, for she would not have been a reasonable being had she not
found pleasure in beholding him--but because she dreaded to be seen by
him. She did not deem herself worthy to be loved by him in honour or
marriage, and, on the other hand, she would not be loved wantonly and
for pleasure. When she found that, in whatever part of the church she
placed herself, the Prince heard mass close by, she would no longer
go to the same church, but repaired every day to the remotest that she
could find. And when there was feasting at the castle, although the
Prince's sister often sent for her, she would no longer go thither, but
excused herself on the plea of sickness.
Finding that he could not have speech with her, the Prince had
recourse to his butler, and promised him great rewards if he would lend
assistance in the matter. This the butler, for the sake both of pleasing
his master and of the gain that he expected, readily promised to do.
Every day he would relate to the Prince what she said or did, telling
him that she was especially careful to shun all opportunities of seeing
him. However, the great desire that the Prince had of speaking with her
at his ease, prompted him to devise the following plan.
One day he took his chargers, which he was beginning to manage
excellently well, to a large open space in the town opposite to his
butler's house, in which Frances lived. After making many courses and
leaps which she could easily see, he let himself fall from his horse
into some deep mire, but so softly that he was not hurt. Nevertheless he
uttered passably loud groans, and asked whether there was a house near
in which he might change his dress. Every one offered his own, but on
some one saying that the butler's was the nearest and worthiest, it was
chosen before all the others.
He found the room well furnished, and, as all his garments were soiled
with the mud, he stripped himself to his shirt, and got into a bed.
Then, when he saw that, except the gentleman aforementioned, every one
was gone to bring him some clothes, he called his host and hostess and
asked them where Frances was. They had much ado to find her, for, as
soon as she had seen the young Prince coming in, she had gone to hide
herself in the most retired nook in the house. Nevertheless her sister
found her, and begged her not to be afraid to speak to so worshipful and
virtuous a Prince.
"What! sister," said Frances, "do you, whom I look upon as my mother,
advise me to go and speak with a young lord, of whose purpose, as you
are aware, I cannot be ignorant?"
However, her sister addressed so many remonstrances to her, and promised
so often not to leave her alone, that she at last went with her, showing
so pale and sorry a face that she seemed more likely to beget compassion
than desire.
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