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

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

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When the young Prince saw her by his bedside, he took hold of her hand,
which was cold and trembling, and said to her--

"Frances, do you deem me so wicked a man, and so strange and cruel, that
I eat the women I look upon? Why have you come to be so afraid of me who
seek only your honour and profit? You know that I have sought to hold
converse with you in all possible places, but all in vain; and, to
grieve me still more, you have even shunned the places where I had
been wont to see you at mass, so that my eyes might bring me as little
gladness as my tongue. But all this has availed you naught, for I have
never rested until I came hither in the manner you have seen, and I have
risked my neck, in allowing myself to fall, in order that I might have
the joy of speaking to you without hindrance. I therefore entreat you,
Frances, that the opportunity gained by so much toil may not be thrown
away, and that my deep love may avail to win your own."

After waiting a long time for her reply, and seeing that her eyes were
full of tears and fixed upon the ground, he drew her to him as closely
as he could, and tried to embrace and kiss her. But she said to him--

"No, my lord, no; what you desire cannot be, for although I am but a
worm of the earth compared with you, I hold my honour dear, and would
rather die than lessen it for any pleasure that the world can give. And
the dread I have lest those who have seen you come in should suspect the
truth, makes me tremble and be afraid as you see. And, since it pleases
you to do me the honour of speaking to me, you will also forgive me if
I answer you according as my honour requires. I am not so foolish, my
lord, nor so blind as not to perceive and recognise the comeliness and
grace that God has given you, or not to consider that she who shall
possess the person and love of such a Prince must be the happiest woman
alive. But what does all this avail me, since it is not for me or any
woman of my condition, and since even to long for it would, in me,
be utter folly? What reason can I believe to be yours in addressing
yourself to me except that the ladies in your house, whom you must love
if you have any love for beauty and grace, are so virtuous that you dare
not seek or expect from them what the lowliness of my condition has led
you to expect from me? I am sure that if you obtained your desire from
one such as I, it would afford matter for entertainment to your mistress
during two good hours, to hear you tell her of your conquests over the
weak. But, my lord, be pleased to bear in mind that I shall never be of
their number. I have been brought up in your house, where I have learned
what it is to love; my father and my mother were your faithful servants.
Since, therefore, God has not made me a Princess to marry you, nor of
sufficient rank to be your mistress and love, you will be pleased not to
try to number me with the unfortunate, seeing that I deem and would have
you to be one of the happiest Princes in Christendom. If for diversion
you would have women of my condition, you will find in this town many
who are beyond compare more beautiful than I, and who will spare you the
pains of so many entreaties. Content yourself, then, with those to whom
you will give pleasure by the purchase of their honour, and cease to
trouble one who loves you more than she loves herself. For, indeed, if
either your life or mine were required of God this day, I should esteem
myself fortunate in offering mine to save yours. It is no lack of love
that makes me shun your presence, but rather too great a love for your
conscience and mine; for I hold my honour dearer than life. I will
continue, my lord, if it please you, in your good grace, and will all my
life pray God for your health and prosperity. And truly the honour that
you have done me will lend me consideration among those of my own rank,
for, after seeing you, where is the man of my own condition upon whom
I could deign to look? So my heart will continue free save for the duty
which shall always be mine of praying to God on your behalf. But no
other service can you ever have of me."

On hearing this virtuous reply, contrary though it was to his desires,
the young Prince could not but esteem her as she deserved. He did all
that he could to persuade her that he would never love another woman,
but she was too prudent to suffer so unreasonable a thought to enter her
mind. While they were talking together, word was often brought that his
clothes were come from the castle, but such was his present pleasure and
comfort, that he caused answer to be given that he was asleep. And this
continued until the hour for supper was come, when he durst not fail
to appear before his mother, who was one of the discreetest ladies
imaginable.

Accordingly, the young man left his butler's house thinking more highly
than ever of the maiden's virtue. He often spoke of her to the gentleman
that slept in his room, and the latter, who deemed money to be more
powerful than love, advised his master to offer her a considerable sum
if she would yield to his wishes. The young Prince, whose mother was his
treasurer, had but little money for his pocket, but, borrowing as much
as he was able, he made up the sum of five hundred crowns, which he sent
by the gentleman to the girl, begging her to change her mind.

But, when she saw the gift, she said to the gentleman--

"I pray you tell my lord that I have a good and virtuous heart, and that
if it were meet to obey his commands his comeliness and grace would
ere now have vanquished me; but, since these have no power against my
honour, all the money in the world can have none. Take it, therefore,
back to him again, for I would rather enjoy virtuous poverty than all
the wealth it were possible to desire."

On beholding so much stubbornness, the gentleman thought that violence
must needs be used to win her, and threatened her with his master's
authority and power. But she laughed, and said--

"Make those fear him who have no knowledge of him. For my part, I know
him to be so discreet and virtuous that such discourse cannot come from
him, and I feel sure that he will disown it when you repeat it to him.
But even though he were what you say, there is neither torment nor death
that would make me change my mind; for, as I have told you, since love
has not turned my heart, no imaginable evil or good can divert me one
step from the path that I have chosen."

The gentleman, who had promised his master to win her, brought him back
this reply in wondrous anger, and counselled him to persevere in every
possible way, telling him that it was not to his honour to be unable to
win a woman of her sort.

The young Prince was unwilling to employ any means but such as honour
enjoins, and was also afraid that if the affair made any noise, and so
came to his mother's ears, she would be greatly angered with him. He
therefore durst make no attempt, until at last the gentleman proposed to
him so simple a plan that he could already fancy her to be in his power.
In order to carry it into execution he spoke to the butler; and he,
being anxious to serve his master in any way that might be, begged his
wife and sister-in-law one day to go and visit their vintages at a house
he had near the forest. And this they promised to do.

When the day was come, he informed the Prince, who resolved to go
thither alone with the gentleman, and caused his mule to be secretly
held in readiness, that they might set out at the proper time. But God
willed it that his mother should that day be garnishing a most beautiful
cabinet, (2) and needed all her children with her to help her, and thus
the young Prince lingered there until the hour was past.

There was, however, no hindrance to the departure of the butler, who had
brought his sister-in-law to his house, riding behind him, (3) and
had made his wife feign sickness, so that when they were already on
horseback she had come and said that she could not go with them. But
now, seeing that the hour at which the Prince should have come was gone
by, he said to his sister-in-law--

"I think we may now return to the town."

2 The French word here is _cabinet_, which some English
translators have rendered as "little room." We think,
however, with the Bibliophile Jacob, that the allusion is to
an article of furniture, such as we ourselves still call a
cabinet in England, though in France the word has virtually
lost that sense.--Ed.

3 The MSS. do not say whether she rode on a pillion, or
simply bestrode the horse. This last fashion was still
common at this period and long afterwards, even among women
of high degree. See, for instance, several of the enamels in
the Louvre, notably one which depicts Henry II. of France
with Diana of Poitiers riding behind him. The practice is
also referred to in a sixteenth century ballad. "La
Superfluity des habitz des Dames" (_Anciennes Poesies
Francaises_. Bib. Elzev. 1858, p. 308).--M.

"What is there to hinder us from doing so?" asked Frances.

"Why," said the butler, "I was waiting here for my lord, who had
promised me that he would come."

When his sister-in-law heard this wickedness, she replied--

"Do not wait for him, brother, for I know that he will not come to-day."

The brother-in-law believed her and brought her back again, and when she
had reached home she let him know her extreme anger, telling him that he
was the devil's servant, and did yet more than he was commanded, for she
was sure that the plan had been devised by him and the gentleman and not
by the young Prince, whose money he would rather earn by aiding him in
his follies, than by doing the duty of a good servant. However, now that
she knew his real nature, she would remain no longer in his house,
and thereupon indeed she sent for her brother to take her to his own
country, and immediately left her sister's dwelling.

Having thus failed in his attempt, the butler went to the castle to
learn what had prevented the arrival of the young Prince, and he had
scarcely come thither when he met the Prince himself sallying forth
on his mule, and attended only by the gentleman in whom he put so much
trust.

"Well," the Prince asked of him, "is she still there?"

Thereupon the butler related all that had taken place.

The young Prince was deeply vexed at having failed in his plan, which he
looked upon as the very last that he could devise, but, seeing that it
could not be helped, he sought out Frances so diligently that at last
he met her in a gathering from which she could not escape. He then
upbraided her very harshly for her cruelty towards him, and for having
left her brother-in-law, but she made answer that the latter was, in
regard to herself, the worst and most dangerous man she had ever known,
though he, the Prince, was greatly beholden to him, seeing that he
was served by him not only with body and substance, but with soul and
conscience as well.

When the Prince perceived by this that the case was a hopeless one, he
resolved to urge her no more, and esteemed her highly all his life.

Seeing this maiden's goodness, one of the said Prince's attendants
desired to marry her, but to this she would not consent without the
command and license of the young Prince, upon whom she had set all her
affection; and this she caused to be made known to him, and with his
approval the marriage was concluded. And so she lived all her life in
good repute, and the young Prince bestowed great benefits upon her. (4)

4 We take this concluding paragraph from MS. 1520; it is
deficient in ours.--L.

"What shall we say to this, ladies? Have we hearts so base as to make
our servants our masters--seeing that this woman was not to be subdued
either by love or torment? Let us, I pray you, take example by her
conduct and conquer ourselves, for this is the most meritorious conquest
that we can make."

"I see but one thing to be regretted," said Oisille, "which is that
these virtuous actions did not take place in the days of the old
historians. Those who gave so much praise to their Lucretia would have
neglected her to set down at length the virtues of this maiden."

"They are indeed so great," said Hircan, "that, were it not for the
solemn vow that we have taken to speak the truth, I could not believe
her to have been what you describe. We have often seen sick persons
turn in disgust from good and wholesome meats to eat such as are bad and
hurtful, and in the same way this girl may have had some gentleman of
her own estate for whose sake she despised all nobility."

But to this Parlemente replied that the girl's whole life showed that
she had never loved any living man save him whom she loved more than her
very life, though not more than her honour.

"Put that notion out of your head," said Saffredent, "and learn the
origin of the term 'honour' as used among women; for perhaps those
that speak so much of it are ignorant of how the name was devised. Know
then that in the earliest times, when there was but little wickedness
among men, love was so frank and strong that it was never concealed, and
he who loved the most perfectly received most praise. But when greed and
sinfulness fastened upon heart and honour, they drove out God and love,
and in their place set up selfishness, hypocrisy and deceit. Then, when
some ladies found that they fostered in their hearts the virtue of true
love but that the word 'hypocrisy' was hateful among men, they adopted
instead the word 'honour.' At last, too, even those who could feel no
honourable love said that 'honour' forbade them, and cruelly made this a
law for all, so that now even those who love perfectly use concealment,
holding virtue for a vice. But such as have an excellent understanding
and a sound judgment never fall into any such error. They know the
difference between darkness and light, and are aware that true honour
consists in manifesting the purity of their hearts, (which should
live upon love alone), and not in priding themselves on the vice of
dissimulation."

"Yet," said Dagoucin, "it is said that the most secret love is the most
worthy of praise."

"Ay, secret," said Simontault, "from the eyes of those who might
misjudge it, but open and manifest at least to the two persons whom it
concerns."

"So I take it," said Dagoucin, "but it would be better to have one of
the two ignorant of it rather than have it known to a third. I believe
that the love of the woman in the story was all the deeper for not being
declared."

"Be that as it may," said Longarine, "virtue should be esteemed, and
the highest virtue is to subdue one's own heart. Considering the
opportunities that the maiden had of forgetting conscience and honour,
and the virtue she displayed in all these opportunities and temptations
by subduing her heart, will, and even him whom she loved better than
herself, I say that she might well be called a strong woman. And, since
you measure virtue by the mortification of self, I say that the lord
deserved higher praise than she, if we remember the greatness of his
love, his opportunities, and his power. Yet he would not offend against
that rule of true love which renders prince and peasant equal, but
employed only such means as honour allows."

"There are many," said Hircan, "who would not have acted in the same
way."

"So much the more is he to be esteemed," said Longarine, "in having
subdued the common craftiness of men. He who can do evil and yet does it
not is happy indeed."

"Your words," said Geburon, "remind me of one who was more afraid of
doing wrong in the eyes of men than of offending against God, her honour
and love."

"Then I pray you tell us the story," said Parlamente, "for I give you my
vote."

"There are some persons," said Geburon, "who have no God, or, if they
believe in one, think Him so far away that He can neither see nor know
the wicked acts that they commit; or, if He does, imagine that He pays
no heed to things here below, and is too careless to punish them. Of
this opinion was a lady, whose name I will alter for the sake of her
family, and whom I will call Jambicque.( 5) She used often to say that a
woman who had only God to deal with was very fortunate, if for the rest
she was able to maintain her honour among men. But you will see, ladies,
that her prudence and her hypocrisy did not prevent her secret from
being discovered, as will appear from her story, wherein the truth shall
be set forth in full, except that the names of persons and places will
be changed."

5 Some of the MSS. give the name as Camele or Camille,
which is also that adopted by Boaistuau.--L.

[Illustration: 142.jpg Tailpiece]

[Illustration: 143a.jpg Jambicque repudiating her Lover]

[Jambicque repudiating her Lover]

[Illustration: 143.jpg Page Image]

_TALE XLIII_.

_Jambicque, preferring the praise of the world to a good
conscience, strove to appear before men other than site
really was; but her friend and lover discovered her
hypocrisy by means of a little chalk-mark, and made known to
everybody the wickedness that she was at such pains to
hide_.

There dwelt in a very handsome castle a high and mighty Princess, who
had in her train a very haughty lady called Jambicque. (1) The latter
had so deceived her mistress that the Princess did nothing save by her
advice, deeming her the discreetest and most virtuous lady of her day.

1 There are no means of positively identifying this woman.
Brantome, who refers at length to the above tale in his
_Vies des Dames Galantes_ (Lalanne's edition, pp. 236-8),
implies that he knew her name but would not tell it. He
says, however, that "she was a widow and lady of honour to a
very great Princess, and knew better how to play the prude
than any other lady at Court."--M.

This Jambicque used greatly to inveigh against wanton passion, and
whenever she perceived any gentleman in love with one of her companions,
she would chide them with much harshness, and, by making ill report
of them to her mistress, often cause them to be rebuked; hence she was
feared far more than she was loved by all the household. As for
herself, she never spoke to a man except in a loud voice, and with
much haughtiness, and was therefore reputed a deadly enemy to all love.
Nevertheless, it was quite otherwise with her heart, for there was a
gentleman in her mistress's service towards whom she entertained so
strong a passion that, at last, she could no longer endure it. (2)

2 Brantome writes as follows concerning the gentleman
referred to above: "According to what I have heard from my
mother, [Anne de Vivonne, wife of Francis de Bourdeille],
who was in the Queen of Navarre's service and knew some of
her secrets, and was herself one of the narrators [of the
_Heptameron_, i.e., Ennasuite], this gentleman was my late
uncle La Chastaigneraye, who was brusque, hasty, and rather
fickle. The tale, however, is so disguised as to hide this,
for my said uncle was never in the service of the great
Princess, who was mistress of the lady [Jambicque], but in
that of the King her brother." This shows the Princess to
have been Queen Margaret herself; and Jambicque, being
described by Brantome as a widow and lady of honour to the
Princess, might possibly be Blanche de Tournon ( Madame de
Chastillon), concerning whom see vol. i. of the present
work, p. 84 (note 7) and pp. 122-4. Her successor as lady of
honour to Margaret was Brantome's own grandmother, of whom
he says that she was not so shrewd, artful, or ready-witted
in love matters as her predecessor. On the other hand,
Blanche de Tournon must have been over forty when La
Chastaigneraye engaged in this adventure, even allowing that
he was only a youth at the time.--Ed.

The regard which she had for honour and good name caused her to conceal
her affection, but after she had been consumed by this passion for a
full year, being unwilling to find relief as other lovers do in look and
speech, she felt her heart so aflame that, in the end, she sought the
final cure. And she resolved that it were better to satisfy her desire
with none but God in the secret of her heart, rather than speak of it to
a man who might some time make it known.

After taking this resolve, she chanced to be one day in her mistress's
apartment, when, looking out upon a terrace, she perceived walking there
the man whom she so dearly loved. She gazed upon him until the falling
darkness was hiding him from her sight, when she called a little page of
hers, and pointing to the gentleman, said--

"Do you see yonder that gentleman who wears a crimson satin doublet and
cloak of lynx fur? Go and tell him that one of his friends would speak
with him in the garden gallery."

As soon as the page was gone, she herself passed through her mistress's
wardrobe and into the gallery, having first put on her low hood and
half-mask. (3)

3 See _ante_, vol. iii. p. 27.

When the gentleman was come to where she was waiting, she immediately
shut the two doors by which they might have been surprised, and then,
without taking off her mask, embraced him very closely, and in the
softest whisper imaginable said--

"For a long time, sweetheart, the love I bear you has made me desire
time and place for speaking with you, but fearfulness for my honour was
for a while so strong as to oblige me, in my own despite, to conceal my
passion. Albeit, in the end, the strength of love has vanquished fear,
and, in the knowledge that I have of your honour, I protest to you that
if you will promise to love me without ever speaking of the matter to
any one, or asking of me who I am, I will be your true and faithful
sweetheart, and will never love any man but you. But I would rather die
than that you should know who I am."

The gentleman promised her what she asked, which made her very ready
to do as much for him, namely, to refuse him nothing he might desire
to have. It was between five and six o'clock in winter-time, so that
he could see nothing of the lady, but by the touch of her dress he
perceived that it was of velvet, which at that time was not worn every
day except by ladies of high and mighty lineage. And so far as his hand
could let him judge of what was beneath, there was nothing there that
was not excellent, trim, and plump. Accordingly, he was at pains to
entertain her as well as he was able. She on her part did no less, and
the gentleman readily perceived that she was a married woman.

She desired afterwards to return immediately to the place whence she had
come, but the gentleman said to her--

"I esteem greatly the undeserved favour that you have shown me, but I
shall esteem still more that which you may bestow at my request. So well
pleased am I by this your kindness, that I would fain learn whether I
may not look for more of the same sort, and, also, in what manner you
would have me act; for, knowing you not, I shall be powerless to woo."

"Have no concern," said the lady, "about that. You may rest assured that
every evening, before my mistress sups, I shall not fail to send for
you, and do you be in readiness on the terrace where you were just now.
I shall merely send you word to remember what you have promised, and in
this way you will know that I am waiting for you here in the gallery.
But if you hear talk of going to table, you may withdraw for that day
or else come into our mistress's apartment. Above all things, I pray
you will never seek to know me, if you would not forthwith bring our
friendship to an end."

So the lady and the gentleman went their several ways. And although
their love affair lasted for a great while, he could never learn who she
was. He pondered much upon the matter, wondering within himself who she
might be. He could not imagine that any woman in the world would fain be
unseen and unloved; and, having heard some foolish preacher say that no
one who had looked upon the face of the devil could ever love him, he
suspected that his mistress might be some evil spirit.

In this perplexity he resolved to try and find out who it was that
entertained him so well, and when next she sent for him he brought some
chalk, and, while embracing her, marked the back of her shoulder without
her knowledge. Then, as soon as she was gone, the gentleman went with
all speed to his mistress's apartment, and stood beside the door in
order to look from behind at the shoulders of those ladies that might go
in.

He saw Jambicque enter among the rest, but with so haughty a bearing
that he feared to look at her as keenly as at the others, and felt quite
sure that it could not have been she. Nevertheless, when her back
was turned, he perceived the chalk mark, whereat he was so greatly
astonished that he could hardly believe his eyes.

However, after considering both her figure, which was just such a one as
his hands had known, and her features, which he recognised in the same
way, he perceived that it was indeed none other than herself. And he was
well pleased to think that a woman who had never been reputed to have a
lover, and who had refused so many worthy gentlemen, should have chosen
himself alone.

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