1 Bened. Varchi, lib. xv.; Bern. Segni, 1. vii.; Filippo deNerli, 1. xii.; Gio. Batt. Adriani, 1. i.; ScipioneAmmirato, 1. xxxi.; Pauli Jovii. Hist. 1. xxxviii.; Istoriedi Marco Guazzo, fol. 159.
“Lorenzino failed to reap the fruits of the crime, which he had planned with so much skill and such profound secrecy. By the life he had led, he had aroused the distrust of all honest folks, he had no friends to whom he could apply for advice or help, he had no party behind him, he had never been known to display that zeal for liberty which he subsequently affected. Although he was the first of the Medici in the order of succession, no one thought of him. For his own part, he only thought of ensuring his safety. He locked the door of the room, taking the key away with him, and having obtained an order for the city gates to be opened, and for post-horses to be provided for him, under pretence that he had just learned that his brother was ill, in the country, he started for Bologna, whence he proceeded to Venice, accompanied by Scoronconcolo.”
With reference to this story Brantôme writes as follows in the Sixth Discourse of hisVies des Dames Galantes:—
“In the hundred stories of Queen Margaret of Navarre we have a very fine tale of that lady of Milan who, having one night given an assignation to the late M. de Bonnivet, afterwards Admiral of France, posted her maids with drawn swords on the stairs so that they might make a noise there; which they did right well, in obedience to the orders of their mistress, who for her part feigned great affright, saying that her brothers-in-law must have remarked something amiss, that she herself was lost, and that he, Bonnivet, ought to hide under the bed or behind the hangings. But M. de Bonnivet, without evincing any fear, wrapped his cape round his arm, and taking his sword replied: ‘Well, where are these brave brothers who want to frighten me, or do me harm? When they see me they will not even dare to look at the point of my sword.’ Then opening the door he rushed out, and just as he was about to charge down the staircase he espied the women making all this noise; and they, taking fright at sight of him, began to cry out and confess everything. M. de Bonnivet, seeing that it was nothing more serious, left them, bidding them betake themselves to the devil; and then, returning into the room, he closed the door after him and went to find his lady, who began to laugh and embrace him, and confess to him that it was a trick devised by herself, assuring him that if he had behaved as a poltroon, and had not thus displayed the valour which he was said to possess, he should never have had her favours.... She was one of the most beautiful women of Milan, and he had had a deal of trouble to win her.
“I knew a brave gentleman who, one day at Rome, was alone with a pretty Roman lady—her husband being away—and she gave him a similar alarm, causing one of her women to come in hastily to warn her that her husband had returned from the country. The lady, feigning astonishment, begged the gentleman to hide himself in a closet, as otherwise she would be lost. ‘No, no,’ said the gentleman; ‘I would not do that for all the wealth in the world; if he comes I will kill him.’ And as he seized upon his sword the lady began to laugh and confess that she had contrived this to try him so as to see how he would act, and if he would defend her well should her husband seek to do her any harm.
“I also knew a very beautiful lady who suddenly left a lover she had, because she did not find him brave, and took another who did not resemble him, but who was extremely feared and redoubted on account of his sword, he being one of the best swordsmen that could then be found.”—Lalanne’sOEuvres de Brantôme, vol. ix. pp. 388-90.
Brantome, in the Thirtieth Discourse of hisCapitaines Étrangers, writes of Furstemberg as follows:—
“Count William von Furstemberg was accounted a good and valiant captain, and would have been more highly esteemed had he not been deficient in faith, over greedy and too much addicted to pillage, as he showed once in France, when he passed along with his troops; for after his passage there was nothing left. He served King Francis for the space of six or seven years [not more than six.—Ed.] with some five companies always numbering from six to seven thousand men; however, after this long term of services, or rather ravages and pillage, he was suspected of having designs against the King’s person, as I have elsewhere related, and those who would learn more of the matter will find the story in the hundred tales of Queen Margaret of Navarre, wherein the valour, generosity and magnanimity of that great King are clearly shown. The other, in great fear, left his service and entered that of the Emperor (Charles V.). If he had not been related to Madame la Régente (Louise of Savoy), through the House of Saxony, whence sprang that of Savoy, he would possibly have met with the fate he merited, had the King been minded to it; but on this occasion the King wished to show his magnanimity rather than have him put to death by the officers of justice. Again the King pardoned him when, on the arrival of the Emperor at St. Dizier in Champagne, he was taken, sounding the river Marne, (2) which he had on other occasions well reconnoitred, in coming to or on leaving France with his troops. He was on this occasion merely sent to the Bastille, and got quit for a ransom of 30,000 crowns. Some great captains said and opined that he ought not to have been thus treated as a prisoner of war but as a real vile spy, for he had professedly acted as such; and they said, moreover, that he got off too cheaply at such a ransom, which did not represent the smallest of the larcenies that he had perpetrated in France.”—Lalanne’sOEuvres de Brantôme, vol. i. pp. 349-50.
Prior to this affair Furstemberg apparently showed some regret for his earlier schemes against Francis I., for Queen Margaret, writing to her brother in 1536, remarked:—
“Count William has asked me to write and tell you that there is a great difference between the shameful purgatory of Italy and the glorious paradise of this camp, (3) and he spoke to me of his past misdeeds, which I would rather he should speak of to you,” &c.—Génin’sLettres de Marguerite, p. 321.
2 This occurred in September 1544. From an unpublished MS.in the public library at Rheims it appears that Furstembergwas wearing a disguise when captured. The Emperor had senthim forward expressly to sound the river. Anotherunpublished MS. at the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris (anc.fol.8561. f. 22), gives some particulars of his operationsabout this time.—Ed.3 That of Avignon. See vol. i. p. liv.—Ed.
In a poetic epistle sent by Margaret to Francis I. in January 1543, to celebrate the New Year, there is an allusion to a “Conte Guillaume,” whom Messrs. de Lincy and Montaiglon conjecture to be Furstemberg, though other commentators think that the Queen refers to William Poyet, the dishonest chancellor, who was sent to the Bastille in 1542 for peculation. We share, however, the opinion of Messrs. de Lincy and Montaiglon, as in various contemporary MSS. which we have referred to, we have frequently found Furstemberg alluded to as “Conte” and “Comte Guillaume,” without any mention of his surname. The passage in Margaret’s epistle alluded to above may be thus rendered in prose:—
“God, fighting for the King in every spot, curses his enemies and brings them to shame and ruin, so that none hold them of account; as witness ‘Compte [“Conte” in the MS.] Guillaume,’ who, in serving the King and the kingdom, became rich, feared and highly esteemed. Now, however, a fugitive, poor and contemned, he may well meditate as to whence came his honours, who it was that maintained him wealthy, happy and feared; and thus it is that all the King’s enemies are cursed by God in Paradise.”—Les Marguerites de la Marguerite, 1873, vol. ii. p. 203.
Apropos of Furstemberg the following entry occurs in M. de Laborde’sComptes des Bâtiments du Roi(vol. ii. p. 229):—
“Paid to Francis de Cadenet, doctor to Count William of Furstemberg, as a gift and favour for his services, 30 crowns, value 67 livres 10 sols.”—L., M. and Ed.
END OF VOL. II.
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Frontispiece
Titlepage
ContentsSECOND DAY.TALE XIX.TALE XX.THIRD DAY.PROLOGUE.TALE XXI.TALE XXII.TALE XXIII.TALE XXIV.TALE XXV.TALE XXVI.TALE XXVII.TALE XXVIII.TALE XXIX.TALE XXX.APPENDIX.A. (Tale XX., Page 21.)B. (Tale XXV., Page 131.)C. (Tale XXVI., Page 143.)D. (Tale XXX., Page 191).
SECOND DAY.
TALE XIX.
TALE XX.
THIRD DAY.
PROLOGUE.
TALE XXI.
TALE XXII.
TALE XXIII.
TALE XXIV.
TALE XXV.
TALE XXVI.
TALE XXVII.
TALE XXVIII.
TALE XXIX.
TALE XXX.
APPENDIX.
A. (Tale XX., Page 21.)
B. (Tale XXV., Page 131.)
C. (Tale XXVI., Page 143.)
D. (Tale XXX., Page 191).
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001a.jpg the Parting Between Pauline and The Gentlemen
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021a.jpg the Lord de Riant Finding The Widow With Her Groom
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035a.jpg Rolandine Conversing With Her Husband
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073a.jpg Sister Marie and the Prior
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097a.jpg the Grey Friar Deceiving The Gentleman of Périgord
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113a.jpg Elisor Showing the Queen Her Own Image
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131a.jpg the Advocate’s Wife Attending on The Prince
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143a.jpg the Lord of Avannes Paying his Court in Disguise
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171a.jpg the Secretary Imploring The Lady Not to Tell of his Wickedness
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177a.jpg the Secretary Opening The Pasty
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185a.jpg the Husbandman Surprised by The Fall of The Winnowing Fan
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191a.jpg the Young Gentleman Embracing his Mother
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SECOND DAY—Continued.Tale XIX.The honourable love of a gentleman, who, when his sweetheartis forbidden to speak with him, in despair becomes a monk of theObservance, while the lady, following in his footsteps, becomes a nun ofSt. ClaraTale XX.How the Lord of Riant is cured of his love fora beautiful widowthrough surprising her in the arms of a groomTHIRD DAY.PrologueTale XXI.The affecting history of Rolandine, who, debarred frommarriage by her father’s greed, betrothes herself to a gentleman towhom, despite his faithlessness, she keeps her plighted word, and doesnot marry until after his deathTale XXII.How Sister Marie Heroet virtuously escapes the attempts ofthe Prior of St. Martin in-the-FieldsTale XXIII.The undeserved confidence which a gentleman of Perigordplaces in the monks of the Order of St. Francis, causes the death ofhimself, his wife and their little childTale XXIV.Concerning the unavailing love borne to the Queen of Castileby a gentleman named Elisor, who in the end becomes a hermitTale XXV.How a young Prince found means to conceal his intrigue withthe wife of a lawyer of ParisTale XXVI.How the counsels of a discreet lady happily withdrew theyoung Lord of Avannes from the perils of his foolish love for a lady ofPampelunaTale XXVII.How the wife of a man who was valet to a Princess ridherself of the solicitations of one who was among the same Princess’sservants, and at the same time her husband’s guestTale XXVIII.How a Gascon merchant, named Bernard du Ha, whilesojourning at Paris, deceived a Secretary to the Queen of Navarre whohad thought to obtain a pasty from himTale XXIX.How the Priest of Carrelles, in Maine, when surprised withthe wife of an old husbandman, gets out of the difficulty by pretendingto return him a winnowing fanTale XXX.How a gentleman marries his own daughter and sister unawares
SECOND DAY—Continued.Tale XIX.The honourable love of a gentleman, who, when his sweetheartis forbidden to speak with him, in despair becomes a monk of theObservance, while the lady, following in his footsteps, becomes a nun ofSt. ClaraTale XX.How the Lord of Riant is cured of his love fora beautiful widowthrough surprising her in the arms of a groomTHIRD DAY.PrologueTale XXI.The affecting history of Rolandine, who, debarred frommarriage by her father’s greed, betrothes herself to a gentleman towhom, despite his faithlessness, she keeps her plighted word, and doesnot marry until after his deathTale XXII.How Sister Marie Heroet virtuously escapes the attempts ofthe Prior of St. Martin in-the-FieldsTale XXIII.The undeserved confidence which a gentleman of Perigordplaces in the monks of the Order of St. Francis, causes the death ofhimself, his wife and their little childTale XXIV.Concerning the unavailing love borne to the Queen of Castileby a gentleman named Elisor, who in the end becomes a hermitTale XXV.How a young Prince found means to conceal his intrigue withthe wife of a lawyer of ParisTale XXVI.How the counsels of a discreet lady happily withdrew theyoung Lord of Avannes from the perils of his foolish love for a lady ofPampelunaTale XXVII.How the wife of a man who was valet to a Princess ridherself of the solicitations of one who was among the same Princess’sservants, and at the same time her husband’s guestTale XXVIII.How a Gascon merchant, named Bernard du Ha, whilesojourning at Paris, deceived a Secretary to the Queen of Navarre whohad thought to obtain a pasty from himTale XXIX.How the Priest of Carrelles, in Maine, when surprised withthe wife of an old husbandman, gets out of the difficulty by pretendingto return him a winnowing fanTale XXX.How a gentleman marries his own daughter and sister unawares
001a.jpg the Parting Between Pauline and The Gentlemen
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Pauline, being in love with a gentleman no less than he was with her, and finding that he, because forbidden ever again to speak with her, had entered the monastery of the Observance, gained admittance for her own part into the convent of St. Clara, where she took the veil; thus fulfilling the desire she had conceived to bring the gentleman’s love and her own to a like ending in respect of raiment, condition and manner of life. (1)
In the time of the Marquis of Mantua, (2) who had married the sister of the Duke of Ferrara, there lived in the household of the Duchess a damsel named Pauline, who was greatly loved by a gentleman in the Marquis’s service, and this to the astonishment of every one; for being poor, albeit handsome and greatly beloved by his master, he ought, in their estimation, to have wooed some wealthy dame, but he believed that all the world’s treasure centred in Pauline, and looked to his marriage with her to gain and possess it.
1 The incidents related in this tale appear to have takenplace at Mantua and Ferrara. M. de Montaiglon, however,believes that they happened at Lyons, and that Margaret laidthe scene of her story in Italy, so that the personages sherefers to might not be identified. The subject of the taleis similar to that of the poem calledL’Amant renduCordelier à l’Observance et Amour, which may perhaps havesupplied the Queen of Navarre with the plot of hernarrative.—M. and Ed.2 This was John Francis II. of Gonzaga, who was born in1466, and succeeded his father, Frederic I., in 1484. Hetook an active part in the wars of the time, commanding theVenetian troops when Charles VIII. invaded Italy, andafterwards supporting Ludovico Sforza in the defence ofMilan. When Sforza abandoned the struggle against France,the Marquis of Mantua joined the French king, for whom heacted as viceroy of Naples. Ultimately, however, he espousedthe cause of the Emperor Maximilian, when the latter was atwar with Venice in 1509, and being surprised and defeatedwhile camping on the island of La Scala, he fled in hisshirt and hid himself in a field, where, by the treachery ofa peasant who had promised him secrecy, he was found andtaken prisoner. By the advice of Pope Julius II., theVenetians set him at liberty after he had undergone a year’simprisonment. In 1490 John Francis married Isabella d’Esté,daughter of Hercules I. Duke of Ferrara, by whom he hadseveral children. He died at Mantua in March 1519, his widowsurviving him until 1539. Among the many dignities acquiredby the Marquis in the course of his singularly chequeredlife was that of gonfalonier of the Holy Church, conferredupon him by Julius II.—L. and En.
The Marchioness, who desired that Pauline should through her favour make a more wealthy marriage, discouraged her as much as she could from wedding the gentleman, and often hindered the two lovers from talking together, pointing out to them that, should the marriage take place, they would be the poorest and sorriest couple in all Italy. But such argument as this was by no means convincing to the gentleman, and though Pauline, on her side, dissembled her love as well as she could, she none the less thought about him as often as before.
With the hope that time would bring them better fortune, this love of theirs continued for a long while, during which it chanced that a war broke out (3) and that the gentleman was taken prisoner along with a Frenchman, whose heart was bestowed in France even as was his own in Italy.
3 This would be the expedition which Louis XII. made intoItaly in 1503 in view of conquering the Kingdom of Naples,and which was frustrated by the defeats that the French armysustained at Seminara, Cerignoles, and the passage of theGarigliano.—D.
Finding themselves comrades in misfortune, they began to tell their secrets to one another, the Frenchman confessing that his heart was a fast prisoner, though he gave not the name of its prison-house. However, as they were both in the service of the Marquis of Mantua, this French gentleman knew right well that his companion loved Pauline, and in all friendship for him advised him to lay his fancy aside. This the Italian gentleman swore was not in his power, and he declared that if the Marquis of Mantua did not requite him for his captivity and his faithful service by giving him his sweetheart to wife, he would presently turn friar and serve no master but God. This, however, his companion could not believe, perceiving in him no token of devotion, unless it were that which he bore to Pauline.
At the end of nine months the French gentleman obtained his freedom, and by his diligence compassed that of his comrade also, who thereupon used all his efforts with the Marquis and Marchioness to bring about his marriage with Pauline. But all was of no avail; they pointed out to him the poverty wherein they would both be forced to live, as well as the unwillingness of the relatives on either side; and they forbade him ever again to speak with the maiden, to the end that absence and lack of opportunity might quell his passion.
Finding himself compelled to obey, the gentleman begged of the Marchioness that he might have leave to bid Pauline farewell, promising that he would afterwards speak to her no more, and upon his request being granted, as soon as they were together he spoke to her as follows:—
“Heaven and earth are both against us, Pauline, and hinder us not only from marriage but even from having sight and speech of one another. And by laying on us this cruel command, our master and mistress may well boast of having with one word broken two hearts, whose bodies, perforce, must henceforth languish; and by this they show that they have never known love or pity, and although I know that they desire to marry each of us honourably and to worldly advantage,—ignorant as they are that contentment is the only true wealth,—yet have they so afflicted and angered me that never more can I do them loyal service. I feel sure that had I never spoken of marriage they would not have shown themselves so scrupulous as to forbid me from speaking to you; but I would have you know that, having loved you with a pure and honourable love, and wooed you for what I would fain defend against all others, I would rather die than change my purpose now to your dishonour. And since, if I continued to see you, I could not accomplish so harsh a penance as to restrain myself from speech, whilst, if being here I saw you not, my heart, unable to remain void, would fill with such despair as must end in woe, I have resolved, and that long since, to become a monk. I know, indeed, full well that men of all conditions may be saved, but would gladly have more leisure for contemplating the Divine goodness, which will, I trust, forgive me the errors of my youth, and so change my heart that it may love spiritual things as truly as hitherto it has loved temporal things. And if God grant me grace to win His grace, my sole care shall be to pray to Him without ceasing for you; and I entreat you, by the true and loyal love that has been betwixt us both, that you will remember me in your prayers, and beseech Our Lord to grant me as full a measure of steadfastness when I see you no more, as he has given me of joy in beholding you. Finally, I have all my life hoped to have of you in wedlock that which honour and conscience allow, and with this hope have been content; but now that I have lost it and can never have you to wife, I pray you at least, in bidding me farewell, treat me as a brother, and suffer me to kiss you.”
When the hapless Pauline, who had always treated him somewhat rigorously, beheld the extremity of his grief and his uprightness, which, amidst all his despair, would suffer him to prefer but this moderate request, her sole answer was to throw her arms around his neck, weeping so bitterly that speech and strength alike failed her, and she swooned away in his embrace. Thereupon, overcome by pity, love and sorrow, he must needs swoon also, and one of Pauline’s companions, seeing them fall one on one side and one on the other, called aloud for aid, whereupon remedies were fetched and applied, and brought them to themselves.
Then Pauline, who had desired to conceal her love, was ashamed at having shown such transports; yet were her pity for the unhappy gentleman a just excuse. He, unable to utter the “Farewell for ever!” hastened away with heavy heart and set teeth, and, on entering his apartment, fell like a lifeless corpse upon his bed. There he passed the night in such piteous lamentations that his servants thought he must have lost all his relations and friends, and whatsoever he possessed on earth.
In the morning he commended himself to Our Lord, and having divided among his servants what little worldly goods he had, save a small sum of money which he took, he charged his people not to follow him, and departed all alone to the monastery of the Observance, (4) resolved to take the cloth there and never more to quit it his whole life long.
4 The monastery of the Observance here referred to wouldappear to be that at Ferrara, founded by Duke Hercules I.,father of the Marchioness of Mantua. The name of“Observance” was given to those conventual establishmentswhere the rules of monastic life were scrupulously observed,however rigorous they might be. The monastery of theObservance at Ferrara belonged to the Franciscan order,reformed by the Pope in 1363.—D. and L.
The Warden, who had known him in former days, at first thought he was being laughed at or was dreaming, for there was none in all the land that less resembled a Grey Friar than did this gentleman, seeing that he was endowed with all the good and honourable qualities that one would desire a gentleman to possess. Albeit, after hearing his words and beholding the tears that flowed (from what cause he knew not) down his face, the Warden compassionately took him in, and very soon afterwards, finding him persevere in his desire, granted him the cloth: whereof tidings were brought to the Marquis and Marchioness, who thought it all so strange that they could scarcely believe it.
Pauline, wishing to show herself untrammelled by any passion, strove as best she might to conceal her sorrow, in such wise that all said she had right soon forgotten the deep affection of her faithful lover. And so five or six months passed by without any sign on her part, but in the meanwhile some monk had shown her a song which her lover had made a short time after he had taken the cowl. The air was an Italian one and pretty well known; as for the words, I have put them into our own tongue as nearly as I can, and they are these:—
What word shall beHers unto me,When I appear in convent guiseBefore her eyes?Ah! sweet maiden,Lone, heart-laden,Dumb because of days that were;When the streamingTears are gleaming‘Mid the streaming of thy hair,Ah! with hopes of earth denied thee,Holiest thoughts will heavenward guide theeTo the hallowing cloister’s door.What word shall be, &c.What shall they say,Who wronged us, theyWho have slain our heart’s desire,Seeing true loveDoth flawless prove,Thus tried as gold in fire?When they see my heart is single,Their remorseful tears shall mingle,Each and other weeping sore.What word shall be, &c.And should they comeTo will us home,How vain were all endeavour!“Nay, side by side,“We here shall bide“Till soul from soul shall sever.“Though of love your hate bereaves us“Yet the veil and cowl it leaves us,“We shall wear till life be o’er.”What word shall be, &c.And should they moveOur flesh to loveOnce more the mockers, singingOf fruits and flowersIn golden hoursFor mated hearts upspringing;We shall say: “Our lives are given,Flower and fruit, to God in Heaven,Who shall hold them evermore.”What word shall be, &c.O victor Love!Whose might doth moveMy wearied footsteps hither,Here grant me daysOf prayer and praise,Grant faith that ne’er shall wither;Love of each to either given,Hallowed by the grace of Heaven,God shall bless for evermore.What word shall be, &c.Avaunt Earth’s weal!Its bands are steelTo souls that yearn for Heaven;Avaunt Earth’s pride!Deep Hell shall hideHearts that for fame have striven.Far be lust of earthly pleasure,Purity, our priceless treasure,Christ shall grant us of His store.What word shall be, &c.Swift be thy feet,My own, my sweet,Thine own true lover follow;Fear not the veil,The cloister’s pallKeeps far Earth’s spectres hollow.Sinks the fire with fitful flashes,Soars the Phoenix from his ashes,Love yields Life for evermore.What word shall be, &c.Love, that no powerOf dreariest hour,Could change, no scorn, no rage,Now heavenly freeFrom Earth shall be,In this, our hermitage.Winged of love that upward, onward,Ageless, boundless, bears us sunward,To the heavens our souls shall soar.What word shall be, &c.
On reading these verses through in a chapel where she was alone, Pauline began to weep so bitterly that all the paper was wetted with her tears. Had it not been for her fear of showing a deeper affection than was seemly, she would certainly have withdrawn forthwith to some hermitage, and never have looked upon a living being again; but her native discretion moved her to dissemble for a little while longer. And although she was now resolved to leave the world entirely, she feigned the very opposite, and so altered her countenance, that in company she was altogether unlike her real self. For five or six months did she carry this secret purpose in her heart, making a greater show of mirth than had ever been her wont.
But one day she went with her mistress to the Observance to hear high mass, and when the priest, the deacon and the sub-deacon came out of the vestry to go to the high altar, she saw her hapless lover, who had not yet fulfilled his year of novitiate, acting as acolyte, carrying the two vessels covered with a silken cloth, and walking first with his eyes upon the ground. When Pauline saw him in such raiment as did rather increase than diminish his comeliness, she was so exceedingly moved and disquieted, that to hide the real reason of the colour that came into her face, she began to cough. Thereupon her unhappy lover, who knew this sound better than that of the cloister bells, durst not turn his head; still on passing in front of her he could not prevent his eyes from going the road they had so often gone before; and whilst he thus piteously gazed on Pauline, he was seized in such wise by the fire which he had considered well-nigh quelled, that whilst striving to conceal it more than was in his power, he fell at full length before her. However, for fear lest the cause of his fall should be known, he was led to say that it was by reason of the pavement of the church being broken in that place.
When Pauline perceived that the change in his dress had not wrought any change in his heart, and that so long a time had gone by since he had become a monk, that every one believed her to have forgotten him, she resolved to fulfil the desire she had conceived to bring their love to a like ending in respect of raiment, condition and mode of life, even as these had been akin at the time when they abode together in the same house, under the same master and mistress. More than four months previously she had carried out all needful measures for taking the veil, and now, one morning she asked leave of the Marchioness to go and hear mass at the convent of Saint Clara, (5) which her mistress granted her, not knowing the reason of her request. But in passing by the monastery of the Grey Friars, she begged the Warden to summon her lover, saying that he was her kinsman, and when they met in a chapel by themselves, she said to him:—