3 The Church of St. Florentin here mentioned must not beconfounded with that of the same name near one of the gatesof Amboise. Erected in the tenth century by Foulques Nera ofAnjou, it was a collegiate church, and was attended by thetownsfolk, although it stood within the precincts of thechâteau. For this reason Queen Margaret calls it the castlechurch.—Ed.
Whilst he was alone the fancy took him that he might obtain by force what neither prayer nor service had availed to procure him, and accordingly he broke through a wooden partition which was between the chamber where his mistress slept and his own. The curtains of his master’s bed on the one side and of the servant’s bed on the other so covered the walls as to hide the opening he had made; and thus his wickedness was not perceived until his mistress was in bed, together with a little girl eleven or twelve years old.
When the poor woman was in her first sleep, the servant, in his shirt and with his naked sword in his hand, came through the opening he had made in the wall into her bed; but as soon as she felt him beside her, she leaped out, addressing to him all such reproaches as a virtuous woman might utter. His love, however, was but bestial, and he would have better understood the language of his mules than her honourable reasonings; indeed, he showed himself even more bestial than the beasts with whom he had long consorted. Finding she ran so quickly round a table that he could not catch her, and that she was strong enough to break away from him twice, he despaired of ravishing her alive, and dealt her a terrible sword-thrust in the loins, thinking that, if fear and force had not brought her to yield, pain would assuredly do so.
The contrary, however, happened, for just as a good soldier, on seeing his own blood, is the more fired to take vengeance on his enemies and win renown, so her chaste heart gathered new strength as she ran fleeing from the hands of the miscreant, saying to him the while all she could think of to bring him to see his guilt. But so filled was he with rage that he paid no heed to her words. He dealt her several more thrusts, to avoid which she continued running as long as her legs could carry her.
When, after great loss of blood, she felt that death was near, she lifted her eyes to heaven, clasped her hands and gave thanks to God, calling Him her strength, her patience, and her virtue, and praying Him to accept her blood which had been shed for the keeping of His commandment and in reverence of His Son, through whom she firmly believed all her sins to be washed away and blotted out from the remembrance of His wrath.
As she was uttering the words, “Lord, receive the soul that has been redeemed by Thy goodness,” she fell upon her face to the ground.
Then the miscreant dealt her several thrusts, and when she had lost both power of speech and strength of body, and was no longer able to make any defence, he ravished her.(4)
4 Brantôme, in his account of Mary Queen of Scots, quotesthis story. After mentioning that the headsman remainedalone with the Queen’s decapitated corpse, he adds: “He thentook off her shoes and handled her as he pleased. It issuspected that he treated her in the same way as thatmiserable muleteer, in the Hundred Stories of the Queen ofNavarre, treated the poor woman he killed. Strangertemptations than this come to men. After he (theexecutioner) had done as he chose, the (Queen’s) body wascarried into a room adjoining that of her servants.”Lalanne’sOEuvres de Brantôme, vol. vii. p. 438.—M.
Having thus satisfied his wicked lust, he fled in haste, and in spite of all pursuit was never seen again.
The little girl, who was in bed with the muleteer’s wife, had hidden herself under the bed in her fear; but on seeing that the man was gone, she came to her mistress. Finding her to be without speech or movement, she called to the neighbours from the window for aid; and as they loved and esteemed her mistress as much as any woman that belonged to the town, they came forthwith, bringing surgeons with them. The latter found that she had received twenty-five mortal wounds in her body, and although they did what they could to help her, it was all in vain.
Nevertheless she lingered for an hour longer without speaking, yet making signs with eye and hand to show that she had not lost her understanding. Being asked by a priest in what faith she died, she answered, by signs as plain as any speech, that she placed her hope of salvation in Jesus Christ alone; and so with glad countenance and eyes upraised to heaven her chaste body yielded up its soul to its Creator.
Just as the corpse, having been laid out and shrouded,(5) was placed at the door to await the burial company, the poor husband arrived and beheld his wife’s body in front of his house before he had even received tidings of her death. He inquired the cause of this, and found that he had double occasion to grieve; and his grief was indeed so great that it nearly killed him.
5 Common people were then buried in shrouds, not in coffins.—Ed.
This martyr of chastity was buried in the Church of St. Florentin, and, as was their duty, all the upright women of Amboise failed not to show her every possible honour, deeming themselves fortunate in belonging to a town where so virtuous a woman had been found. And seeing the honour that was shown to the deceased, such women as were wanton and unchaste resolved to amend their lives.
“This, ladies, is a true story, which should incline us more strongly to preserve the fair virtue of chastity. We who are of gentle blood should die of shame on feeling in our hearts that worldly lust to avoid which the poor wife of a muleteer shrank not from so cruel a death. Some esteem themselves virtuous women who have never like this one resisted unto the shedding of blood. It is fitting that we should humble ourselves, for God does not vouchsafe His grace to men because of their birth or riches, but according as it pleases His own good-will. He pays no regard to persons, but chooses according to His purpose; and he whom He chooses He honours with all virtues. And often He chooses the lowly to confound those whom the world exalts and honours; for, as He Himself hath told us, ‘Let us not rejoice in our merits, but rather because our names are written in the Book of Life, from which nor death, nor hell, nor sin can blot them out.’” (6)
6 These are not the exact words of Scripture, but acombination of several passages from the Book ofRevelation.—Ed.
There was not a lady in the company but had tears of compassion in her eyes for the pitiful and glorious death of the muleteer’s wife. Each thought within herself that, should fortune serve her in the same way, she would strive to imitate this poor woman in her martyrdom. Oisille, however, perceiving that time was being lost in praising the dead woman, said to Saffredent—
“Unless you can tell us something that will make the company laugh, I think none of them will forgive me for the fault I have committed in making them weep; wherefore I give you my vote for your telling of the third story.”
Saffredent, who would gladly have recounted something agreeable to the company, and above all to one amongst the ladies, said that it was not for him to speak, seeing that there were others older and better instructed than himself, who should of right come first. Nevertheless, since the lot had fallen upon himself, he would rather have done with it at once, for the more numerous the good speakers before him, the worse would his own tale appear.
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The Queen of Naples, being wronged by King Alfonso, herhusband, revenged herself with a gentleman whose wife wasthe King’s mistress; and this intercourse lasted all theirlives without the King at any time having suspicion ofit.(1)
I have often desired, ladies, to be a sharer in the good fortune of the man whose story I am about to relate to you. You must know that in the time of King Alfonso,(2) whose lust was the sceptre of his kingdom,(3) there lived in the town of Naples a gentleman, so honourable, comely, and pleasant that his perfections induced an old gentleman to give him his daughter in marriage.
1 This story is historical. The events occurred at Naplescir. 1450.—L.2 The King spoken of in this story must be Alfonso V., Kingof Aragon, who was born in 1385, and succeeded his father,Ferdinand the Just, in 1416. He had already made variousexpeditions to Sardinia and Corsica, when, in 1421, Jane II.of Naples begged of him to assist her in her contest againstLouis of Anjou. Alfonso set sail for Italy as requested, butspeedily quarrelled with Jane, on account of the manner inwhich he treated her lover, the Grand Seneschal Caraccioli.Jane, at her death in 1438, bequeathed her crown to René,brother of Louis of Anjou, whose claims Alfonso immediatelyopposed. Whilst blockading Gaëta he was defeated andcaptured, but ultimately set at liberty, whereupon heresumed the war. In 1442 he at last secured possession ofNaples, and compelled René to withdraw from Italy. From thattime Alfonso never returned to Spain, but settling himselfin his Italian dominions, assumed the title of King of theTwo Sicilies. He obtained the surname of the Magnanimous,from his generous conduct towards some conspirators, a listof whose names he tore to pieces unread, saying, “I willshow these noblemen that I have more concern for their livesthan they have themselves.” The surname of the Learned wasafterwards given to him from the circumstance that, like hisrival René of Anjou, he personally cultivated letters, andalso protected many of the leading learned men of Italy.Alfonso was fond of strolling about the streets of Naplesunattended, and one day, when he was cautioned respectingthis habit, he replied, “A father who walks abroad in themidst of his children has no cause for fear.” Whilstpossessed of many remarkable qualities, Alfonso, as Muratoriand other writers have shown, was of an extremely licentiousdisposition. That he had no belief in conjugal fidelity isevidenced by his saying that “to ensure domestic happinessthe husband should be deaf and the wife blind.” He himselfhad several mistresses, and lived at variance with his wife,respecting whom some particulars are given in a note on page69. He died in 1458, at the age of seventy-four, bequeathinghis Italian possessions to Ferdinand, Duke of Calabria, hisnatural son by a Spanish beauty named Margaret de Hijar. Itmay be added that Brantôme makes a passing allusion to thistale of theHeptameronin hisVies des Dames Galantes(Disc, i.), styling it “a very fine one.”—L. and Ed.3 Meaning that he employed his sovereign authority for theaccomplishment of his amorous desires.—M.
She vied with her husband in grace and comeliness, and there was great love between them, until a certain day in Carnival time, when the King went masked from house to house. All strove to give him the best welcome they could, but when he came to this gentleman’s house he was entertained better than anywhere else, what with sweetmeats, and singers, and music, and, further, the fairest woman that, to his thinking, he had ever seen. At the end of the feast she sang a song with her husband in so graceful a fashion that she seemed more beautiful than ever.
The King, perceiving so many perfections united in one person, was not over pleased at the gentle harmony between the husband and wife, and deliberated how he might destroy it. The chief difficulty he met with was in the great affection which he observed existed between them, and on this account he hid his passion in his heart as deeply as he could. To relieve it in some measure, he gave many entertainments to the lords and ladies of Naples, and at these the gentleman and his wife were not forgotten. Now, inasmuch as men willingly believe what they desire, it seemed to the King that the glances of this lady gave him fair promise of future happiness, if only she were not restrained by her husband’s presence. Accordingly, that he might learn whether his surmise was true, the King intrusted a commission to the husband, and sent him on a journey to Rome for a fortnight or three weeks.
As soon as the gentleman was gone, his wife, who had never before been separated from him, was in great distress; but the King comforted her as often as he was able, with gentle persuasions and presents, so that at last she was not only consoled, but well pleased with her husband’s absence. Before the three weeks were over at the end of which he was to be home again, she had come to be so deeply in love with the King that her husband’s return was no less displeasing to her than his departure had been. Not wishing to be deprived of the King’s society, she agreed with him that whenever her husband went to his country-house she would give him notice of it. He might then visit her in safety, and with such secrecy that her honour, which she regarded more than her conscience, would not suffer.(4)
4 The edition of 1558 is here followed, the MSS. beingrather obscure.—M.
Having this hope, the lady continued of very cheerful mind, and when her husband arrived she welcomed him so heartily that, even had he been told that the King had sought her in his absence, he would have had no suspicion. In course of time, however, the flame, that is so difficult of concealment, began to show itself, and the husband, having a strong inkling of the truth, kept good watch, by which means he was well-nigh convinced. Nevertheless, as he feared that the man who wronged him would treat him still worse if he appeared to notice it, he resolved to dissemble, holding it better to live in trouble than to risk his life for a woman who had ceased to love him.
In his vexation of spirit, however, he resolved, if he could, to retort upon the King, and knowing that women, especially such as are of lofty and honourable minds, are more moved by resentment than by love, he made bold one day while speaking with the Queen (5) to tell her that it moved his pity to see her so little loved by the King.
5 This was Mary (daughter of Henry III. of Castile), who wasmarried to King Alfonso at Valencia on June 29, 1415. Juande Mariana, the Spanish historian, records that the ceremonywas celebrated with signal pomp by the schismatical PopeBenedict XIII. The bride brought her husband a dowry of200,000 ducats, and also various territorial possessions.The marriage, however, was not a happy one, on account ofAlfonso’s licentious disposition, and the Queen is said tohave strangled one of his mistresses, Margaret de Hijar, ina fit of jealousy. Alfonso, to escape from his wife’sinterference, turned his attention to foreign expeditions.According to the authors ofL’Art de Vérifier les Dates,Queen Mary never once set foot in Italy, and this statementis borne out by Mariana, who shows that whilst Alfonso wasreigning in Naples his wife governed the kingdom of Aragon,making war and signing truces and treaties of peace withCastile. In theHeptameron, therefore, Margaret departsfrom historical accuracy when she represents the Queen asresiding at Naples with her husband. Moreover, judging bythe date of Mary’s marriage, she could no longer have beenyoung when Alfonso secured the Neapolitan throne. It is tobe presumed that the Queen of Navarre designedly changed thedate of her story, and that the incidents referred to reallyoccurred in Spain prior to Alfonso’s departure for Italy.There is no mention of Mary in her husband’s will, aremarkable document which is still extant. A letter writtento her by Pope Calixtus II. shows that late in life the Kingwas desirous of repudiating her to marry an Italian mistressnamed Lucretia Alania. The latter repaired to Rome tonegotiate the affair, but the Pope refused to treat withher, and wrote to Mary saying that she must be prudent, butthat he would not dissolve the marriage, lest God shouldpunish him for participating in so great a crime. Mary dieda few months after her husband in 1458, and was buried in aconvent at Valencia.—L. and Ed.
The Queen, who had heard of the affection that existed between the King and the gentleman’s wife, replied—
“I cannot have both honour and pleasure together. I well know that I have the honour whilst another has the pleasure; and in the same way she who has the pleasure has not the honour that is mine.”
Thereupon the gentleman, who understood full well at whom these words were aimed, replied—
“Madam, honour is inborn with you, for your lineage is such that no title, whether of queen or empress, could be an increase of nobility; yet your beauty, grace, and virtue are well deserving of pleasure, and she who robs you of what is yours does a greater wrong to herself than to you, seeing that for a glory which is turned to her shame, she loses as much pleasure as you or any lady in the realm could enjoy. I can truly tell you, madam, that were the King to lay aside his crown, he would not possess any advantage over me in satisfying a lady; nay, I am sure that to content one so worthy as yourself he would indeed be pleased to change his temperament for mine.”
The Queen laughed and replied—
“The King may be of a less vigorous temperament than you, yet the love he bears me contents me well, and I prefer it to any other.”
“Madam,” said the gentleman, “if that were so, I should have no pity for you. I feel sure that you would be well pleased if the like of your own virtuous love were found in the King’s heart; but God has withheld this from you in order that, not finding what you desire in your husband, you may not make him your god on earth.”
“I confess to you,” said the Queen, “that the love I bear him is so great that the like could not be found in any other heart but mine.”
“Pardon me, madam,” said the gentleman; “you have not fathomed the love of every heart. I will be so bold as to tell you that you are loved by one whose love is so great and measureless that your own is as nothing beside it. The more he perceives that the King’s love fails you, the more does his own wax and increase, in such wise that, were it your pleasure, you might be recompensed for all you have lost.”
The Queen began to perceive, both from these words and from the gentleman’s countenance, that what he said came from the depth of his heart. She remembered also that for a long time he had so zealously sought to do her service that he had fallen into sadness. She had hitherto deemed this to be on account of his wife, but now she was firmly of belief that it was for love of herself. Moreover, the very quality of love, which compels itself to be recognised when it is unfeigned, made her feel certain of what had been hidden from every one. As she looked at the gentleman, who was far more worthy of being loved than her husband, she reflected that he was forsaken by his wife, as she herself was by the King; and then, beset by vexation and jealousy against her husband, as well as moved by the love of the gentleman, she began with sighs and tearful eyes to say—
“Ah me! shall revenge prevail with me where love has been of no avail?”
The gentleman, who understood what these words meant, replied—
“Vengeance, madam, is sweet when in place of slaying an enemy it gives life to a true lover.(6) Methinks it is time that truth should cause you to abandon the foolish love you bear to one who loves you not, and that a just and reasonable love should banish fear, which cannot dwell in a noble and virtuous heart. Come, madam, let us set aside the greatness of your station and consider that, of all men and women in the world, we are the most deceived, betrayed, and bemocked by those whom we have most truly loved. Let us avenge ourselves, madam, not so much to requite them in the way they deserve as to satisfy that love which, for my own part, I cannot continue to endure and live. And I think that, unless your heart be harder than flint or diamond, you cannot but feel some spark from the fires which only increase the more I seek to conceal them. If pity for me, who am dying of love for you, does not move you to love me, at least pity for yourself should do so. You are so perfect that you deserve to win the heart of every honourable man in the world, yet you are contemned and forsaken by him for whose sake you have scorned all others.”
6 The above sentence being omitted in the MS. followed inthis edition, it has been supplied from MS. No. 1520 in theBibliothèque Nationale.—L.
On hearing these words the Queen was so greatly moved that, for fear of showing in her countenance the trouble of her mind, she took the gentleman’s arm and went forth into a garden that was close to her apartment. There she walked to and fro for a long time without being able to say a word to him. The gentleman saw that she was half won, and when they were at the end of the path, where none could see them, he made a very full declaration of the love which he had so long hidden from her. They found that they were of one mind in the matter, and enacted (7) the vengeance which they were no longer able to forego. Moreover, they there agreed that whenever the husband went into the country, and the King left the castle to visit the wife in the town, the gentleman should always return and come to the castle to see the Queen. Thus, the deceivers being themselves deceived, all four would share in the pleasures that two of them had thought to keep to themselves.
7 This expression has allusion to the mysteries or religiousplays so frequently performed in the fifteenth and sixteenthcenturies. The Mystery of Vengeance, which depicted themisfortunes which fell upon those who had taken part in thecrucifixion of Jesus Christ, such as Pontius Pilate, &c, andended by the capture and destruction of Jerusalem, properlycame after the Mysteries of the Passion and theResurrection.—L.
When the agreement had been made, the Queen returned to her apartment and the gentleman to his house, both being so well pleased that they had forgotten all their former troubles. The jealousy they had previously felt at the King’s visits to the lady was now changed to desire, so that the gentleman went oftener than usual to his house in the country, which was only half a league distant. As soon as the King was advised of his departure, he never failed to go and see the lady; and the gentleman, when night was come, betook himself to the castle to the Queen, where he did duty as the King’s lieutenant, and so secretly that none ever discovered it.
This manner of life lasted for a long time; but as the King was a person of public condition, he could not conceal his love sufficiently well to prevent it from coming at length to the knowledge of every one; and all honourable people felt great pity for the gentleman, though divers malicious youths were wont to deride him by making horns at him behind his back. But he knew of their derision, and it gave him great pleasure, so that he came to think as highly of his horns as of the King’s crown.
One day, however, the King and the gentleman’s wife, noticing a stag’s head that was set up in the gentleman’s house, could not refrain in his presence from laughing and saying that the head was suited to the house. Soon afterwards the gentleman, who was no less spirited than the King, caused the following words to be written over the stag’s head:—
“Io porto le corna, ciascun lo vede, Ma tal le porta che no locrede.” (8)
8 “All men may see the horns I’ve got, But one wears hornsand knows it not.”
When the King came again to the house, he observed these lines newly written, and inquired their meaning of the gentleman, who said—
“If the King’s secret be hidden from the subject, it is not fitting that the subject’s secret should be revealed to the King. Be content with knowing that those who wear horns do not always have their caps raised from their heads. Some horns are so soft that they never uncap one, and especially are they light to him who thinks he has them not.”
The King perceived by these words that the gentleman knew something of his own behaviour, but he never had any suspicion of the love between him and the Queen; for the more pleased the latter was with the life led by her husband, the more did she feign to be distressed by it. And so on either side they lived in this love, until at last old age took them in hand.
“Here, ladies, is a story by which you may be guided, for, as I willingly confess, it shows you that when your husbands give you bucks’ horns you can give them stags’ horns in return.”
“I am quite sure, Saffredent,” began Ennasuite laughing, “that if you still love as ardently as you were formerly wont to do, you would submit to horns as big as oak-trees if only you might repay them as you pleased. However, now that your hair is growing grey, it is time to leave your desires in peace.”
“Fair lady,” said Saffredent, “though I be robbed of hope by the woman I love, and of ardour by old age, yet it lies not in my power to weaken my inclination. Since you have rebuked me for so honourable a desire, I give you my vote for the telling of the fourth tale, that we may see whether you can bring forward some example to refute me.”
During this converse one of the ladies fell to laughing heartily, knowing that she who took Saffredent’s words to herself was not so loved by him that he would have suffered horns, shame, or wrong for her sake. When Saffredent perceived that the lady who laughed understood him, he was well satisfied and became silent, so that Ennasuite might begin; which she did as follows—
“In order, ladies, that Saffredent and the rest of the company may know that all ladies are not like the Queen he has spoken of, and that all foolhardy and venturesome men do not compass their ends, I will tell you a story in which I will acquaint you with the opinion of a lady who deemed the vexation of failure in love to be harder of endurance than death itself. However, I shall give no names, because the events are so fresh in people’s minds that I should fear to offend some who are near of kin.”
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A young gentleman sought to discover whether the offer ofan honour-able love would be displeasing to his master’ssister, a lady of the most illustrious lineage in Flanders,who had been twice widowed, and was a woman of muck spirit.Meeting with a reply contrary to his desires, he attemptedto possess her by force; but she resisted him successfully,and by the advice of her lady of honour, without seeming totake notice of his designs and efforts, gradually ceased toregard him with the favour with which she had been wont totreat him. Thus, by his foolhardy presumption, he lost thehonourable and habitual companionship which, more thanothers, he had had with her.(1)1 This story is historical, and the incidents must haveoccurred between 1520 and 1525.—L.
There lived in the land of Flanders a lady of such high lineage, that none more illustrious could be found. She was a widow, both her first and second husbands being dead, and she had no children living. During her widowhood she lived in retirement with her brother, by whom she was greatly loved, and who was a very great lord and married to the daughter of a King. This young Prince was a man much given to pleasure, fond of hunting, pastimes, and women, as his youth inclined him. He had a wife, however, who was of a very froward disposition, (2) and found no pleasure in her husband’s pursuits; wherefore this Lord always took his sister along with his wife, for she was a most joyous and pleasant companion, and withal a discreet and honourable woman.
In this Lord’s household there was a gentleman who, for stature, comeliness, and grace, surpassed all his fellows. This gentleman, (3) perceiving that his master’s sister was of merry mood and always ready for a laugh, was minded to try whether the offer of an honourable love would be displeasing to her.
2 The young prince here mentioned is Francis I., who atthis period was between twenty-five and thirty years old.The froward wife is Claude of France (daughter of Louis XII.and Anne of Brittany), whom Francis married in 1514, and whodied of consumption at Blois ten years later, while the Kingwas on his way to conquer Milan. (See the Memoir ofMargaret, pp. xxvi. and xxxv.)—Ed.3 According to Brantôme, the Lady of Flanders, the youngPrince’s sister, was Queen Margaret herself, and thegentleman who paid court to her was William Gouffier, Lordof Bonnivet, of Crevecoeur, Thois, and Querdes, and also afavourite of Francis I., with whom he was brought up, and bywhom he was employed in all the great enterprises of thetime. Bonnivet became Admiral of France in 1517, and twoyears later he was created governor of Dauphiné, andguardian of the Dauphin’s person. He negotiated the peaceand alliance with Henry VIII., and arranged all thepreliminaries of the interview known as the Field of theCloth of Gold (1520). In 1521, says Anselme in hisHistoireGénéalogique, Bonnivet became governor of Guienne,commanded the army sent to Navarre, and captured Fontarabia.In 1524 he was despatched to Italy as lieutenant-general,and besieged Milan, but was repeatedly repulsed, and finallyfell back on the Ticino. He was killed at Pavia (February24, 1525), and was largely responsible for that disastrousdefeat, having urged Francis I. to give battle, contrary tothe advice of the more experienced captains. Bonnivet, asmentioned by Queen Margaret in this story, had thereputation of being one of the handsomest men of his time.—L.
He made this offer, but the answer that he received from her was contrary to his desires. However, although her reply was such as beseemed a Princess and a woman of true virtue, she readily pardoned his hardihood for the sake of his comeliness and breeding, and let him know that she bore him no ill-will for what he had said. But she charged him never to speak to her after that fashion again; and this he promised, that he might not lose the pleasure and honour of her conversation. Nevertheless, as time went on, his love so increased that he forgot the promise he had made. He did not, however, risk further trial of words, for he had learned by experience, and much against his will, what virtuous replies she was able to make. But he reflected that if he could take her somewhere at a disadvantage, she, being a widow, young, lusty, and of a lively humour, would perchance take pity on him and on herself.
To compass his ends, he told his master that excellent hunting was to be had in the neighbourhood of his house, and that if it pleased him to repair thither and hunt three or four stags in the month of May, he could have no finer sport. The Lord granted the gentleman’s request, as much for the affection he bore him as for the pleasure of the chase, and repaired to his house, which was as handsome and as fairly ordered as that of the richest gentleman in the land.
The Lord and his Lady were lodged on one side of the house, and she whom the gentleman loved more than himself on the other. Her apartment was so well arranged, tapestried above and matted below,(4) that it was impossible to perceive a trap-door which was by the side of her bed, and which opened into a room beneath, that was occupied by the gentleman’s mother.(5)
4 In most palaces and castles at this period the walls werecovered with tapestry and the floors with matting. Thisremark is necessary to enable one to understand Bonnivet’sstratagem.—D.5 Philippa de Montmorency, second wife of William Gouffier,Lord of Boissy, who was Bonnivet’s father (Anselme’sHistoire Généalogique, vol. vii. p. 880).—L.
She being an old lady, somewhat troubled by rheum, and fearful lest the cough she had should disturb the Princess, made exchange of chambers with her son. In the evening this old lady was wont to bring sweetmeats to the Princess for her collation,(6) at which the gentleman was present; and being greatly beloved by her brother and intimate with him, he was also suffered to be present when she rose in the morning and when she retired to bed, on which occasions he always found reasons for an increase of his affection.
6 At that period the collation, as the supper was called,was served at seven in the evening, shortly before thecurfew.—B. J.
Thus it came to pass that one evening he made the Princess stay up very late, until at last, being desirous of sleep, she bade him leave her. He then went to his own room, and there put on the handsomest and best-scented shirt he had, and a nightcap so well adorned that nothing was lacking in it. It seemed, to him, as he looked at himself in his mirror, that no lady in the world could deny herself to one of his comeliness and grace. He therefore promised himself a happy issue to his enterprise, and so lay down on his bed, where in his desire and sure hope of exchanging it for one more honourable and pleasant, he looked to make no very long stay.
As soon as he had dismissed all his attendants he rose to fasten the door after them; and for a long time he listened to hear whether there were any sound in the room of the Princess, which was above his own. When he had made sure that all was quiet, he wished to begin his pleasant task, and little by little let down the trap-door, which was so excellently wrought, and so well covered with cloth, that it made not the least noise. Then he ascended into the room and came to the bedside of his lady, who was just falling asleep.
Forthwith, having no regard for the duty that he owed his mistress or for the house to which she belonged, he got into bed with her, without entreating her permission or making any kind of ceremony. She felt him in her arms before she knew that he had entered the room; but being strong, she freed herself from his grasp, and fell to striking, biting, and scratching him, demanding the while to know who he was, so that for fear lest she should call out he sought to stop her mouth with the bedclothes. But this he found it impossible to do, for when she saw that he was using all his strength to work her shame she did as much to baffle him. She further called as loudly as she could to her lady of honour,(7) who slept in her room; and this old and virtuous woman ran to her mistress in her nightdress.
7 The lady in question was Blanche de Tournon, daughter ofJames de Tournon, by Jane de Polignac, and sister ofCardinal de Tournon, Minister of Francis I. She firstmarried Raymond d’Agout, Baron of Sault in Provence, whodied in 1503; and secondly James de Chastillon, Chamberlainto Charles VIII. and Louis XII., killed at the siege ofRavenna in 1512. Brantôme states, moreover, that shesubsequently married Cardinal John du Bellay. (See Appendixto the’present volume, C.) In this story, Margaret describesthe Princess of Flanders as having lost two husbands, withthe view of disguising the identity of her heroine. Her ownhusband (the Duke of Alençon) was still alive; but Madame deChastillon had twice become a widow, and the Queen, who waswell aware of this, designedly ascribed to the Princess thesituation of the lady of honour. This story should becompared with the poem “Quatre Dames et QuatreGentilhommes” in theMarguerites de la Marguerite.—F.
When the gentleman saw that he was discovered, he was so fearful of being recognised by the lady, that he descended in all haste through his trap-door; his despair at returning in such an evil plight being no less than his desire and assurance of a gracious reception had previously been. He found his mirror and candle on his table,(8) and looking at his face, all bleeding from the lady’s scratches and bites, whence the blood was trickling over his fine shirt, which had now more blood than gold (9) about it, he said—
8 It is not surprising that the mirror should have beenlying on the table. Mirrors were for a long time no largerthan our modern hand-glasses. That of Mary de’ Medici,offered to her by the Republic of Venice, and now in theGalerie d’Apollon at the Louvre, is extremely small, thoughit has an elaborate frame enriched with precious cameos.Even the mirrors placed by Louis XIV. in the celebratedGalerie des Glaces at Versailles were no larger thanordinary window-panes.—M.9 Shirts were then adorned at the collar and in front withgold-thread embroidery, such as is shown in some of Clouet’sportraits. In M. de Laborde’sComptes des Bâtiments du Roiau XVIème Siècle(vol. ii.) mention is made of “a shirtwith gold work,” “a shirt with white work,” &c.; and also oftwo beautiful women’s chemises in Holland linen “richlyworked with gold thread and silk, at the price of six crownsapiece.”—M.
“Beauty! now hast thou been rewarded according to thy deserts. By reason of thy vain promises I attempted an impossible undertaking, and one that, instead of increasing my happiness, will perchance double my misfortune. I feel sure that if she knows I made this foolish attempt contrary to the promise I gave her, I shall lose the honourable and accustomed companionship which more than any other I have had with her. And my folly has well deserved this, for if I was to turn my good looks and grace to any account, I ought not to have hidden them in the darkness. I should not have sought to take that chaste body by force, but should have waited in long service and humble patience till love had conquered her. Without love, all man’s merits and might are of no avail.”
Thus he passed the night in tears, regrets, and sorrowings such as I cannot describe; and in the morning, finding his face greatly torn, he feigned grievous sickness and to be unable to endure the light, until the company had left his house.
The lady, who had come off victorious, knew that there was no man at her brother’s Court that durst attempt such an enterprise save him who had had the boldness to declare his love to her. She therefore concluded that it was indeed her host, and made search through the room with her lady of honour to discover how he could have entered it. But in this she failed, whereupon she said to her companion in great anger—
“You may be sure that it can have been none other than the lord of this house, and I will make such report of him to my brother in the morning that his head shall bear witness to my chastity.”
Seeing her in such wrath, the lady of honour said to her—
“Right glad am I, madam, to find you esteem your honour so highly that, to exalt it, you would not spare the life of a man who, for the love he bears you, has put it to this risk. But it often happens that one lessens what one thinks to increase; wherefore, I pray you, madam, tell me the truth of the whole matter.”
When the lady had fully related the business, the lady of honour said to her—
“You assure me that he had nothing from you save only scratches and blows?”
“I do assure you that it was so,” said the lady; “and, unless he find a rare surgeon, I am certain his face will bear the marks tomorrow.”
“Well, since it is thus, madam,” said the lady of honour, “it seems to me that you have more reason to thank God than to think of vengeance; for you may well believe that, since the gentleman had spirit enough to make such an attempt, his grief at having failed will be harder of endurance than any death you could award him. If you desire to be revenged on him, let love and shame do their work; they will torment him more grievously than could you. And if you would speak out for your honour’s sake,(10) beware, madam, lest you fall into a mishap like to his own.