“‘Tis as well to say as muchTo draw some comfort thence.’”3La belle Dame sans mercy, by Alain Chartier.—Ed.
“You quote a truly notable theologian,” said Simontault, “one who is not only froward himself, but makes all the ladies so, who have read and followed his teaching.”
“Yet his teaching,” said Parlamente, “is as profitable for youthful dames as any that I know.”
“If it were indeed true,” said Simontault, “that the ladies were without compassion, we might as well let our horses rest and our armour grow rusty until the next war, and think of nothing but household affairs. And, I pray you, tell me whether it is an excellence in a lady to have the reputation of being without pity, or charity, or love, or mercy.”
“Without charity or love,” said Parlamente, “they should not be, but the word ‘mercy’ sounds so ill among women that they cannot use it without wounding their honour; for properly speaking ‘mercy’ means to grant a favour sought, and we well know what the favour is that men desire.”
“May it please you, madam,” said Simontault, “there are some men who are so reasonable that they crave nought but speech.”
“You remind me,” said Parlamente, “of one who was content with a glove.”
“We must know who this easy lover was,” said Hircan, “and so this time I give my vote to you.”
“It will give me pleasure to tell the tale,” said Parlamente, “for it is full of virtue.”
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063a.jpg the English Lord Seizing The Lady’s Glove
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An English lord for seven years loved a lady without everventuring to let her know of it, until one day, whenobserving her in a meadow, he lost all colour and control offeature through a sudden throbbing of the heart that cameupon him. Then she, showing her compassion, at his requestplaced her gloved hand upon his heart, whereupon he pressedit so closely, whilst declaring to her the love he had solong borne her, that she withdrew it, leaving in its placeher glove. And this glove he afterwards enriched with gemsand fastened upon his doublet above his heart, and showedhimself so graceful and virtuous a lover that he neversought any more intimate favour of her.
King Louis the Eleventh (1) sent the Lord de Montmorency to England as his ambassador, and so welcome was the latter in that country that the King and all the Princes greatly esteemed and loved him, and even made divers of their private affairs known to him in order to have his counsel upon them.
1 Some of the MS. say Louis XII., but we cannot find thateither the eleventh or twelfth Louis sent any Montmorency asambassador to England. Ripault-Desormeaux states, however,in his history of this famous French family, that William deMontmorency, who, after fighting in Italy under CharlesVIII. and Louis XII., became, governor of the Orléanais andchevalier d’honneurto Louise of Savoy was one of thesignatories of the treaty concluded with Henry VIII. ofEngland, after the-battle of Pavia in 1525. We know thatLouise, as Regent of France, at that time sent John Brinonand John Joachim de Passano as ambassadors to England, andpossibly William de Montmorency accompanied them, sinceDesormeaux expressly states that he guaranteed the loyalobservance of the treaty then negotiated. William was thefather of Anne, the famous Constable of France, and died May24, 1531. “Geburon,” in the dialogue following the abovetale, mentions that he had well known the Montmorencyreferred to, and speaks of him as of a person dead and gone.It is therefore scarcely likely that Queen Margaret alludesto Francis de Montmorency, Lord of La Rochepot, who was onlysent on a mission to England in 1546, and survived her bymany years.—L. and Ed.
One day, at a banquet that the King gave to him, he was seated beside a lord (2) of high lineage, who had on his doublet a little glove, such as women wear, fastened with hooks of gold and so adorned upon the finger-seams with diamonds, rubies, emeralds and pearls, that it was indeed a glove of great price.
2 The French word isMillor (Milord)and this is probablyone of the earliest instances of its employment to designatea member of the English aristocracy. In such of theCentNouvelles Nouvellesin which English nobles figure, thelatter are invariably calledseigneursorchevaliers,and addressed asMonseigneur, Later on, when Brantômewrote, the termun milord anglaishad become quite common,and he frequently makes use of it in his various works.English critics have often sneered at modern French writersfor employing the expression, but it will be seen from thisthat they have simply followed a very old tradition.—Ed.
The Lord de Montmorency looked at it so often that the English lord perceived he was minded to inquire why it was so choicely ordered; so, deeming its story to be greatly to his own honour, he thus began—
“I can see that you think it strange I should have so magnificently arrayed a simple glove, and on my part I am still more ready to tell you the reason, for I deem you an honest gentleman and one who knows what manner of passion love is, so that if I did well in the matter you will praise me for it, and if not, make excuse for me, knowing that every honourable heart must obey the behests of love. You must know, then, that I have all my life long loved a lady whom I love still, and shall love even when I am dead, but, as my heart was bolder to fix itself worthily than were my lips to speak, I remained for seven years without venturing to make her any sign, through fear that, if she perceived the truth, I should lose the opportunities I had of often being in her company; and this I dreaded more than death. However, one day, while I was observing her in a meadow, a great throbbing of the heart came upon me, so that I lost all colour and control of feature. Perceiving this, she asked me what the matter was, and I told her that I felt an intolerable pain of the heart. She, believing it to be caused by a different sickness than love, showed herself pitiful towards me, which prompted me to beg her to lay her hand upon my heart and see how it was beating. This, more from charity than from any other affection, she did, and while I held her gloved hand against my heart, it began to beat and strain in such wise, that she felt that I was speaking the truth. Then I pressed her hand to my breast, saying—
“‘Alas, madam, receive the heart which would fain break forth from my breast to leap into the hand of her from whom I look for indulgence, life and pity, and which now constrains me to make known to you the love that I have so long concealed, for neither my heart nor I can now control this potent God.’
“When she heard those words, she deemed them very strange. She wished to withdraw her hand, but I held it fast, and the glove remained in her cruel hand’s place; and having neither before nor since had any more intimate favour from her, I have fastened this glove upon my heart as the best plaster I could give it. And I have adorned it with the richest rings I have, though the glove itself is wealth that I would not exchange for the kingdom of England, for I deem no happiness on earth so great as to feel it on my breast.”
The Lord de Montmorency, who would have rather had a lady’s hand than her glove, praised his very honourable behaviour, telling him that he was the truest lover he had ever known, and was worthy of better treatment, since he set so much value upon so slight a thing; though perchance, if he had obtained aught better than the glove, the greatness of his love might have made him die of joy. With this the English lord agreed, not suspecting that the Lord de Montmorency was mocking him. (3)
3 Alluding to this story, Brantôme writes as follows in hisDames Galantes: “You have that EnglishMilordin theHundred Tales of the Queen of Navarre, who wore hismistress’s glove at his side, beautifully adorned. I myselfhave known many gentlemen who, before wearing their silkenhose, would beg their ladies and mistresses to try them onand wear them for some eight or ten days, rather more thanless, and who would then themselves wear them in extremeveneration and contentment, both of mind and body.”—Lalanne’sOEuvres de Brantôme, vol. ix. p. 309.—L.
“If all men were so honourable as this one, the ladies might well trust them, since the cost would be merely a glove.”
“I knew the Lord de Montmorency well,” said Geburon, “and I am sure that he would not have cared to fare after the English fashion. Had he been contented with so little, he would not have been so successful in love as he was, for the old song says—
‘Of a cowardly loverNo good is e’er heard.’”
“You may be sure,” said Saffredent, “that the poor lady withdrew her hand with all speed, when she felt the beating of his heart, because she thought that he was about to die, and people say that there is nothing women loathe more than to touch dead bodies.” (4)
4 Most of this sentence, deficient in our MS., is takenfrom MS. No. 1520.—L.
“If you had spent as much time in hospitals as in taverns,” said Ennasuite, “you would not speak in that way, for you would have seen women shrouding dead bodies, which men, bold as they are, often fear to touch.”
“It is true,” said Saffredent, “that there is none upon whom penance has been laid but does the opposite of that wherein he formerly had delight, like a lady I once saw in a notable house, who, to atone for her delight in kissing one she loved, was found at four o’clock in the morning kissing the corpse of a gentleman who had been killed the day before, and whom she had never liked more than any other. Then every one knew that this was a penance for past delights. But as all the good deeds done by women are judged ill by men, I am of opinion that, dead or alive, there should be no kissing except after the fashion that God commands.”
“For my part,” said Hircan, “I care so little about kissing women, except my own wife, that I will assent to any law you please, yet I pity the young folk whom you deprive of this trifling happiness, thus annulling the command of St. Paul, who bids us kissin osculo sancto.” (5)
5Romansxvi. 16; 1Corinthiansxvi. 20; 2Corinthiansxiii. 12; IThessaloniansv. 26. Also 1Peterv. 14.—M.
“If St. Paul had been such a man as you are,” said Nomerfide, “we should indeed have required proof of the Spirit of God that spoke in him.”
“In the end,” said Geburon, “you will doubt Holy Scripture rather than give up one of your petty affectations.”
“God forbid,” said Oisille, “that we should doubt Holy Scripture, but we put small faith in your lies. There is no woman but knows what her belief should be, namely, never to doubt the Word of God or believe the word of man.”
“Yet,” said Simontauit, “I believe that there are more men deceived by women than [women] by men. The slenderness of women’s love towards us keeps them from believing our truths, whilst our exceeding love towards them makes us trust so completely in their falsehoods, that we are deceived before we suspect such a thing to be possible.”
“Methinks,” said Parlamente, “you have been hearing some fool complain of being duped by a wanton woman, for your words carry but little weight, and need the support of an example. If, therefore, you know of one, I give you my place that you may tell it to us. I do not say that we are bound to believe you on your mere word, but it will assuredly not make our ears tingle to hear you speak ill of us, since we know what is the truth.”
“Well, since it is for me to speak,” said Dagoucin, “‘tis I who will tell you the tale.”
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071a. The Gentleman Mocked by The Ladies when Returning from The False Tryst
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A gentleman, through putting too much trust in thetruthfulness of a lady whom he had offended by forsaking herfor others just when she was most in love with him, was, bya false tryst, deceived by her, and bemocked by the wholeCourt.
At the Court of King Francis the First there was a lady (1) of excellent wit, who, by her grace, virtue and pleasantness of speech, had won the hearts of several lovers. With these she right well knew how to pass the time, but without hurt to her honour, conversing with them in such pleasant fashion that they knew not what to think, for those who were the most confident were reduced to despair, whilst those that despaired the most became hopeful. Nevertheless, while fooling most of them, she could not help greatly loving one whom she called her cousin, a name which furnished a pretext for closer fellowship.
1 M. de Lincy surmises that Margaret is referring toherself both here and in the following tale, which concernsthe same lady. His only reason for the supposition, however,is that the lady’s views on certain love matters are akin tothose which the Queen herself professed.—Ed.
However, as there is nothing in this world of firm continuance, their friendship often turned to anger and then was renewed in stronger sort than ever, so that the whole Court could not but be aware of it.
One day the lady, both to let it be seen that she was wholly void of passion, and to vex him, for love of whom she had endured much annoyance, showed him a fairer countenance than ever she had done before. Thereupon the gentleman, who lacked boldness neither in love nor in war, began hotly to press the suit that he many a time previously had addressed to her.
She, pretending to be wholly vanquished by pity, promised to grant his request, and told him that she would with this intent go into her room, which was on a garret floor, where she knew there was nobody. And as soon as he should see that she was gone he was to follow her without fail, for he would find her ready to give proof of the good-will that she bore him.
The gentleman, believing what she said, was exceedingly well pleased, and began to amuse himself with the other ladies until he should see her gone, and might quickly follow her. But she, who lacked naught of woman’s craftiness, betook herself to my Lady Margaret, daughter of the King, and to the Duchess of Montpensier, (2) to whom she said—
“I will if you are willing, show you the fairest diversion you have ever seen.”
2 The former is Margaret of France, Duchess of Savoy andBerry. Born in June 1523, she died in September 1574.—Queen Margaret was her godmother. When only three years old,she was promised in marriage to Louis of Savoy, eldest sonof Duke Charles III., and he dying, she espoused his youngerbrother, Emmanuel Philibert, in July 1549. Graceful andpretty as a child (seeante, vol. i. p. xlviii.), shebecame, thanks to the instruction of the famous Michael del’ Hôpital, one of the most accomplished women of her time,and Brantôme devotes an article to her in hisDamesIllustres(Lalanne, v. viii. pp. 328-37). See also Hilarionde Coste’sÉloges et Vies des Reines, Princesses, &c.,Paris, 1647, vol. ii. p. 278.The Duchess of Montpensier, also referred to above, isJacqueline de Longwick (now Longwy), Countess of Bar-sur-Seine, daughter of J. Ch. de Longwick, Lord of Givry, and ofJane,bâtardeof Angoulême. In 1538 Jacqueline wasmarried to Louis II. de Bourbon, Duke of Montpensier. Shegained great influence at the French Court, both underFrancis I. and afterwards, and De Thou says of her that shewas possessed of great wit and wisdom, far superior to thecentury in which she lived. She died in August 1561, and wasthe mother of Francis I., Duke of Montpensier, sometimescalled the Dauphin of Auvergne, who fought at Jarnac,Moncontour, Arques, and Ivry, against Henry of Navarre.—L.,B. J. and Ed.
They, being by no means enamoured of melancholy, begged that she would tell them what it was.
“You know such a one,” she replied, “as worthy a gentleman as lives, and as bold. You are aware how many ill turns he has done me, and that, just when I loved him most, he fell in love with others, and so caused me more grief than I have ever suffered to be seen. Well, God has now afforded me the means of taking revenge upon him.
“I am forthwith going to my own room, which is overhead, and immediately afterwards, if it pleases you to keep watch, you will see him follow me. When he has passed the galleries, and is about to go up the stairs, I pray you come both to the window and help me to cry ‘Thief!’ You will then see his rage, which, I am sure, will not become him badly, and, even if he does not revile me aloud, I am sure he will none the less do so in his heart.”
This plan was not agreed to without laughter, for there was no gentleman that tormented the ladies more than he did, whilst he was so greatly liked and esteemed by all, that for nothing in the world would any one have run the risk of his raillery.
It seemed, moreover, to the two Princesses that they would themselves share in the glory which the other lady looked to win over this gentleman.
Accordingly, as soon as they saw the deviser of the plot go out, they set themselves to observe the gentleman’s demeanour. But little time went by before he shifted his quarters, and, as soon as he had passed the door, the ladies went out into the gallery, in order that they might not lose sight of him.
Suspecting nothing, he wrapped his cloak about his neck, so as to hide his face, and went down the stairway to the court, but, seeing some one whom he did not desire to have for witness, he came back by another way, and then went down into the court a second time. The ladies saw everything without being perceived by him, and when he reached the stairway, by which he thought he might safely reach his sweetheart’s chamber, they went to the window, whence they immediately perceived the other lady, who began crying out ‘Thief!’ at the top of her voice; whereupon the two ladies below answered her so loudly that their voices were heard all over the castle.
I leave you to imagine with what vexation the gentleman fled to his lodgings. He was not so well muffled as not to be known by those who were in the mystery, and they often twitted him with it, as did even the lady who had done him this ill turn, saying that she had been well revenged upon him.
It happened, however, that he was so ready with his replies and evasions as to make them believe that he had quite suspected the plan, and had only consented to visit the lady in order to furnish them with some diversion, for, said he, he would not have taken so much trouble for her sake, seeing that his love for her had long since flown. The ladies would not admit the truth of this, so that the point is still in doubt; nevertheless, it is probable that he believed the lady. And since he was so wary and so bold that few men of his age and time could match and none could surpass him (as has been proved by his very brave and knightly death), (3) you must, it seems to me, confess that men of honour love in such wise as to be often duped, by placing too much trust in the truthfulness of the ladies.
3 This naturally brings Bonnivet to mind, though of coursethe gay, rash admiral was not the only Frenchman of the timewho spent his life in making love and waging war.—Ed.
“In good faith,” said Ennasuite, “I commend this lady for the trick she played; for when a man is loved by a lady and forsakes her for another, her vengeance cannot be too severe.”
“Yes,” said Parlamente, “if she is loved by him; but there are some who love men without being certain that they are loved in return, and when they find that their sweethearts love elsewhere, they call them fickle. It therefore happens that discreet women are never deceived by such talk, for they give no heed or belief even to those people who speak truly, lest they should prove to be liars, seeing that the true and the false speak but one tongue.”
“If all women were of your opinion,” said Simon-tault, “the gentlemen might pack up their prayers at once; but, for all that you and those like you may say, we shall never believe that women are as unbelieving as they are fair. And in this wise we shall live as content as you would fain render us uneasy by your maxims.”
“Truly,” said Longarine, “knowing as I well do who the lady is that played that fine trick upon the gentleman, it is impossible for me not to believe in any craftiness on her part. Since she did not spare her husband, ‘twere fitting she should not spare her lover.”
“Her husband, say you?” said Simontault. “You know, then, more than I do, and so, since you wish it, I give you my place that you may tell us your opinion of the matter.”
“And since you wish it,” said Longarine, “I will do so.”
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079a. The Lady Discovering Her Husband With The Waiting-woman
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This same lady, finding that her husband took it ill thatshe should have lovers with whom she amused herself withouthurt to her honour, kept close watch upon him, and sodiscovered how pleasantly he addressed himself to one of herwaiting-women. This woman she gained upon, made her consentto what her husband solicited, and then surprised him insuch error that to atone for it, he was forced to confessthat he deserved greater punishment than herself; by whichmeans she was afterwards able to live as her fancy listed.
The lady of your story was wedded to a rich gentleman of high and ancient lineage, and had married him on account of the great affection that they bore to one another.
Being a woman most pleasant of speech, she by no means concealed from her husband that she had lovers whom she made game of for her pastime, and, at first, her husband shared in her pleasure. But at last this manner of life became irksome to him, for on the one part he took it ill that she should hold so much converse with those that were no kinsfolk or friends of his own, and on the other, he was greatly vexed by the expense to which he was put in sustaining her magnificence and in following the Court.
He therefore withdrew to his own house as often as he was able, but so much company came thither to see him that the expenses of his household became scarcely any less, for, wherever his wife might be, she always found means to pass her time in sports, dances, and all such matters as youthful dames may use with honour. And when sometimes her husband told her, laughing, that their expenses were too great, she would reply that she promised never to make him a “coqu” or cuckold, but only a “coquin,” that is, a beggar; for she was so exceedingly fond of dress, that she must needs have the bravest and richest at the Court. (1) Her husband took her thither as seldom as possible, but she did all in her power to go, and to this end behaved in a most loving fashion towards her husband, who would not willingly have refused her a much harder request.
1 As Queen Margaret was by no means over fond of gorgeousapparel and display, this passage is in contradiction withM. de Lincy’s surmise that the lady of this and thepreceding tale may be herself. In any case the narrativecould only apply to the period of her first marriage, andthis was in no wise a love-match. Yet we are told at theoutset of the above story that the lady and gentleman hadmarried on account of the great affection between them. Onthe other hand, these details may have been introduced thebetter to conceal the identity of the persons referred to.—Ed.
Now one day, when she had found that all her devices could not induce him to make this journey to the Court, she perceived that he was very pleasant in manner with a chamber-woman (2) she had, and thereupon thought she might turn the matter to her own advantage. Taking the girl apart, she questioned her cleverly, using both wiles and threats, in such wise that the girl confessed that, ever since she had been in the house, not a day had passed on which her master had not sought her love; but (she added) she would rather die than do aught against God and her honour, more especially after the honour which the lady had done her in taking her into her service, for this would make such wickedness twice as great.
2 The French expression here isfemme de chambre àchaperon. Thechaperonin this instance was a cap with aband of velvet worn across it as a sign of gentle and evennoble birth. The attendant referred to above would thereforeprobably be a young woman of good descent, constrained bycircumstances to enter domestic service.—B. J. and Ed.
On hearing of her husband’s unfaithfulness, the lady immediately felt both grief and joy. Her grief was that her husband, despite all his show of loving her, should be secretly striving to put her to so much shame in her own household, and this when she believed herself far more beautiful and graceful than the woman whom he sought in her stead. But she rejoiced to think that she might surprise her husband in such manifest error that he would no longer be able to reproach her with her lovers, nor with her desire to dwell at Court; and, to bring this about, she begged the girl gradually to grant her husband what he sought upon certain conditions that she made known to her.
The girl was minded to make some difficulty, but when her mistress warranted the safety both of her life and of her honour, she consented to do whatever might be her pleasure.
The gentleman, on continuing his pursuit of the girl, found her countenance quite changed towards him, and therefore urged his suit more eagerly than had been his wont; but she, knowing by heart the part she had to play, made objection of her poverty, and said that, if she complied with his desire, she would be turned away by her mistress, in whose service she looked to gain a good husband.
The gentleman forthwith replied that she need give no thought to any such matters, since he would bestow her in marriage more profitably than her mistress would be able to do, and further, would contrive the matter so secretly that none would know of it.
Upon this they came to an agreement, and, on considering what place would be most suited for such a fine business, the girl said that she knew of none better or more remote from suspicion than a cottage in the park, where there was a chamber and a bed suitable for the occasion.
The gentleman, who would not have thought any place unsuitable, was content with the one she named, and was very impatient for the appointed day and hour to come.
The girl kept her word to her mistress, and told her in full the whole story of the plan, and how it was to be put into execution on the morrow after dinner. She would not fail, said she, to give a sign when the time came to go to the cottage, and she begged her mistress to be watchful, and in no wise fail to be present at the appointed hour, in order to save her from the danger into which her obedience was leading her.
This her mistress swore, begging her to be without fear, and promising that she would never forsake her, but would protect her from her husband’s wrath.
When the morrow was come and dinner was over, the gentleman was more pleasant with his wife than ever, and although this was not very agreeable to her, she dissembled so well that he did not perceive the truth.
After dinner she asked him how he was minded to pass away the time, and he answered that he knew of nothing better than to play at “cent.” (3) Forthwith everything was made ready for the game, but the lady pretended that she did not care to take part in it, and would find diversion enough in looking at the players.
3 This is probably a reference to the card game now calledpiquet, usually played for a hundred points. It is one ofthe oldest of its kind. See Rabelais’Gargantua, book i.chap, xxii.—L.
Just before he sat down to play, the gentleman failed not to ask the girl to remember her promise to him, and while he was playing she passed through the room, making a sign to her mistress which signified that she was about to set out on the pilgrimage she had to make. The sign was clearly seen by the lady, but her husband perceived nothing of it.
An hour later, however, one of his servants made him a sign from a distance, whereupon he told his wife that his head ached somewhat, and that he must needs rest and take the air. She, knowing the nature of his sickness as well as he did himself, asked him whether she should play in his stead, and he consented, saying that he would very soon return. However, she assured him that she could take his place for a couple of hours without weariness.
So the gentleman withdrew to his room, and thence by an alley into his park.
The lady, who knew another and shorter way, waited for a little while, and then, suddenly feigning to be seized with colic, gave her hand at play to another.
As soon as she was out of the room, she put off her high-heeled shoes and ran as quickly as she could to the place, where she had no desire that the bargain should be struck without her. And so speedily did she arrive, that, when she entered the room by another door, her husband was but just come in. Then, hiding herself behind the door, she listened to the fair and honest discourse that he held to her maid. But when she saw that he was coming near to the criminal point, she seized him from behind, saying—
“Nay, I am too near that you should take another.”
It is needless to ask whether the gentleman was in extreme wrath, both at being balked of the delight he had looked to obtain, and at having his wife, whose affection he now greatly feared to lose for ever, know more of him than he desired. He thought, however, that the plot had been contrived by the girl, and (without speaking to his wife) he ran after her with such fury that, had not his wife rescued her from his hands, he would have killed her. He declared that she was the wickedest jade he had ever known, and that, if his wife had waited to see the end, she would have found that he was only mocking her, for, instead of doing what she expected, he would have chastised her with rods.
But his wife, knowing what words of the sort were worth, set no value upon them, and addressed such reproaches to him that he was in great fear lest she should leave him. He promised her all that she asked, and, after her sage reproaches, confessed that it was wrong of him to complain that she had lovers; since a fair and honourable woman is none the less virtuous for being loved, provided that she do or say nothing contrary to her honour; whereas a man deserves heavy punishment when he is at pains to pursue a woman that loves him not, to the wronging of his wife and his own conscience. He would therefore, said he, never more prevent his wife from going to Court, nor take it ill that she should have lovers, for he knew that she spoke with them more in jest than in affection.
This talk was not displeasing to the lady, for it seemed to her that she had gained an important point. Nevertheless she spoke quite to the contrary, pretending that she had no delight in going to Court, since she no longer possessed his love, without which all assemblies were displeasing to her; and saying that a woman who was truly loved by her husband, and who loved him in return, as she did, carried with her a safe-conduct that permitted her to speak with one and all, and to be derided by none.
The poor gentleman was at so much pains to assure her of the love he bore her, that at last they left the place good friends. That they might not again fall into such trouble, he begged her to turn away the girl through whom he had undergone so much distress. This she did, but did it by bestowing her well and honourably in marriage, and at her husband’s expense.
And, to make the lady altogether forget his folly, the gentleman soon took her to Court, in such style and so magnificently arrayed that she had good reason to be content.
“This, ladies, was what made me say I did not find the trick she played upon one of her lovers a strange one, knowing, as I did, the trick she had played upon her husband.”
“You have described to us a very cunning wife and a very stupid husband,” said Hircan. “Having advanced so far, he ought not to have come to a standstill and stopped on so fair a road.”
“And what should he have done?” said Longarine.
“What he had taken in hand to do,” said Hircan, “for his wife was no less wrathful with him for his intention to do evil than she would have been had he carried the evil into execution. Perchance, indeed, she would have respected him more if she had seen that he was a bolder gallant.”
“That is all very well,” said Ennasuite, “but where will you find a man to face two women at once? His wife would have defended her rights and the girl her virginity.”
“True,” said Hircan, “but a strong bold man does not fear to assail two that are weak, nor will he ever fail to vanquish them.”
“I readily understand,” said Ennasuite, “that if he had drawn his sword he might have killed them both, but otherwise I cannot see that he had any means of escape. I pray you, therefore, tell us what you would have done?”
“I should have taken my wife in my arms,” said Hircan, “and have carried her out. Then I should have had my own way with her maid by love or by force.”
“‘Tis enough, Hircan,” said Parlamente, “that you know how to do evil.”
“I am sure, Parlamente,” he replied, “that I do not scandalise the innocence in whose presence I speak, and by what I have said I do not mean that I support a wicked deed. But I wonder at the attempt, which was in itself worthless, and at the attempter, who, for fear rather than for love of his wife, failed to complete it. I praise a man who loves his wife as God ordains; but when he does not love her, I think little of him for fearing her.”
“Truly,” replied Parlamente, “if love did not render you a good husband, I should make small account of what you might do through fear.”
“You are quite safe, Parlamente,” said Hircan, “for the love I bear you makes me more obedient than could the fear of either death or hell.”
“You may say what you please,” said Parlamente, “but I have reason to be content with what I have seen and known of you. As for what I have not seen, I have never wished to make guess or still less inquiry.”
“I think it great folly,” said Nomerfide, “for women to inquire so curiously concerning their husbands, or husbands concerning their wives. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, without giving so much heed to the morrow.”
“Yet it is sometimes needful,” said Oisille, “to inquire into matters that may touch the honour of a house in order to set them right, though not to pass evil judgment upon persons, seeing that there is none who does not fail.”
“Many,” said Geburon, “have at divers times fallen into trouble for lack of well and carefully inquiring into the errors of their wives.”
“I pray you,” said Longarine, “if you know any such instance, do not keep it from us.”
“I do indeed know one,” said Geburon, “and since you so desire, I will relate it.”
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091a. The Chanter of Blois Delivering his Mistress from The Grave
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A man of Paris, through not making good inquiry concerninghis wife, whom he believed dead, though she was indeedmaking good cheer with a chanter to the King, married asecond wife, whom, after having several children by her andconsorting with her for fourteen or fifteen years, he wasconstrained to leave, in order to take his first wife backagain.
In the city of Paris there was a man who was so good-natured that he would have scrupled to believe a man abed with his wife, even if he had seen him with his own eyes. This poor man married a woman whose conduct was as bad as could be; nevertheless he perceived nothing of it, and treated her as though she were the most virtuous woman alive. One day, however, when King Louis XII. came to Paris, his wife surrendered herself to one of the choir-men of the aforesaid sovereign, and when she found that the King was leaving Paris and that she would no longer be able to see the singer, she resolved to follow him and forsake her husband. To this the chanter agreed, and brought her to a house that he had near Blois, (1) where for a long while they lived together. The poor husband, finding that he had lost his wife, sought her everywhere; and at last it was told him that she was gone away with the chanter.
Wishing to recover the lost ewe which he had so badly watched, he wrote many letters to her begging her to return to him, and saying that he would take her back if she were willing to be a virtuous woman. But she took such great delight in listening to the songs of the chanter, that she had forgotten her husband’s voice, and gave no heed to all his excellent words, but mocked at them.
Therefore the husband, in great wrath, gave her to know that, since she would return to him in no other way, he would demand her in legal fashion of the Church. (2) The wife, dreading that if the law should take the matter in hand she and her chanter would fare badly, devised a stratagem worthy of such a woman as herself. Feigning sickness, she sent for some honourable women of the town to come and see her, and this they willingly did, hoping that her illness might be a means of withdrawing her from her evil life, with which purpose they addressed the sagest admonitions to her. Thereupon she, whilst pretending to be grievously sick, made a show of weeping and acknowledging her sinfulness in such sort that she gained the pity of the whole company, who quite believed that she was speaking from the bottom of her heart. And, finding her thus subdued and sorry, they began to comfort her, telling her that God was in no wise so terrible as many preachers represented Him, and that He would never refuse to show her mercy.