is^ii iw m' '^'fe (gotncll Uttttrrrsitg ffithrarg .^- FROM" THE BENNO LOEWY LIBRARY COLLECTED BY BENNO LOEWY 1854-1919 BEQUEATHED TO CORNELL UNIVERSITY CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 3 1924 082^463 195 Cornell University Library The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924082463195 MAllGUKlllT!-, 1)1-: \'AVAliI!E. ^^vfe^f/. TEE HEPTAMEBON OR TALES AND NOVELS OF MARGUERITE QUEEN OF NAVARRE NOW FIRST COMPLETELY DONE INTO ENGLISH PROSE AND VERSE FROM THE ORIGINAL FRENCH BY ARTHUR MAGHEN PRIVATELY PRINTED. MDGCCLXXXVI. CONTENTS. FAQE TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE . xi PROLOGUE 1 DAT THE FIEST. In which Day abb bboounibd the bad tttbns done bt wombn to mbh, and by men to women. NOVEL I. The misdeeds of the wife of a certain proctor, who had a bishop for a gallant . 11 NOVEL II. The wife of a muleteer had rather death than dishonour . o . . . 18 NOVEL IIL Of a lustful King of Naples, and how he met with his match .... 21 NOVEL IV. Of a young man who attempted the honour of a princess, and the poor success of his adventnre 28 NOVEL V. How two Grey Friara were, by one poor woman, left in the lurch . . ; 33 NOVEL VI. A woman's craftiness 36 NOVEL VIL The ready wit of a Paris mercer . 88 NOVEL Tin. Of one who on his own head engrafted horns ....... 40 NOVEL IX. A relation of a perfect love, and the pitiful end thereof 4& NOVEL X. Floridii, hard pressed by her Wer, virtuously resists him, and on his death takes the veil 51 CONTENTS. PASE DAT THE SECOND. On the Second Day each one tells the iibst conceit that eiseth in his bbain. PROLOGUE W NOVEL XL Of a very privy matter 80 NOVEL XII. A Duke of Florence wonld have hia friend prostitute his sister to him j but in place of love meets with death SI NOVEL XIIL How a sea-captain served love with the sauce of religion .... 88 NOVEL XIV. A very pleasant piece of cozenage done by my lord Bonnivet .... 98 NOVEL XV. A woman will do that for revenge she will not for love . . > . • 104 NOVEL XVI. A love persevering and fearless meets with due reward . . i . . 116 NOVEL XVIL King Francis shows his courage that it is well approved . • • . • 120 NOVEL XVIIL. A notable case of a steadfast lover, 124i NOVEL XIX A pitiful case of two lovens who turn at last monk and nun . . . .128 NOVEL XX. My lord de Eiant finds his mistress the contrary of what he had desired . . 137 DAY THE THIED. On the Thibs Day relation is made op the ladies that hate had no AIM BTTT HONOUE; AND OP THE ABOMINABLE HTPOCEIST OP THE MONKS. PROLOGUE 141 NOVEL XXL The steadfast and honourable love of Eolandine, who after many sorrows at last finds happiness .•••.•..,,,, 142 CONTENTS. V FAGE NOVEL XXII. How a wicted monk, by reason of his abominable lust, was at last brought to shame 158 I NOVEL XXIIL How the lust of a Grey Friar made an honest gentleman, his wife, and his chDd to perish miserably 167 NOVEL XXIV. The cruelty of the Queen of CastiUe to one of her lovers, and the profit he took thereby .174 NOVEL XXV. How a young Prince secretly had pleasaunce of the wife of a serjeant-at-law . 181 TC NOVEL XXVI. The love of an honourable and chaste woman for a yoiing lord, and the manner of her death 186 NOVEL XXVII. A beastly secretary, and an honest piece of cozenage 198 NOVEL XXV lU, A notable paSty, and what was found therein 200 NOVEL XXIX. A parson's ready wit 203 NOVEL XXX. A man takes to wife one who is his own sister and daughter .... 205 DAT THE FOURTH. On the Foueth Day eelation is made job the most paet of the vietuottb patience and i,on&-sufrbrin& of women to win thbib htrsbakds; and op the peudencb used of men towards thbib wives foe the pebsbetin& of the honoxte of theib houses and iineaob. PROLOGUE ^11 NOVEL XXXL The horrid and abominable lust and murder of a Grey Friar, by reason of which his monastery and the monks in it were burned with fire .... 212 NOVEL XXXII. The notable way in which a gentleman punished his wife whom he had taken in adultery . 216" vi CONTENTS. PiGK NOVEL XXXIII. The hypocrisy of a parson, who having got his sister with child concealed it under the cloak of holiness . 221 NOVEL XXXIV. A very merry case of two Grey Eriars who lodged in the house of a butcher . 224- NOVEL XXXV. Of a rare case of spiritual love, and a good core for temptation . • . 223 NOVEL XXXVI. How the president of Grenoble came to make his wife a salad .... 234 NOVEL XXXVII. How a good and prudent wife saved her husband from the love of a nasty serving-maid 238 NOVEL XXXVIII. How a woman returned good for evil, and so won back her husband . . . 243 NOVEL XXXIX. In what manner my lord of Grignanlx exercised an evil spirit .... 314 NOVEL XL. Wherein is given the cause wherefore Kolaudine's father made build the castle in the forest 248 DAY THE FIFTH. Oif THE Fifth Day BELAiioif is hade op the vietuotts^ess op sitch MAIDS AWD WIVES OP WHOM HONOITB HATH BEEN PREFEEBED BEPOEB PLEASTTBE ; OP THEM LIKEWISE WHO HAVE DONE THE CONTEABT IHEEETO • AND OP THE SIMPLENES3 OP CBBTAIN OTHERS. PROLOGUE 252 NOVEL XLI. A new and very pleasant penance is imposed on a maid by a Grey Friar . . 253 NOVEL XLII. How the virtuousness of a maid endured against all manner of temptation . 256 NOVEL XLIII. Of a woman who was wiUing to be thought virtuous, but yet bad secret pleasure with a man „„. CONTENTS. vii Ti.6S NOVEL XLIV. How a Grey Pnar, for telling the truth, receives two pigs in place of one . . 269 How two lovers, after secretly having pleasure of one another, were happily married 272 NOVEL XLV. How a tapestry-maker gave a wench the Innocents, and his pleasant device for deceiving a neighbour who saw it done 278 NOVEL XL VI. How a friar cured a maid of slothf ulness 282 The order taken hy the same friar between husband and wife .... 285 NOVEL XLVII. How a man who was jealous without a cause thereby separated himself from his familiar friend, and made him to be his bitterest enemy .... 287 NOVEL XLVIIL How a friar played his part in a marriage feast, and the manner of his punishment 290 NOVEL XLIX. A pleasant case of a gentlewoman that had three lovers at once, and made each to believe himself the only one 292 NOVEL L. The pitiful end of two lovers, wherein is shown that it is possible to love even unto death 297 DAT THE SIXTH. On the Sixth Day eblatiok is made of the deceits between man and WOMAN, thbotjo-h covetotjsness, ven&eancb, and cbaetiness. PKOLOGUE ^°^ NOVEL LI. The cruel and treacherous vengeance of an Italian nobleman upon a woman that had done him a displeasure . ^"^ NOVEL LII. How an apothecary's prentice gave two gentlemen their breakfast . . .305 NOVEL LIIL How a lady by too close concealment was put to shame . ... 308 ▼m CONTENTS. PAOS NOVEL LIV. A curious and notable case of shadows on a wall ...•.• 31$ NOVEL LV. How a widow sold a horse for a ducat and a cat for ninety-aud-nine . . . 316 NOVEL LVI. Of a cozening device of an old friar 31& NOVEL LVII. The great oblectatiou taken by an English lord in a very small matter . . 323 NOVEL LVIIL The pleasant revenge of a lady on her lover ....... 326 NOVEL LIX. How a lady practised upon her husband, and caused him to take her to Court . 329 NOVEL LX. How a man, for putting too great trust in his wife, fell into much misery , 334 DAY THE SEVENTH. On the Setenth Day ebiation is made oe them that have done what thet least desieed. PBOLOGUE 337 NOVEL LXI. Of the shamelessness and impudeney of a certain woman who forsook her husband's house to live with a canon ■ 33S NOVEL LXIL A notable slip of a lady, who beginning her story as if of another, ended it of herself . ... 344 NOVEL LXIII. The admirable chastity of a young lord •••...,. 346 NOVEL LXIV. A lady delaying to wed her lover, drove him into such inward discontent that he turned friar, and would have no more commerce with her .... 349 NOVEL LXV. A very admirable miracle, which may serve as an example of all others . . 35s CONTENTS. ix PAGS NOVEL LXVI. A lord and lady sleeping together were mistaken by an old dame for a protlio- notary and a servant-maid, and were sharply reproved of her . . . 355 NOVEL LXVIL How a woman trusted in God amidst the lions . 357 NOVEL LXVIIl. An apothecary is made to take his own prescription 360 NOVEL LXIX. A pleasant device of a serving-maid, whereby she rid her of her master's solicitations 363 NOVEL LXX. In the which is shown the horrid lust and hatred of a Duchess, and the pitiful death of two lovers 364 DAY THE EIGHTH. On the Eiohth Day bbiatiost la made ov the most lecheeotts cases THAT CAN BE CONCEITED. PKOLOGUE 383 NOVEL LXXL How a wife was brought back from the grave and gate of death by seeing her husband attempt the serving -maid 384 NOVEL LXXIL The case of a monk and a nun that wrought abominations in the presence of the dead ... • • • ^^^ The fructifying discourse of a certain Grey Friar 390 TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. In attempting a new version of the « Heptameron" the translator has endeavoured — i, to preserve as closely as possible the sense of the original; 2, to give the work a thoroughly English dress, and not merely to transfer the idioms of one language into those of another. The Queen of Navarre made use of a style marked by a quaint redundancy, and every page teems with repetitions which would not be tolerated in a modem book. Indeed, the reader is now and again reminded of the Law Reports, so determined was the writer to be understood by posterity, a peculiarity which the translator has, to the best of his ability, reproduced. But though the work is calculated to remind readers rather of Walton than Macaulay, it by no means lays claim to an antiquarian accu- racy ; « thou," " thee," « hath," &c., would, if pertinaciously adhered to throughout, become tedious, and be resented as a needless and irritating piece of affectation. The present translator was, indeed, all the more impelled to choose an older form of English, after examining the version of Mr. W, K. Kelly (now out of print), originally published by the late Mr. H. G. Bohn in 1855, '^^ afterwards by Messrs. George Bell and Sons, in which, from one end of the book to the other, not the slightest attempt is made to repro- duce the quaint diction of the original. Slipshod in style, erroneous and unscholarlike in rendering, this translation, besides its grievous sins of commission, to which we shall presently return, is guilty also of sins of omission, excusable only on the ground of parsimony on the part of the original publisher. xu TEANSLATOE'S PEEFACE. Mr. Kelly has dealt in a very summary manner with the poetical pieces occurring in four novels of the " Heptameron." In the first case (Novel XIII.) the amorous captain's epistle is dismissed thus : — " It was an elaborate declaration of the feelings which the writer had so carefully concealed, and in it was inclosed a large, handsome diamond, mounted in a black enamel ring, which the lady was suppli- cated to put on her fair finger." In Novel XIX. the pitiful lament of the monk is altogether suppressed, and no mention whatever made of it. In Novel XXIV. the Castilian's farewell to his cruel mistress is rendered into somewhat bald prose, and ends as follows : — " I take my leave of cruelty, pain, torment, scorn, hatred, and the burning fire with which you are filled, no less than you are adorned with beauty. I cannot better bid farewell to all woes and pains and intolerable distresses, and to the hell of the amorous woman, than in bidding farewell to you, madam, without the least prospect that wherever you or I shall be we shall ever look upon each other more." Lastly, in Novel LXIV., a poem of forty-five lines is compressed into five lines of prose! The arguments to each dajr's Entertain- ment are also omitted, while many words — such as cremeau, cannettes, gouvernante* — are left untranslated. And a few instances, culled at random, of .his phenomenal ignorance and portentous blundering will sufiice and serve better than any vituperation to exhibit the extent of Mr. Kelly's incompetency for the task of translating a French classic into English. It will readily be confessed that " she sat down to read for hours until his return" is not a satisfactory rendering of " en disant ses Heures, attendoit le retour de son mary" (Novel XXXVII.) ; while the monk and nun would scarcely, with all their faults have " shouted three hours, loud and long," into the ear of a dying man. Novel LXXII. « Bien crye leurs Heures ai'oreille du pauvre homme." It would be difficult to say on what grounds * "Gouvernante" is found in some authors, but Johnson notes " gOTerness" as the better expression. TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. xui the legal title "Maitre des Requetes" has been rendered Into "Referendary." Courts of Requests existed in England till the reign of Charles I., and appear to have adjudicated on small money claims, discharging the functions of our modem County Courts. Herrick alludes to them in the lines : " There needs no Court for our Request, Where all is rest. Where all Star-Chamber Bills do cease. Or hold their peace." The same strictures apply to other volumes of Bohn's Series. The translator of Martial in this series, which is described in the Preface as a faithful rendering into English, positively translates a score or two of the Epigrams not into English but Italian ! The earliest English translation of the " Heptameron" was published as far back as 1 654. The title-page runs as follows : — " Heptameron ; or, the History of the Fortunate Lovers : written by the most Excellent and Virtuous Princess, Margaret de Valoys, Queen of Navarre ; Published in French by the Privilege and Immediate Approbation of the King ; Now made English by Robert Codrington, Master of Arts. 1654." In the address of "The Translator to the Reader," Codrington says he has been informed "that the Queen had fiilly finished the Ten Days' work, but the fryers and religious men who have deprived us of the two last Journals and the greater part of the eighth, would have deprived us also of all the rest, if possibly they could have prevented it." A translation of Claude Gruget's Dedication is followed by " The true and lively Portraiture of the most Illustrious and most Excellent Princess Marguerite of Valois," byRonsard; and this by two sonnets to the same effect. The translation itself does not call for any particular remark; it seems a somewhat careless and hasty performance, owing whatever merit it may possess rather to the quaint phraseology of English at that period, than to any ability on the part of the translator. The xiv TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. poetical pieces are all omitted, and the Arguments are wanting (the latter had doubtless dropped out of the current French text which Codrington made use of) ; but such as it is the version gives a far better notion of the original than the bald and commonplace rendering of Mr. Kelly. We now pass on to the bibliography of the " Hep- tameron." The first edition bears the title: "Histoire des Amans fortunez dediee a tres-illustre princesse madame Marguerite de Bourbon, duchesse de Nivernois, par Pierre Boiastuau dit Launay. Paris. G. Gilles. 1558." This edition, now of the utmost rarity, contains only sixty-seven novels, not arranged in their proper order, or divided into Days. Proper names are also altered, and many passages offensive to the clergy suppressed. The second edition is entitled : " L'Heptameron des Nouvelles de tres-illustre et tres-excellente princesse Mar- guerite de Valois, royne de Navarre, remis en son vray ordre, confiis auparavant en sa premiere impression, dediee a tres- illustre et tres-vertueuse princesse Jeanne, royne de Navarre, par Claude Gruget, Parisien. Paris. Benoit Prevost. 1559." Here we have for the first time the title " Heptameron," which was invented by Gruget himself. The Queen of NavaiTe intended her book to be a " Decameron ;" or. Entertainment for Ten Days, and this is the title of the MSS. But the scheme being apparently interrupted by death, only seven days and two stories of the eighth day were completed ; hence Gruget's title. In this edition the order of the tales is preserved, with the division into days, and the arguments before each day. But in place of Novels XL, XLIV., and XLVI., Gruget substituted three others, composed, according to M. Frank, by himself. The many audacious, and indeed blasphemous passages in the work (e.g., see the Epilogue to Novel XLI.), suppressed by Boiastuau, are also omitted in the edition of 1559. This impression of Gruget's served as a model for succeeding TEANSLATOR'S PREFACE. xv editors of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, who repro- duced his text with more or less fidelity. But the Parisians of the closing years of the seventeenth century, to whom Boileau gave laws in poetry and Bossuet in prose, were not likely to endure the archaisms of the " Heptameron :" consequently the text underwent great changes, and fared somewhat like a good many of our old country-houses of the same period, whose oriel windows and arched porches gave way to square surfaces of glass, rows of Corinthian columns, and imposing flights of steps. The very name was often suppressed, and the title ran: "Contes et Nouvelles de Marguerite de Valois, Reine de Navarre, mis en beau langage." Many of these editions were published in the various literary centres of Europe, and some of them — especially a London edition — are still highly valued for the sake of their engravings. The first attempt to reissue the work as Marguerite wrote it was made by M. Paul Lacroix, who published in 1841 an edition* which follows the text of Gruget — the ortho- graphy, however, being modernised as an intermediate step between the "beau langage" of the eighteenth century and the thorough-going antiquarianism of the present age. This impression was eagerly bought up, and the editor having suggested in his Preface that an edition from the text of the MSS. would be acceptable, the Societe des Bibliophiles Fran9ais took the hint, and deputed their secretary, M. Le Roux de Lincy, to carry out M, Lacroix's suggestion. After a careful examination of the various MSS.t M. de Lincy chose the most complete and authentic, and in 1853 published his edition,! which has not been equalled by any subsequent editor * " L'Heptameron ; ou, Histoire des Amans fortunez." ■[• The MS. chosen by Le Roux de Lincy as the basis of his text is numljered 7,572 in the National Library of France. This, however, wants the arguments to the Days and Novels, which were supplied by MS. 7,576. 1 " L'Heptameron des Nouvelles de tres-haute et tres-illustre princesse Marguerite d'Angouleme, reine de Navarre, soeur unique de Franjois 1"." 3 vols. 8vo. xvi TRANSLATOR'S PEEFACB. for completeness and fullness of illustration. For the first time the old classic was given to the world as the authoress had written it ; the suppressed novels, and all those passages which had fallen under the ban of the Index Expurgatorius, being restored to their proper positions. An Introductory essay upon the life and works of Marguerite, with notices of sixteen MSS. examined by the editors, on the various editions of the " Heptameron," and the unpublished poetical pieces of fhe Queen of Navarre, precede the text ; while at the end of each volume are notes, "critical and explanatory," on the subject matter contained in it. Next to this admirable edition of the "Bibliophiles Fran^ais" comes M. Paul Lacroix's edition of 1858, in which the text of Le Roux de Lincy is followed throughout, the three rejected novels — XI., XLIV., and XLVI. — introduced by Gruget, being restored. M. Lacroix also made some slight alterations in the orthography, and fixed the punctuation on a logical basis ; but with these exceptions his text (from which the present translation has been made) is practically identical with that of the "Bibliophiles Frangais." Prefixed to the worki s an historical notice of Marguerite, and a list of her writings, with some valuable critical remarks. In the "Petite Collection Elzevirienne" a three-volume edition of the "Heptameron" was published in 1879 by Liseux, whq seems to have spared no pains to make the paper and printing worthy of the work and of the laborious editing of M. Felix Frank. Like Lacroix, the last-named editor has been contented to avail himself of the labours of the Bibliophiles Frangais, and, with the exception of .including Gruget's three novels, the text of Frank is substantially the same as that of Le Roux de Lincy. The Introduction of 179 pages contains an essay on the character and life of " La Mar- guerite des Princesses," with a minute criticism on the " Hep- tameron," its plan, and the personages who tell the novels. Not the least interesting portion is the comparison of Mar- TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. xvii guerite's work with the similar collections of Boccaccio, Sabadino degli Arienti, Massucio, Antoine de Sains Denis, Bonaventura des Periers, and, last but not least, of Geoffrey Chaucer. It is noteworthy that M. Frank couples Marguerite and Chaucer together as the only writers of the kind who have endowed their devisants with individuality, and sought to make them something more than mere pegs to hang so many novels upon. Remarkable also for its curious research is his investigation into the real personalities of Dagoucin, Ennasuitte, Parlamente, and their companions. Here M. Frank differs repeatedly from Le Roux de Lincy and Lacroix. M. Lacroix sees under the mask of Dagoucin a certain Comte d'Agoust ; M. Frank has ten pages to prove that he is an ecclesiastic named Nicolas Dangu. M. Le Roux de Lincy will have Lon- garine to be Madam de Chastillon, the Queen of Navarre's governess, while M. Frank shows that Longarine " est la dame de, Longrai ou Longray en Normandie," one of Marguerite's most intimate friends. A hundred pages are devoted to this identification of the devisants, and to the third volume are subjoined three Appendices, with notes on the novels. We have also seen an edition published by Gamier, without any date, introduction, or memoir, in which Novels XL, XLIV., and XLVL are omitted and replaced by Gruget's substitutes; while the arguments to the Days and Novels are altogether wanting. Geburon and Ennasuitte appear as Guebron and Emarsuitte. The language is modernised and the text very corrupt : it seems, in fact, to be nothing more nor less than a reproduction of an edition published in the last century. Thus our text is identical with that which is unquestionably the best — namely, the "Bibliophiles Fran^ais." We have omitted annotations which seem only to provoke discussion on matters concerning which nothing definite is known, and which, to use a hackneyed phrase, rarely rise above the level of « scandal about Queen Elizabeth." Those, however, who wish xviii TEANSLATOR'S PREFACE. to identify the personages of the " Heptameron" will find what they require in the edition of M. Paul Lacroix ; while for the biography of the authoress our readers cannot do better than consult Miss Freer's " Life of Marguerite d'Angouleme, Queen of Navarre." * Finally, our aim has been to present in a worthy dress what we claim to be the only complete English translation of the "Heptameron." * London, 1854. 2 vols. 2 HEPTAMERON. through Arragon, came to the county of Roussillon • and to Narbonne, and others fared straight to Barcelona, -whence sailing they got to Marseilles and Aiguemorte, But a certain widow, of much experience, named Oisille, determined to lay by all fear of the bad roads, and to journey to Our Lady of Serrance. Not that she was of so superstitious a mind as to think that the glorious Virgin would leave her session by the right hand of her Son, and dwell in that desert land, but only for her great desire of seeing that holy place of which so great a noise had come to her ears, and being assured likewise that if there were any way out of this peril, the monks would be advised thereof. And this she accomplished, yet traversing such a wild country and ways as hard to go up as to come down, that although she was old and slow in move- ment, she had to go the best part of the journey on foot. But of this the worst was that most of her folk and her horses died on the way, so she came to Serrance, having one man and one woman only, and was there taken in and kindly entreated by the monks. Now there were among the French travellers two' gentle- men who had gone to the springs, rather that they might accompany their ladies than for any failing in their health. And seeing that the company was setting forth, and that the husbands of their ladies were likewise taking them away, they thought fit to follow them from afar, without making anyone privy to their design. But it came to pass that one evening when the married gentlemen were lodged with their wives at the house of one who was more a robber than a churl, that the lovers of these ladies, who were also lodged in a cottage hard by, heard at night a great tumult. Whereupon they and their servants arose, and enquired of their host what this noise might be. And he, much afraid, told them that it was some Roaring Boys, who had come to take their share of the booty that was at the house of the robber, their comrade ; at which the young gallants forthwith laid hold of their arms, and with their servants went to the succour of the ladies, death for whom they accounted far sweeter than life without them. And when they came to the place they found the outer gate broken in, and the two husbands with their servants defending themselves full bravely. But since the number of the robbers PROLOGUE. was great, and they were grievously wounded, having by this time lost the greater part of their servants, they were begin- ning to give way. The two gallants, seeing their ladies wailing and entreating at the windows, were worked by pity and love to such a point of courage that, after the fashion of two bears nashing down from the mountains, they burst upon the robbers and so handled them that many were killed, and those left alive would not stay for any more blows, but escaped to their hiding place as best they could. The two gallants, having put these villains to flight, and killed the host among the rest, heard that the hostess was worse than her mate, whereupon they, with the thrust of a sword, sent her to join him. Next, entering into one of the lower rooms they found therein one of the married gentlemen, who presently gave up the ghost. The other was scot-free of wounds, yet was all his vesture pierced with sword-thrusts, and his own sword broken in two. This poor man, beholding before him his rescue, prayed the young men, after both embracing and thanking them, by no means to leave him, which was to them a request mighty pleasant. And . after they had buried the dead man, and comforted, after the best sort they could, his widow, they set forth again, not knowing which road to take but leaving it in God's hands. And if it be your pleasure to know the names of these three gentlemen, the one who was married was called Hircan, and his wife Parlamente, and the widow was Longarine. And the names of the two gallants were Dagoucin and Saf- fredent. And after that they had been all the day on horse- back, toward evensong they made out a spire, whither, after much travail and labour, they arrived. Now this was the spire of the abbey of St. Savyn, and here they were taken in and well entreated by the abbot and his monks. And the abbot, who was of a noble house, gave them good lodging, and as he waited upon them to their rooms, enquired of them their hap. And having heard how bad it was he told them that they were not alone in tasting of misfortune, for he had in one of his rooms two ladies who had escaped equal, if not greater peril, since they had had to do not with men but with beasts, in whom there is no pity. For these poor ladies, when half a league on this side of Peyrechitte, had met a bear coming down from the mountain, from before which they had fled at 4 HEPTAMEEON. such a rate that at the gate of the abbey their horses dropped dead under them, and two of their maids, who came in a long while after, told them that the bear had killed all their men- servants. Then did the two ladies and the three gentlemen go into the room where these unhappy ones were lodged, and found them weeping, and knew them for Nomerfide and Ennasiutte. So hav- ing embraced one another, they told what had befallen them, and in concert with the good abbot, comforted themselves for having again fallen into company. And in the morning they heard mass with much devotion, praising God for the perils which were overpast. And while they were all at mass there came into the church a man clad only in his shirt, flying as if some one pursued him, and crying for help. Straightway did Hircan and the other gentlemen go forth to discover what the affair was ; and there they beheld two men with drawn swords, who followed after him ; and these seeing so great a number, would fain have fled ; but Hircan and his company pursued them and put them to the sword. And when the aforesaid Hircan returned he found that the man clad in the shirt was Geburon, one of his comrades, who said that while he was in bed in a cottage near Feyrechitte there came upon him three men, and though he was in his shirt and armed only with a sword, he so shrewdly wounded one that he died upon the spot. And whilst the two others set themselves to succour their fellow,, he, perceiving that he was naked and the robbers armed, thought he could scarcely win save by flight, being little impeded by his dress. And for the good event of this he gave thanks to God, and to those who had for him done vengeance. After they had heard mass and dined, they went to see if it were possible to cross the Gave, and seeing that it was not they were in great aSt-ay, although the abbot many times entreated ^ them to abide there until the waters were abated, and to this for the day they agreed. And in the evening, as they were going to bed, there came an old monk who, for many a year, had failed not to be present during September at Our Lady of Serrance. And on their asking him the news of his journey, he said that by reason of the floods he had come by the mountain tracks, and that they were the worst roads he had ever been on. But one most pitiful case he had to tell. PROLOGUE. and this was that he had found a young gentleman named Simontault, who, weary of the long time the floods took to abate, had determined to force the passage, trusting in the goodness of his horse, and having first placed all his serving- men around him, thereby to break the force of the water. But when they were in mid-stream, those who were badly mounted were borne headlong, men and horses, down stream and were never rescued. The gentleman finding himself alone, turned his horse to the bank whence he came, yet not so sharply as to avail anything. But God willed that he was so near to the shore as to be able, drawing himself on his hands and knees, and drinking a great deal of water, to reach the rough flint- stones on the bank, so weak and feeble that he could not stand. But it chanced well for him that a shepherd, bringing his sheep home at evening, found him lying there among the stones, soaking wet, and sad at heart as well for himself as for his folk whom he had seen perishing before his eyes. The shepherd, who perceived his case more by his look than by his words, took him by the hand and led him to his cottage, where he dried him with a fire of broken sticks as well as might be. And, that night, God led thither this good monk, who showed him the way to Our Lady of Serrance, and told him he would be lodged there in better fashion than in any other place, and that he would find there an aged widow called Oisille, who was indeed his equal in misfortunes. And when all the company heard of the good lady Oisille, and the gentle knight Simontault, that they were safe, a great joy fell on them, and they praised the Creator that, deeming the serving-men and maids sufficient sacrifice, he had kept alive their master and mistress ; and above all did Parlamente give thanks unto God from the bottom of her heart, since for a long while had Simontault been accepted by her as a devoted lover. And having made careful enquiry of the road to Serrance, although the good old man showed them how difficult it was, yet none the less did they determine to journey there ; and on that very day did tTiey set forth without lack of anything, for the abbot had given them of the best horses that were in Lavedan, and goodly cloaks of Beam, and abundant provaunt, and an escort to guide them safely across the mountains. And so, faring more on foot than horseback, with great sweat and travail they HEPTAMEUON. came to Our Lady of Serrance, where the abbot, though he was an inhospitable man, durst not refuse them lodging, for the fear he had of the Lord of Beam, by whom he knew them to be well beloved ; but he, , being a well-taught hypocrite, put on for them his most obliging face, and led them to see the good lady Oisille and the gentle knight Simontault. Now such delight was on the company, in such wondrous wise gathered together, that to them all the night seemed short, praising God in the church for the mercy he had showed toward them. And after that in 'the morning they had taken some short rest, they all went to hear mass and to receive the Holy Sacrament of concord, in which all Christians are united into one body, imploring Him who had gathered them together to perfect their journey to his glory. After dinner they sent to know if the floods were not yet abated, and finding that they were rather increased, they determined to make them a bridge, fixing it on two rocks which are very near to one another, and where there are still planks for those on foot, who, coming from Oleron, may wish to cross the Gave. In much delight was the abbot that they performed this at their own charges, to the end that the number of pilgrims and gifts should be increased for him, and so he furnished them with labourers, yet not one farthing did he give of his own, for he was too miserly. And since the labourers said that the bridge could not be finished before ten or twelve days, both the men and women of the company began to be very weary ; but Parlamente, the wife of Hircan, who was never listless or melancholy, having asked of her husband leave to speak, spoke thus to the aged lady Oisille : " Good mistress, I am amazed that you, who have had so great experience, and who stand towards us women as a mother, do not think of some pastime wherewith to subdue this weariness of ours at the long delay ; for if we do not get some pleasant and seemly pursuit we shall be in danger of growing sick." To this added the young widow Longarine : " And what is worse we shall grow peevish, and hardly to be cured thereof; for if you will consider there is no man nor maid amongst us but has occasion enough for sorrow." Ennasiutte, laughing, replied to her : " Not every one of us has lost a husband as you have, and as for serving-men one need not despair on their account, for others are to be had; natheless I PROLOGUE. 7 am well persuaded that we should have some pleasant pursuit to pass the time, or else we shall be dead by the morrow." All the gentlemen were of their mind, and would have the lady Oifiille declare to them what they should do, and she thus replied : " My children, it is a hard thing this that you ask of me, to show you some pastime that will free you from your weariness. For this I have sought through my whole life, and only one pastime have I found — namely, the reading of the Holy Scriptures, where is found the true and perfect joy of the spirit, whence there cometh health and rest to the body. And if you ask how I, at my years, can be so cheerful and healthy, I tell you that when I rise in the morning I straightway take the Holy Scriptures and read therein, considering and meditat- ing on the goodness of God in sending, for our sake, his Son upon the earth to make manifest those good tidings in which he doth promise forgiveness of all sins, and satisfaction for all trespasses through the gift of His love, passion, and merits. This it is that makes me to be glad, so that I take my psalter, and in most lowly fashion do sing from my heart and indite with my mouth those psalms and canticles with which the Holy Spirit hath inspired David and the other writers. And this delight that I have in them is so great that all mishaps the day can bring show to me but as blessings, seeing that I have in my heart by faith Him who hath borne my sorrows. In like manner before I sup I go apart to give my soul his pasture in the Scriptures, and then in the evening I recall to my mind all that I have done during the day that is past, asking of God pardon for my sins, and thanking Him for the grace which He hath bestowed upon me ; so in His love, and fear, and peace, I take my rest well assured against all perils. Behold, then, my children, the pastime to which I am attached, and have been a long while, after having searched all others, and not finding contentment therein for my spirit. Methinks, therefore, that if in the mornings you would give an hour to reading, and this done, pray devoutly at mass, you would find in this desert place a greater beauty than there is in cities, for he who knoweth God beholds all things beautiful in Him, and without Him nothing is fair ; wherefore I entreat you that you receive my counsel, if you would live joyously." Next did Hircan take up the discourse, and said : " Good mistress, those who have read e HEPTAMERON. the Holy Scriptures, as Ibelieye we all have, will agree that what you say is altogether true. Natheless, you must consider that these bodies of ours are not so mortified as not to need also some exercise, for if we were at our houses we should have hunting and falconry, to make us forget our idle thoughts ; while the ladies have their housewifery, their tambour-work, and sometimes dancing, wherein they can take seemly exercise. And all this makes me say (speaking on behalf of the men) that you, who are most in years, shall read to us in the morning time somewhat of the life of our Lord Jesus Christ, and of the mighty and admirable works that He hath done for us ; but as to the hours between dinner and evensong we have yet to find some pastime that may be wholesome for the soul and pleasant to the body; and so with all this shall the day he passed joyously." The lady Oisille said she had had such toil to put out of mind all worldly vanities that she feared any choice of hers would be a bad one ; but it was necessary to put the matter to the vote, and would have Hircan give his opinion first. " As for me," said Hircan, " if 1 conceived that the pastime I would fain chose were as agreeable to a certain one of this company as it is to me, my vote would soon be given, but as it is I am dumb, and wait to hear what others say." His wife Parla- mente thereupon fell to blushing, thinking that his words were for her, and betwixt a frown and a smile spoke to him thus : *' Peradventure, Hircan, that one whom you deem hard to be contented could, find contentments enough if it was her humour ; but let us leave those games at which only two can disport themselves, and think of some which all can play." Then said Hircan to all the ladies : " Since this wife of mine has understood so fairly what lay beneath my words, and since this privy play is not to her liking, I am assm-ed that she, better than any other, can tell us of some pastime for all ; and I do herewith profess myself of her mind, whatever it may be, and will in this matter be led entirely by her." And to this the whole company agreed. Whereupon Parlamente, seeing that the lot was fallen upon her, spoke as follows : " If I felt within me such parts as had the ancients, by whom were all arts invented, I would invent some game to discharge the duty that you have laid upon me ; but knowing my wit and my PROLOGUE. 9 power, how little it is, and scarce able so much as to call to mind how others have performed well this very thing, I shall esteem myself lucky if I can but follow in their steps. Among the rest I think, that there is not one of you who has not read those Hundred Novels of Boccaccio, lately done from the Italian into French. These did King Francis, first of his name, his Highness the Dauphin, the Princess his wife, and my lady Margaret of Navarre, esteem at such a price that if old Boccaccio could have heard them from the place where he is, he would have been, through the praises of such mighty folk, well-nigh brought to life again. And I hear that these two illustrious ladies have determined to make likewise a De- cameron, but yet in one thing they will have it different from Boccaccio's — namely, every history therein contained shall be the truth. And their intent was that they, and his Highness with them, should each make ten stories, and afterwards should bring together ten persons whom they rated as most capable of telling them ; but they would have no schoolmen or practised men of books, for his Highness must have nature and not art, and was in fear lest the truth of the histories might fare badly through odd-becoining tricks of rhetoric. But divers high affairs of state, as the peace between the King and the King of England, the bringing to bed of the Princess, and other matters of grfeat consideration, have given all this scheme to forgetfulness at court ; but by reason of the long delay we shall be able to accomplish it by the ten days in which the bridge is to be brought to a completion. And if it please you, every day from noon to four o'clock we will go to that pleasant meadow that is stretched along the Gave, where so thickly do the trees grow that the sun cannot pierce them through with his heat. There, seated at our ease, let each of us tell some story that he has either seen with his eyes or heard from the lips of a faithful witness. At the ,end of ten days we shall have summed up the hundred, and if God grants that our relations be pleasing to those lords and ladies aforesaid, we will lay them at their feet on our return from this journey in place of images or paternosters, to which I am assured they will be greatly preferred. Yet if any of you shall bring out a more pleasant pastime than this, to him I will give my vote." But all the company replied with one voice that than, this there 10 HEPTAMERON. could be nothing better, and that they were weary for the morning to come, whereon to make a beginning of it. So was this day joyously passed, one telling to another such notable things as he had seen in his life. But as soon as the morning was come, they went to the room of Oisille, whom they fopnd at her prayers. And when for a full hour they had attended to her reading, and after this had devoutly heard mass, they went to dinner, it being now ten o'clock. And at noon they failed not, according to what had been determined, to go to the meadow, which was of such a sort that it would need Boccaccio himself to tell the pleasantness of it ; but be you contented and know surely that never was there meadow to vie with it. And when all this company was seated in order on the grass, that was so fine and soft that no need was there of rugs or carpeting, Simontault began to say, " Who shall be the one to rule over us ? " To whom Hircan : " Since you were the first to speak, it is fitting that you bear rule, for in the game we are all equal." " God knows," said Simontault, " that I would desire no bliss in the world so much as to bear rule over this company." This speech of , his Parlamente understood so well that she was fain to cough that Hircan might not perceive the colour that came on to her cheeks ; but she presently told Simontault to begin ; and this he did. ^"'iii»ii!i , PREMIE RK JOURNEE Nou-rellD I, DAY THE FIRST. In which Day abb Recottntbd the Bad Tubus done bt Women to Men, AND BY Men to Women. NOVEL I. The misdeeds of the wife of a certain proctor, who had a bishop for her gallant. Fair ladies, I have had such a poor reward for all my long service that, to avenge me on Love, and her whose heart is so hard toward me, I am about to recount to you the misdeeds done of women on us poor men ; and I will tell you nothing but the whole truth. In the town of Alen^on, in the time of the last Duke Charles, there was a proctor named St. Aignan, who had for wife a gentlewoman of the country. And she, having more beauty than virtue, and being of a fickle disposition, was courted by the Bishop of Seez, who, to gain his ends, handled the husband in such fashion that he not only did not perceive the wickedness of the Bishop, but did even forget the love he had for his master and mistress, and at last had dealings with wizards, that thereby he might compass the death of the duchess. For a long while did the Bishop have dalliance with this evil woman, who received him not for the love she bore him, but because her husband, being greedy of money, so charged her. But her love she gave to a young man of Alencon, son of the lieutenant-general, and him she loved to madness ; often obtaining of the Bishop to send her husband away, that she might see Du Mesnil, the son of the lieutenant, at her ease. And this fashion of life lasted a long while, she having the Bishop for profit, and Du Mesnil for pleasure, for she told the last that all the pleasaunce she did to the Bishop was but for his sake, and that from her the Bishop only got words, and he might rest assured that no man beside himself got aught else. One day when her husband had to go on some charges of the Bishop, she asked him to let her go into the country, saying that the town air was hurtful to her ; and having got to 12 HEPTAMEBON. [Novell. her farmstead, she straightway wrote to Du Mesnil, enjoining him not to fail in coming to her at nine in the evening. This the poor gallafit did ; but at the' porch he found the maid who was wont to let him in, who thus addressed him : " Go farther, friend, for here your place is taken." And he, thinking the proctor was come, asked her how they fared. The serving- maid, having pity on him, for that he loved so much, and was so little loved in return, and seeing, moreover, that he was comely, young, and of an honourable address, showed, to him the firailty of her mistress, believing that when he heard this the flame of his love would be somewhat quenched. And she told him how the Bishop Seez was hardly come, and was now in bed with her mistress, though it was appointed that he should not come till the morrow ; but having kept the proctor at his palace, he had stole away by night to privily visit her. "Who then was in despair but Du Mesnil ; yet scarcely could he believe the tale, and hid himself in a house hard by, where, remaining till three hours after midnight, he then saw the Bishop come out, not so well, disguised as not to be more easily recognized than he desired. And in this despair he made his way back to Alengon, whither this evil woman having returned, she came to speak to him, and would fain have fooled him in her old fashion. But he told her that she was too good, since she had touched holy things, to speak to a poor sinner like himself, whose repentance, nevertheless, was so great that he hoped ere long his sin would be forgiven. So when she perceived that her case was known to him, and that excuses, oaths, and promises availed nothing, she made complaint of him to her Bishop. And after having well pondered the matter with him, this woman came to her husband and told him that she could no longer live in Alengon, since the son of the lieutenant, whom he had accounted for a friend, did incessantly lay assault to her honour, wherefore she entreated him to take her to Argentan, to do away with all suspicion. To this her husband^ who let himself be ruled by her, agreed. But they had been but a short while at Argentan when this evil one' sent to Du Mesnil, saying that of all men in the world he was most wicked, and that she was well advised of his publicly speaking ill of her and the Bishop of Seez, for which she would labour to call him to account. Novel I.] DAY THE FIRST. 13 The young man, who had spoken to her alone on the matter, yet fearing to get into disfavour with the Bishop, went forthwith to Argentan with two of his servants, and found his mistress at evensong at the Jacobins. He, kneeling by her side, spoke thus : " Mistress, I am come to this place to swear to you before God that I have spoken against your honour to no one save you yourself; and so evilly have you entreated me that what I told you was not the half of what you deserved. And if there be inan or woman who will say that I have so spoken, here am I to give them the lie before your face." She, seeing that much folk were in the church, and that he had for companions two stout serving-men, constrained herself to speak to him in the most gracious sort she could, saying she made no manner of doubt but that he spoke the truth, and that she esteemed him too honourable to speak evil of any man, much less of her who had for him so great a love ; but some tales had got to her husband's ears, on which account she would have him make declaration before her husband, that he had not told' them, and believed them not at all. This he freely granted, and thinking to accompany her home, he would have taken her by the arm, but she told him that it would not be well for him to come with her, since her husband might suppose she had put the words into his mouth. And taking one of his servants by the sleeve of his doublet, she said, " Leave this man with me, and when it is time I will presently send him for you, but meanwhile do you go and rest in your . lodging." And he, who knew not that she conspired against him, did as he was ordered. To the servant she had taken with her, she gave supper, and when he often asked her if it was not time to look for his master, she told him that it tvould shortly come. And when night had fallen she privily sent one of her own serving-men to seek Du Mesnil, who, not knowing the evil that was to befall him, went with bold face to the house of the aforesaid St. Aignan, where his mistress still kept his servant, so that he had only one with him. And when he came to the door of the house, the man who had brought him told him the lady wished much to speak with him before he came into the presence of her husband, and that she awaited him in a room with only his own servant with her, and that he would do well to send the other 14 HEPTAMEROJf. [Novel I. to the door in front. This he did, and whilst he was going up a small and gloomy stair, the proctor, who had laid an ambush in a closet, hearing the noise of his steps, called out, « What is that ? " And they told him that it was a man privily endeavouring to enter his house. Whereupon a fellow called Thomas Guerin, an assassin by trade, who to this intent had been hired by St. Aignan, rushed forth and dealt the young man such blows with his sword that, for all the defence he might make, he fell dead between their hands. His servant who was with the lady said to her, "I hear my master talking on the stairs, and will go to him." But she held him back, saying, " Be not troubled, he will shortly be here." And a little after, hearing these words in his master's voice, " I am gone, and may God receive my soul," he would fain have succoured him. But she held him back, saying, "Be not troubled, my husband does but chastise him for these follies of his youth ; come, let us go and see what is being done." And leaning against the balustrade of the stairs, she asked of her husband, " Is it finished ? " And he said to her, " Come and see, for in this hour I have avenged you on him who has done you so much shame." So saying he gave with his dagger ten or twelve strokes into the body of him whom, when alive, he durst not have encountered. After that the murder was done, and the two servants had fled to carry the news to the poor father, the aforesaid St. Aignan considered how the thing might best be kept secret, and perceived that the two servants could not be admitted to bear witness, and that none in his house had seen it done, save the murderers, an old serving-woman, and a young girl of fifteen. The old woman he was fain privily to put away, but she, finding means to escape, took refuge in the liberties of the Jacobins. And her witness was the best on the matter of the murder. The young girl stayed some days in his house, but he, having caused one of the murderers to bribe her, put her in a stew in Paris, to the end that her witness might not be receiv :-d. And, better to hide the murder, he had the body of the dead man burnt ; and the bones which the fire had not consumed he made mingle with the mortar that was being used in building This done he sent with great speed to court to ask for pardon, letting it be understood that he had many times Jffovell.] DAY THE FIRST. 15 forbidden a man whom he suspected to enter his house. And this man, who would have dishonoured his wife notwithstand- ing that he was forbidden, had come secretly by night to speak to her, wherefore having found him at the door of her room, and wrath casting out reason, he had slain him. But for all his haste he was not able to dispatch this letter to the chancellor's before the Duke and Duchess, who had been advised of what had taken place by the father of the murdered man, likewise sent to the chancellor, that pardon might not be granted him. This wretch, seeing that he could not obtain pardon, fled beyond seas to England, and his wife with him, and many of his kinsfplk. Yet before he set out, he made known to the murderer who had dealt the blow that he had seen express letters from the King, to take him and put him to death. And since, in return for the service he had done him he would gladly save his life, he gave him ten crowns for him to fly the realm. This he did, and has n'ot been found to this day. This murder was so confirmed by the servants of the dead man, by the old woman who had fled to the Jacobins, and by the bones which were found in the mortar, that the case v/as begun and brought to an end in the absence of St. Aignan and his wife. Judgment went by default, they were condemned to death, to pay fifteen hundred crowns to the father of the murdered man, and the rest of their goods were escheated to the crown. St. Aignan, seeing that though he was living in England, in France the law accounted him dead, accomplished so much by his services to some great lords, and by the favour of the kinsfolk of his wife, that the King of England entreated the King of France to grant him a free pardon, and to restore to him his goods and his offices. But the King of France being a'-'^ured of the enormity of his crime, sent the case to the King of England, asking him if such a deed deserved pardon, and saying that to the Duke of Alen^on alone it pertained to grant pardon for offences done in his duchy. But for all these excuses he could not satify the King of England, who so earnestly entreated him that at last the proctor gained what he desired and returned to his home. And there, to fill up the measure of his wickedness, he called to him a wizard, named Gallery, hoping by this means to escape the paying of the fifteen hundred crowns to the father of the dead man. 16 HEPTAMEKON. [Novel 1. And to this end, he and his wife with him, went up to Paris in disguise. And she, perceiving him closeted for a long while with the enchanter Gallery, and not being told the reason of this, on one morning played the spy and saw Gallery show- ing to him five wooden images, of which three had their hands hanging down, and of the two others the hands were raised. And she heard the wizard : " We must have images made of wax like these, and they that have the hands drooping shall be made in the likeness of those that are to die, but they that have the hands uplifted shall be made in the likeness of those whose love and favour we desire." To whom the proctor : " This one shall be for the King whose grace I would gain, and this for my Lord Brinon, the chancellor of Alen^on." And Gallery said to him, " We must lay these images beneath the altar, where they may hear mass, together with the words that you shall presently say after me." And speaking of theni that had the drooping arms, the proctor said that one should be Master Gilles du Mesnil, father of him who was murdered, for he knew well that as long as he was alive he would not cease from pursuing him. And another, that was made in the likeness of a woman, should be for my lady the Duchess of Alen^on, the sister of the King ; since so well did she love Du Mesnil, her old servant, and had so great a knowledge of the proctor's wickedness in other matters, that unless she died, he could not live. And the last image, that was also made in the likeness of a woman, should be his wife, since she was the beginning of all his evil hap, and he knew well that she would never amend the wickedness of her ways. But when this wife of his, who saw through a chink in the door all that was done, heard that she was numbered among the -dead, it was her humour to send her husband on before her. And pretending to go and borrow money of an uncle of hers, named Neaufle, Master of Requests to the Duke of Alen^on, she told him of her husband, and all that she had seen and heard him do. This Neaufle aforesaid, like a good old servant, went forthwith to the chancellor of the Duchy of Alengon, and showed him the whole of the matter. And since the Duke and Duchess chanced not to be at court on that day, the chancellor went and told this strange case to the Regent, mother of the King and of the Duchess, who straightway sought out La Barre, Provost of Kovel I.] DAY THE FIRST. 17 Paris ; and such good diligence did he make that he clapped up the proctor and his wizard Gallery, who confessed freely the crime, without being put to the question, or in any way constrained. And the matter of their accusation was made out and broi^ght to the King, whereupon some, willing to save the lives of these men, would fain persuade him that by their enchantments they sought nothing but his grace. But the King, being as tender of his sister's life as of his own, commanded that sentence should be given as if they had attempted his own peculiar person. Nevertheless, the Duchess of Alenqon made entreaty for the life of this proctor, and for the doom of death to be changed to some other punish ment. So this was granted her, and the proctor, together with the wizard, were sent to the galleys of St. Blancart at Marseilles, where they ended their days in close imprison- ment, having time wherein to consider their sins, how great they had been. And the wife, when her husband was removed, sinned more wickedly than before, and so died miserably. " I entreat you, ladies, consider well the evil that cometh of a wicked woman, and how many mishaps proceeded from the sin of this one I have told you of. You will find that from the time Eve made Adam to sin, all women have been for the torturing, killing, and damnation of men. As for me, such an experience have I of their cruelty that I am well assured that when I meet with death and damnation, it will be through despair of her whom I love. Yet so besotted am I, that I must needs confess that this hell delights me more coming from her hand than would heaven from the hand of another.'* Parlamente, feigning not to understand that it was of her that tie made this discourse, said to him : " Since this hell of yours is as pleasant as you say, it skills not to fear the devil who sends it." But wrathfully he replied to her : " If my devil should become visible as black as it has made me unhappy, this com- pany would be struck with as great fear as my delight is in regarding it, but the fire of my love makes me to forget the fire of my hell. So to speak no more of this matter, I will give my vote to Mistress Oisille to tell the second novel, and sure am I, that if she would tell that she knows of women, she would be of my opinion." Instantly the company turned 18 HEPTAMERON [Novel II. toward hsr, praying her to make a beginning. To this she agreed, and smiling began thus : " It seems to me, ladies, that he who has given his vote to me has made such an ill report of women by this true story of a woman who was exceedingly wicked_, that I shall have to call to mind all these old years of mine, to find one woman whose virtue shall give the lie to his judgment. And since there is come into my mind the recollection of a woman well worthy of being had in everlasting remembrance, I will tell you her history." NOVEL II. The wife of a, muleteer had rather death than dishonour. In the town of Amboise there was a muleteer who served the Queen of Navarre, sister to Francis the First. And she being at Blois brought to bed of a son, this muleteer went thither to be paid such monies as were owing to him, and his wife stayed at Amboise, being lodged in a house beyond the bridge. Now there was a servant of her husband who had for a long while loved her so greatly, that one day he must needs speak his mind to her. But she, being a woman of true virtuousness, so sharply reproved him, threatening that he should be beaten and sent away, that never after did he dare to address her. But he secretly kept the fire of lust in his heart, until one day when ,his master was abroad, and his mistress at evensong in the castle church of St. Florentin, no short distance from her house. So, since she was living alone, he conceived the humour of taking by force that which he could obtain by none of his prayers or good ofiices, to which end he broke the boards that were between his room and that of his mistress. And this was not perceived when she, having with her a wench of eleven or twelve years, came to bed, by reason of the curtains that were hung by the master's bed on one side, and the servant's on the other. And when the poor woman was in her first sleep, the fellow came in by the hole he had made, clad only in his shirt, and with a drawn sword in his hand. But as soon as she was aware of his being in the bed with her, she leapt forth from thence, and implored him in such wise as an honourable woman would. And he whose Novel II.] DAY THE PIHSI. 19 love was but beastly lust, better able to understand the noise of his mules than fair conclusions, showed himself more brutal than the brutes he had a long while tended ; for seeing that so swiftly did she chase round a table that he could not take her, and that she had twice escaped from his very hands, he de- spaired of being able to rape her alive, and so gave her a shrewd stroke in the reins, thinking that pain would make her do what fear could not. Yet it had a contrary effect, for like a good soldier who, when he sees his blood flowing, is stirred up all the more to be avenged on his enemies, and gain for himself glory, so her chaste heart made her fly yet more swiftly from the hands of this wretch, making still more earnest entreaty to him, if haply he might see the wickedness of his purpose. But in such furious case was he, that to nothing of this would he give ear, and aimed at her more and more blows, to avoid which she still kept running as fast as she was able. And when, by reason of loss of blood, she felt death to be near at hand, she raised her eyes to heaven, and with clasped hands gave thanks to God, calling upon him as her strength, her virtuousness, her long-suffering, and her purity ; beseech- ing him to favourably accept that blood of hers which she had poured forth for the sake of his Son, by whom she steadfastly believed all her sins were blotted out from his sight. And saying : " Lord receive my soul, which by thy loving kindness hath been redeemed," she fell on her face to the floor, where the wretch gave her several strokes, and her tongue having lost speech and her body strength, he took that from her vihich she was no more ablp to defend against him. And when he had appeased his evil lust, he fled forth in such hot haste that all pursuit was of no avail, for he was never found. The young wench who had been sleeping with the muleteer's wife had, for the fear she was in, hidden under the bed, but when she saw that the man was departed, she went to her mistress, and finding in her no spaech or movement, called from the window to the neighboui's to bring help. They, holding her in as good love and repute as any woman in the town, came presently to her, bringing with them chirurgeons, who made out that she had on her body five-and-twenty mortal wounds. All the aid they could give her was of no avail, and yet for more than an hour she languished on, showing by the 20 HEPTAMKROJf. [Novel II. signs she made with her eyes and hands, that she knew what was passing. Being asked by the pai^son in what faith she died, she gave answer by signs as plain as words, that she put the hope of her salvation in Jesus only ; and so with glad countfenance, and eyes lifted up to heaven, she gave up her soul and body to the Creator. And when she was being taken out for burial, the company thereto appointed attending, her poor husband came up, and saw the body of his wife in front of his house before tidings had been brought to him that she was dead. And the manner of her death being reported to him, he had then a double cause for lamentation, which he made in such grievous sort that he was well-nigh amort. So was this martyr of chastity buried in the church of St. Florentin, and at the burial of her all the honourable women of the town failed not to do her honour by their presence ; thinking it no small thing to live in a place which had contained so virtuous a woman. And moreover, such women as were queans de- termined to live henceforth in amendment of life. " Behold then, ladies, a true relation, by the consideration of which we should be enabled to guard yet more straitly this excellent virtue of chastity. And we, being of gentle blood, should die with shame on feeling in our hearts that worldly lust, to avoid which the wife of a poor muleteer did not shrink from a cruel death. And let not any one esteem herself a virtuous woman who has not like this one resisted unto death. Where- fore we must humble ourselves, for God giveth not his grace to men for that they are of gentle blood and have great riches, but only according to his good will. For he is no regarder of persons, but chooseth whom he will, and him, whom he hath chosen, he fiUeth with all goodness. And often he chooseth the lowly, that he may confound those that are in great esteem with this world, according as it is written, ' Let us not rejoice for our merits, but rather that our names are written in the book of life.' " Not one lady was there in that company who did not weep for the pitiful and glorious death of this woman ; each one resolving within herself that, if like case were to come to her, she would strive likewise to gain martyrdom. And Oisille, seeing that time was being lost by their praises of the dead woman, said to Saffredent: "Unless you can devise some Novel IIL] DAr THE PIBST. 21 pleasant tale to make the company laugh, they will not, I think, forgive me for making them weep. Wherefore I give my vote to you to tell the third novel." SafFredent, who heartily desired to make some pleasant relation that might please them all, and particularly one of the ladies, said that this right did not belong to him, seeing that there were others who had seen more and could tell more than he ; yet as the lot had fallen on him, the sooner it was fulfilled the better, for the more good speakers that came before him, the worse would his story be found when it was told. NOVEL III. Of a lustful King of Naples, and how he met with his match. Since, ladies, I have ofttimes desired to be a fellow in good-luck with him of whom I am about to tell you, I will declare to you that in the town of Naples, in the time of King Alfonso, to whom lust was as the sceptre of his kingdom, there lived a young gentleman of such honourable character and so fine an address, that for these merits of his an aged widow gave him her daughter to wife. And she yielded in nowise to her husband in beauty and graciousness, and there was great love betwixt these two. But on a day in Carnival time, the King, as his custom was, went masked about the different houses, each one striving to make for him the best fare and welcome. And when he came to the house of this gentleman aforesaid, he was received after a better fashion than anywhere else ; so fine were the sweetmeats, so admirable the singing, and above all, the bravest lady the King had ever set eyes on. And she, at the end of the entertainment, sang a song with her husband in such sort that it did but increase her beauty. And he, beholding in that body of hers so many perfections, did not set such store on the good accord between her and her husband as not to ponder how he might best break it ; but the difficulty lay in the great love that he perceived they bore one another, wherefore he kept this passion of his as secret as he was able. But in some way tp ease it he gave many entertainments to all the lords and ladies of Naples, and at these the gentleman and his wife were by no means forgotten. And since a man believes 23 HEPTAMERON". [Novel III- what he desires, it appeared to him that this lady's eyes pro- mised well for him, if it were not that, her husband was present. So to try how he stood with her, he sent the husband on some charges of his to Rome, so that he might be away fifteen days or three weeks. No sooner was he gone than his wife, who had never before been without him, was filled with great grief, in which she was so comforted by the sweet remonstrances and gifts of the King, that not only was she consoled for her husband, but more than this was well content to live without him. And before the three weeks were come to an end she was grown so amorous of the King, the thought of her hus- band's return gave her as much discontent as before did his departure. And so, as not to be altogether shut out from the presence of the King, they agreed together that when the gentleman went a-hunting to his country house, she should advise the King of it, so that he might safely come and see her, and so privily that her repute, of which she was more tender than her conscience, should take no hurt. In this contentment the lady kept herself, and her husband being returned she received him in such sort that, though he had been told that while he was away the King had had to do with her, he would not have believed it. But as time went on, that fire which so hardly can be concealed began to show itself, and in such fashion that her husband began to suspect her for a strumpet, and keeping close watch, was well nigh assured of it. But for the fear he had that he who had done him this great harm might, if he showed any suspicion, do him a worse, he determined to dissemble, thinking secret grief better than to make hazard of his life for a woman who loved him not. All the same, in the dolour of his heart, he was fain, if it might be, to cry quits with the King, and knowing that women, and notably those of noble mind, are more easily to be moved by grief than love, he made free one day, in speaking to the Queen, to tell her it was a mighty pity she was not better beloved of the King. The Queen, who had heard about the King and his wife, said to him : " One may not have both honour and pleasure at once. I am well advised that I have the honour, and another the pleasure, but she who has the pleasure has not the honour that appertains to me." He, un- derstanding well to what intent these words were spoken. Novel III.] DAY jhe FIRST. 23 replied to her: "My lady, with you honour is inbred, for you come of such gentle blood that no title, be it Queen or Empress, can increase your nobility ; yet your beauteousness and gracious ways so well deserve that you should likewise enjoy pleasure, that she who has robbed you of it hath done more ill to herself than you, since for a glory which is in truth her shame, she misses as much delight as you or any woman in the realm could desire. And I dare swear that, if the King's crown was fallen off his head, he could satisfy a lady no better than myself; and sure am I that if he would satisfy such an one as you, he would do well to change his complexion for mine." Laughing, the Queen replied to him: "Though the King be of more delicate complexion than you, yet I am so well satisfied with the love he bears me that I prefer it to any other." Then said the gentle- man : " My lady, if it were indeed so, you would by no means move my pity, for I know well that the honourable love of your heart would content you, if there were in the King an equal love toward you ; but God has wisely taken this from you, so that not finding in him that which you desire, you may not make him your god on earth." "I confess to you," said the Queen, " that the love I bear the King is of such sort, that in no heart but mine can love he found like to it." " Pardon me,", said the gentleman to her, " you have not sounded the depths of all men's hearts, for I say unto you there is one who hath toward you a love so great that your love for your husband beside it would show as nothing. And as he beholds the King's love failing you, his own grows and increases in such a fashion that, were it your pleasure, you would be paid in full for all your griefs.'' The Queen began, as much from his words as from his countenance, to perceive that what he said was from the depths of his heart ; and it came into her mind that he had longwhile striven to do her service, so that he was become sad and melan- cholic. And this she had thought to be by reason of his wife, but she was now well assured that it was for love of herself. And so love, that when it is not feigned is quickly to be discovered, let her know for certain that which had been concealed from all men. And looking upon the gentleman that he was by far more worthy of love than her husband, and seeing that he was for- saken of his wife as she was of the King, hard pressed by grief 24 HEPTAMERON. [Novel III. and jealousy of her husband, and by her love for the gentle- man, she began to sigh forth with tears in her eyes : " My God, can it be that for vengeance' sake I shall grant that which no love could win from me." The gentleman, understanding well the intent of what she said, replied : " Vengeance is sweet, and sweeter when it slayeth not an enemy, but giveth life to a true friend. I think that the time is come for you to put away that foolish love for one who regardeth you not ; and a true and reasonable love shall drive from your heart all fear, which never is able to dwell in a virtuous and noble soul. Let us lay aside the grandeur of your estate, and see in ourselves the man and woman who of all the world are most deceived, ' betrayed, and mocked of those whom they loved with a perfect love. Let us be avenged, not so much to give to our enemies their deserts, as to satisfy that love which, for my part, I cannot longer keep contained and live. And I think, if your heart be not harder than rock or adamant, you must feel within you some spark of that fire which I can no more keep con- cealed. And if pity for me, who am a-dying for love of you, do not stir in you some love for me, natheless love of yourself should do so. For so perfect are you, that you are well worthy of the love of every honest heart, yet you are contemp- tuously entreated and abandoned by him for whose sake you despised all others." The Queen hearing these words was so confounded that, for fear of showing by her face the trouble at her heart, she took the gentleman's arm and went forth into a pleasaunce that was nigh her chamber, where for a long while she walked up and down without speaking a word to him. But the gentle- man, seeing her to be half-won, when they reached the bottom of the alley where none could see them, made declaration of his love in a very effective sort of way, and finding themselves both at one on this matter, they played their mystery of Vengeance, and liked it better than the mystery of the Passion. And there it was agreed and determined that, whenever the King should be at the gentleman's house with his wife, he should be at the palace with the Queen ; so the cozeners being cozened, they would all four have a piece of that cake which two thought to keep to themselves. This treaty executed, they gat them back, the lady to her room and the gentleman to his house, each Ilovel IIL] DAY THE FIRST. 25 with such a good satisfaction for what they had done that all old griefs were forgotten. And the mislilce which they both had aforetime to the King's going to see the lady was turned to a good liking thereat, insomuch that the gentleman went more than his habit had been to his house in the country, which was distant about half-a-league. And as soon as the King was advised of his going away he straightway would go off to the lady ; and the gentleman, when night was come, would go to the palace and enjoy the easements of the King's deputy with the Queen. And all this done so privily that none knew of it. Which going on some time, the King being of public estate, could not well contrive to conceal his share in the matter, and all the world was aware of it, and mighty compassionate toward the poor gentleman, so much so as to make horns of derision at him behind his back* which he saw very plainly. But, such was his humour, he took more delight in these horns of his than the King's crown ; and the King one day seeing a stag's head in the gentleman's house, did himself take occasion to say, with a laugh, that the stag's head was very well placed. So the gentleman, who had as sharp a wit as the King's, made write beneath the head in this wise : " These horns I wear, and plainly show it, But one doth wear them and not know it." And the King,' when he came next to the house, inquired of the gentleman what was the intent of this, to whom he replied : " If the secret of the King be hidden from the stag, it is not fitting that the secret of the stag should be revealed to the King ; but be content to know that not all they that wear horns have their hats lifted oif thereby, for some are so soft, that they would distress no one, and he carries them best who knows not that he has them." The King easily perceived by these words that the gentleman knew of what passed between him and his wife, but not a tittle did he suspect him and the Queen, for the better that she liked the life the King led the more she pretended to the contrary. So for a long time they all lived in this fashion, till old age took order with them. " See, ladies, this relation, in which I freely show you how, when your husbands give you buck's horns, you may give 26 HEPTAMERON. [Novel IV. them hart's." Ennasiutte began to laugh, and say : " Saffre- dent, I am well assured that if you loved as you did afore, you would bear to carry horns as high as oaks, if, you might vent your passion ; but now those hairs of yours are whitening, it is time for your desires to call a truce." " Fair mistress," said SafFredent, " although she whom I love hath taken from me every hope, and age hath weakened my strength, yet as great as ever is my goodwill. But since you have reproved me for this my honourable desire, I give my vote to you to tell the fourth novel, that we may see if you can draw any example therefrom wherewith to refute me." And during this dis- course a lady of the company must needs laugh, for she knew that the one who took the words of SafFredent to herself,, was not in such wise beloved of him, that he should bear for her sake horns, or shame, or anything else. And SafFredent per- ceiving the lady laughing understood, and was content, and so let Ennasiutte talk as she would, and she thus began : " Ladies, to the intent that SafFredent and this company may know that all women are not like to the Queen of his story, and that those who are ready to risk all, do not in every case gain all, and moreover that I may declare the judgment of a certain lady, who esteemed the grief of failure in love harder to bear than death itself, I will tell you this history, in which you will find no names, since it is so fresh in recollection that I should fear to displease some of those very near akin." NOVEL IV. Of a young man who attempted the honour of a princeas, and the poor aucceas of his adventure. There was in the land of Flanders a lady of a most illustrious house, who had been twice married and was now a widow without any children. In the time of her widowhood she lived retired with her brother, who was a great lord, and married to a daughter of the King, and this brother loved his sister exceedingly. Now this prince was a man some- what epslaved to pleasure, having great delight in hunting, games, and women, as his youth led him, but having to wife one of a peevish disposition, to whom none of her husband's Novel IV.] DAY THK FIRST. 27 contentments were pleasing, he would always have his sister with him, for she was of a most joyous nature, and a good and honourable woman withal. And there was in the house of this prince a gentleman whose beauty and grace did far surpass that of his fellows ; and he beholding the sister of his master that she was joyous and always ready for a laugh, thought that he would assay how the offer of an honourable love would be taken by her. But her reply was by no means favourable to him ; yet though it was such as became a princess and a woman of honour, jshe, seeing him to be a handsome man and of good address, easily pardoned to him his great Bold- ness in speaking to her after such a fashion. And moreover she assured him that she bore him no displeasure for what he had said, but charged him from henceforth to let her have no more of it. This he promised, that he might not lose the delight he had in her company, but as time went on his love grew even more and more, so that he forgot the promise he had given. Not that he made a second trial of what words could do, for he had found out the manner of her replies ; but he thought that since she was a widow, young, lusty, and of a pleasant humour, she might perchance, if he came upon her in a fitting place, take compassion on him and her owii flesh. To which end, he said to his master that hard by his house there was most excellent hunting, and that if in Maytime he would be pleased to come and chase the stags, he could promise him as good contentment as he could desire. The prince, as much for the love he bore him as for his delight in hunt- ing, granted his request, and going to his house found it most bravely ordered, and as good as that of the greatest lord in the land. .And the gentleman lodged his lord and lady on one side, and opposite to them he appointed a room for her whom he loved better than himself. And so bravely was this room decked out with tapestry above and matting below, that no one could discover a trap-door contrived in the wall by the bed, which led to where his mother was lodged. And she, being an old dame with an obstinate rheum, and troubled with a cough, had made- an exchange of chambers with her son, so as not to annoy the princess. And before curfew-time in the evening this good lady would carry sweetmeats to the princess for her supper, in which service she was assisted by her son, since 28 HEPTAMERON. [Novel IV. being well-beloved of the prince, it was not refused to him to be present at her levee and couchee, at which times he got fresh fuel for the fire that was in him. And so late one night did he tarry there that she was well nigh asleep before he left her for his own room. And having put on him the finest and best scented shirt he had, and a night-cap of surpassing device, he • was well persuaded, on looking himself over, that there was not a lady in the world hard enough to refuse a man of such a grace and beauty. Wherefore, promising to himself a good issue of his adventure, he lay down on his bed, hoping not to make thereon a long stay, but to change it . for one more pleasant and honourable. And as soon as he had dismissed his servants he got up and shut the door behind them, and afterwards listened for a long while if he should hear any noise in the room of the princess. So when he was satisfied that all was quiet, he was fain to begin his pleasant travail, and little by little let down the trap-door, which, so well was it carpeted over, did not make so much as the least noise. And so he got into the room by the bed of the princess, who was now asleep. And straightway, heeding not the duty he owed her or th,e house from which she came, without with your leave, or by your leave, he got into bed with her, who felt herself in his arms, before she knew he was in the room. But she, being strong, got from between his hands, and having required of him who he was, fell to beating, biting, and scratching with such hearty good will that, for fear of her calling out, he would have stopped her mouth with the blanket ; but in this he was foiled, since the princess, seeing that he spared none of his resources to rob her of her honour, spared none of hers to defend it. So she called at the top of her voice to her maid of honour, an ancient and prudent dame, who slept with her, and she, clad only in her nightgear, ran to the help of her mistress. ' And when the gentlenian saw he was discovered, so great a fear had he of being recognised, that as fast as might be he departed by his trap-door ; and in like degree, as he had been desirous and well assured of a good reception when he was going, so now did he despair as he went back in such evil case. He found his mirror and candle upon the table, and beholding his countenance, that it was all bloody from the bites and scratches she had dealt him, he began to say : " Beauty ! thou Novel IV.] DAY THE FIRST. 29 hast received a wage according to thy deserving ; for by thine idle promise I attempted an impossible thing, and which, more- over, in place of increasing my happiness, hath made my sorrow greater than it was before ; since I am well assured that if she knew that I, against my solemn undertaking, had done this foolish thing, I should be cut off from that close and honourable commerce I aforetime had with her. And this I shall have well deserved, for to make my beauty and grace avail me any- thing, I should not have hidden them in the darkness ; I should not have attempted to carry that chaste body by assault ; but striven to gain her favour, till by patience and long service my love had gained the victory ; for without love all the power and might of men are as nothing." So, in such wise that I cannot tell, passed the night in tears, and regrets, and griefs ; and in the morning, so torn was his face, that he made pretence of great sickness, saying that he could not bear the light, even until the company was de- parted. The lady who had come off conqueror knew that there was none other in the prince's court who durst set about such an enterprise save her host, who had already had the boldness to make a declaration of love to her. So she, with her maid of honour, made search around her chamber to find how he could have made an entry. And not being able to find any place or trace thereof, she said to her companion in great wrath : " Be assured that it was none other than the lord of the house, and in such sort will I handle him on the morrow with my brother, that his head shall bear witness to my chastity." The maid of honour, seeing her so angered, said to her : "My lady, I am well pleased at the price you set on your honour, since the more to exalt it you would make sacrifice of the life of one who, for his love of you, has put it to this risk. But in this way one ofttimes lessens what one would fain increase. Wherefore, my lady, I do entreat you to tell me the whole truth of this matter." And when the princess had made a full account of the business, the maid of honour said to her : " Do you verily assure me that he had nothing from you but only scratches and fisticuffs ?" " I do assure you," said the lady, " and if he find not a rare mediciner, I am much mistaken if to-morrow his face do not bear evident witness to what I say." " Well, my 30 HEPTAMERON. ., [Novel IV. ]ady," said the maid of honour, " if it be as you say, it seems to me that you have rather occasion to thank God than to imagine vengeance ; for you may conceive that since this gentleman had a heart daring enough to attempt such a deed, you can award to him no punishment, nay, not death itself, that will not be easier to bear than his dolour at having failed therein. If you are fain to be revenged on him, leave him to his love and to his shame, and from them he will suffer more shrewdly than at your hands ; and if you have regard for your honour, beware lest you fell into the same pit as he, for in place of gaining the greatest delight he could desire, he is in the most shameful case that may hap to a gentleman. So you, good mistress, thinking to exalt your honour, may haply bring it to the dust ; for if you make advertisement of this afeir, you will cause to be blazed abroad what no one would ever know, since the gentleman, trust me, will throw but little light on the matter. ' And when my lord, your brother, shall do justice on him at your asking, and the poor gentleman goes forth to die, it will be noised abroad that he had his pleasure of you, and men will say that it is not to be believed a man could make such an attempt, if he had not before had of you some good matter of contentment. You are young and fair, living gaily amongst all, and there is no soul at court who has not seen your commerce with this man you have in suspicion, so all will determine that if he finished the work you began it. So your honour, which hitherto hath been mightily extolled, will become common matter of dispute wherever this story is related." The princess, considering the fair conclusions of the maid of honour, perceived that she had spoken the truth, and that with just cause would she be blamed, since both openly and privily she had always given a good reception to the gentleman, and so would have her woman tell her what was best to be done. And she answered her : " Good mistress, since it is your pleasure, seeing the love from whence they come, to give ear to my counsels, I think that you should be glad at heart for that the bravest and most gallant gentleman I have ever seen hath not been able to turn you from the path of true virtuous- ness. And for this you should humble yourself before God confessing that it is not your own strength or virtue, for women Novel IV.] DAY THE FIRST. 31 leading, beyond compare, straiter lives than you, have been brought to the dust by men less worthy of love than he. And henceforth, do you, avoid proposals of love and the like, for many that at the first got off scot-free, the second time have ftillen into the pit. Be mindful that Love is blind, and a causer of blindness, for it makes believe the path is sure, when in truth it is most slippery. And it is my mind that you should give him no sign as to what has taken place, and if he say anything on the matter, feign to understand him not, and so be quit of two perils ; the one of vainglory for your victory, the other of recalling to mind things that are pleasant to the flesh, ay, so pleasant are they that the chastest have much ado to quench all sparks of that fire they are most fain to avoid. And moreover, I counsel you, that he think not he hath done you any sort of pleasure, that you do, by small degrees, put a close to your intimacy with him, so he may perceive your misliking to what he hath done, and yet understand that so great is your goodness that you are content with the victory God hath given you, and desire no farther vengeance. And may God grant you to abide in your virtuousness of heart, and seeing that all good things are from Him, may you love and serve Him in better sort than afore." And the princess, determined to abide by these conclusions, gave herself to a sleep as joyful as her lover's wakefulness was sad. And on the morrow, the prince being about to depart, asked for his host, but they told him he was so sick as not to endure the daylight, or to speak with any one, whereat the prince was astonished and would have seen him, but being advised that he slept, he went forth from the house without so much as good-bye, and took with him his wife and sister. But she, hearing the put-ofFs of the gentleman, and that he would see neither the prince nor the company, was assured that he was the man who had so troubled her, and would not show the marks she had stamped upon his face. And though his master ofttimes sent for him, he would by no means return to court till he was healed of his wounds ; save those indeed that love ind shame had made upon his heart. And when he did return, ind found himself before his victorious foe, he blushed ; nay, ie who was most bold-faced of all the company, was in such ;ase that, often in her presence, he was struck dumb. At this, \ 32 HEPTAMERON. [Novel IV. being quite persuaded that her suspicion was truth, she by little and little severed herself from him, yet not by such slow degrees that he was not aware of it, but could say nothing lest he should fare worse, and patiently bore this punishment which he so well deserved. " Consider, ladies, this relation ; and let those who would gain what is not for them be warned by it. And hereby let ladies be of good heart, beholding the virtue of the young princess, and the wise counsels of her maid of honour. If like hap fall to any, let them seek herein the remedy." " It appears to me," said'Hircan, "that the gentleman of whom you speak was of so poor a heart, that he is not worthy to be had in memory, since having such an opportunity, neither the young woman nor the old one should have foiled him in his desire. And it is very evident his heart was not altogether filled by love, since there dwelt in it beside the fear of death and shame.'* Nomerfide replied to this : " But what would you have the poor gallant do, with two women against him ? " " He had done well to have slain the old dame," said Hircan ; " and when the maid found herself alone, she would have been half won." " To have slain her ! " said Nomerfide, " you would theti turn a lover into a murderer. Since you are of this advice, one should indeed fear to fall into your hands." " If I had brought it to such a point," said Hircan, " I should hold myself dis- honoured if I did not bring it to an end." "Whereupon said Geburon : " Truly is this a strange thing and marvellous in your eyes that a princess, nourished in all honour, should make strong resistance to a single man ? All the more then shall you be astonished to hear of a poor woman who escaped from the hands of two." " Geburon," said Ennasiutte, " I give my vote to you for the fifth novel, for I am assured you have that to tell of this woman that will not weary us." •' Since the lot is fallen upon me," said Geburon, " I will tell you a story which I know to be true, for in the place it occurred I myself have made inquisition concerning it. And by it you shall conclude that not only in princesses may virtue be discovered, and that they of great reputation in love-craft are sometimes found wanting therein." Novel v.] DAY THE FIRST. 33 NOVEL V. How two Grey Friars were by one poor woman left in the lurch. In the harbour of Coulon, hard by Niort, there lived a boatwoman, who, by day and night, carried people across the ferry. And it came to pass that two Grey Friars of the afore- said Niort were crossing over by themselves in her boat, where- upon, seeing that the passage is one of the longest in France, they began to crave love-dalliance, to which entreaties she gave the answer that became her. But they, who for all their journeying were not aweary, nor by reason of the water were acold, nor by her refusal ashamed, determined to have her by force, and if she made an outcry to throw her into the river. And she, whose wit was as good and sharp as their's was gross and evil, said to them : " I have not so hard a heart as I seem to have, but I entreat you to grant me two things, and then you shall perceive that I am readier to obey than you to command." So, the two Grey Friars swore by St. Francis that she should ask nothing of them that they would not grant, so long as she did them the pleasure they desired. " In the first place then," said she, " I require of you that you advertise no man of this matter." This they promised with great willingness. " And in the second place," she went on, "that you have yovir pleasure of me by turns, for this would be too great shame to have to do with the one before the face of the other. Determine, then, which shall first enjoy me." This likewise they deemed a reasonable thing, and the younger of the two granted his companion the prerogative. So when they drew near a small island she said to the former : " Holy father, do you tell your beads and tarry here, while I am gone with your companion to yonder island, and if, when he returns, he gives a good account of me, we will leave him, and you and I will go apart together." The young friar leapt on to the island, and awaited there his comrade's return, whom the boat- woman took off to another island. And when they had come alongside, the woman, making pretence to fasten her boat to a tree, said to him : " Do you go, sweetheart, and look for a place where we may dispose ourselves." The holy man got on to the island and searched about for some nook fit for the 34 HEPTAMEEON. [Novel V. purpose ; but no sooner did she see him on firm ground than she pushed off, and made for open water, leaving these two holy fathers to their deservings, for all the clamour they made to her. " Wait patiently, good sirs," said she, " for an angel to come and console you, for to-day you will have of me no pleasaunce." Then the two poor friars, finding they were tricked, fell down on their knees at the edge of the water, praying her not to entreat them thus shamefully, and promising that, if she would fairly bring them to port, they would ask nothing more of her. But, rowing the while, she called to them : " Truly I should be a thoroughpaced fool if, after escaping from your hands, I put myself between them again." And when she had got to the village, she went to call her husband, and the constables, that they might take these two wolves, fi-om whose teeth, by the grace of God, she had escaped. And so brave a company was made up that none stayed in the village, either great or small, that was fain to have a part in the' delight of this hunting. But when the poor friars saw such a sort of people coming against them, they hid themselves, each one in his island, like Adam when he saw that he was naked. For shame put their sin plainly before their eyes, and the fear of what would befall them had made them to tremble so that they were well-nigh amort. But nevertheless they were taken prisoners, with many a flout and jeer from the men and women. For the first would say : " These good fathers preach chastity, and straightway attempt our wives," and the second : " They are sepulchres whited without, but within full of death and rottenness." Then another would cry out : " The tree shall be known by his fruits." You may well conceive that all the pleas of the Gospel against hypocrites were brought out for these poor prisoners, who were succoured by their warden ; he coming in hot haste to this intent, and assuring the men of law that he would punish them in severer sort than if they had laymen for theii- judges. And to satisfy all he promised the friars should say as many masses as might be desired of them. The civil magistrate. granted the warden's desire, and he, being an upright man, they were used by him in such fashion that never after did they pass over a ferry without making the sign of the cross, and recommending themselves to God. JfovelV.] DAY THE FIRST. 35 " I entreat you, ladies, to consider, if this poor boatwoman liad the wit to cozen these evil men, what should be due from them who have both read and seen so many noble examples, and before whose eyes is ever the goodness of virtuous ladies ; so that indeed the virtue of ladies of gentle upbringing is not so much to be named virtue as habit ? But these women that know nothing, who do not hear in the twelve months more than two sermons, who have no leisure to think of aught else but gaining their daily bread, and who, when hard pressed, keep such ward over their virtue ; it is in these that one discovers true purity, indwelling in the heart; for when man's wit is smallest, God's work is greatest. Un- happy is the woman who keepeth not strict watch over this treasure, which, well guarded, is her glory, but otherwise is her shame." Longarine said to him : " Methinks, Geburon, it needs not such great virtue to refuse a Grey Friar, but rather I should esteem such an one impossible to be loved." " Longarine," replied Geburon, " they that are not accustomed to noble lovers do by no means despise a Grey Friar, for they are fine men enough, and lusty, and have a sweet repose about them which we lack ; they can talk like angels, and press maids as hard as the devil; wherefore these women of the poorer sort, who are not used to silk and plush, should be held virtuous if they resist the grey robe." Then in a loud voice said Nomei-fide : " Faith, you may say what you list, but I had rather be thrown into the water than lie with a Grey Friar." Laughing, Oisille said to her: "Are you, then, so good a jswimmer ? " This Nomerfide took in bad part, thinking that Oisille held her not in that repute she desired, wherefore wrath- fully she answered : " There are they that have refused more personable men than Grey Friars, without so loudly blowing their horn." Oisille, smiling to see her in a rage, said to her : " And there are they that have not refused, but yet do not beat the drum over loudly." Then said Geburon : " I am well assured that Nomerfide has somewhat to say, wherefore I give my vote to lier, that she may make for us some good relation." " What has been said," Nomerfide replied, " touches me so little, that it gives me neither joy nor grief. But, since I have your vote, I beseech you to listen to me, and I will show you that if one woman used craft to a good end, another used it for an evil 36 HEPTAMERON. [Novel VI. end. And for that we have sworn to speak the truth, I will conceal nothing, for since the virtuousness of the boatwomaii brings not honour to woman, if she follow not her ensample, so the vice of another cannot dishonour her, unless she be herself vicious. Wherefore, give ear." NOVEL VI. A woman's craftiness. Charles, last Duke of Alengon, had about his person an old body-servant, who had lost one eye, and had to wife a woman far younger than himself. And forasmuch as his master and mistress loved him as well as any of their folk, he was not able so often to see his wife as he desired, whence it fell out that she so far forgot her honour as to fall in love with a young man, which aiFair was so noised abroad that her husband was advertised of it. But even thus, he was fain to give the tale no belief, for the notable signs of love that his wife showed to him. All the same, one day he thought to put the matter to the touch, and to avenge himself, if he were able, on her who had done him this great shame. And to this intent he feigned to go away from that place for the space of three or four days. No sooner had he started out than the wife sent for her lover, who had scarce been half an hour with her when they heard the husband knocking at the door. But his wife, well knowing who it was, consoled her sweetheart, since in such affright was he that he had rather have been shut up in his mother's womb, and cursed the love that had brought him to such a pass. But she told him to fear nothing, inas- much as she would find some manner of conveying him away without open shame, and would have him put on his gear as quickly as might be. All this while the husband kept knock- ing at the door, and calling upon his wife at the top of his voice. But she feigned not to recognise it, and cried to the people of the house : " Wherefore do you not arise, and put to silence those who are making such a clamour at the door ? Is this the hour to come to the houses of honest people ? If my goodman were at home he would presently see to it." The husband, hearing the voice of his wife, still more loudly called Novel VI.] DAY THE PIEST. 37 to her : " Wife, open I say ; would you have me tarry here till dawn ?" And when she perceived her sweetheart was ready to go forth, she threw open the door, and said to her husband : "Dear husband, with what contentment do I behold your return, for I have dreamt a marvellous dream, and was filled with great joy, since it was that you had recovered the sight of your eye." And embracing and kissing him she took him by the head and closed with one hand his good eye, saying to him : "See you not better than you are wont ? " And at that moment, while he saw not at all, she signed her sweetheart to get him gone. But though the husband saw nothing yet he suspected a good deal, and said to his wife : " Of a verity, wife, I will keep no more watch over you, for thinking to cozen you, I myself have experienced a mighty pretty, piece of cozenage. May God mend you, for no man in the world can put a close to the wickedness of a woman, save he kill her outright. But seeing my kind entreating of you has availed nothing, perchance the scorn I shall henceforth think of you will be in some sort a punishment." So saying he went forth and left his wife a widow ; but nevertheless, through the prayers and tears of herself and her friends, he at last returned to her. " Herein, ladies, you may discover how subtile a thing is a woman to escape danger. And. if, for the concealing of evil, het wit is so sharp to find some means, I believe that, to avoid evil or to do good, it would be yet sharper, since, as I have always heard, the minds of the good are more powerful than the minds of the evil.^' To this Mircan said : " Extol your craftiness as you will, but I think this of you, that if you had been in this woman's place you could not have concealed the matter." " I had as lief," said Nomerfide, " that you thought me the most foolish woman upon earth." " Such," said Hircan, " was not my intent, but that if there were slander against you, you would be in great aifray, and not consider how you could stop men's mouths." "You think," said Nomerfide, "that everyone is as you, who with one scandal patch up another. But the danger is that at last a patch make a rent where all is sound, and the foundations have such a weight of patch- work upon them that the whole house come to the ground. Yet, if you think that these schemes of yours excel those of women, I give place for you to tell the seventh novel. And if 38 HEPTAMERON. [Novel VII, you bring yourself into it, I warrant me we'll hear enough of wickedness." " I am not here," said Hircan, " to make myself out worse than I am, for there are those who tell me that I am bad enough." And so saying he looked towards his wife, who straightway spoke to him : " Be not afraid to tell the truth for that I am here, since I can easier bear to hear the story of your crafty ways than see them done under my eyes, though indeed I think there is nothing that will lessen my love for you.'* Hircan replied: " On this account I make no complaint of all the lying tales you have believed concerning me. Wherefore,, since we have so good a knowledge the one of the other, the future is made more secure. But I am not so foolish as to tell a tale of myself, the very truth of which would be your grief; natheless I will tell you one of a gentleman who was very dear to me." NOVEL VII. The ready wit of a Paris mercer. In the town of Paris there lived a mercer, who was amorous of a young' wench his neighbour, or, to speak by book, the wench was by far more amorous of him than he of her. For all his love-making and dalliance was but a pretence, whereby he concealed his love for a more honourable lady j but this wench, who let herself be cozened by him, loved him so hotly as to have quite forgotten the way to refuse. So the mercer, who before had taken much pains to go where he might find her, at last ended by making her come and find him. And this being brought to the mother, who was an honest woman, she straightly charged the wench to have no more deal- ings with the mercer, or she should be clapped up in a nunnery. But the girl, who had a love for the man greater than was her fear for her mother, sought him out all the more. And one day it fell out that, being all alone in a closet, the mercer came in unto her, and deeming the place a fitting one, fell to that kind of talk with her that wants two and not three. But a serving-maid, who saw him going in, ran quickly and advertised the mother of it, and she went thither in great wrath. And when the wench heard her coming, she said weeping to the mercer: "Alas, alas, sweetheart, this love of mine will cost Novel VII.] DAY THE FIRST. 89 me dear, for hither comes my mother, who will discover to be true that which she had always dreaded." The mercer, who was by no means troubled or afFrayed, straightway left her, and going to her mother, caught her in his arms, and with the rage that was half-spent on the daughter threw the old woman on a small bed. And she, not knowing what to make of this device, could scarcely speak a word but : " What would you ? Are you mad ?" But for all that he pressed as hard and fast on her as if she had been the rarest beauty in the world, and had she not lifted up her voice and brought her servants to her rescue she would have gone the same gate she was afraid her daughter had passed through. However, by main force they wrenched the poor old dame from between the hands of the mercer, and to her dying day she could never find out for what reason she had been used in this fashion. As for the wench she got her away to a house hardby, where there was a wed- ding, and stayed there till all was quiet. And many an honest laugh did she and the mercer have together at the expense of the old dame, who never got any light on the matter. " In which relation, ladies, you see how the subtilty of a man cozened an old dame and saved the honour of a wench. But anyone who could name names, and saw the face of the mercer, and the amazement of the old woman, would have to be very tender of his conscience, did he not laugh. It is enough for me to have clearly shown to you that the wit of men is as ready as that of women in their hour of need, where- fore f(?ar not to fall into the hands of men, for if your own wit fail you theirs will not, and your honour shall be in no peril." " Truly, Hircan," said Longarine, " I do not deny that the relation is pleasant, and the wit beyond compare, but the wench's part is not an ensample to other girls. I doubt not you know maids whom you would fain have follow in her steps ; but you are surely not fool enough to wish your wife, or any woman of whose honour you make more account than her pleasure, to play such games as these. I verily believe there is none who would more closely keep watch and ward upon them than you." "Pardy," said Hircan, "if she of whom you speak had gone and done likewise, I would think no worse of her, if I knew nothing about it. And indeed, for all I know, some one may have served me in this fashion. But 40 HEPTAMEEON. [Novel VIII. knowing nothing, I care nothing." Parlamente could not refrain from saying : "Needs must be that the evil man is full of suspicion ; but happy are they who have no suspicion, and give no occasion for it." Longarine said : " I have never seen a great fire from which there came no smoke; but I have plainly seen smoke arising from no fire. For one is as often suspected by the wicked when there is no cause as when there is." To whom replied Hircan : " Truly, Longarine, you have made so fine a defence of the honour of wrongly-suspected ladies, that I give you my vote for the eighth novel ; in which take heed that you make us not to weep, as did Oisille, by your marvellous praise of honourable women." Longarine, herself laughing mightily, began to speak : " Since you are fain for me to make you laugh, as is my custom, I will do so, yet not at the expense of women ; but my story shall be of how easy they are to be deceived, when jealousy is their humour, and they esteem themselves well able to deceive their husbands," NOVEL VIII. Of one who on his own head engrafted horns. In the county of Alet, there was a man. named Bomet, who being married to a woman of honour, had for her good name such a regard as I suppose all husbands here present have for that of their wives. But though he was fain for her to be without reproach, yet this law of his did not press on husband and wife with equal rigour, for he loved his serving-maid, from whom he could get no more delight than that arising from a diversity of meats. Now he had a neighbour named Sandras, a drum-maker and tailor ; and there was such friendship betwixt them that, except the wife, they had all things in com- mon. So to this Sandras he made known the enterprise he had undertaken against the serving-maid, who not only thought well of it, but gave his friend all the aid in his power to bring matters to a conclusion, since he had good hope of dividing the spoil. The wench, who would by no means con- sent, seeing herself hard-pressed on every side, went to her mistress, and prayed her that she might go home to her kins- folk, since she could no longer live in such torment. The wife. Novel VIII.] DAY THE FIRST. 41 ■who greatly loved her husband, and had before had some sus- picion of him, was mightily pleased to hear this, thinking to show him that her jealousy was not altogether without foundation ; and so said to the girl : " Do you, by little and little, entice my husband and then make appointment with him to lie with you in my closet, failing not to tell me the night agreed upon ; and above all take heed that none be advised of this." All this the maid performed, and so much to the pleasing of her master, that he went to his friend to make known the good tidings. And he, since he had helped to fight the fight, entreated a share in the victory. This being granted, and the hour determined, the master went to lie, as he thought, with his maid, but his wife, who had renounced the authority of commanding for the pleasure of obeying, had put herself in place of the serving-maid, and received her husband not after the fashion of a wife, but like a timid and frightened girl. And this she did so well that her husband perceived nothing. I cannot tell you which of the two had most delight, he at the thought of cozening his wife, or she at the thought of cozening her husband. And when he had remained with her, npt according to his wish but according to his power, for he began to feel that he was an old married man, he went outside the house and found his friend, who was by far younger and handsomer than he, and boasting to him that a sweeter morsel he had never tasted, his friend said : " You know what you promised me ?" " Come then, and quickly," said the master, " or she will have got up^ or my wife may require her." His friend went, and found still there the serving-maid, who, taking him for her husband, refused him nothing he liked to ask. Much longer stay did he make than the husband, at which the wife was in amaze, for it was not her custom to have such work of nights ; all the same, she bore it patiently ; for- tifying herself with the discourse she would have with her husband in the morning, and the jeers she would make at him. But a little while before dawn he got up from her, and in taking a last taste before he went, he snatched a ring off her finger, the same with which her husband had espoused her. And this ring of espousal the women of that country hold in high honour, and have in great regard the woman who keeps her ring even unto death. But on the other hand, if she loses 42 ^ HEPTAMEKON. [Novel VIII. it, she is held in no account, and esteemed as one who has given her faith to another than her husband. And she was glad to see him take it, thinking it would be sure proof of the deceit she had laid upon him. And when Sandras returned to Bornet, the latter asked of him what his hap had been, to whom he replied that he had fared excellently well, and that if it had not been that the day was breaking he would have stayed still longer. And then they betook them to a most hearty sleep. But in the morning, as they were dressing, the husband perceived the ring his companion wore on his finger made in the exact likeness of the one he had given his wife at their betrothal, and so required of Sandras whence it came. But when he heard that it wgs snatched from the finger of the serving-maid, he was in grjeat aifray, and fell to knocking his head against the wall, sayirag : " Oddsfish ! have I then made myself a cuckold, without the knowledge of my wife ?" His companion, for his consolatioaj, said : " Perchance your wife gave the ring to the wench for her to take care of it." To this the husband had nothing to say, but gat him home -straightway, where he found his wife prettier, gayer, and more frolicsome than was her custom, as was indeed to have been looked for in a wife who had saved her maid's conscience, and sounded her husband to the depths, at the srtiall price of a sleepless night. He, seeing her with so pleasant a countenance, said within himself : " Did she but know of what has been done, she would have an otherguise visage." And making discourse on various concerns he took her by the hand, and perceived that she had not her ring, whereat in great affray, and with a tremor in his voice, he asked her : " What have you done with your ring ?" But she, glad that he had brought that matter into discourse, from which it was her mind to draw out some points to his edification, made this beginning : " O thou vilest of men ! From whom, think you, did you ravish it ? In good sooth from my maid, on whose behalf you poured forth more of your substance dian ever fell to my share ; for the first time you were bedded with me I judged you to be as vigorous as you were able. But after you had gone out and come back again you seemed the incar- nate devil of concupiscence. Wretch ! conceive your blindness in praising so much this poor body of mine, which you have enjoyed Novel VIII.] DAY THE i'lRST. 4.3 a year without placing it in any great esteem. It was not then the beauty or the breasts of the maid that gave you such great delight, but the deadly sin of lust which enflames your heart and so enfeebles your reason, that I verily believe in that mad heat of yours you would have taken a she-goat in a nightcap for a girl of surpassing comeliness. Of a truth, husband, it is time for you to cleanse your ways, and to be as content with what I can give you, in my proper person as a good wife and an honest woman, as you were when you took me for a naughty quean. This that I have done has been for the correction of your evil ways, and to the end that in our old age we may love one another with an honest love and a good conscience. For if you will still continue in your former manner of living, I had rather be severed firom you than see from day to day before mine eyes the ruin of your soul, body, and substance. Biit if you will bring to mind the wickedness of your heart and live obediently to the law of God, faithfully observing his command- ments, I will forget your sins that are past, as I trust God will forget my sin, who have not loved him as I ought." Who then was in despair but this poor husband ? For he had abandoned this wise and chaste wife of his for a wench that loved him not, and, worse than this, had, without her know- . ledge, made her a strumpet, and caused another man to share in that delight which was for him alone. So well had he made him horns of everlasting derision. But seeing his wife, how wrath she was at his love for the serving-maid, he took good care to tell her nothing of the evil turn he had done her ; and giving her back the ring, asked her pardon, and promised an entire amendment of his former iniquitous living. And he strictly charged his friend to tell no man anything ; but since what is whispered in the ear is ere long proclaimed from the housetop, the whole truth became known, and making no account of his wife, all folk called him cuckold. " It appears to me, ladies, that if all who have committed a like oifence against their wives, should receive like punishment, Hircan and Saffredent would have shrewd cause for fear." At this SafFredent said : "What, Longarine, of all this company are Hircan and I alone married ?" " Many there are married," quoth she, " but no other who would play a game like this." « Whence had you," said Saffredent, « that we have attempted 44 HEPTAMERON. [Novel VIII. our wives' serving-maids ?" " If they, whom this discourse pricks, were to speak the whole truth, they could tell us of many a wench that had notice of dismission and her quarterage." *' Truly," said Geburon, " you are a fine lady who, in place of affording us our promised laughter, have given occasion of wrath to these two gentlemen." "'Tis all one," replied Longarine, " so long as their swords are sheathed their anger will serve but to increase our diversion." " Goodly diversion is this," said Hircan, "which, if our wives gave credit to her.. tale, would make an uproar in the best ordered household in the company." " I know well what I am saying," answered she, " for so well do your wives love you that, if you were to give them horns as big as stags', they woiild willingly persuade themselves and all beside that they were garlands of roses." At this the whole company, and even the wives aforesaid, fell to laughing in such wise that the discourse came to an end.^ But Dagoucin, who hitherto had kept silence, must needs sav.y ; *' Man is, in truth, irrational, since when he has good matten-rof contentment at home, he must needs go and search fcg^r it abroad. For I have often seen men, through their lust of gaining more, and their ill-liking to what should suffice them, fall into far worse case than they were before, and so get their deserts, for fickleness is well worthy of blame." Simontault said to this : " But what do you say as to those who have not found their other half? Call you it fickleness to seek every quarter, if haply they may find it ?" " Ay, verily I do, and for this reason — that man knoweth not where to look for this other half, with whom there is such perfect union that the one differs not from the other. Wherefore love should be stead- fastly fixed, and in whatever hap, change not its heart or inclination, for if she whom you love is like to yourself, so that there is but one will between you, then it is yourself you love and not her." "Dagoucin," said Hircan, "this position of yours is false, as if we should bear love to women by whom we are not beloved." " My intent is," answered Dagoucin, "to maintain that when love is bottomed merely upon the beauty, gracious ways, or wealth of a woman, and our aim be only pleasure, honour, or profit, that love will not long endure. For when that upon which we found our love becomes wanting, the love itself perishes. But I am steadfast in my opinion. Novel VIIL DAY THE FIRST. 43 that he who loves, and desires nothing better than to love with a perfect love, will cling to this love while his soul clings to his body." " Pardy," said Simontault, " I cannot believe that you have ever been in love, for if you had felt this fire like other men, you would not treat us in this fashion with a Republic like Plato's, that has life only on paper." " Not so," said Dagoucin, "I ha,ve loved, do still love, and while I live, will love. But 1 have so great a fear lest, when I make manifest this love, I thereby do injustice to its perfection, that I conceal it even from her of whom I desire a like, return. Hardly indeed do I suffer it to enter my thoughts, lest my eyes make revelation of it, for so much the more that I keep this fire hidden out of sight, so the more earnestly do I delight to kqow that it is perfect and without stain." "Yet," said Geburon, " I am well assured that to be loved in return would not be to your misliking." " This I acknowledge, but since my love is not lessened for that it is not returned, so it would not be increased if it were returned." "Whereupon Parlamente, who held this fantasy in small favour, said : " Take care, Dagoucin, for I have seen others beside you who had rather die than speak." " These, mistress," answered Dagoucin, " I deem exceeding happy." " Even so," said SafFredent, " and well deserving a place among the Innocents, of whom the church sings : Non loquendo, sed moriendo confessi sunt. I have heard much of these feeble lovers, but never yet stood I at the death- bed of one of them. And since I have come scot-free from all my dolours, I believe not that anot<|^r man will die of such woes." " How then," said Dagoucin, " do you expect to be loved ? But lovers of your sort need never fear death. Yet have I known many an one to whom death came by no sick- ness but love." "Since you are advised of such," said Longarine, " I give you my vote for the telling some pleasant story that shall be the ninth novel." "To the intent," he replied, " that your faith may be confirmed by signs and miracles, I will tell you an authentic history, which came to pass not three years ago." ' 4G HEPTAMERON. [Novel IX. NOVEL IX. A relation of a perfect love, and the pitiful end thereof. In the coasts of Dauphine and Provence there lived a gentle- man whose riches stood rather in virtuousness, a brave address, and an honourable heart, than in gold or worldly gear. And he loved a maid, as to whose name I will say nothing, sinfce she came of a most illustrious house ; but be you none the less assured that my tale is the whole truth. And for that he came not of such gentle blood as she did, he was unwilling to make manifest his love to her, since this love of his was so perfect that he would rather die than cause her any dishonour. So perceiving that, compared with her, he was of low estate, he had no hope of marrying with her. Wherefore his love was bottomed upon this and this alone — to love her with all his whole might ; and this he did, and for so long a time that at last she was advised thereof. And seeing that the love he bore her was honourable, and bore fruit in seemly and virtuous talk, she was well pleased to be loved by such an one, and carried herself so graciously toward him that he, who hoped for nothing better, was well contented therein. But malice, that suffers no one of us to be at rest, could not leave this goodly manner of living in peace, for certain ones must needs go tell the mother that it was matter of astonishment to them that this gentleman was made of such account in her house, that it was common talk that the daughter brought him there, and that she had often been seen to talk with him. The mother, who had no more doubt as to this gentleman's honour than that of her own children, was much troubled to hear his presence was taken in bad part, so that at last, fearing the scandalous tongues of men, she entreated him that for some while he would come no more to her house as his custom had been. And this he found tough matter of digestion, knowing that the honest talk he had with the maid deserved not this estrangement. All the same, to shut evil mouths, he kept away for some time, till the rumour was hushed, and then went as before, his love being in no wise lessened by absence. But one day, being in the house, he heard some talk of marrying his mistress to a gentleman who was not so rich as to rightly carry l^ovellX.] DAY THE FIRST. 47 this point over him. So he forthwith took heart, and began to use his friends' offices on his behalf, thinking that if the lady had to choose he would be preferred. But the mother and kinsfolk chose the other man, for that he had the greater wealth, at which the poor gentleman took so much despair, knowing his sweetheart to be as much grieved as himself, that little by little, without any sickness, he began to consume away, and in a short time was so much changed that he seemed to have covered the beauty of his face with the mask of death, whither hour by hour he was joyously hastening. Yet he could not restrain himself from going to speak as often as might be with her he loved so well. But at last, since his strength failed him, he was constrained to keep to his bed, not wishing his mistress to be advertised of this lest she too should have part in his woe. And giving himself up to black choler and despair, he left off both drinking and eating, sleep and rest, in such sort that for the wasting away of his counten- ance he could scarcely be known. And some one bringing tidings of this to the mother of the maid, she, being a woman full of charity, and liking the gentleman in such fashion that if the kinsfolk had been of her and her daughter's mind, she would have been better pleased with his honest heart than all the riches of another, went to see this unfortunate, whom she found more dead than alive. And perceiving that his end drew near, he had that morning made confession of his sins, and received the blessed sacrament, thinking to die without the sight of any one. But though he was within a span of death, when he saw her enter who was for him the resurrection and the life, he was so much revived that, starting up from his bed, he said to the mother : " What has brought you here, mistress, to visit him who has one foot in the grave, and of whose death you are the cause ?" " How can it be," she said, *'that you receive death from our hands, who love you so well ? I pray you tell me wherefore you hold this manner of discourse." " Mistress," said he. " although I have, as far as lay within me, concealed the love I bore your daughter, yet my kinsfolk in speaking of our marriage have made too evident my thoughts. Hence I have lost hope, not on account of my privy pleasure, but because I know that at the hands of no other man will she receive as good love and contentment. Her loss 48 HEPTAMEKOK. [Novel IX. of the best and most affectionate friend she has in the world does me more hurt than the loss of my life, which for her sake alone I was fain to preserve. But since it can now no more avail her anything, the loss of it is to me great gain." At this discourse the mother and daughter laboured to console him, the mother saying : " Take heart, my friend, for if- it please God to give you back your health, I promise you my daughter shall be your wife. See ! she is here, and I command her also to make this promise to you." And the daughter, with much weeping, laboured to assure him of that her mother promised. But he, well knowing that if he recovered his health, he could not have her to wife, and that all this pleasant talk of theirs was only in some sort to revive him, answered them that if they had said all this three months ago he would be the stoutest and the most happy of all the gentlemen in France, but that help had come too late to him, for whom hope was no more. And when he saw that they still laboured to persuade him he spoke as follows : " Since you, on account of my feeble case, promise to me that which, even if you would have it so, can never pertain to me, I ask you to grant me somewhat less, which I have never had the boldness to require at your hands." Straightway they promised, and confirmed their promise with an oath, whereupon he said : " I beseech you that you place her whom you pledge me for a wife between my arms, and charge her that she both embrace and kiss me." The maid, not accustomed to such dalliance, made some difficulty, but her mother straightly charged her, seeing that the gentleman was rather to be counted among the dead than the living, and she went up to the bed of the sick man, saying to him : " Sweet- heart, I pray thee be of good cheer." Then this poor soul stretched out his arms, all skin and bone, as well as he could, and kissed with a fervent kiss the cause of his death, and hold- ing her to his cold and bloodless mouth kept her there as long as he could. And furthermore he spoke to her : " The love I have had towards you hath been so seemly and honest that I have never desired more bliss of you than that I now possess, by which, and with which I gladly commend my soul to God, who is perfect love, who knoweth my soul that it is great, and my love that it is without stain. And now, since within my arms I hold my desire, I entreat Him in His arms to take my Novel IX.] DAY THE FIRST. 49 soul." And at this he pressed her between his arms with such good will that his enfeebled heart was not able to bear it, and was voided of its radical humours, which joy had so used that his soul fled her seat and returned to her Creator. And though the poor body had lain a long while without life, and was therefore unable any more to hold fast its treasure, the love which the maiden had always kept concealed was now made so manifest that her mother and the servants had much ado to draw them apart ; but by force they took at last the living- dead from the dead, for whom they made honourable burial. And of this the crowning point was in the weeping and lamentations of that poor maid, who in like measure, as she had kept her secret while her lover was yet alive, so made it manifest when he was dead, as if in some sort to make satisfac- tion for the wrong she had done him. And notwithstanding that they gave her a husband for her contentment, never more, so the story goes, did she take any pleasure in her life. "Do you not agree, gentlemen, though you would not before believe me, that this example suffices to prove that perfect love may bring men to death, if it be top much hidden from view ? There is none amongst you who does not know the kinsfolk on both sides, -yvherefore there is no room for you to doubt that it is the truth." At this the ladies with one con- sent fell to weeping, but Hircan said to them : " Verily he was the greatest fool of whom I have ever heard. Is it according to reason, prithee, that we should die for women, who are made but for us ? or that we should be afraid to require of them what God has commanded them to give us ? I speak not for myself or married men, for. I have as much as I desire, but my words are for those in need, whom I account fools to be afraid of those who should be afraid of them. And do you not mark how great was this maiden's regret for her folly ? Since, if she would embrace the body of a dead man — a thing against nature — how much the more would she have embraced him when alive, had he had courage to require it of her." " All the same," said Oisille, " the gentleman most plainly dis- played how honourable a love he had towards her, and for this he is worthy to be had in everlasting remembrance, for to find c|iastity in an enamoured heart, this, indeed, is mighty rare." "Mistress," said Saffredent, "to confirm the opinion of Hircan, 50 ' HEPTAMERON. [Novel IX. Avhich is likewise mine, I would have you believe that fortune favours the daring, and that there is no man beloved by woman who, if he do his courting with wisdom and gracious ways, will not attain at last to the desire of his heart ; but ignorance and a foolish fear makes us lose many a good chance, and we then put down our loss to our mistress' virtue, when we have not so much as touched her with the tips of our fingers. Believe me, a fortress assailed is a fortress gained," " I am astonished," said Parlamente, " that you two dare hold such discourse. The ladies you have loved owe you but little thanks, or you have done your service in so bad a quarter that you think all women are like these queans of yours." " I," replied Salfredent, "have the misfortune not to be able to boast of any great success ; but I lay my bad luck less to the virtue of the ladies than to my own lack of wisdom and fore- thought in going about the matter, and to this intent will put, in the words of the old woman in the Romance of the Rose : *We are all made, fair sirs, for one another; every woman for every man, and every man for every woman.' Where- fore I cannot believe but that, when love is once in session on a woman's heart, her lover will bring matters to a good conclusion, if he be not plainly a blockhead." Parlamente said: "But if I could name a woman, strongly beloved, strongly importuned, and strongly pressed, and all the while an honest woman, victorious over her flesh, her love, and her lover, would you not believe it for the truth that it is ?" " Why yes," said he, " Then- indeed," said Parlamente, " you would be hard of faith and slow to believe if you were not won by an example I could give you." Dagoucin said to her : " Mistress, since I have shown, by an example, how a virtuous man loved even unto death, I beseech you, if you know any such relation as to woman, to tell it and so bring to a close this day's entertainment, and fear not to speak somewhat at length, for there yet remains abundance of time to discourse many a pleasant case." " Since then," said Parlamente, " I am to bring a close to the day, I will not make a long beginning to my story, for so fine a history have I to relate that I am fein you as well as I should know it. And though my eyes have informed me nothing concerning it, I was told it by one of my most familiar firiends to the praise of the man who had of all the world loved JTovelX.] DAY THE FIRST. 51 most. And he enjoined me that, if I ever told it, I should •change the name of the persons therein ; so thati t is, excepting names and places, the whole truth and nothing else." NOVEL X. Florida, hard pressed by her lover, virtuously resists him, and on his death takes the veil. In the county of Aranda, in Aragon, there lived a lady who, while yet in her first youth, was left a widow by the Count of Aranda," with a son and a daughter, the daughter's name being Florida. This lady aforesaid laboured to bring up her children in all virtuousness of living as appertains to those of gentle blood, and in such sort that her household was com- monly accounted one "of the most honourable in all the coasts of Spain. She often went to Toledo, where the King held his court, and when she came to Sarragossa, which was not far from her house, she would tarry a long while with the Queen and the Court, amongst whom she was held in as great esteem as might be. On one day going, as her manner was, to stand in the presence of the King where he was near Sarragossa in his castle of Jasserye, she passed through a village pertaining to the Viceroy of Catalonia, who was not used to stir beyond the coasts of Perpignan, for the great wars between the Kings of France and Spain. But it so fell out that at this time there was peace, wherefore the Viceroy and all his captains had come to do their suit and service to the King. And the Viceroy, being advised that the Countess of Aranda passed through his domain, went to meet her both for the ancient friendship that was between them and to do her honour as a kinswoman of the King. Now he had in his company many honourable gentlemen, who by the long continuance of the wars had gained so much glory and good report that any one who could see them and resort to them counted himself happy on that account. And amongst the rest there was one named Araadour who, although he was but eighteen or nineteen years of age, had so well- assured a grace, and so good an understanding, that he would have been chosen out from a thousand as worthy the office of a governor. True it is that this good understanding was con- 52 HEPTAMEEON. [Novel X. joined with such beauty that no eye could do but look upon him, and though this beauty was of so excellent a kind, yet it was hard pressed by his manner of speaking ; so that men knew not where to bestow the palm, to his grace, his beauty, or the words of his mouth. But that for which .he was most of all esteemed was his surpassing bravery, notwithstanding he was so young, for in so many places had he shown the strength of his arm that not only in all the coasts of Spain, but also in France and Italy, were his virtues held in great account, and with good reason, since in no fight did he spare himself ; and when his own country was at peace he would seek for wars in foreign lands, where likewise he was beloved as well by enemies as friends. This gentleman, for the love he bore his general, came with him to his domain, whither the Countess of Aranda was arrived ; and as he looked upon the beauty and grace of her daughter Florida, then about twelve years old, he thought within himself that she was the sweetest he had ever beheld, and that could he gain her favour it would do him more pleasure than anything whatsoever he might win from another woman. And after for a long while fixing his regard upon her, he resolved to give her his love, although reason made plain to him that he desired impossible things, as much for that she was of a most noble house as for her tender years, which as yet were not fit to listen to the discourse he was fain to make to her. But against this fear he strengthened himself with hope, promising himself that time and patience would bring a happy issue to his undertaking, and from henceforth the great love that was entered into his heart assured him of means of attaining thereto. And to surpass the greatest diflSculty of all, that was the remoteness of his own land, and his few opportunities of seeing Florida, he was resolved to marry, contrary to what he had determined while he was with the dames of Barcelona and Perpignan, where he was held in such account that few or none would have refused him. And so long had he tarried in these coasts, by reason of the wars, that his speech smacked rather of Catalonia than Castille, although he was born near Toledo of a wealthy and honour- able house, but being a younger son, he had no inheritance. So, perchance, it came to pass that Love and Fortune, seeing Novel X.] DAY THE FIRST. 53 him abandoned of his kinsfolk, determined to make a masterpiece of him, and by means of his virtuousness and courage granted him what he could not obtain from the laws of his country. Such good skill had he in the craft of war, and so well-beloved was he by lords and princes, that he more frequently refused their employ than asked for it. The Countess then has come to Sarragossa, and has been graciously received by the King and his Court. The Viceroy of Catalonia often came to visit her, and Amadour never failed to accompany him, only that he might have the delight of look- ing upon Florida, for of speaking to her he had no opportunity. So to make himself known in such good company he addressed himself to the daughter of an old knight, his neighbour, whose- name was Aventurada, and who had such converse with Florida that she knew what was in the depths of her heart. Amadour, whether for the graciousness he found in her, or for the three thousand ducats a year that was her dowry, determined to talk to her as one he desired to marry. And willingly did she give ear to him, but seeing that he was poor and her father rich, she thought that he would never give her in marriage to Amadour unless by the entreaty of the Countess of Aranda. Wherefore she addressed herself to Florida, saying : " You have seen that young gentleman of Castille often speaking with me, and I am persuaded that his intent is to ask me in marriage. You know too what kind of father I have, and that he will never consent thereto, if he be not strongly entreated of the Countess and yourself." Florida, who loved her as herself, promised that she would lay this to heart as if it wefe for her own peculiar good ; and Aventurada accomplished so much as to present Amadour to her, who on kissing of her hand was like to have swooned away for joy. And he, who was ac- counted the readiest speaker in all Spain, was so affected in her presence that he stood dumb ; and this was matter of great surprise to her, who, although she was but twelve years old, had well understood that no man in Spain could say what he wished more readily or with a better grace. So seeing that he said nothing, she began thus : " The renown that you have won, my lord, in all the coasts of Spain is so great as to make you well known in this Court, and causes those who are of your acquaint- 54 HEPTAMERON. [Novel X- ance to desire to employ themselves in your service ; wherefore^ if there is anything wherein I can aid you, I am at your com- mand." Amadour fixing his eyes upon her beauty was thereby possessed with such a ravishment, that he could hardly find words to give her his hearty thanks, whereupon Florida, astonished to find him thus dumb, but putting it down to some fantasy and not to the power of love, went from his presence without another word. Amadour, perceiving the goodness which even in early youth began to show itself in Florida, said to her whom he intended for his wife : " Marvel not that in the presence of Mistress Florida I lost all power of speech, since the virtues and the wisdom which are contained in one of so few years in such wise astonished me that I knew not what to say. But, prithee, tell me, Aventurada, who know all her secrets, whether every heart at Court is not in love with her, for verily they who know her and love her not are either hard as rocks or senseless as beasts." Aventurada, who by this time loved Amadour better than all the men in the world, would not conceal aught from him, and so told him that Florida was beloved of all, but by the custom of the land few spoke to her, and still fewer — nay, only two — ^paid any court towards her. And these two were Spanish Princes, of whom one was the son of the Fortunate Infante, the other the young Duke of Cardona. " Prithee, then, tell me which she loves best." " She is so prudent," said Aventurada, " that she would never confess to having any will besides her mother's in the matter ; natheless, as far as my wit goes, I am persuaded she loves the son of the Fortunate Infante above the Duke of Cardona. But to her mother Cardona is most agreeable, since in the case of their being wed she would have her daughter always by her. And of such good judgment do I esteem you that this very day, if it is your pleasure, you may come to a conclusion, for the son of the Fortunate Infante is being nurtured in this Court, and is one of the bravest and most admirable young princes in Christen- dom. And if we maids had the disposing of the matter he would be well assured o£ his bride, and we should have the fairest couple in all Spain. You must understand that, although they are both young, she twelveand he but fifteen, it is already three years since the courtship began, and if you would have Novel X.] DAT THE FIRST. 65 her favour, I would counsel you to make yourself his faithful friend and follower." Araadour was in great delight to hear she was in love with something, hoping that in time he might gain the place, not of husband but of lover, for it was not her virtue that he feared, but lest she should have no love whatever in her temperament. And soon after these passages he began to be constantly in company with the son of the Fortunate Infante, whose good graces he easily obtained, for in whatsoever pastime the young prince took delight he was well skilled, and above all in the practice of horsemanship, and in sword play, and to be short in all the games which it is becoming in a prince to know. But war broke out in Languedoc, and needs must that Amadour return with the governor, which indeed was great grief to him, since it took away the possibility of his seeing Florida ; where- fore on his setting out he told a brother of his, who was chamberlain to the King, of the good match he had made in the person of Aventurada, and prayed him that in his absence he would do all that lay within him to forward the marriage, thereto employing the favour he had with the King and Queen and all his friends. The gentleman, who loved his brother not only for his kinsmanship but also for his excellent endow- ments, promised him to use his best endeavours, and moreover did so, inasmuch as the father, a surly old miser, laid by his natural complexion and paid some regard to the virtues of Amadour, which the Countess of Aranda, and above all Mistress Florida, took care to set before him. Also in this they were aided by the young Count of Aranda, who as he grew in years began to esteem brave men. So the marriage having been agreed upon by the kinsfolk on either side, the King's chamber- Iain sent for his brother, since a lasting truce had been made between the two Kings. About this time the King of Spain betook himself to Madrid for the avoiding of the bad air that prevailed where he was, and at the advice of his Privy Council, and the request of the Countess of Aranda, he gave consent to the marriage of the Duchess of Medina-Celi with the young Count of Aranda, no less for their contentment and the union of their houses than for the love he bore tovirards the Countess ; and so was pleased that the marriage should be solemnised in his castle at 66 HEPTAMEROSr. [Novel X. Madrid. And at the marriage feast was present Amadour, who used such good means on his own account that he was wedded to the lady whose love for' him was beyond compare greater than his for her. But to be short, he held his wife only as a cloak to conceal his liking to another, and a means whereby he might be incessantly in Florida's company. After that he was married he entered into all the privity of the Countess of Aranda's household, where they paid no more heed to him than if he had been a woman. And though at this time he had not seen more than twenty-two years, yet so sage was he that the Countess would make known to him all heir occasions, and enjoined her son to discourse with him and give ear to all his counsels. And having attained this high point in their esteem, he kept himself so prudently and coldly that even she whom he loved knew nothing of his thoughts. But since Florida loved his wife above all others, she trusted in him in such sort that she concealed from him nothing, and' at this time opened to him all the love she had for the Fortunate Infante. So he, who sought but one thing, to gain her alto- gether for himself, talked to her always of the prince, for it mattered not one whit to him what the subject of their dis- course might be so that it lasted a long time. There he stayed for a month after his marriage was concluded, and was then forced to go to the wars, whither he remained two years without returning to see his wife. And she lived all this while in the place where her nurture had been. And during these two years he wrote often to his wife ; but his letters consisted for the most part of messages to Florida, who on her side failed not to return them, and in every letter of AfVenturada's sent him some pleasant piece of wit, and this made the husband unfailing in his writing. But with all this Florida discovered nothing save that he loved her as if he had been. a brother. Now and again he would come home, but in such sort that in five years he only saw Florida for two months altogether ; yet in despite of estrangement and the length of his absence his love did but increase. And it came to pass that he made a journey to see his wife, and found the Countess far removed from the Court, for the King was gone to Andalusia, bearing with him the young Count of Aranda, who was now beginning to carry arms. The Countess had Novel X.] DAT THE FIRST, 57 betaken herself to her pleasure-house on the coasts of Arragon and Navarre, and was glad to see Amadour return, since for nigh three years he had been away. He was made welcome by all, and the Countess enjoined that he should be used as if he had been her own son. While he was with her she advertised him of all the charges of the household, and for the most part took his judgment thereon, and so great esteem did he win at this place, that whithersoever he would go the door was opened to him, since they made such account of his prudence that he was trusted like an angel or a holy man. Florida, for the love she bore his wife and himself, sought him out wherever he went, and had no suspicion of him, wherefore she put no guard on her face, having no love to conceal, but only feeling great contentment when he was by her. Amadour was in great pains to escape the suspicion of those who can discern a lover from a friend, for when Florida came privily to speak to him the flame that was in his heart rose so high that he could not hinder the colour rising on his cheeks or conceal the flashing of his eyes. And to the end that nobody might observe all this, he set himself to pay court to a mighty fine lady named Pauline who, in her time, had such renown from her beauty that few who saw her escaped her nets. And this Pauline, hearing that Amadour had had some experience of the love-craft in Barcelona andPerpignan,and had gained theaflfection of the handsomest gentlewomen in the country, notably that of the Countess of Palamos, who was accounted for the most beautiful of all the Spanish ladies, told him that it was a great pity, after such good fortune, to have taken to wife so ugly a woman. But Amadour, understanding by her words that she had a mind to help him in his hour of need, made as pleasant dis- course to her as might be, thinking that, if he could cause her to believe what was false, he should thereby hide from her the truth. But she, of keen wit, well tried in the service of love, was not to be contented with words alone, and being assured that such kindness as he had for her did not sufiice him, suspected he would fain use her as a cloak, and on that account kept good watch on his eyes. But these knew so well how to feign, that any suspicion she might conceive was but dark and obscure, yet it was matter of great toil to the gentleman, since Florida, ignorant of all these plottings, used him in such familiar fashion 68 HEPTAMEEON. [Novel X. before Pauline that his eyes had a wondrous struggle with his heart. And for the avoiding of this, one day he spoke as follows to Florida, while they were standing by a window : " Prithee, sweetheart, tell me whether is it better to speak or to die." And Florida presently replied to him: "L would counsel all such as are my friends to speak and not die, for 'tis a bad speech that cannot be mended, but a life lost cannot be recalled." "You promise me then," said Amadour, "that you will not only take in good part what I am going to say, but even that you will not be astonished thereat till I have made an end." To this she replied : " Say what you will, for if you astonish me, none can reassure me." And so he began: " Mistress, up to this time I have had no wish to speak of my love towards you, and this for two reasons. In the first place, for that I desired to be well tried by you, and in the second because I doubted whether you would esteem it for an honour to be loved by me, who am but a poor gentleman. And again, though I were of as high estate as yourself, the steadfastness of your heart would not allow yoti to listen to love-talk from any but him who has gained your love, I would say the son of the Fortunate Infante. But just as in war, necessity makes men sacrifice their own possessions, and cut down their own com lest the enemy enjoy it, so I dare to risk gathering before- hand the fruit I hoped to pluck much later, lest it profit our enemies and be to your loss. Understand then that from your youth until now I have been so given up to your service that I have never wearied in seeking to gain your favour, and for that cause alone did I wed her whom I thought you loved the best. And knowing the love you bore to the son of the Fortunate Infante, I have taken pains, as you are advised, to -do him service and to be frequently with him, and all this because I fain would please you, and truly I have used to that end all my power. You know that I have gained the favour of your mother and brother, and all whom you love, in such sort that I am held in this house not as a servant but a son, and all the pains that for these five years I have taken have been to na other intent than that with you I may pass all my life. Under- stand that I am not of those who would pretend by these means to get anything from you to the hurt of your honour, for I know that I cannot take you to wife, and if it were in my ovelX.] DAT THE FIRST. 5c> ower I would not do this thing against him whom you love, tid whom I desire to see your husband. And so far removed m I from those who, by long service, hope for a reward gainst the honour of their ladies, and love with a vicious love, lat I would rather see you dead than know you were less worthy of being loved, or that your virtue had, for my pleasure, een made of small account. For the end and reward of what have done I ask alone one thing — that you be to me such a listress as never to take your favour from me, that you con- nue me in my present case, trusting in me more than in any ther, and being well assured that, if in any matter you need gentleman's life, mine shall be with the heartiest good will at our service. And in like manner I would have you believe tiat whatever I do. that is brave and honourable is done only ar your sake. And if I have done for ladies of far less ccount than you things which have been thought worthy of egard, be assured that, you being my mistress, my bravery nil grow in such fashion that deeds I aforetime found im- ossible shall become most easy to be performed. But if you 7i\\ not accept me as wholly yours, it is in my mind to renounce rms, and the valour which helped me not in my hour of need, therefore, mistress, I entreat that my desire be granted me, Drasmuch as your honour and conscience cannot fairly refuse . 5J ■• The maid, hearing this strange discourse, began to change olour and let down her eyelids, as a frightened woman is ccustomed. Natheless, since she was wise and prudent, he said to him : " Wherefore is it, Amadour, that you ask of le what you have already ? To what intent is all this talk ? greatly fear that beneath your honourable words there is oncealed some hidden evil to deceive the ignorance of my outh. Wherefore I am in great doubt what to reply ; for if refuse the honourable friendship you offer me, I shall be doing tie very contrary to what I have always done, since I have rusted you above all men. Neither my conscience nor mine onour forbid your desire, nor yet my love for the son of the 'ortunate Infante, for that is bottomed upon marriage, to which ou make no pretence. I know nothing to hinder me from 2plying to you according to your wish, if it be not the fear I ave at heart arising from the small need you had to ask all 60 ' HEPTAMEROW. [Novel X. this ; for since you have what you require, what need to ask for it ?" Amadour, who was not without an answer, said to her : " Mistress, you speak according to wisdom, and do me so great honour by the faith you put in me, that if I were not content with this reward, I should not be worthy of any other. But know that he who would build a house to last for ever must take care first to lay a strong and sure foundation; wherefore I, who would dwell for ever in your service, must take care not only of the means whereby I may always be near you but also that none other be advised of my great love towards you. For though it be honourable enough to be proclaimed from the housetops, yet those who cannot discern the hearts of lovers often judge falsely concerning them, and thereby come evil rumours, of which the event is likewise evil. And she who makes me say this atid manifest my love towards you is Pauline, who has strong suspicions concerning me, and knowing well in her heart that I do not love her, makes it her chief concern to watch my face. And when you so familiarly come and speak to me before her, I am in great fear lest I make some sign for her to bottom her suspicion on, and so fall into the pit I am fain to escape. Wherefore it has been my intent to entreat you that before her, and before others whom you know to be as .malicious as she is, you come not so suddenly to speak to me, for I had rather die than any man should come to a knowledge on these matters. And had I not been so tender of your honour I would not have had this dis- course with you, since I deem myself sufficiently happy in your love and confidence towards me, and ask of you nothing more than to continue them unto the end." Florida, who on hearing this was exceedingly glad, began to feel a somewhat at her heart she had never felt before, and considering the fair conclusions he had laid before her, replied that virtue and honour answered for her, and granted his desire. And who that has loved can be in doubt as to whether Amadour rejoiced thereat ? But Florida more straitly followed his coun- sels than he would have her, for she, being afraid not only in the presence of Pauline but everjrwhere beside, no longer would seek him out as she had been accustomed ; and whilst they were thus estranged she took in bad part his often going to Pauline, whom she thought so pretty that she could not believe but that Novel X.] DAT THE FIRST. 61 he loved her. And for the consolation of her sadness she had much talk with Aventurada, who began to be exceeding jealous of her husband and Pauline, and so ofttimes made complaint to Florida, who comforted her as well as might be, she herself being stricken with the same plague. Amadour before long perceiving how Florida was changed towards him, thought that she did not merely follow his counsels, but had mingled with them some peevish imagination of her own devising. And one day, while they were going to evensong at a monastery, he said to her : " Prithee, mistress, what countenance is this you show me ?" " I suppose that which pleases you," said she. Where- upon, having a suspicion of the truth, and willing to know if he was right, he began to say : " Mistress, I have so spent my days that Pauline thinks no more of you." To which she replied : " Than this you cannot do better, both for yourself and for me, for in serving your pleasure you preserve my honour." At which Amadour saw that she thought he took pleasure in parley with Pauline, and at this thought waxed so desperate that he could not contain himself, and wrathfully exclaimed : " Truly, mistress, these are early days to begin tormenting your poor slave and pelting him to death with bitter words, for I thought there could be no greater travail than to oblige myself to parley with one for whom I have no love. And since what I have done in your service is taken by you in bad part, I will never again speak to her, come what will of it ! And that I may conceal my wrath as well as I have concealed my content- ment, I will begone to some place hardby until your fantasy is overpast. But I have good hopes while I am there to get tidings from my general that will take me back to the wars, where I will stay long enough to let you know that you alone have kept me here." Thus saying, and without waiting for a reply, he forthwith left her. At this Florida was filled with grief and sadness, and love by its repulse began to show her all its strength, in such wise that, knowing the ill she had done him, she wrote again and again to Amadour praying him to return, and this he did after that a space of some days had abated the bitterness of his anger. I cannot make for you a particular account of the discourse by which they destroyed this jealousy. At all events, he won the battle, inasmuch as she promised him to believe no more C2 HKPTAMERON. [Novel X. that he was in love with Pauline, and also that she was assured that to speak with Pauline or anyone else, save to do her a service,. was a martyrdom hardly to be borne. And when love had conquered this first suspicion, and the two lovers began to take more delight than ever in talking with one another, tidings were brought that the King of Spain was drawing his whole army to Salces. Wherefore Amadour, who was always in the van of battle, lost not this chance of winning for himself glory, yet it is true that he went with a regret that was not his custom as much for the loss of pleasure as fearing to find some change on his return. And this because he knew that Florida was sought in marriage by great princes and lords, seeing she was now come to the age of fifteen or sixteen years, wherefore he thought that if she was married while he was away he would no longer have any opportunity of seeing her, except the Countess of Aranda should give her as a companion his wife Aventurada. And so well did he manage his affairs amongst his friends that the Countess promised that, let her daugh):er go where she might, his wife should go with her. And though it was intended that Florida should be niarried in Portugal, yet it was determined that Aventurada shpuld never forsake her ; so on this assurance, not without regret unspeakable, Amadour went away and left his wife with the Countess. And when Florida found herself alone after the departure of her slave, she set herself to the doing of good works, whereby she would fain get as much honour and repute as the most perfect women, and show herself worthy of such a lover as Amadour. And he, being arrived at Barcelona, received from the ladies such welcome as he was wont, but so changed did they find him that they would not have believed that marriage had such power over a man as it, had over him. For it was plain that- the things in which aforetime he had taken delight now wearied him ; and the very Countess of Palamos whom he had loved so well could scarce find means to draw him to her lodging, on which account he made but short stay at Barcelona, being weary for the fight and the heat of battle. And when he had come to Salces, there began that great and fierce war between the two kings of which I do not propose to make any relation, not so much of the mighty deeds done by Amadour, for if I did my tale would be long enough to suffice for the entertainment of a Hovel X.] DAY THE FIRST. 63 whole day. But know that he far excelled in glory each and all of his fellows. And when the Duke of Nagera came to Perpignan, being captain over two thousand, he entreated Amadour to be his lieutenant, who with this band did such service that in every fight the battle-cry was " Nagera I " At this time it came to pass that the King of Tunis, who for a long while had waged war with the Spaniard, hearing that the Kings of France and Spain were at odds together on the coasts of Perpignan and Narbonne, thought that he could find no better occasion of doing a displeasure to the King of Spain. To this end he despatched a host of light galleys and other ships to pillage and destroy any badly-guarded place on the coasts of Spain. The men of Barcelona, seeing a great number of vessels passing in front of the town, advertised the viceroy of the matter ; and he, who was then at Salces, forth- with sent the Duke of Nagera to Palamos. And the Moors, .seeing the place guarded in such sort, feigned to go away, but returned about midnight and sent so many men on shore, that the Duke of Nagera was surprised by the enemy and taken captive. Amadour, who kept good watch, hearing the tumult, drew together as great a company as he was able, and made snch defence that the enemy, for all their numbers, were for a long while unable to accomplish anything. But at last, knowing the Duke of Nagera to be taken, and that the Moors were re- solved to set Palamos afire, and with it the house he held against them, he preferred to render himself up than to be the cause of destroying the brave men who were of his fellowship. Also he had hopes of being ransomed,, and thus once more to see Florida. So he presently gave himself up to a Moor named Dorlin, governor to the King of Tunis. And this man took him to his master, by whom he was well received and better guarded, for the King, having him in his hands, thought he had taken the Achilles of the Spaniards. And so abode Amadour nigh two years in the service of the King of Tunis. Now the report of this mischance was brought to Spain, at which the kinsfolk of the Duke of Nagera were sore grieved ; but they who laid the honour of their country to heart esteemed the capture of Amadour to be the greater loss. And the news came to the house of the Countess of Aranda, where at this time lay Aventurada grievously sick. 64 HEPTAMEEON. INovel A. The Countess, who had great suspicion of the love Amadour bore her daughter, but suffered it and concealed it for the virtues she discerned in him, called her apart and told her these pitiful tidings. Florida, who knew well how to feign, replied that it was a great loss for the whole house, and above all for his poor wife, who was now in such evil case. But seeing her mother weeping exceedingly, she too let a few tears drop to bear her company, fearing that by feigning too much her deceit might become apparent. And from this time the Countess often spoke to her of him, but could never bottom her suspicions on any- thing in Florida's face. I leave untold the pilgrimages, prayers, and fasts which Florida discharged in due order for the safety of Amadour, who no sooner got to Tunis than he sent tidings thereof to his friends, and by a trusty messenger advertised Florida that he was in good health and hope of seeing her, again. And this was the poor lady's only means of sustaining her anguish, so doubt not that, since it was permitted him to write to her, she in return did her part so well that her letters of consolation cam? to Amadour thick and fast. At. this time the Countess was commanded of the King to go to Sarragossa, where he was come, and she found there the young Dilke of Cardona, who so strongly urged the King and Queen that they prayed the Countess to give him her daughter in marriage. The Countess, who in nothing was disobedient to their will, agreed thereto, thinking that her daughter, who was still young, could have no will in the matter but her own. And when the agreement was determined upon she told her daughter that she had chosen as mate for her one she thought most fitting. And Florida, knowing that when a thing is done it skills not to give advice, said to her that for all things God was to be praised ; and seeing her mother bear herself coldly towards her, she had enough to do to obey without much pity of herself. And as matter of consolation for her woes, it was told her that the son of the Fortunate Infante was sick unto death ; but neither before her mother nor any beside did she ever make any appearance of grief. Indeed so strongly did she constrain, herself that the tears driven inwardly into her heart caused such a flow of blood from the nose that her life was in jeopardy ; and that she might be restored they gave her as wife to him, than whom she would far rather have received Novel X.] DAY THE KIRST. 65 death. And after the wedding was brought to a close Florida went with her husband to the duchy of Cardona, taking with her Aventurada, to whom she privily made her complaints both of the rigour of her mother and the grief she had at the loss of the son of the Fortunate Infante. But of her grief at the loss of Amadour she said nothing save by way of consolation. And from this time she resolved to keep God always before her eyes ; and so well concealed her sorrows that none of her people ever perceived that her husband was displeasing to her. So passed a long time, Florida living a life scarce better than death. And of all this she failed not to send news to her lover, who knowing the greatness of her heart and the love she bore to the son of the Fortunate Infante, thought it scarce possible that she should continue to live, and mourned for her as one worse than dead. And by this dolour his own was increased, since he would willingly have continued all his days a slave, if Florida could but have a husband to her liking ; so did he forget his own woe in that which his sweetheart had. And for that he heard, by a friend he had at the Court of the ■King of Tunis, that the aforesaid King was resolved to give him his choice of impalement or renouncing his faith, because he greatly desired for him to become a good Mussulman and continue in his service, he persuaded his master to let him go on his parole. And this master put upon his head so high a ransom as he thought could never be found by a man of small means. So then, without speaking on the matter to the King, his master let him go. And when he had gone to Court and stood in the presence, he went forth amongst all his friends to the intept that he might get together the ransom, and straight- way betook him to Barcelona, whither the young Duke of Cai-dona, his mother, and Florida had gone on some charges. And as soon as his wife Aventurada had tidings that her husband was returned from captivity, she bore them to Florida, who rejoiced thereat, as if for love of her. But fearing lest her joy upon seeing him might change the manner of her countenance, and lest they who knew her not might take a bad opinion of her, she withdrew herself to a window, that she might see him coming from afar. And as soon as she per- ceived him she went down by a stair so dark that no one E 66 HEPTAMEPvON. [Novel X. could see her cljange colour, and embracing Amadour she led him to her room and that of her mother-in-law, to whom he was unknown. But he tarried there only two days, and in that time made himself as much beloved by them all as he had been in the household of the Countess of Aranda. It is not my intent to tell you of all the talk that Florida and he were able to have together, and the complaints she made to him for the ills done her in his absence. After much weeping, both for that she was married to one against her liking, and also that she had lost beyond hope of seeing again him whom she loved so well, she determined to draw some causes of consolation out of the love and firm trust she had in Amadour, though she never durst declare it to him. But he, having some suspicions, lost neither time nor opportunity of letting her know how great a love he had towards her. And just at that time, when she was ready to receive him not as a servant but as a true and perfect lover, it fell out by evil hap that the King, by reason of certain weighty charges, com- manded the immediate presence of Amadour. And this so grieved his wife that, on hearing of the news, she swooned away, and falling down a stair did herself such hurt that she was not taken up alive. Florida, who through this death lost all consolation, made mourning as one who weeps for her father and mother and all her kinsfolk. But still more did Amadour grieve, not alone that he had lost on his side one of the best wives in the world, but also that he had lost all means of seeing Florida ; at which he fell into such sadness that he was like to have died. The old Duchess of Cardona came often to speak with him, and drew from the philosophical writings many good and solid reasons for him to bear this, loss with patience, ' But this did not much avail him, for if death itself was torment, love did but increase the agony. So Amadour, having beheld the burial of his wife and having no more cause for delaying to perform the King's commands, was filled with such despair that . his brain wellnigh fell into some distemperature. But Florida, in endeavouring to console him, spent a whole afternoon discoursing to him in the most gracious sort to the intent of diminishing the extremity of his grief, assuring him that she would find better means of seeing him than he thought. And since he was to set out on the Novel X.] ' DAY THE FIRST. 67 morrow, and was so weak that he could hardly stir from his bed, he entreated her to come and see him in the evening after every one had done so, which she promised, ignorant that his love knew not bounds nor reason. And he, who found himself in despair of ever seeing her again whom he had served so long, and having had of her no favours except what I have told you of, was so torn asunder by hidden love and the loss of all means of being in her company, that he was resolved to play at double or quits, to win or lose it all, and to repay himself in one hour as he thought to have deserved. So he had his bed decked with curtains in such fashion that those who came into the room could not see him, and made more complaint than was his custom, that the people of the house might not believe him to have twenty-four hours to live. After that every one had been to see him, Florida, her very husband desiring her, went to him, intending as matter of con- solation to declare her affection, and to assure him that, as far as honour allowed, she would give him her love. And she sat herself down on the chair by the bedside, and began her con- solation by weeping with him. Amadour, seeing her grief, thought that thereby he should more easily attain his ends, and raised himself from the bed, whereupon Florida, thinking that he was too weak, would have held him back. But he fell on his knees and began to say : " Must I for ever lose the sight of you ?" and so let himself fall into her arms as one whose strength fails him. Poor Florida for a long time embraced and sustained him, doing all that lay in her power to console him, but the medicine she gave to cure his sickness did but increase it ; for with the face of a man half-dead, and without a word, he fell to seeking for that which the honour of the ladies for- bids. And though Florida perceived his evil intent, she could hardly believe it, having in her mind all his honourable conver- sation, and so asked him what he would do ; but Amadour, fearing to hear her reply, which he knew well would be a chaste and virtuous one, persisted with all his strength in the quest of that he desired, whereat Florida, mightily astonished, suspected rather that he had taken leave of his senses than that he was attempting her dishonour. Wherefore she called aloud to a gentleman whom she well knew to be in the room, and at this Amadour, in the bitterness of ];iis despair, threw himself back 68 HEPTAMEEON. [Novel X. SO suddenly upon the bed that the gentleman held him for a dead man. Florida, having arisen from the chair, said to him : "Go presently and get some vinegar." And this he did, whereupon Florida began : " Amadour, what fantasy is mounted to your brain ? and what were you minded to have done ?' He, who by reason of love had lost all reason, replied : "Doth so long a service as mine deserve so cruel a return r" " And where is that honour," said Florida, " which you have so often preached to me ?' " Ah ! mistress," said Amadour, " it is not possible to be more tender of your honour than I have been ; for before that you were married I so conquered my heart that yot knew nothing of my desire ; but now that you are married, and your honour is in safe keeping, what wrong is this I do you in asking what is my own ? For by the very force of love I have won you. He who first had your heart, made such poor assault on your body that he well deserved the loss of both. He to whom your body now belongs is by no means worthy of your heart, wherefore neithef by right does .the body appertain to him. But I, mistress, who for these five or six years have borne for your sake so many woes, you cannot deny that it is I alone who deserve both your body and your heart. And if you would call your conscience into court, be well assured that when love presses hard on every side, sin shall by no means be imputed. Those who in a fit of madness slay themselves are not to be accounted sinners for what they have done, for pas- sion and reason cannot dwell together. And being love is the most unbearable of all the passions, and most of aJl blinds the senses, what sin would you impute to him who is carried along by its irresistible might ? I am about to go, having no hope of seeing you any' more. But if I had had before I set forth that security from you which my great love hath deserved, I should have gained strength to bear patiently the sorrow ot this long farewell. And if it be not your pleasure to grant me my desire, you shall soon perceive that your hard heart has caused me a qiost miserable and cruel death." Florida, no less grieved than astonished at such discourse from him, from whose lips she never thought to have heard the like, said weeping : "Alas ! Amadour, is this the virtuous talk you had with me while I was yet young ? Is this the honour and the good conscience you have so often counselled Kovel X.] DAT THE FIEST. 69 me rather to die than lose ? Have you then forgotten your good examples of virtuous ladies, who made resistance to light love, and all your despising of wanton women ? I cannot believe, Amadour, that you are so far from yourself that God, your conscience, and my honour are altogether dead within you. But if it indeed be as you say, I praise, the Divine Goodness for that it has delivered me from the pit into ■tt'hich I wellnigh had fallen,' and shown by your speech the wickedness of your heart. For having lost the son of the Fortunate Infante, not only because I am married, but also because I am advised he loves another, and seeing myself wedded to one to whom I cannot, take what pains I may, give my heart, I was resolved entirely and altogether to set my soul and my affections on loving you. And this love I founded on the virtuousness I perceived in you, and to which, by your help, I deem myself to have attained ; and the manner of it is to love my honour and my conscience better than my life. Bottomed upon this rock of honour, I came here determined to make it yet more sure ; but in a moment, Amadour, you have shown me that in place of pure and shining marble it would have been founded on a quaking sand, or a filthy mire. And though this my strong place, where I hoped to dwell for ever, has been in great part begun, you have suddenly brought it down, even to the dust. Wherefore you must now put aside every hope you had con- cerning me, and resolve yourself, in what place soever I be, not to address me by words or looks, nor ever deem that I can or will change this my determination. All this I say to you with great grief, but if I had so far gone as to swear with you eternal love, I know my heart, and am well assured that in that strife of the soul I should have died. And even now my sorrowful amaze for that you have deceived me is so great that I am persuaded it will make my life a short and sad one. And with these words I bid you farewell, but remember that it is for ever !" I spare you the relation of the grief that Amadour felt at the hearing of these words, for it is not only impossible to write but even to conceive, except to those who have been in like case. And seeing that with this cruel conclusion she would leave him, he took her by the arm, since he well knew that if he suffered this bad opinion of him to remain in her, he would 70 HEPTAMERON. [Novel X. lose her for ever. Wherefore, having put on as solemn a countenance as he was able, he said to her : " Mistress, I have all my life desired to love a woman of honour, and since I have found but little of that commodity, I was fain to make trial of you, to see if you were as worthy to be held in esteem for your virtue as you are to be loved. And this I now know for a certainty, wherefore I give thanks to God, who has directed my love towards such perfection, entreating at your hands pardon for the folly of my endeavour, seeing that the issue thereof has been to your honour and my great contentment." Florida, who by his example began to perceive the wickedness of men, as she had been slow to believe the evil that was in him, so was now slow to believe the good that was not, and replied : " I would to God you spoke the truth ! But I am not so simple that the estate of marriage in which I am does not let me know that the blindness of a strong desire made you do what you have done. ,For if God had slacked the reins, I am assured you would not have drawn in the bridle. Those who make search for virtue go on a different road to the one you have taken. But it is enough ; if too lightly I believed in yoiu: virtue, it is time I should know the truth, which now delivers me from out of your hands." Thus saying, Florida went forth from the room, and while the night went on did nought else but weep, taking at this change so great grief that her heart had shrewd work to withstand the assaults of love and regret. For though, reason guiding her, she was resolved not to love him any more, yet the heart, which is lord over itself, would by no means allow this, so she was determined to satisfy her affection and continue to love him,' and yet to satisfy her honour and never make any sign to him of her love. And on the morrow Amadour went forth in such woe as you have heard ; nevertheless his heart, which had not its equal in the world, would not suffer him to despair, but set him on some new means for seeing Florida again, and winning back her favour. Wherefore as he went to the King of Spain, who was at Toledo, he took his way through the county of Aranda, and came there one evening very late, a;id found the Countess in great sadness by reason of the absence of her daughter Florida. And when she saw Amadour she kissed and embraced him as if he had been her own son, as much for the love she Novel X.] ■ DAY THE FIRST. ?i bore him as for the suspicion she had that he loved Florida, of whom she made curious inquiry. And he told her the best news he could, but not all the truth, and confessed the love that was between them, which Florida had always kept secret, praying her to give him her help in having tidings of her daughter, and soon to bring her to Aranda. And on the morrow he continued on his journey, and having performed the charges of the King, went to the wars with so changed and sorrowful a countenance that ladies, captains, and all of his acquaintance scarcely recognised him. And henceforth black was his only wear, but of much coarser frieze than was due to his dead wife, whose loss served to conceal what was in his heart. So Amadour passed three or four years without return- ing at all to Court. And the Countess of Aranda hearing how Florida was changed, and that to see her was pitiful, sent to her, wishing her to return home. But these tidings had the opposite effect, for when Florida heard that Amadour had made manifest the love that was between them to her mother, and that h^r mother, all good and virtuous as she was, held their love for an honest one, she was in great perplexity. For on the one hand she saw that if she told her mother the whole truth, Amadour might get some hurt thereby, than which death would have been preferred by her, for she felt herself to be strong enough to punish him without calling her kinsfolk to her aid. But on the other hand she perceived that if she con- cealed the evil she knew of him she would be constrained by her mother and all her kin to speak to him and show him a good countenance. And this she feared would but strengthen him in his wicked purpose. But inasmuch as he was faraway, she said nothing, and wrote to him when her mother charged her so to do ; all the same these letters of hers let him know pretty plainly that they came from obedience and not good will, and so caused him as much sorrow in the reading as afore- time tidings firom her had given him joy. At the end of two or three years, having done so many and so great deeds, that would scarcely be contained by all the paper in Spain, he conceived a most daring imagination, not to win the heart of Florida, which he held as lost, but to gain the victory over his enemy, since it was in this manner she showed to him. He put behind him all the counsels of reason, 72 HEPTAMERON. pjovel X. and even the fear of death, of which he would thus make hazard, and this was his fixed resolve. He made himself so esteemed of the Viceroy that he was sent to speak to the King of a certain secret undertaking against Leucate ; and before that he had spoken to the King, he declared the matter to the Countess of Aranda, to take her mind upon it. And he came post haste to the county of Aranda, where he was advised was Florida, sending a friend of his secretly to the Countess to make known his approach, and praying her to keep it in great privity, and for him to speak with her at night, so that no one should be advertised thereof The Countess, being glad on account of his coming, told Florida, and sent her to undress herself in her husband's room, to the intent that she should be ready when the time was come and all others were in bed, Florida, who was by no means recovered from her first fear, made no sign to her mother, but went apart, to an oratory. There she commended herself into the keeping of our Lord, praying Him to preserve her heart from all evil lust. And it then came into her mind that Amadour had often praised her beauty, which, though she had been for a long while sick, was by no means diminished ; so preferring to do hurt to this beauty than to suffer the heart of so good a man by it to be kindled with an evil flame, she took a stone that chanced to be in the chapel and with it gave herself so hearty a blow that her mouth, nose, and eyes were altogether put out of shape. And to the intent that none should suspect that she herself had done it, she, when summoned by her mother, let herself fall with her face to the earth while she was going out of the chapel, and cried with a loud voice. And when the Countess came she found her daughter in a pitiful case, and straightway had her face dressed and bound up. After the Countess had led her to her room, she told her to go and hold discourse with Amadour until the company was departed ; and this did Florida, thinking there were others with him. But finding herself all alone and the door shut on her, she was as much vexed as Amadour was glad, since he con- ceived that by persuasion or force he would get his desire. And when he had spoken to her, and found her of the same mind as afore, and that she would rather die than change it, maddened with despair, he exclaimed : " I swear to you by Novel X.] DAY THE FIRST], ^3 God that the fruit of my travail shall not be plucked from me by your nice points of conscience ; for since love, long-suffering, and humble prayers have availed nothing, I will not spare my strength to gain that without which I shall perish." And Florida saw his eyes and the manner of his countenance that they were changed, and the fairest face in the world was as red as fire, and his most sweet and pleasant regard was so dreadful to look upon that a consuming flame seemed to hlaze within his heart and on his face, and in this phrensy he took within one of his mighty hands her two hands most delicate and weak. She, seeing that all resistance was of no avail, since she was thus straitly held a prisoner that she could not fly, much less make defence, knew not what to do save to seek if there were not in him some traces of his former love by the recollection of which he might forget his cruelty ; wherefore she said to him : " Amadour, though you now hold me for an enemy, I entreat you, by the honourable love I formerly thought you had for me, to give ear before you begin your torture." And when she per- ceived that he gave ear to her, she went on with her discourse, saying : " Alas, Amadour, to what intent do you seek from me a thing whereby you will take no contentment, and will give me the greatest of all pains ? You made so good trial of my mind in the time of my youth and beauty, by reason of which you might take some excuse, that I am astonished in this season of my age, and ugliness, and sorrow, you seek for what you cannot find. 1 am well assured you know my mind that it is not changed, wherefore you cannot gain save by force your desire. And if you look upon my face, and, seeing the manner of it, forget its beauty that was of old, you will not, I think, be wishful of approaching nearer. And if there are in you any remains of bygone love, I am persuaded that pity will conquer your madness. And to this pity, which I have found in you, I make my lamentation and pray for grace, to the intent that you will let me live to the end of my days in peace, and in that honour, over which, by your counsel, I am determined to keep watch and ward. For though the love you bore me is turned to hatred, and more for revenge than passion you would fain make me the most wretched of all women, I assure you that this thing shall not be, since against my desire you will compel me to make manifest your wickedness to her who believes you to be so good, 74 HEPTAMERON. [Novel X. and thereby your life shall be put in no small risk." Amadour, breaking into her words, said to her : " If I must needs die, then all the sooner shall I be quit of this torment ; but your misshapen countenance, which I believe to be the work of your own hands, shall not hinder me from working my will, for though you were but bones I would hold them closely to me." And Florida, perceiving that sound reason, prayers, and tears availed nothing, and that in his cruelty he would endeavour to accom- plish his wicked desire, called to her aid that help she feared as much as death, and cried in a sad and woeful voice for her mother. The Countess, hearing her daughter summon, her in such a voice, had great suspicion of what was indeed the truth, and ran into the room as quickly as might be.. Amadour, not being as near death as he would have Florida believe, so seasonably abandoned his enterprise, that the lady on coming in found him at the door and Florida far enough from him. Forth- with the Countess asked : " Amadour, what is it ? Tell me the truth." And he, who was never devoid of invention, with a sad and solemn countenance, answered her : "Alas ! mistress, into what case has Florida fallen ? Never was I more astonished, for as I have told you, I thought to have had her favour,- but now clearly perceive I have none of it. It appears to me that while she was with you she was no less wise and virtuous than she is now, but she did not then make it a point of conscience to speak with no one, and now that I would fain have looked upon her she would by no means suffer me. And seeing this change towards me, I was assured that it was but a dream, and required her hand that, after the manner of the country, I might kiss it, but this also she would not suiFer me to do. I confess that I took her hand with a gentle compulsion and kissed it, and in this I did wrongfully and crave your forgiveness, but naught else did I ask of her. Yet she, as I believe, having determined my death, called you as you have seen ; I know not wherefore, unless she feared some other intent, which I in truth had not. Natheless, mistress, however that may be, I acknowledge that I have done amiss, for though she ought to love them that serve her well, I alone, who am of all most devoted to her, am exiled from her favour. But I will still be towards you and her as I have always been, and I entreat you to continue me in your good will, since through no fault of mine Novel X.] DAT THE FIRST. 75 I have lost hers." The Countess, who half believed and was half in doubt, went to her daughter, and said to her : " Where- fore called you me after this fashion ?" Florida replied that she was afraid. And although the Countess made particular inquiry of her, she got no other reply, for Florida, seeing herself escaped from the hands of her enemy, held his ill-success sufficient punishment. After that the Countess had for a long while held parley with Amadour, she made him stay with Florida to see what face he would put on it. But he said little to his mistress, save that he thanked her for not telling her mother the truth, and prayed at least, since she had driven him from out her heart, she would not let another man take his place. And to the first matter of his discourse she thus replied : " If I had had other means of defending myself except my voice, you would not have heard it ; and you shall have no worse thing from me if you cease to constrain me as you have done hitherto. And be not afraid lest I love anotheV, for since in the heart which I deemed the most virtuous in the world I have not found that I desired, I believe not I shall find it in any other man." Thus speaking, she bade him farewell. Her mother, though she carefully regarded his face, could come to no conclusion, save that hence- forth she was well assured her daughter had no love for Amadour, and held her so void of reason as to hate everything she herself loved. And from that hour she behaved in such sort towards Florida that she spoke not to her but chidingly for seven whole years, and all this on account of Amadour. So during this time Florida turned the fear she had of being with her husband to a desire not to stir from him, because of her mother's rigorous entreatment of her. But finding this of no avail, she resolved to put a deceit upon Amadour, and, laying aside for a day or two her cold aspect, advised him to make proposals of love to a lady who, she said, had spoken to her of the love that vas between them. Now this lady was in the household of the Queen of Spain, and was called Loretta. Amadour, believing this story, and thinking hereby to regain the favour of his mistress, made love to Loretta, who was the wife of a captain, one of the King's viceroys. And she, exceeding glad for that she had gained such a lover, set such store by him, that the rumour of it was blazed abroad, and even 76 HEPTAMERON. [Novel X. the Countess of Aranda, since she was at Court, was advertised of it, wherefore she ceased henceforth to torment Florida as had been her custom. And one day Florida heard that this warrior husband of Loretta's was become so jealous that he was deter- mined, as best he might, to kill Amadour ; and she who, despite her altered countenance towards him, could wish him no ill, presently advised him of it. But he, who easily took to his old paths, replied to her that if it was her pleasure to give, him three hours of her company every day, he would speak no more with Loretta; but this she would not grant. "Wherefore then," said Amadoui',' " since you are not willing to give me life, do you trouble yourself to guard me from death ? Save, indeed, that you hope to cause me greater torments by keeping me alive than a thousand deaths. But though death escape me, I will seek till I find it, for the day of my death shall be the first •of my rest." About this time came news that the King of Granada had begun to make great war against the King of Spain, so that the King sent the Prince his son, and with him the Constable of Gastille and the Duke of Alba, two old and prudent lords. The Duke of Cardona and the Count of Aranda were not willing to stay at home, and so entreated of the King to give them some coipmand ; and this he did according to the dignity of their houses. And for their safe keeping he gave them into the charge of Amadour, who during the war did such wondrous and mighty deeds as seemed to savour rather of despair than bravery. And to come to my story, I will show you how his great courage was proved by the manner of his dying ; for the Moors, having made a show of giving battle, and seeing so large an army of Christians, feigned to retreat, whereupon the Spaniards began to pursue them ; but the old Constable and the Duke of Alba, having a suspicion of their device, kept back against his will the Prince of Spain, so that he did not cross the river. But this, notwithstanding that it was forbidden them, the Duke of Cardona and the Count of Aranda did, and when the Moors perceived that they were pursued of a small com- pany they wheeled round, and with one stroke of a scimitar the Duke of Cardona was slain, and so grievously was the Count of Aranda wounded that he was left, where he fell for dead. At this Amadour came up so furiously enraged that Novel X.] DAY THE FIRST. 77 he broke through all the press of battle, and made take the two bodies and carry them to the camp of the Prince, who grieved for them as if they had been his own brothers. But on searching out their wounds, the Count of Aranda was found to be still alive, and so was carried on a litter to his house, ■ where he lay for a long while sick. And they bore to Cardona the dead body of the Duke. And after having in this manner rescued the two bodies, Amadour took so little heed for himself, that he was at last surrounded on every side by a host of Moors, and no more wishing capture to be made of his body than he had made capture of the body of his mistress, and not to break his faith with God as he had broken it with her ; knowing that, if he was taken to the King of Granada, he would either be constrained to die a cruel death orrenounce Christianity, he was determined not to give his enemies the glory of his death or capture. And so kissing the cross of Ijis sword, and commending his soul to God, he drove it home so deeply that it skilled not to give a second blow. So died Amadour, and the sorrow after him was that his valour deserved. And the news of it was noised abroad through all the coasts of Spain, and Florida, who was at Barcelona, where her husband had given command he was to be buried, heard the report thereof. And after that she had made for him honourable burial, without speaking to her mother or her stepmother, she became a nun of the Convent of Jesus, taking for her spouse Him who had delivered her from the burning love of Amadour, and from her weariness in the com- panionship of such a husband. Henceforth she turned all her affections to Godward, and, after for a long while living as a nun, gave up her spul with such gladness as when the bride goeth forth to meet the bridegroom. " I am well aware, ladies, that this long novel may have been wearisome to some among you, but if I had wished to tell it after the manner of him who told it me, it would have been much longer. And I entreat you, while you make the virtue of Florida your ensample, to abate somewhat of her hardness of heart, and not to believe too much good of any man, lest when you know to the contrary you be the occasion to him of a cruel death, and to yourselves of a life of sorrow." And after that Parlamente had had a long and attentive audience, she said to Hircan : " Is it your opinion that this 78 HEPTAMERON. [Novel X. woman was pressed to the bitter end, and made virtuous resistance ?" " No," said Hircan, " for a woman cannot make a feebler resistance than crying out, and had she been where none could hear her I know not how she would have fared ; and if Amadour had had more love and less fear, he would not for so little have left the work undone. And for all this case of yours I am not shaken from what I maintain — that no man who loves with a perfect love, or who is beloved of a lady, can fail to bring matters to a good issue, if he carry himself as he ought. Natheless, I must praise Amadour, insomuch that in some sort he did his duty.'' "What duty?" said Oisille. " Call you it duty for the servant to take by force his mistress, to whom he owes all reverence and obedience ?" Whereupon SafFredent took up the discourse and said : " When our mistresses sit in state in chamber and hall, holding session upon us at their ease as our judges, then we fell on our knees before them; in fear and trembling we lead them forth to dance ; so diligently do we serve them that we know their needs before they ask ; so desirous are we to do suit unto them, and so fearful of their displeasure, that those who look upon us pity us, and often hold us as dull-witted as the beasts, and men forsaken of their understanding. Then do they give glory to our ladies, whose visage is so bold, and their speech so feir, that they make those that know them but on the outside both to fear, esteem, and love them. But when we are in some privy place, where love alone, holds session over us, it becomes plain that they are women and we men, and then is mistress changed to sweetheart, and servant unto lover. To this consents the proverb : ' He that serves as best he can Maketh master out of man.' They have such honour as men have, who can give it them and take it away, and they see our long-suffering that it is great ; but it is reasonable that this should have its sure reward, when honour thereby can take no hurt." "You speak not of that true honour," said Longarine, " which is the best contentment for this life ; for when all the world call me honourable woman, and I know that I am not, this praise does but increase my shame, and makes me still more to be confounded ; and in like manner when men speak evil of me, and I know my innocency, I'ovelX.] DAY THE FIRST. 79 their blame is but my praise." " Whatever you have said," continued Geburon, « I am well persuaded that Amadour was an honourable knight, and a virtuous, and without compare ; and though the names are feigned, I think I can recognise him. But since it was not Parlamente's pleasure to name names, neither is it mine. But be assured that, if he be the man I think, he knew not fear, and his heart was still full of love and bravery." Then Oisille said to them all : " So joyously do I esteem this day to have been spent, that if we continue in like fashion on the others, the time will pass all too quick. But see how low is the sun, and the bells of the Abbey have this long while rung to evensong. But I told no one of this since I had rather hear the end of the story than the vesper music." At these words all arose, and when they were come into the church they found there the monks who had awaited them a good hour and more. And when they had heard evensong, they took supper, with much talk of the stories they had heard, each one searching through the byways of his memory, that the following day might be passed in as much delight. And after playing many a game in the meadow, they went to bed, and with much contentment brought to an end the first day. DAY THE SECOND. On the Second Day bach one teiis the eiesi conceit that eisbth in bis sbain. PROLOGUE. On the morrow they arose with a great desire of returning to the place in which, on the day before, they had received so great pleasure, for so ready was each one's tale that time passed slowly for it to be told. After that they had heard Oisille's reading, and also mass, where they all prayed God to the intent that He might continue to put words into their mouths, they went to dinner, recollecting meanwhile many a notable relation. But after dinner, when they had rested in their rooms, they returned at the appointed time to the meadow, where all seemed ftivourable to their undertaking, and being seated on the grass. 80 HEPTAMERON. [Novel XI. Parlamente began to say : " Since I brought yesterday to an end, it is my part to name one who shall begin to-day. And seeing that Oisille, the oldest and wisest of us was the first to speak, I give my vote to the youngest — I say not the most foolish, being assured that if we all follow her example we shall not keep evensong so long awaiting as we did yesterday. Wherefore, Nomerfide, do you make a beginning, but, prithee, let us not begin the day with tears." " Your entreaty skills nothing," said Nomerfide, " for one of our companions has made me chose a tale that has so got into my head that I can tell no other ; and if it engender sadness in you, your com- plexion is in truth a melancholy one." NOVEL XI. Of a very priry matter. In the household of Madame de la Tremoille there lived a lady named Roncex,who having one day gone with her mistress to the Grey Friars at Thouars, was compelled there to visit a place where she could not send her serving-maid in her stead. And she took with her a girl named La Mothe to keep her company ; but since she was shamefaced she left the wench in a room, and all alone entered a dark and gloomy privy. And this being held in common by all the Friars, they had given such a good account therein of all they had eaten, that the seat and the whole place were covered with the lees of Bacchus and the com of Ceres, passed through the bellies of the Grey Friars. The poor woman, being so hard put to it that she had scarcely time to lift her dress, had the fortune to light upon the filthiest seat in the whole place, and found herself as well fastened to it as if she had been glued, with her thighs, dress, and feet in such case that she fell to crying at the top of her voice, '^ La Mothe, La Mothe, I am ruined and put to shame." The wench, having heard tales of the Friar's wiclcedness, thought some to be concealed within the privy who would fain rape her, and so ran full speed, crying to all she met : " Quick ! succour Madame de Roncex, whom the Friars would ravish in the privy." And these running there hot-foot, found the poor lady, who called for help to the intent that she might get some woman to clean her. And all her hinder parts were ]i|-;U XI 10 M I''. .1 () TUN KK ;Jonvcllc XI Novel XII.] DA.X THE SECOND. 81 bare, for she feared to let down her dress, lest it too should be covered with filth. And on the entering of the gentlemen, they saw this sight, mighty pretty, but found no Grey Friar, but only the ordure on her thighs and fundament. And to them this was great matter of laughter, but very shameful to the lady, who, in place of women-servants, was groomed down by men, and seen of them naked in the worst case possible for a woman. And when she was well quit of this place of abominations, she must needs strip from top to toe, and change her whole dress before that she left the monastery, for when she saw the men she had let down her dress to cover her nakedness, forgetting the filth that was upon her in her shame at being seen of men. Very viTath was she with the help La Mothe had brought her, but hearing that the poor wench believed she was in even worse case than she was, she put aside her anger and laughed with the rest. "I think, ladies, that my tale has been neither long nor melancholy, and that you have had of me what you desired." But Oisille said to her : " Though it is a nasty tale and a dirty one, yet knowing those to whom it relates we cannot pronounce it tedious. But I would have had great delight to see the countenances of La Mothe and the lady to whom she gave such fine assistance. And since you have so soon made an end, give your vote to one whose thoughts run not so lightly in his head." Nomerfide replied: "If you would have my fault repaired, I give my vote to Dagoucin, for so wise is he that he would rather die than make a foolish speech." Dagoucin thanked her for the repute in which she held his good sense, and began to say : " The history which I will presently relate to you is to the intent that you may perceive how love blinds the greatest hearts and the noblest, and how difEcult is wickedness to be conquered by means howsoever good." NOVEL XII. A Duke of Florence would have his friend prostitute his sister to him ; but in place of love meets with death. Ten years are now overpast since there bore rule in Florence that Duke who had for wife Margaret, bastard daughter to the Emperor. And for that she was so young, G 82 HEPTAMERON". - [Novel XII. that it was not lawful for him to lie with her till she grew of riper age, he handled her mighty tenderly, for, while she slept of nights, he would talk to very good purpose with other ladies in the town. Amongst the rest, he was amorous of a pretty, wise, and virtuous lady, sister to a gentleman whom the Duke loved as himself, and whose authority in his house was so great that his word was feared and obeyed as if it were the Duke's. And the Duke had no secret he did not declare unto him, in such sort that he might wellnigh be named his second self. And the Duke seeing his sister that she was so honourable a woman that, after seeking every way, he could find no means of declaring his love to her, came to the gentleman he loved so well, and said to him : " If there were a thing in the world, my friend, that I would not do for you, I should fear to make known my mind to you, much less to ask your aid for the accomplish- ing of my desire. But so great a love do I bear you, that if I had mother, wife, or child, who could be effectual for the saving of your life, I would so use them rather than let you die in torment ; and I esteem your love towards me is like to mine, and if 1, who am master over you, love you so well, you at least love me no less. Wherefore I have a secret to manifest to you, from concealing which I am fallen into the case you now see, and from which I hope amendment either through your offices or my death." The gentleman hearing this discourse of his master, and seeing his grief not feigned, and his face all covered with tears, took so great compassion on him, that he said : « O, my lord, I am your creature ; ail the contentments and all the honour I have in the world come from you ; you can speak to me as to yourself, well assured that whatever is in my power is likewise in yours." Whereupon the Duke declared the love he bore his sister, that it was so strong and fierce that if he did not, by his means, have the enjoying of her, he saw not how he could live any longer. For he knew well that with her prayers and gifts would not avail anything. Wherefore he prayed the gentleman, if he loved as he was beloved, that he would find some means of getting for him this delight, which he never hoped to have in any other way. The brother, loving his sister and the honour of his house better than the pleasure of Novel XIL] DAY THE SECOND. 83 the Duke, would fain have made him some remonstrance, entreating him to use him in all other straits, but not to ask of him this abominable thing, the compassing the dishonour of his own blood, and saying that his heart and his honour alike forbade him take any part therein. The Duke, inflamed with unbearable displeasure, and biting his nails, replied in great wrath : " So be it then, and since I find no friendship at all in you, I know how to play my part." The gentleman, well advised of his master's cruelty, was afraid, and said to him : " My lord, since it is your pleasure, I will speak to her and bring you her reply." And the Duke returned : " As you love my life, so will I love yours," and so left him. The gentleman knew well what was the intent of these words. And for a day or two he considered what was best to be done, without coming into the presence of the Duke. On the one hand there came before him all that was due to his mastei", the contentments and honours he had received of him ; on the other^ the fame of his house, the virtuousness and chastity of his sister, whom he was well persuaded would not listen to this wickedness, unless by some cozenage of his own finding she was overcome by force, and this such an infamous deed that he and his would be for ever disgraced by it. And tossed from one side to the other, he at last determined rather to die than do his sister, one of the best women in all Italy, such an evil turn. But he thought to do still better if he delivered his country from such a tyrant, who would forcibly put this'stain upon his house, for he held for certain that if he did not slay the Duke his own life and the lives of his kinsfolk would be in small security. Wherefore, without parley with his sister or any beside on the matter, he took counsel with himself how, by one blow, he might best save his life and avenge his shame. And at the end of two days he went to the Duke and told him he had used such order with his sister that, after much toil on his part, she had at last agreed to do him pleasure, if he would keep the matter so secret that none, save her brother, should be advertised thereof. The Duke, desiring to hear this news, easily believed it, and embracing the messenger, promised him all he might ask for, and entreated him presently to bring aifairs to a conclusion, 3.nd together they appointed a day. "Whether the Duke was (C 84 HEPTAMERON. [Novel Xll. glad, it skills not to ask, and when he saw that the long-desired night drew near, on which he had good hopes of gaining the victory over her whom he aforetime deemed unconquerable, he went apart very early with the gentleman, forgetting not nightcaps and perfumed shirts, and such like gear, the best that he had. And when all were gone away, he went with the gentleman to his sister's lodging, and entering in came into a bravely ordered chamber. The gentleman having put his night-gear on him, and laid him in bed, said to him : " My lord, I go seek one who will not enter into this room without blushing, but before morning I hope she will be assured of you." So saying he left the Duke and went to his own room, where he found one of his people, to whom he said : " Have you a heart bold enough to follow me whither I would be avenged on my greatest enemy ?" The fellow, knowing not what he was called upon to do, replied : " Why, ay sir, were it against my lord Duke." Whereupon the gentleman led him away so suddenly that he had no time to take other arms, but only a dagger, which he wore on him. And when the Duke heard their return, thinking that the gentleman bore with him her for whom he lusted, he opened wide both the curtain and his eyes to look upon and receive the expected blessing ; but in place of seeing the preservation of his life, he beheld the instrument of his early death. And this was a naked sword, which the gentleman held in his hands, and with which he struck the Duke, who was clad only in his shirt. But he, wanting in arms and not courage, got behind the bed, and taking the gentleman by the middle, said to him : " Is it thus you keep your promise ?" And having none other weapons save teeth and nails, he bit him in the thumb, and by the force of his arm so defended himself that they both fell on tO' the floor beside the bed. Then the gentleman, not trusting overmuch in himself, called upon his follower, who, finding the Duke and his master intermingled so confusedly that he knew not which of the two to strike, pushed them with his feet into the middle of the room, and essayed to cut the Duke's throat for him. But he still defended himself till loss of blood made him so weak as not to be able to do any more, whereupon the gentleman and his follower threw him on the bed, and there, with blows from the dagger, they made an end of killing him. Then^ Novel XII.] DAY TUB SECOND. 85 drawing the curtain, they went forth and shut up the dead body in the chamber. And when he saw himself victorious over his great enemy, by whose death he thought to have freed the commonwealth, his work seemed to him but half done, if he used not in like manner the five or six who were kinsfolk of the Duke. To which intent he spoke to his follower, that he should go seek them one by one, and do on them like vengeance. But his follower replied, having neither courage nor folly for such an undertaking : " It seems to me that for this present time you have achieved enough, and would do better to think of saving your own life than depriving others of their's. For if we take as mpch time to put an end to each one of them as we did to slay the' Duke, the day will dawn upon our enter- prise unfinished, even if we chance to find them undefended." The gentleman, whom a bad conscience rendered fearful, gave ear to his follower, and taking him alone, went to a Bishop, whose charge was that of Portreeve, to give authority for posting. To him the gentleman said : " This evening tidings came to me that my brother was at the point of death, and therefore I asked leave of the Duke to go to him, which he has granted me. So I pray that you give orders that I may have two good horses, and that the town gates may be opened to me." The Bishop, hearing his entreaty, and the command of the Duke his master, gave him forthwith a paper, by means of which the horses were granted him and the gates opened, even as he had desired. And in place of going to see any brother of his, he went straight to Venice, where he healed him of the bites the Duke had given, and after that journeyed to Turkey. But on the morrow all the servants of the Duke, seeing how slow he was to return, had good suspicion that he was gone to see some woman, but since he tarried so long away made search for him in all the quarters of the town. And the poor Duchess, Who began to bear her Duke great love, hearing that they searched and found him not, was exceeding troubled. But when the gentleman, his familiar firiend, was seen no more than he, they went to his house and there sought for him. And finding blood at the door of his room, they entered in, but found no, one who could give them any 86 HBPTAMERON. [Novel XII. tidings. And following the trace of blood, these poor servants of the Duke' came to the chamber where he lay, and the door was shut. And when it was broken open they saw the whole place that it was full of blood, and drawing aside the curtain they found the body stretched out upon the bed and sleeping its last sleep. Then were the servants sorely grieved, and having borne the body to the palace, they found there the Bishop, who told them how that the gentle- man had last night fled the town on pretext of seeing his brother. Whereby^ it was clearly ascertained that it was he who had done this murder. And it was also proved that his sister had not so much as heard him speak of it, and she, although in great astonishment at what he had done, yet on account of it loved him all the more, since he had not spared to make hazard of his life, that she might be delivered from so cruel an enemy. And more and more honourably and virtuously did she continue in her former manner of living, for though, by reason of the escheatment of her goods, she was poor, yet did she and her sister get as honourable and rich husbands as were in Italy, and henceforth have always lived in good repute. " By this, ladies, you may know what fear you should have of Love, since, though he is but a boy, he takes delight in tormenting prince and peasant, strong and weak, alike ; blind- ing them all, so that they become forgetful of God and their conscience, and at the last, of life itself And princes and those set in authority should beware of doing displeasure to those under them. For there is none so small that he cannot' do hurt, if God would by him take vengeance on the sinner, and none so great that he should entreat evil those who are in his hands." This relation was well listened to by all the company, but it engendered amongst them diverse opinions ; for some main- tained the gentleman to have done his duty in saving his life and the honour of his sister, and at the same time freeing his country from a tyrant ; others said no, since it was foul ingra- titude to put to death him who had given this gentleman so many honours. The ladies said he^«is a good brother and a good citizen to boot; the men, that "he was a traitorous and wicked . servant ; and mighty pleasant hearing were the conclusions on both sides. But the ladies, as they are wont, spoke rather by Novel XII.] DA5r THE SECOND. G7 passion than sound logic, afErming the Duke to have been worthy of death, and calling him who had given the blow exceeding happy. Wherefore, seeing the great disputation that was come of it, Dagoucin said to them : " Oddsfish, ladies, enough of disputation about a thing gone-by and of the past ; take you care lest your beauty bring about as dreadful murders as that I have told you of." Whereupon Parlamente replied to him : La Belle Dame sans Mercy would teach us that few folk die of this pleasant sickness." " Would to God," said Dagoucin, " that all you ladies here present were to know this position how false it is ! And then I am assured they would not desire to be named Sans Mercy, nor to be like that unbe- lieving woman who, for fault of a gracious word, left her poor lover to his death." "Would you then," said Parlamente, " that, to save the life of one who affirms he loves us, we should risk our honour and conscience ?" " That by no means is my intent," answered Dagoucin, " for he who loves with a perfect love had rather wound himself than his lady's honour. Where- fore I am of opinion that an honourable and gracious reply can but increase virtue and better the conscience, and he is no true lover who seeks aught else." " All the same," said Ennasuitte, " all your prayers do but begin with honour and end with its contrary. And if all who are here present will tell the truth, I will believe them on their oath." Hircan swore he had never loved another man's wife, but only his own. So said Simon- tault, and added that he had often wished all women to be surly except his own wife. Geburon said to him : " Verily you deserve that yours should be such as you desire others ; but, as for me, I can with good conscience swear to you that 1 have only loved one woman, whom I would rather see die than that she should do anything to make me have less regard for her. For my love was founded on her virtuousness alone, wherefore I did not wish to see any stain thereon for the sake of my pleasure." Whereupon SafFredent began to laugh, saying : " I thought, Geburon, that your good sense and your love for your wife would have saved you from being a gallant, but I see that it is not so, since you make use of our terms of art, whereby we • deceive the keenest and gain a hearing from the most prudent. And where is the woman to close her ears when we begin our passages with honour and 88 HEPTAMERON. [Novel XIII, virtue ? For if we were to plainly show them our hearts, a good many now welcome amongst the ladies would be poorly accounted of by them. But we cover our devil with the bravest angel we can find. And beneath this covering, before we are discovered, we have some mighty pretty entertainment. Per- chance indeed we may so skilfully handle their hearts, that thinking they are on the straight road to virtue, they have neither means nor time to draw back their feet, when they find themselves on the threshold of vice." " Faith," said Geburon, " I thought you other than you are, and that virtue gave you more pleasure than pleasure itself." " What say you," replied SafFredent, " is there then a greater virtue than to love as God has commanded us ? Methinks that it is much better to love a woman as a woman, than after the fashion of many to make of her an idol. And as for me I am fixed in this position ; that use is better than abuse." But the ladies were all on the side of Geburon, and would have SafFredent keep silence. So he said : " To speak no more will be an easy burden to me, for I have been so evil entreated in your talk, that I wish not to return to it." "Your evil thoughts," answered Longarine, "are the cause of your evil treatment. For what virtuous woman would have you for her lover after the manner of your discourse ?" " There have been women," he replied, " who have not found me tedious, and yet would not yield to you in virtue ; but let us speak no more of it, so that my anger may displease neither you nor myself. Let us see to whom Dagoucin will give his vote." And he said : " I give it to Parlamente, for I think that she more than any beside ought to know what is honourable and perfect friendship." " Since I am chosen," said Parlamente, " for the third story, I will tell you what befell a lady who hath always been ot my acquaintance, and all whose thoughts are open to me." NOVEL XIII. How a sea-captain served love with the sauce of religion. In the household of the Regent, mother to King Francis, there lived a lady of great devotion, married to a gentleman in this point like to her. But otherwise they differed, for he Novel XIII.] DAY THE SECOITD. 83 was old, and she was young and pretty; yet did she love and serve him all as if he had been a brave young gallant. And that he might have no cause for sorrow or weariness, she set herself to live as a woman of his own age, putting from her all company, fine gear, dances, and pastimes, in which young women are wont to take delight ; but all her delight and pleasure was to do service to God, on which account her husband had for her such love that she ruled as she would both him and his household. And one day it chanced that he said that from his youth up he had been desirous of journeying to Jerusalem, and would have her mind on the matter. She, who asked naught but to please him, said : " Dear husband, since God has been pleased to give us no children, and has granted us to enjoy a sufficiency of worldly wealth, it would be much to my liking that we should use a part of it in making this sacred journey ; for go where you may, I am determined never to leave you." At this the good man was so contented that already he deemed himself on the top of Calvary. And while their talk ran on this, there came to Court a gentleman who had often been in the wars against, the Turks, and was now forwarding with the King an enterprise against one of their towns, which being taken would be greatly to the advantage of Christendom. And the old gentleman asked him about his journey. And when he had heard what the intent of it was, he inquired whether, after this had been accomplished, he had any purpose of making another to Jerusalem, whither he and his wife had a great desire to go. The captain was much pleased to hear of their intent, and undertook to conduct them thither, and to keep the aflFair secret. Then the time seemed long to the husband, till he should find his good wife and tell her of these passages, since she had no less desire to achieve the pilgrimage than he. And on that account she often held parley with the captain, who, paying more regard to her than to her words, fell so deep in love that often in his talk of sea-voyages he would confuse Marseilles with the Archipelago, and meaning to say ship would say horse, like one who is ravished out of his senses ; yet he found her of such a com- plexion that he durst not make any sign. And this. concealment bred such an inward fire, that he would often fall sick, in which case the good lady was as careful of him, her guide, as of a 90 HEPTAMERON. [Novel XIII. roadside cross; and would visit him so frequently that he, perceiving her to have a regard for him, was cured without need of medicaments beside. But certain folk, knowing the captain as rather famed for a brave and courtly comrade than a good Christian, marvelled within themselves how this pious lady could make such account of him. And seeing him to have quite changed his manner of living, and to often go to churches, sermons, and confession, they had a suspicion that all this was to the end that thereby he might gain the lady's favour, and could not restrain themselves from saying as much to him. Whereupon the captain, fearing that if anything of this came to her ears he should be banished from her presence, said to her and her husband that he was soon to be despatched by the King on his journey, and that he had several things for their hearing ; but, to the intent that their own undertaking might be kept secret, he was fain not to hold parley with him and his wife in a public manner, and therefore entreated them to send for him when they were both gone to bed. And this the gentleman found reasonable, and failed not every evening to go to rest in good time, and make his wife also undress herself. And when all their people were gone to bed, they would send for the captain, and make their plans for the journey to Jenisalem, in the midst of which, from sheer devotion, the husband would often go to sleep. The captain, seeing the old gentleman asleep in bed, and himself sitting on a chair near to her whom he held for the fairest and most virtuous woman in the world, was so cut to the heart by his fear of speaking and his longing thereto, that he would often altogether lose power of speech. But, lest the lady should see something of this, he would set himself to talk about the holy places of Jerusalem, where were such signs of the love Jesus Christ had towards us. And so by his talk of this love he concealed his own, looking upon the lady with sighs and tears, of which she understood nothing. But, beholding his devout visage, she held him for so holy a man, that she prayed him tell her what path it was he had taken, and by what means he had come to this so great love of God. He thereupon made the following declaration : " He was a poor gentleman who, that he might attain to riches and honour, had forgotten his conscience, and had taken to wife a woman nearly akin to him by blood, for that she had great Novel XIII.] DAY THE SECOND. 91 wealth, though she was old and ugly, and he loved her not ; and when he had spent all her substance he had gone to sea to look for adventures, and had done so much by his toil that he was come to a good and honourable estate. But since he had been of her acquaintance, she had been the cause, by her holy words and good ensample, of a change in the manner of his life. And that above all he was determined, if he came back from his present enterprise, to take her hus"band and herself to Jerusalem ; to satisfy in some sort his grievous sins past, which he had now brought to a close, save that he had not yet made satisfaction to his wife, but yet had good hope of soon being reconciled with her." All this discourse was mighty pleasant to the lady, but above all she rejoiced, inasmuch as she had drawn such a man to the love and fear of God. And until he set forth from Court, these long parleys continued each and every evening, without his ever opening his mind to her. And he gave her as a gift a crucifix, praying her that whenever she looked upon it she would be mindful of him. So the hour of his departure drew nigh, and when he had taken leave of the husband, who was falling asleep, he came to bid farewell to the lady, in whose eyes he saw tears, for the honourable friendship she bore him. But this made his passion to be so unbearable, for that he might not make it manifest, that in bidding her farewell he fell, as if he had been a-swoon, into so great a sweat, that not only his eyes but his whole body seemed to pour forth tears. And so, without a word, he departed ; and the lady marvelled greatly, for such a sign of regret she had never before seen. All the same for this she did not change her good opinion, and always made memorial of him in her prayers and orisons. But at the end of a month, as she was returning to her lodging, she fell in with a gentleman who , gave her a letter from the captain, entreating her to read it by ' herself, and said that he had gone on board, well determined to accomplish something pleasing to the King and of service to Christendom ; and as for himself, he was come back from Marseilles to put the aflFairs of the captain in order. And the lady went apart to a window, and opening the letter found it to be two sheets of paper covered on either side ; and this was the manner of it : — 02 HEPTAMEEON. [Novel XHL •* My long delay and silence have left none, Or hope or means of consolation, Save that I speak and tell you all my mind, And of the thoughts that are therein enshrined. And now that I am all alone, and far From you my hope, and have no guiding star To rule the course ; needs must the words should go And strive for me, since verily no/moe My eyes behold her who was all' my life ; Go, then, good letter, and make plain the strife And clamours of my heart ; for if I keep Them close concealed, then to my last long sleep I shall begone. O all too ready wit ! That wast most fearful, and the cause of it Whereby I spoke not to you ; for I thought Better to die in silence than give aught Of grief to her I love, and was content That for her good my poor life should be spent. But yet again — what if I die and give Some pain to her for whom alone I live ? And this my promise was most certainly That when the present toil was happily Come to fulfilment, then I would fare back And guide your footsteps on the sacred track ; Until at last you made your orison Upon that holy mountain named Sion. But if I die no hand shall lead you there. And seeing this, I will by no means dare To bring to nothing what is next your heart. And this thing done that holds us now apart I will return and live then for your sake. But doing so my heart is forced to make Confession of my love, that it is sore. O words most daring, fearful now no more. What would you do ? Or are you fain to show The greatness of my love ? Then you must know You have not power to tell the thousandth part ; But tell her this, her eyes have used my heart ' In such sort that it takes its life alone From her, unto such languor hath it grown. Alas ! poor words and faint, It is not yours to show her the constraint Her eyes have on my heart. At least say this. Her high regard so strong an4 mighty is, Than in her presence all words went astray, And day was night, and night was full noon-day. And when 1 fain would speak of my desire, My words did run upon the Northern Fire. And also say : my fear of thy displeasure, This shut my lips, this put a bound and measure Novel XIII.] DAY THE SECOND. 93 Upon our parley, my supreme love Full well deserving note in Heaven above. For it in virtue had foundation, Hence should not be a secret benison, But open glory, being that your attire Is always virtue, wherefore ray desiie Is virtuous likewise. No liglit love have I Bottomed on beauty that one day must die ; Much less in me doth dwell of lust the flame That would for pleasure work you sin and shame. I had much rather die in this adventure Than know your honour less by my calenture. But if your love I have not, and can't gain, It shall be my contentment to remain Your faithful servant, till once more I see My mistress, and with great humility Do her my service. And if nothing more Fall to my lot, I shall at least adore You as my goddess, wherefore doth arise From off the altar of my sacrifice The savour of a burning heart and soul. And while the waters of the sea do roll Betwixt us, that you may be of me sure This diamond I send, as strong and pure As is your heart ; so to my joy and pleasure I would you make this jewel fitly measure Your whitest finger. Wherefore, diamond, say, A lover sends me here from far away. In steadfast hope some great renown to gain Whereby unto your favour he'd attain." And having read this from beginning to end, she was much astounded at the captain's love, since she had never had any suspicion thereof. And seeing the beauty of the diamond and the ring of black enamel, she was in great perplexity as to what she should do with it. But after considering the matter through the whole night, she was very glad not to have any opportunity of giving him an answer, since she thought there was no need to add this trouble of an unfavourable reply to the charges of the King's he had in hand ; and so, although she was resolved to refuse him, she left it till his reti.rn. Yet was the diamond a great perplexity to her, for she was not accustomed to adorn herself at the expense of any but her husband. Wherefore, being of a good understanding, she determined to draw from the jewel some profit to the captain's conscience, and so despatched a servant of hers to his wife, pretending that the letter 94 HEPTAMBRON. [Novel XIII, she sent by him was written by a nun of Tarrascon. And the letter was to this intent : " Mistress, your husband a short while before he embarked passed by here ; and after making confession of his sins and receiving his Creator like a good Christian, he told me a thing that was on his conscience — namely, the sorrow he had for that he had not loved you as he ought. And, at parting, he prayed and implored me to send you this letter and the diamond, which he will have you keep for the love of him, assuring you that if God grant him a safe return from his. journey, no wife shall be more kindly entreated than you ; and this stone of steadfastness shall be security for him. I pray you remember him in your.prayers, since in mine he shall have a place for the remainder of my days." So, when this letter was finished and signed with the nun's name, it was sent by the lady to the captain's wife. And when the good old woman saw the letter and the ring, one need not ask how she wept with joy and regret at being loved by her husband, when she could no longer see him. And kissing the ring more than a thousand times, and watering it with her tears, she blessed God for that he had brought back to her the love of her husband, now at the end of her days, when she had thought it altogether lost to her. And she gave good thanks also to the nun, who had done so much for her, and made her the best answer she could. This the serving-man bore back to his mistress, who was not able to read it, or listen to what he told her, without much laughter. And so contented was she to have profitably got rid of the diamond to the reunion of the captain and his wife, that she would not for a kingdom have done otherwise. A short while after there came tidings of the defeat and death of the poor captain ; how he was deserted of them that should have borne him aid, and, his enterprises revealed by the men of Rhodes, who above all should have kept it secret. All those who had landed, a,nd they were eighty, were killed; among them being a gentleman named John, and a Turk who had the devout lady for his godmother when he was baptised, and both of whom she had sent on this journey with the captain. The former of these was killed hardby the captain, and the Turk, with fifteen arrow wounds, saved himself by swimming to the French vessels. And by him alone was Novel XIII.] DAY THE SECOND. 05 learned the truth of the whole affair — namely, that a gentle- man, whom the captain had taken for his comrade and familiar friend, having done him good service with the King and the nobles of France, as soon as he saw that the captain was landed, went back with his ships. to deep water. And when the captain saw that his enterprise was discovered, and that more than four thousand Turks were at hand, he began to retreat. But the gentleman in whom he had such trust seeing that, by his death, he would get the whole charge and profit of this great armament, called to him all the captains and addressed them to the effect that it was not right to make hazard of the King's ships and the brave men in them, for the sake only of eighty or a hundred ; and they, in whom there was no courage held to this opinion. And the captain, seeing that the more he called to them the farther did they go, turned again upon the Turks, and though he stood in sand up to his knees, so vali- antly did he do battle, that it seemed as if he was about to defeat all the host of his enemies, of which his traitorous comrade had more fear than hope. At last, despite his valour, he received so many wounds from those who durst not approach nearer than bow-shot distance, that he began to lose blood. Whereupon, seeing the weakness of these true Christian men, the Turks came upon them with the scimitar ; nevertheless, as God gave them strength, they fought unto the end. The captain called the gentleman named John, whom his mistress had entrusted to him, and the Turk also ; and fixing the point of his sword in the earth, fell on his knees before it, kissing and embracing the cross, and saying thus : " Lord, take into Thy hands the soul of one who hath given his life for the exaltation of Thy name." The gentleman named John, seeing by these words that life was failing him, took him and the sword which he held into his arms, to the intent that he might give him aid ; but a Turk cut through both his thighs from behind, and crying, with a loud voice : " We go, captain, to Paradise, and there shall behold Him for whom we died," he became the captain's comrade in death as he had been in life. The Turk, perceiving that he could do no service to the one or the other, and having fifteen wounds fi-om arrows, turned to the ships and demanded to be taken on board. But this, although he alone was left of eighty, the captain's traitorous companion refused S6 HEPTAMERON. [Novel XHI him ; but being an exceeding good swimmer, he went on till he was taken up by a small ship, and after some time was cured of his wounds. And by means of this poor stranger the truth was made known, altogether to the honour of the dead captain, and to the disgrace of his companion. And the King and all honourable men, when they heard the report, esteemed his wickedness so great that they thought he deserved death, howsoever a cruel one it might be. But when he came, he spread abroad so many lying rumours and bribes that not only did he escape punishment, but received the oiEce of him the latchet of whose shoes he was not worthy to unloose. And when these pitiful tidings were brought to Court, the Regent, who had great liking for the captain, was mighty sorry ; so likewise was the King and all of his fellowship. And she whom he loved best of all hearing the strange, pitiful, and Christian manner of his death, changed the chiding she intended to have given him into tears and lamentations, wherein her husband bore her company, for he thereby lost all hope of journeying to Jerusalem. I would not forget that a maiden who lived in their household and loved the . gentleman named John, on the very day on which the two were slain, came to her mistress and told her she had dreamed that her lover, all clad in white apparel, had come to bid her farewell, and that he and the captain were in Paradise. But when she knew that this dream was the truth, she was in such grief that her mistress had enough tp do to console her. At the end of some time the Court went to Normandyj where the captain had lived, whereupon his widow failed not to come and do her reverence to the Regent. And to the end that she might lead her into the Presence, the widow addressed herself to the lady whom her husband had loved so much. And while they were awaiting the appointed hour in a church, the widow began bewailing and praising her husband, saying, among other things :■ "Alas! madam, mine is the greatest woe that ever befel a wife, for when he was beginning to love me more than he had ever done, God took him from me." So saying she showed her the ring which, as a sign of his perfect love, she wore on her finger, and all this with many tears. Thereupon the lady, notwithstanding the grief she felt, was so fain to laugh for the happy issue of her deceit, that she could not Novel XIII.] DAT THE SECOND. 97 bring the widow into the Presence, but entrusted her to some one else, and betook herself to a side-chapel until her laughing fit was over. "Methinks, ladies, that those to whom like things are given, should use them in like manner, for they will find out that to do good is pleasant. So one should not accuse this lady of deceit, but rather esteem her sense, which turned to good a thing which was worth nothing." " Call you," said Nomerfide, " a rare diamond of two hundred crowns worth nothing ? I would have you assured that, if it had fallen into my hands, neither his wife nor his kinsfolk should have got so much as a sight of it. There is nothing which appertaineth more strictly to a body than that which is given. The gentleman was dead, none knew of it, and she would not have made the poor old lady shed so many tears." " In good faith," said Hircan, " you are in the right, for there are certain women ^ who, to show themselves for better than they really are, do good deeds openly against their natural complexion, for we all know that nothing is as covetous as a woman. All the same their vanity oftentimes gets the mastery over their covetousness, and then they are forced to do things which go sorely against the grain. And I believe that she who sent the diamond away was not worthy of wearing it." " Not so fast, prithee," said Oisille, " I suspect I know who she is, wherefore, I entreat you, condemn her not without a hearing." "Mistress," replied Hircan, " I do not condemn her ; but if the gentleman was as virtuous as you say, she would be honoured by having such a lover, but perchance one less worthy than he had her so tight by the finger that the ring could not get on." "Verily," said Ennasuitte, " she would have done well to have kept it, since no one was advised thereof." " What," said Geburon, " if only no one is advised thereof, are all things lawful to lovers ?" " In good faith," said Saffredent, " there is but one crime I have seen punished, and that is folly ; for your murderers, thieves, and adulterers are neither overtaken' of justice nor blamed of men, if they be but as crafty as they are wicked. But often their wickedness is so great that it blinds them and they become fools, and as I have said, the fool hangs, while the knave laughs." " Say what you please," said Oisille, " God is this lady's judge, and as for me I consider her deed an honour- H 98 HBPTAMERON, [Novel XIV. able and a virtuous one. But to make an end on't, I pray you, Parlamente, to give your vote to someone." " With hearty goodwill," she replied, " I give it to Simontault, as one who, after these two sad novels, will not fail to give us matter for laughter." " I^ thank you," said he, « for giving me your vote, and for calling me a Merry Andrew. So for my vengeance I will declare to you that there are women who make a fair show of chastity to certain men, or at certain times, but the end makes plain of what sort they are, as you shall see by this true relation." NOVEL XIV. A very pleasant piece of cozenage done by my lord Bonnivet. In the Duchy of Milan, while the grand-master of Chau- mont was governor, there lived a gentleman named Bonnivet, who afterwards, for his merits, was made Admiral of France. Being mightily beloved by the aforesaid grand-master and all others for the virtues that were in him, he was often found at those assemblies where ladies were gathered together, and was by them more beloved than ever a Frenchman before, as much for his fair speech, his grace, and his beauty as for the renown in which he was held as one of the most brave and. excellent warriors of his time. One day, at a masked ball during the Carnival season, he led out in the dance the prettiest woman in all Milan, and whensoever there fell a pause in the music he failed not to make love to her, which it was confessed he knew as well as any how to do. But she, who had no reply to his liking, brought him to a halt by saying she neither loved nor would love any but her husband, and, to be short, she would have nothing to say to him. For all this the gentle- man would not hold himself beaten, and plied her vigorously up to Mothering Sunday. Notwithstanding his resolution, he still found her steadfast in her determination neither to love him nor anyone else, but to this he gave small credit, inasmuch as her husband was ill-favoured and she exceeding beautiful. So he was resolved, as she had used concealment, himself to use cozenage, and from that time he left off entreating her, and betook himself so well to making inquiries as to her manner of Novel XIV.] DAY THE SECOND, 99 living that he found she loved an Italian gentleman, who was reported both prudent and honourable. So my lord Bonnivet little by little became of this Italian's fellowship, and so pleasantly and craftily that the Italian did not perceive his intent, but liked him so well that he only came after his mistress. And Bonnivet, to arrest from him his secret, feigned to tell him his own — ^namely, that he loved a certain lady, of whom in truth he had no thoughts, praying him not to reveal it, so that they might only have one heart and one mind between them. And the poor gentleman, in return for this great love, made a long declaration of that he bore the lady on whom Bonnivet was fain to be avenged ; and once in each day they met at a certain place to tell one another what luck they had had with their ladies, one telling lies and the other the truth. And the gentleman confessed to have loved his mistress for three years, without having had anything of her but fair words and assurance of her love towards him. Where- upon my lord Bonnivet showed him the means that might ' avail to accomplish his end, which he found so much to the purpose that in a few days she was ready to grant him what- soever he might desire, and all to seek was the way to bring matters to a conclusion, and this, by the help of Bonnivet, was soon found. So one day before supper the gentleman said to him : " Sir, I am more beholden to you than all other men, for by your good counsel I hope to have that to-night which I have desired for so many years." " I pray you then," said Bonnivet, " tell me the manner of it, that I may see whether there is any cozenage or risk, and serve you as a friqnd." The gentleman told him that his mistress had found means to leave the chief door of the house open, under pretext of an illness of one of her brothers, which made it needful to send to the town on occasions at all hours, and so he might easily enter the court, but was by no means to mount by the great stair, rather making his way by a small one to the right hand, and thence entering into the first gallery he came to where were the rooms of her father-in-law and her brothers-in-law. He was to malce for the third door from the top of the stairs, and if softly pushing it he found it shut, he must get him gone and know for certain that her husband was returned, though she expected him not for two days ; but if he found it open he was to gently enter, 100 HEPTAMEBON. [Novel XIV. and shutting the door behind him to bolt it hard and fast. And above all he was not to forget to wear felt slippers for fear of making a noise, and to come not earlier than two hours after midnight, since her brother-in-law, being very fond of cards, never went to bed before one. To all this Bonnivet said : " Well done, my friend, may you have .good hap and meet with no mischance, and if my fellowship will avail you anything, I will spare nothing in my power." The gentleman gave him his best thanks, but said that in a matter of this sort one could not be too much alone, and went to take order therein. On his side my lord Bonnivet did by no means sleep, and perceiving that the hour was come for him to be avenged on this cruel lady, he went early to his lodging, and had his beard cut to the length and breadth of the gentleman's, and in like •manner his hair, that when she touched him she might not know the difference. Nor did he forget the felt slippers, and, to be short, had all his dress after the fashion of the Italian's. And since he was among the familiar acquaintances of the stepfather he was not afraid of going early to the house, thinking, if he were perceived, to go straight to the good man's chamber on some affair they had together. So at midnight he entered the lady's house, and found much folk both coming and going, but passed among them unknown and got into the gallery. And on touching the two first doors he found them fast, but the third was open. And when he was in the room he bolted the door behind him, and beheld all the room to be hung with white, and the ceiliilg and the floor after the same manner, and in it there was a bed with a curtain most admirably worked in white. And on the bed was the lady in her nightcap and shift covered with pearls and precious stones; this he saw through a comer of the curtain without her seeing him, for there was in the room a great candle of refined wax, which made it as light as thg day. And for fear of being known of her, he first blew out the candle, then doffed his clothes and got into bed beside her. She, believing him to be the man who had loved her so long, made for him the best cheer that she could, but he, knowing it was for another, would not say sa much as a single word, and had no thoughts save of putting his vengeance into execution, that is to say, of taking away her honour and chastity without her will and favour. But she Novel XIV.] DAT THE SECOND. 101 held herself so content with this vengeance of his that she thought she had made him a full return for all his services, till at last the clock struck one, and it was time to bid farewell. Where- upon in as low a voice as he was able he asked her whether she was as pleased with him as he with her. She, thinking him to be her lover, said that not only was she pleased but mightily astonished at the greatness of his love, which had prevented him for a whole hour from replying to her. At this he burst into a loud laugh, and said to her : " Will you then indeed refuse me another time, as has been your custom up to now ?" She, knowing him by his speech and laughter, was made so desperate with grief and shame that a thousand times she called him villain, traitor, deceiver, and would have sprung from the bed to look for a knife that she might kill him, since it had been her fortune to lose her honour for a man who loved her not, and who, to make perfect his vengeance, might blaze abroad the whole matter. But holding her back with his arms he spoke to her gently, and assured her that he loved her better than the Italian, and that he would so conceal her dishonour that she would take no hurt thereby. All this the poor fool believed, and hearing from him how he had found out his scheme, and the pains he had talcen to win her, swore to him that she loved him better than the man who could not keep her secret, and that she was now well persuaded that the common report as touching the French was false, since they were more wise, secret, and persevering than the Italians. Wherefore from henceforth she would forget the opinion her countrymen had of the French, and cleave to him. But she entreated him not to be present for some time at any assembly where she was save it was masked, for she knew well she should be so ashamed that her face would discover her to all men. To this he consented, and asked her, when her sweetheart came at two o'clock, to make good cheer for him also, but after this little by little to separate herself from him. At this she made so great difficulty that, had it not been for the love she bore him, she would never have granted it. And in bidding her farewell, he gave her such good matter of satisfaction that she heartily wished he could stay longer. After he was arisen and had put on his clothes he went from the room, leaving the door as he had found it. And since it 102 HEPTAMEBOlf. [Novel XIV. was hard on two o'clock, and he feared to meet the Italian on the way, he hid himself near the top of the stair, and soon after saw him pass by and go into the lady's room. Then he went home to his lodging to rest from his travail, which he did in such sort that nine o'clock in the morning found him still in bed. And while he was rising the Italian failed not to come and tell him his luck, though it was not of the kind he had hoped for. He said that when he entered the lady's room he found her out of bed in her dressing-gown and in a high fever, her pulse beating quick and fist, her face afire, and the sweat beginning to run adown it. In such case was she that she was fain for him straightway to begone, since she had more occasion to think of God than Cupid, telling him she was sorry he had run this risk, since she could not give him what he wanted in a world firom which she thought soon to depart. At all this he was so astounded and grieved that his joyful heat was changed to most mournful ice, and he presently left her. And while he made this relation so bitterly did he weep that it seemed as if his soul would shortly follow his tears. Bonnivet, who was as fain to laugh as the other to weep, consoled him as well as might be, telling him that these long-lasting love affairs had always a difficult beginning, and that Love made this delay to the end that the enjoyment of her should be greater, and with this they parted. As for the lady sjie kept her bed some days, and when health was restored to her, gave her first lover his dismissal, founding it on her remorse and fear of death. But she kept in her favour Bonnivet, whose love lasted, as it was wont, as long as the flowers of the field. " It seems to me, ladies, that the craft of the gentleman was well matched with the hypocrisy of the lady who, after having counterfeited the honest woman, showed herself what she was." "You may say what you will," said Ennasuitte, "but the gentleman did her an evil turn. If a lady loves one man, should another have her by craft ?" " Trust me," answered Geburon, " such commodities, when for sale, are bought in by the best and last bidders. Do not think that lovers take so much trouble for love of their mistresses, for it is pnly for love of themselves and their own pleasure." " By my faith," said Longarine, " I believe you, for to speak the plain truth, all the lovers I have ever had made me, my life, my good, my honour. Novel XIV.] DAY THE SECOND. 109 the first heads of their discourse, but ' finally,' and 'to conclude,' ■were themselves, their pleasure, their renown. Wherefore the best plan is to put a close to the first part of the sermon, for when one comes to the second there is not so much honour to be gained, since it goes without saying that vice is to be met with a refusal." « One must needs then," said Ennasuitte, " refuse a man the moment he opens his mouth without know- ing what he would say." To this replied Parlamente : "This was not her intent, for we are well assured that at the beginnmg a woman ought not to make any sign that she understands whither the man is going, nor should she seem to be able to believe him when he tells her, but when it comes to oaths and the like, I think that it is best for us to leave them on this brave road, without descending to the valley below." "But ought we," said Nomerfide, " to believe this of them, that their love is lust ? Is it not a sin to judge one's neighbour P' " You may believe what you please," replied Oisille, " but there is such strong matter of suspicion that it is so, that when you perceive the least spark of this fire you should run from it, since it has burnt up many a heart that thought not of danger near." " Truly," said Hircan, " these your laws are too hard, and scarcely to be borne. And if women, to whom gentleness is so befitting, were to follow your advice, we too should make a change, and for soft entreaty you would have craft and main force." " Let each one follow his complexion," said Simontault, " that seems to me the best ; let him love or not love, as he will, but let there be no deceit." " Would to God," answered Saffredent, "that this law of yours would be as much to the advantage of honour as pleasure." But Dagoucin could not refrain from saying : " They who would rather die than make manifest their hearts could by no means observe your obe- dience.'' " Die !" said Hircan, " is there any such thing as an honest gentleman who, for a matter of so small account, would think of death ? But let us no more talk of impossible things, and rather hear to whom Simontault will give his vote." " I give it," said he, " to Longarine, for I have been looking at her a long while, and she is still talking to herself, so I think that she has some good relation, and it is not her manner to conceal the truth, be it against man or woman." " Since you deem me so truthful," said Longarine, " I will tell you a story 104 HEPTAMEEON. [Novel XV. from •which, though it be not so much to the praise of women as I could desire, you shall see that in them there are as bold hearts as keen wits, and as crafty devisings as in men. And if my tale be long, I entreat you bear patiently with me." NOVEL XV. A woman will do that for revenge she will not for love. There lived a gentleman in the Court of King Francis the First whose name I know well, but will not make mention of it. He was poor, having an income of only five hundred pounds, but stood so high in the King's favour that he was enabled thereby to take to wife a woman so rich that a great lord would have been well contented with her. And for that she was still very young, he entreated one of the most noble of the Court ladies to have the charge of her, which she did with hearty goodwill. Now because this gentleman was of gentle blood, goodly to look upon, and of an infinite grace, he stood in excellent case with all the ladies, and notably with one of the King's mistresses, neither so young nor pretty as his own wife. And for the great love he bore this woman, he made so small account of his wife that he hardly slept with her a single night, and what to her was still more hard to be borne, he never spoke to her, nor gave her any signs of friendship. And not- withstanding that he had the enjoyment of her substance, so little thereof fell to her share that she had not so much as a dress that was agreeable to her rank and desire. For all this the lady with whom his wife lived often reproved him, saying to him after this sort : " Your wife is pretty, rich, and of an illustrious house,, yet do you make no more account of her than if she were the opposite of all this. And being still young she has borne it hitherto, but I fear lest, when she is come of riper years, her mirror and one who bears no love for you, will show her that beauty so little esteemed by you, and she will do that for vengeance sake which, had she been well entreated, would never have come into her thoughts." The gentleman, his heart being disposed in another quarter, made sport of her, and for all her warnings continued in his accustomed manner of living. But when two or three years were overpast, his wife / Novel XV.] DAT THE SECOND. 105 began to grow the comeliest woman in all France, insomuch as it was reported that at the very Court she had no equal. And the more she perceived that she was worthy of love, the more she sorrowed that her husband made such small account of her ; in such sort that, had it not been for the consolements of the lady with whom she lived, she would have fallen into despair. And having used all means of pleasing her husband that were in her, she thought that it were impossible he should not love her, seeing the great love she bore him, if his brain had not conceived a fantasy for some other woman ; and so subtilely did she search out this, that she discovered the truth, and that he was so busily engaged every night in another place that he had forgotten his wife and his conscience. And when she was surely persuaded of the manner of life he led, she fell into such a melancholy that she would have no other gear but black, and would by no means go to any place where was pleasant entertainment. And although the lady of the house did all she was able to move her from this sadness, she could not, and her husband, knowing it well enough, was readier to make a mock than supply the remedy. You know, ladies, that a great joy is followed by tears, so bitter sorrow ends with gladness. So one day it fell out that a great lord, who ofttimes came to the house, and was near akin to the mistress of it, hearing the strange fashion of this lady's treat- ment,, had so great pity on her that he was fain to essay some- what for her consolation, and speaking to her he found her so comely, so wise, and so virtuous that he became more desirous to gain her favour than to talk about her husband, save to show how little cause she had to love him. The lady, seeing herself abandoned of him who ought to have loved her, and on the other hand loved and entreated by so fine a gentleman, held herself exceedingly happy to be in his favour. And although she was always tender of preserving her honour, yet she took great delight in speaking to him, and beholding herself loved and esteemed, for which she, so to say, hungered and thirsted. And this friendship of theirs lasted a long while, even until the King perceived it, who for the love he bore the husband would not willingly suffer any dishonour to be laid upon him. Wherefore he entreated the prince to put her out of his thoughts, saying that if he persisted he would be 106 HEPTAMEBON. [Novel XV. heartily displeased with him. So the prince, loving the favour of the King better than all the ladies in the world, promised for' his love towards him to bring the matter to an end, and that very evening to bid her farewell. And this as he had promised so he performed, as soon as he knew her to be gone to her lodging, where she and her husband had a room above his own. And her husband, chancing to be at a window, saw the prince enter his wife's room, and though the prince too saw him, he went in none the less. And in bidding farewell to her for whom his love was hardly begun, he gave for reason the com- mands of the King. After their tears and regrets had lasted till an hour after midnight, the lady made an end by saying : " I praise God, sir, that he is pleased to deprive you of your love for me, since it is of such poor and feeble growth that you take it up and lay it down at the commands of men. As for me, I neither asked leave of my mistress, nor my husband, nor my very self to love you, for this same love, together with your beauty and honour, has such sway over me that I know no other god or king but him. But since your heart is not so filled with this true love as not to leave a place for fear, you can be no perfect lover, and I have no wish to love with a perfect love — such as I had for you — an imperfect lover. So, sir, I bid you farewell, since your fear makes you undeserving of a love like mine." The prince went away in tears, and perceived the husband still at the window, and that he had seen both his going in and his coming out. Wherefore on the morrow he told him wherefore he had gone to see his wife, and the command the King had laid on him, at which the gentleman was much pleased, and thanked the King for it. But seeing his wife, that she grew more beautiful day by day, and himself that he was growing old and losing his comeliness, he began to change his part, and took to that which he had made his wife play for so long a time, for he sought her out more than he was wont, and kept watch over her. But all the more he did this, the more she avoided him, wishing to give her husband back in part those sorrows she had had at being so little beloved of him. And so as not to lose all at once the pleasure that love began to give her, she addressed herself to a young gentleman, so handsome and well spoken, and of such good grace that he was in favour with all Novel XV.] DAY THE SECOND. 107 the ladies of the Court. And making complaint to him of the manner in which she had been treated, she stirred pity for her in his heart in such sort that the young gentleman tried every means for her consolation. And she, to make good the prince she had lost, set herself so well to love the gentleman that she forgot her sorrows overpast, and thought of nothing but the skilful conduct of this love-affair. And- this was done by her in such a manner that her mistress perceived nothing of it, for in her presence she took good care not to speak to her gallant, but when she wished to talk with him she went to see certain ladies who were lodged at the Court, amongst whom there was one thought to be her husband's sweetheart. So, one evening after supper, when it began to grow dark, this aforesaid lady did creep away, and without calling a companion went into the ladies' room, where she found him whom she loved better than herself. Then, sitting close together at a table, they talked with one another, feigning to read from a book. A certain one, whom her husband had set on the watch, came and told him where his wife was, and he, who had some share of wisdom, went thither as quickly as he was able. And on entering the room he saw his wife reading a book, and making as if he saw her not, crossed over to speak to the ladies on the other side. Whereupon his poor wife, seeing herself discovered by her husband with a man to whom before him she had never spoken, was so affrayed that she lost her reason, and not being able to pass along the bench, leapt on the table and fled, as if her husband was following her with a drawn sword, and so sought out her mistress. And no sooner had she undressed and gone to bed than one of her women came to say that her husband called for her. To this she straightly replied that she would by no means go, since he was of such strange and austere complexion that she was afraid he might do her an evil turn. But at last, for fear of some worse thing, she went as it was colhmanded of her. Her husband said not one word to her until that they were in bed, and she, who knew not like him how to dissimulate, began to weep. And when he asked her the why and wherefore, she told him that she was afraid he was angry with her, because he had found her reading with a gentleman. To which he replied that he had never forbidden her to speak with men, and that he never 108 HEPTAMERON. [Novel XV, had taken such speech in bad part; but she had fledawayfrom his presence, as if she had done something worthy of punishment, and this alone made him think she loved the gentleman. Where- fore he forbade her to hold parley with him in public or in private, assuring her that the first time she did so he would kill her without mercy or compassion. And to this she very willingly agreed, determining within herself not to be such a fool the second time. But since things one wishes for the more they are forbidden all the more they are desired, the poor woman very soon forgot her husband's threats and the promises she had made to him. Nay, the very same evening she, having returned to sleep in another room with some other ladies and their women, sent to the gentleman entreating him to come and see her in the night. But her husband, who was in such torment by reason of his jealousy that he could not sleep, folded his cloak round him, and taking a serving-man went and knocked at his wife's door, for he had heard that her lover was wont to go to her at night. She, expecting none less than him, got up and put on her furred slippers and a robe which came to hand. And seeing the three or four women she had with her that they were asleep, she went forth from the room to the door at which she heard the knocking. And to her question : " Who is that ?" they gave for answer the name of her lover, but to be more assured she opened a small wicket, saying : " If you are he whom you say, give me your hand ; and shall I not well know it ?" And when she touched her husband's hand she was aware of it, and sharply closing the wicket, cried out : " Ah, husband, it is your hand." Her husband in great wrath replied to her : *' why, ay, it is the hand that will fulfil my promise, wherefore fail not to come when I call for you." Saying thus he returned to his lodging, and she to her room, more dead than alive, and in a loud voice cried to her women : " Arise, for you have too long slept, for thinking to deceive you I myself have heen deceived." Then all a-swoon she fell into the middle of the chamber. Her women arose at this cry, so much amazed to see their mistress lying on the ground for dead, and to hear the words of her mouth, that they knew not what to do, save to run for remedies to revive her. And when she was able to speak she said to them : " You see before you the most un- happy woman on the face of the earth !" and so fell to relating Novel XV.] DAY THE SECOND. 109 her evil case, and praying them to succour her since she held her life for lost. And while they were making endeavour to console her, there came a serving-man to them, who commanded her to straightway go to her husband. She, embracing two of the women, began to weep and to wail, praying them not to let her go since it was surely to her death. But the serving-man told her it was not so, and that she should suffer no evil, his life for hers. So, seeing there was no way of resistance, she threw her- self into his arms, saying : " Since it must be so, bear this wretched body to its death 1" And, half swooning with despair, she was carried by the servant to his master's lodging, at whose feet then fell this poor lady, with these words : " Sir, I pray you have pity upon me, and I swear to you by my faith before God that I will tell you the whole truth." Her husband, as one desperate, replied to her : " By God you shall tell it me," and sent away from the room all his people. And since he had always known his wife for a devout woman, he was well persuaded that she would not swear falsely upon the cross, so sent for a brave one, and when they were both alone made her swear upon it that she would truly answer him all his questions. But having by this time overcome her first fear of death, she took courage, being resolved before that she died not to conceal from him the truth, and also not to say anything that might be to the hurt of the gentleman her lover. And after that she had heard all the questions he applied to her, she thus replied to him : " I have no wish, sir, to justify myself, or to make of less account before you the love I have borne to the gentleman you suspect, for after your experience this day you neither could nor ought to believe it ; but I have a great desire to tell you the causes of my love. Understand, then, that never wife so loved her husband as I have loved you ; and from the time I was betrothed to you even until now there entered not into my heart any love but that of you. You know that while I was yet a child my kinsfolk would have me many a certain one, both richer and of a more noble house than you, but from the hour we spoke together, I could by no means consent to their will, for against all counsel I was resolved to have you, without regarding either your poverty or any remonstrances my kinsfolk might make to me. And you can by no means be ignorant of 110 HEPTAMERON. [Novel XV. the treatment I have received at your handl, and of how you have had for me neither love nor esteem, at which I took such grief that, without the help of the lady with whom you placed me, I should have been in despair. But at last, seeing myself accounted of great beauty by all save you, I began to have sudi a lively feeling of your wrong towards me, that my former love was turned to hatred, and my desire of doing your pleasure into a desire of revenge. And amid this despair a certain prince sought me out ; but he, choosing rather to be obedient to the King than to love, left me, whereas I began to take some comfort in my torment by means of an honourable friendship. And he being gone, I lit upon a man who had to take no pains to seek me out, since his honour, his grace, and lus virtues themselves well deserve to be sought out by every woman of understanding. At my request, and not by his, he has given me his love, and this so virtuous that never yet has he asked anything of me that could not honourably be granted. And though the small love I owe to you might have me excused if I broke with faith and' loyalty, the love I owe to God and my honour has well assured me from doing aught of which I should fear to make confession. I wish not to deny to you that, as often as might be, I have gone to hold parley with him in a closet, making a pretext of saying my prayers, for never, either to man or woman, have I entrusted the con- duct of this affair. Neither will I deny that being in so privy a place I have kissed him with more hearty goodwill than I have kissed you. But let'not God be merciful towards me if aught else hath passed between us, or if he has entreated such ' from me, or if my heart hath felt of such the desire, for so great was my delight at seeing him that I deemed in the whole world there was no pleasure beside. And you, sir, who are alone the cause of this annoy, would you take vengeance for a work of which you have for a long time set me the example, save that you have neither honour nor conscience on your side ? For you know well, as I do, that she whom you love doth by no means content, herself with what God and reason have enjoined. And though the la,w of men deem it great dishonour in women who love other than their husbands, yet the law of God metes equal measure for the husbands who love other than their wives. And if your sin and mine be put into the balance, you Novel XV.] - DAT THE SECOND. Ill are a man wise and with the experience of age ; I, a woman, young and with no experience of the force and power of love. You have a wife, who seeks you out, esteems, and loves you more than her very life ; I have a husband who flies me, who hates me,- who despises me more than a serving wench. You love a woman older, of worse figure, and of worse looks than I ; I love a gentleman younger, handsomer, and more amiable than you. You love the wife of one of your most familiar friends and the mistress of your King, doing hurt at the same time to the friendship you owe the one and the reverence you owe the other ; I love a gentleman who is tied by nothing save by his love to me. Judge then, without favour, which of the two is meet to be punished and which excused ; you, a man reputed for prudence and experience, who, without any fault ol mine, have done not only to me but to your King such an evil turn ; or I, young and without experience, despised and contemptuously entreated by you, who have loved the hand- somest and most honourable gentleman in France, and have loved even him in despair at ever attaining to your love." The husband, hearing these truthful conclusions, given out by such a beautiful countenance, and with so well assured and daring a grace, that she showed herself neither to be in fear nor desert of punishment, was in such surprise and astonish- ment that he had nothing to say, except that the honour of a man and of a woman are not like to one another. But never- theless, since she had sworn to him that there had been between her and her lover nothing beside that of which she had made mention, he was resolved to do her no harm so long as she had no more talk with him, and that they should neither of them re- member anymore the things that were past; and this she promised him, and with this good agreement they went to bed together. On the morrow an old lady who attended on her, having been in sore fear for her mistress's life, came to her as she was getting up and said : " Well, m_istress, and how goes it with you ?" She, laughing, answered : " Trust me, there's no better husband than mine, for he believed me on my oath." And . so passed five or six days, the husband being so tender of his wife that night and day he kept a spy upon her. But for all his ward, she still held parley with her lover, and that too in a dark place and suspicious : natheless, she was so secret in the 112 HEPTAMEROIir, ["Novel XV. matter that no man knew the truth of it Only there was a rumour set about by a serving-maji that he had found a gentle- man with a lady in a stable under the room of the mistress of the household. At which the husband took so strong a suspi- cion that he was resolved to put the gentleman to death, and to this intent gathered together a great number of his kinsfolk and acquaintance. But the chief among his kinsfolk was so good a friend of the gentleman's that he sought him out, and in place of killing him, advertised him of the complot. And beside this the gentleman ■vi'as so beloved of all the Court, and went abroad so well accompanied, that he feared not the power of his enemy, and, to be short, they never came in his way. But he went to a church to find his sweetheart's mistress, who knew nothing of the passages between them, for in her presence they had not so much as spoken together. And the gentle- ' man told her the suspicions and evil purpose of the husband, and that, although he was innocent, he was resolved to go on a long journey to do away with the rumour, which now began greatly to be raised abroad. The Princess was much astonished to hear all this, and swore that the husband did great wrong, insomuch that he suspected an honourable woman whom she had never known but all virtuousness. But considering the authority of the husband, and to put an end to this shameful rumour, the princess counselled him to withdraw himself some while, assuring him that she gave no credit to these foolish suspicions. The gentleman, and the lady who was with the princess, were well content to still possess her favour and good opinion. And she advised the gentleman before his departure to have speech with the husband, which advice he followed. And he found him in a gallery near the Presence Chamber, where with a steadfast visage, doing him the reverence that per- tained unto his rank, he said to him : " Sir, throughout all my whole life I have been desirous of doing you service, and by way of reward I hear that this evening you would seek me out to take my life. I entreat you to have in mind that, though you have more power and authority than I, yet like you I am a gentleman, and would not willingly lose my life for nothing. I beseech you to believe that you have to wife an honourable woman, and if tliere be any to say the contrary, I tell him he lies most villainously. As for me I know of nothing I have Novel XV.] DAT THE SECOND. 113 done for which you owe me evil. And, if it please you, I will remain your servant, or if not, the King's, with which I am content." The husband, on hearing this, told him that of a truth he had held him in some suspicion,, but that he found him so honourable a man that he had rather his love than his hatred ; and in bidding him farewell, hat in hand, he embraced him with great friendship. Conceive, if you can, what was said of them who, the evening before, had been charged to take the life of the one, when they saw the other give him such signs of honourable friendship ; but in truth each had his own thoughts upon the matter. So the gentleman fared forth on his journey ; but since he had a less store of money than comeliness, his sweetheart sent him a ring of three thousand crowns which her husband had given her, and he pledged it for fifteen hundred crowns. And some time after this departure, the husband came to the princess with whom his wife lived, and asked her to take farewell of her that she might go and live with one of his sisters. At this the princess marvelled, and so strongly prayed him to tell her the cause of it that he told her a part, but not all. And after the young lady had said farewell to her mistress and the whole Court, without tears or any sign of sorrow, she went whither her husband wished, bemg in the keeping of a gentleman, to whom charge was given that he should strictly guard her, and above all that she should not speak on the road with him whom her husband held in suspi- cion. She, who was aware of these commands, every day gave them some alarms, mocking them and the care they took of her. And on one day, as they set out -from their lodging, she found a Grey Friar on horseback. And she riding her nag talked with him by the way, even from dinner to supper. And when they were within a quarter of a league of their resting- place, she said to him : " Holy father, in return for the conso- lation you have given me this afternoon, I hereby give you two crowns, the which are in paper, for I am well assured that otherwise you would by no means touch them. And I pray you, that when you have departed from me, you will go at a good rate along the road, and take heed that these men here see you not. This I say for your good, and for the obligation I have towards you." The Friar, well pleased with his two 114 HEPTAMERON. [Novel XV. crowns, began to gallop away along the road, and when he was gone some short distance, the lady began to call out to her servants : " Think you that you are good servants, and careful in guarding me ? Verily he, concerning whom you have had so many commands that I was not to speak to him, has held parley with me all this day, and you have not hindered him. You well deserve that your master, who puts in you so great a trust, should give you blows in place of wages." When the gentleman who had her in his keeping heard this, it cut him to the heart, and he could not answer her a single word, but putting spurs to his horse and calling two others to his side he rode so fast that he got up to the Grey Friar. The poor man, seeing them coming, fled as best he could, but since they were the better mounted he was taken captive ; and not knowing the wherefore of all this, cried for mercy, and on his throwing back his hood so as in more lowly sort with bare head to make his entreaty they knew him not to be the man they sought, and that their mistress was making a pastime of them. This she did also when they came back, saying : " Truly it is folk like you to whom ladies should be entrusted : you who let them speak to you know not who, and then putting faith in their words, shamefully entreat the servants of God." After all this mocking cozenage, she came to the place her husband had appointed for her, and was subject to her two sisters-in-law and the husband of one of them. And about this time her husband heard how her ring was in pledge for fifteen hundred crowns, at which he was in sore displeasure, and to save the honour of his wife and to get back the ring, he told her by his sisters that she should get it back and he would pay the fifteen hundred crowns. She, caring not at all for the ring so long as the money stood with her lover, wrote to him that her husband constrained her to get it back ; and to the end that he should not think her love was grown less, she sent him a diamond given to her by her mistress, which she held in more account than any ring whatsoever. The gentleman sent the Lombard back his bond with great goodwill, contented with the crowns and the diamond, and the assurance of his sweetheart's favour. But while her husband was alive, he had no means of addressing her, save on paper. And when her husband was dead, thinking to find her such as she had Novel XV.] DAY THE SECOND. 115 promised, he as speedily as he was able sought her in marriage, but found his long absence had given him a fellow better beloved than himself. And for this he had so great grief that, flying from the ladies, he sought places of danger, in which, having as much esteem as a young man can, he ended his days. " Hereby, ladies, without sparing our sex, I wish to make plain to husbands that women of a great heart are more often overcome by the fire of revenge than by the sweetness of love, the latter of which the woman I have told you of for a long while resisted, but at last was conquered by despair. This is no ensample for an honourable woman, for in howsoever evil a case one may be, it is no excuse for evil-doing. For the greater and the more manifold our temptations, so much the more ought we to show ourselves virtuous, and to overcome evil by good, and not to render evil for evil ; since often the ill a body thinks to bring upon another falls upon his own head. Exceeding happy are those women in whom God manifests himself by chastity, gentleness, patience, and long-suffering." " It seems to me, Longarine," said Hircan, " that the lady of whom you have spoken was more moved by revenge than love, for if the love she bore the gentleman was as great as her pretence thereof, she would not have left him for another; wherefore we may reasonably name her revengeful, obstinate, and inconstant." "You at your ease talk well," said Enna- suitte to him, " but have you ever known how heartbreaking it is when one loves and is not beloved?" "True it is," answered Hircan, " that I have made few trials of this, for let a lady show me ever so small an unkindness, and I have done with the pair of them — love and the lady." " Ay, you," said Parlamente, " who love nothing but your own pleasure ; but a virtuous woman cannot have done with her husband in such fashion." "All the same," said SafFredent, "the lady of the story forgot awhile that she was a woman, for a man could not have devised a prettier piece of revenge." " For one devoid of goodness," said Oisille, "we should not esteem all other women to be like to her." "Yet," said Saffredent, "you are all women, and howsoever bravely you may be decked out, he who makes a good search in front beneath your petticoats will still find that you are women." 116 HEPTAMERON. [Novel XVI. Nomerfide said to him : " Did we give ear to you the day- would be spent in disputations. But I so greatly desire to hear another story, that I pray Longarine to give her vote to someone." Longarine looked at Geburon, and said to him : "If you know anything as touching a virtuous woman, I entreat you put it before us now." And Geburon said: " Since the lot has fallen on me, I will tell you of a thing that happened in the town of Milan." NOVEL XVI. A love persevering and fearless meets with due reward. In the time of the grand-master of Chaumont there lived in Milan a lady esteemed one of the most honourable in the town. She, being the widow of an Italian count, lived in the house of her brothers-in-law, without any wish of marrying again, and kept herself so wisely and virtuously that there was in the duchy neither Frenchman nor Italian who did not hold her in great repute. One day, on which her brothers-in-law and her sisters-in-law made entertainment for the grand-master of Chaumont, although it was not her custom, she was constrained to be present, and when the Frenchmen saw her they mightily extolled her beauty and grace, and above all one whose name I tell not, but it will suffice to know that there was not a Frenchman in Italy more worthy of love than he, for he was fulfilled with every brave and knightly grace. And although he saw this lady, that she was clad in black, and sat apart from the maidens with old women all around her, yet fearing neither man nor woman he set himself to talk with her, taking off his mask and leaving the dances to be in her company. And all the evening he stirred not from her side, talking to her and the old women, around, which he found more to his liking than if they had been the youngest and the fairest at Court, in such sort that when he must needs go, it seemed to him that he had scarcely sat down. And though he but held with the lady such common matter of discourse as was fit for the company to hear, yet she was well persuaded that he was desirous to be of her acquaint- ance, against which she was determined to guard as well as might be, and so neither at entertainment nor great assembly Novel XVI.] DAY THE SECOND. 117 did he see her any more. Having made inquiry of her manner of living, he discovered that she went often to churches and convents, and he kept so good watch upon her that let her be as secret as she would, wherever she went he was there first, and would stay as long as he was able to see her, and all the while looking upon her in such a manner that she could not be ignorant of his love towards her. And for the avoiding of this she determined for some while to feign sickness and hear mass in her own house, at which the gentleman was sorely grieved, for he had lost the only means of seeing her. She, thinking to have put an end to that habit of his, returned to the churches as be- fore, but love forthwith made it known to the French gentleman, and he became as devout as ever he was. And for fear lest she might a second time do something to his hindrance, or lest he might not have opportunity to make known his mind to her, one morning, when she thought herself shrewdly hidden away in a side chapel, he went to the end of the altar at which she was hearing mass, and seeing that she had no companions, just as the priest lifted up the Body of the Lord, he turned towards her, and in a gentle voice and aiFectionate, said to her : " Mistress, I will take Him whom the priest holds in his hands to my damnation if you are not the reason of my death, for though you deprive me of parley with you, yet you cannot be ignorant of the truth, since it is manifest in the languishment of my eyes and my face all amort." The lady, feigning to understand nothing, replied to him : " Thou shalt not take God's name in vain, but the poets say the gods laugh at the oaths and lies of lovers, wherefore ladies of honour should by no means be credulous or compassionate." Saying thus she arose and returned to her lodging. Those who have had experiences like to this will be well assured that the gentleman was very wrathful. But he, whose heart never failed him, liked better to have had a bad answer than to have failed to declare his mind, the which for three years re- mained steadfast, and all the while he ceased not to pay suit to her by letters and by all manner of means, losing not so much as an hour. But during these three years he had no reply from her, since she fled from him as the hare from the wolf, not out of hatred, but for fear of her honour and reputation. And the cause was so plainly manifest to him that never before had he 118 HEPTAMERON. [Novel XVI. SO vigorously pressed his suit. And after much reftisal, pains, torments, and despair, seeing the greatness and perseverance of his love, the lady took pity on him, and granted to him that -which he so much desired and had waited for so long. And when they had come to an agreement upon the ways and means, the French gentleman did not fail to risk his life by going to her house, and the risk was indeed a great one, seeing that all her kinsfolk were lodged in this same mansion. He, having no less craft than comeliness, brought it about so well that he got into her room at the appointed time, and found her lying by herself on a most rare bed. But as he made haste to doff his clothes that he might get into bed with her, he heard at the door a noise of voices speaking low, and the clash of swords as they touched the wall. His widow lady, with the face of a woman half dead, said to him : " In good sooth now are your life and my honour in as great peril as they can ever be, for I plainly hear my brothers, who seek you out that they may kill you. Wherefore I pray you hide yourself under the bed, that when they come and find you not I may reproach them for alarming me without a cause." The gentleman, who never yet had known fear, said to her : " And what manner of men are these your brothers to make an honest man to be afraid ? Were all your kin to be here, I am well assured that they would not await so much as the fourth blow of my sword, wherefore rest you in your bed, and leave me to guard the door." And taking his cloak across his arm with his drawn sword in his hand, he opened the door to the intent that he might see close at hand the swords that made such a clashing. And when it was opened he saw two serving-maids, who, with two swords in each hand, had caused the tumult, and they said to him : " Sir, pardon' us, since we had commandment from our mistress to do this, but from us you shall have no further hindrance.'* The gentleman, seeing then that they were women, did lio more hurt to them than that, sending them to the devil, he shut the door in their faces, and got to bed with the lady as soon as he could, since fear had by no means lessened his love, even forgetting to ask the reason of all this, and thinking of nothing but the satisfying his desire. But seeing morning to be near at hand, he asked her to tell him wherefore she had done him so many evil turns, both in making him to wait so long and in Novel XVI.] DAY THE SECOND. 119 this last afFair of the swords and serving-maids. She, laughing, replied to him : " It was my fixed resolve never to love, and this I have kept throughout my widowhood ; but your honour- able address, from the day you first spoke to me, made me change my resolve and so love you as you have loved me. It is true that honour always guiding me would not allow my love to do that by which my good repute might suffer hurt. But like as the hart, wounded unto death, thinks in moving from one place to another to move from the ill it carries with it, so did I fly from church to church, thinking to escape that which was in my soul, but the proof of your perfect love has made honour come to an agreement with it. Yet to the end that I might be the more assured of placing my heart and my love in a perfect man, I was fain to make this last proof of you by means of my women. And I tell you that if, for the sake of your life or aught else, I had found you fearful enough to get under the bed, I was determined to rise and go into another room, without ever having to do with you. But since I found in you more beauty, grace, virtue, and bravery than I had been advised of, and since fear has no power at all to touch your heart or to chill your love towards me, I am resolved to cleave to you for the rest of my days, for in no better hands could I put my life and my honour than in him who in every way is without a match." And all as if the will of man was unchangeable, they promised and sware what lay not within their power — namely, perpetual love, which cannot arise or dwell in a man's heart. And only those women know this who have tried how long their passion lasts. " Wherefore, ladies, if you are wise, you will be wary of us, as would the stag, if he had understanding, be wary of the hunter. For our glory, our happiness, and our contentment, is to see you captives, and to take from you that which you hold more dear than life." " What, Geburon," said Hircan, " since when have you turned preacher ? Such was not afore- time the manner of your discourse." " It is true," replied Geburon, "that I have just now spoken the very opposite to the deliverances of my whole life ; but since I am grown old and my teeth are too weak to chew the venison, I advise the young deer to beware of the huntsmen, that I may give satis- faction in my old age for the sins of my youth." " We thank 120 HEPTAMEBON. [Novel XYII. you,. Geburon," said Nomerfide, " for that you nave given us this advice for our profit, but we cannot hold ourselves under great obligation to you, since such was not the manner of your discourse to her whom you loved ; it is a sign therefore that you love us not, and do not wish that we should ever be loved. Yet we deem ourselves to the full as wise and virtuous as those whom you chased so in your youth, but it is ever the boast of old men that they were more prudent than those who come after them." "Yet, Nomerfide," said Geburon, "when the deceit of one of your lovers hath made you to understand the wickedness of men ; in that hour will you believe that I have spoken the truth ?" Oisille said to Geburon : " It seems to me that the gentleman whom you praise so much for his courage ought rather to be praised for the madness of his love, which is so strong a power that it maketh the most pitiful cowards in the world undertake things on which the bravest would think twice." Saifredent said to her : " If it were not that he thought the Italians a folk better at words than deeds, it seems to me he had had good occasion of fear." "Ay," said Oisille, "and if it were not for that fire at his heart that burnt up fear." *' It seems to me," said Hircan, " that since you do not esteem the courage of him praiseworthy, you doubtless know some other deed of the same kind more worthy of praise." " It is true," said Oisille, " that he is praiseworthy, but I know of ' one more admirably brave." "I beseech you then," said Geburon, " to take my place and tell us of him." Oisille began : " If a man who, for his life and his lady's honour, showed his courage against the men of Milan, is accounted so brave, what will you call one, who, for no necessity laid upon him but from true and inborn courage, did the deed I am about to teU you ?" NOVEL XVII. King Francis shows his courage that it is well approved. There came to Dijon, in the duchy of Burgundy, a German count named William, of the House of Saxe, which is so near akin to the House of Savoy that of old they were one. This count, being esteemed the bravest and most handsome gentle- man in Germany, having offered his service to the King of Novel XVII.] DAY THE SECOND. 121 France, was so well received of him that not only did he accept him as a follower, but kept him close at hand as a servant of the Body. Now my lord de la Tremoille, governor of Burgundy, the same being an ancient knight and loyal servant to the King, was always jealous and fearful of his master, and had spies on all hands, that he might know the counsels of the enemies of the King, and so well did he conduct matters that few things were hid from him. And he was advertised by one of his friends that Count William had received a sum of money, with assurance of more, to the intent that he might in any way cause the King to be murdered. Whereupon my lord de la Tremoille did forthwith advise the King of it, and did not conceal it from his mother, Louise de Savoye, who forgetting that she and this German were akin, implored the King straightway to dismiss him. But the King would have her speak no more of it, saying it was impossible for so good and honourable a gentleman to have undertaken so evil an enterprise. At the end of some time there came a second tidings concerning him to the same intent as the first, at which the governor, burning with love for his master, demanded that he should be sent from his service and banished the realm, or that some manner of order should be taken with him. But the King straightly charged him that he should make no sign, being well persuaded that by some other means he should come to a knowledge of the truth. And one day, on which he was going a hunting, he took out the best sword that he had, and bade Count William follow hard after him ; and after chasing the stag for some time, the King, seeing that all his people were far off, and that the Count alone was with him, turned aside from ail the tracks. And when he saw himself alone with the Count in the very depths of the forest, drawing his sword he said to him : " Does this sword seem to you both good to look upon and serviceable withal ?" The Count, handling the point, said he had seen none to overmatch it. " You are in the right," said the King, " and methinks if a man was resolved to kill me, and knew the strength of my arm and the stoutness of my heart, and the goodness of this sword here, he would think twice before having at me ; nevertheless, I should hold him for a pitiful scoundrel if we were all alone, without witnesses, and he durst 122 HEPTAMEROSr. [Novel XVII, not carry out what he durst conceive." To which Count William, with an astounded countenance, replied : " Sire, the wickedness of such an undertaking would be very great, but the folly of putting it into execution would be no less." The King, with a laugh, put back the sword into the sheath, and hearing the chase hard by, pricked after it as fast as he was able. When he was come up he spoke to no one on the matter, being assured that Count William, though a brave enough gentle- man, was not competent for such an enterprise. But the Count, believing that he was found out or at the least suspected, came early on the next morning to Robertet, the King's, treasurer, saying that he had considered the privileges and pay the King was willing to give him to stay in his service, and they did not suffice him for the half of a year. And if it was not the King's pleasure to give him double, he should be constrained to depart. And he prayed the said Robertet to ascertain as soon as might be the will of the King, who said that he could do him no better service than go to the King forthwith. And he did this willingly, since he had seen the advices of the governor. So when the King was awake he failed not to tell him what the Count had said, my lord de la Tremoille and Admiral de Bonnivet being present. But they knew not that which the King had done the day before. So with a laugh the King said: "You were desirous of dismissing Count William, and behold he dismisses himself! Wherefore tell him that, since he is not content with the estate to which he agreed when he entered my service, than which estate many a man of a noble house desires nothing better, it is reasonable that he seek his fortune somewhere else. And as for me I will put no let nor hindrance in his way,, but shall be glad if he find a place according to his deserts." Robertet was as quick to carry back this reply to the Count as he had been to carry the Count's complaint to the King. And the Count said that, with his good pleasure, he was determined immediately to set forth. And as one whom fear malces to begone, it was not more than twenty-four hours from thence that he took leave of the King, as he was sitting at table, feigning to regret greatly that his poverty forced him away. Likewise he took leave of the mother of the King, who gave him leave as joyful as her welcome, when he came to her as a kinsman and a friend ; and so returned he to his own land. But the King, perceiving his Novel XVII.] DAT THE SECOND. 123 mother and his followers astonished at this sudden parting, told them of the fright he had given him, saying that though he were innocent of what was laid against him, yet his fear was too great for him to stay with a master whose complexion he knew no longer. " As for me, ladies, I see not what could have moved the heart of the King to make hazard of his life with a man of such repute at arms, except that, leaving the company and the places where Kings find none to give them battle, he wished to meet fairly and equally him whom he suspected for an enemy, in order to make trial of the stoutness of his own heart and the courage of it." " Without doubt," said Parlamente, " he was in the right, for the praises of all men cannot so well satisfy a good heart as the knowledge and experience that it hath indeed virtuousness implanted in it by God," " It is a long while ago," said Geburon, " since the men of old feigned that if any would attain the Temple of Renown, he must first pass through the Temple of Virtue. And I, who know the two persons, of whom you have made us this relation, am well persuaded that the King is one of the bravest men in his realm." " By my faith," said Hircan, " when Count William came to France I should have had more fear of his sword than that of the four shrewdest Italian gentlemen who wete at Court." " We know well," said Ennasuitte, " so great is his renovm that no praises of ours can equal his merit, and that the day would be too soon gone if each should speak his mind. Where- fore I pray you, mistress, to give your vote to one who will tell us some good of men, if there be any good to be told." Oisille said to Hircan : " Methinks you are so well accustomed to speak ill of women that you will be greatly pleased to tell us 6f some good story to the praise of men, wherefore to you I give my vote." " That will be an easy task," said Hircan, " for it is so short a time since a story was told me to the praise of a gentleman, his love, firmness, and long-suifering, that I fear not to lose the recollection of it." 124 HEPTAMERON. [Novel XVIII. NOVEL XVIII. A notable case of a steadfast lover. In one of the fair towns of France there lived a nobleman of an illustrious house, who studied in the schools desiring to attain the knowledge of the means by which men come to virtue and honour. And although he was such a sound •scholar that at the age of seventeen or eighteen years he seemed to be a teacher and an ensample to all the rest, nathe- less Love, amid all his learning, made him go likewise to its lecture-hall. And for a better hearing and reception, it hid itself in the face and beautiful eyes of the prettiest maid in all the countryside, who had come up to town on some matter of law. But before that Love had essayed to conquer him by the beauty of the lady, it had gained her heart by showing to her the perfections that were in this young lord ; for in come- liness, grace, good sense, and pleasant speaking, he had no rival in any sort or condition of men whatsoever. You who know the quick work this fire makes, when it betakes itself to the extremities of the heart and fantasy, will judge well that, with two subjects like these. Love never stopped till it had them at its pleasure, and that it so filled them with its shining- light that their thoughts, words, and wishes were but of this flame of Love. Youth, engendering in the gentleman fear, made him pay his suit as gently as might be ; but she, alto- gether conquered by love, needed no pressing; natheless shame, which always is companion to a maid, kept her some while without declaring her mind. But at the end, the strong-place of her heart, where honour dwelleth, was in such fashion brought to the dust, that the poor maid agreed to that on which in truth they had never disagreed. Yet, to make trial of the patience, steadfastness, and love of her servant, she granted him what he asked on a condition most hard to be observed, assuring him that if he kept it she would love him with a perfect love, and if not she wonld have no more traflic with him. And this was her condition : she would be content to hold parley with him in a bed, the pair of them being clad alone in their shirts, if he would ask no more of her than kisses and sweet talk. And he, thinking no joy was there to Novel XVIII.] DAY THE SECOND. 125 be compared with the joy she promised him, agreed thereto. And when the evening was come, his promise was kept ; in such sort that for all the good cheer she made him, and for all the temptations with which he was vexed, he would by no means depart from his oath. And though he thought his pains not less than those of purgatory, so strong was his love, and so assured his hope of the everlasting continuing of this their love, that he kept watch with patience and rose from beside her without doing her any wrong. The lady, as I believe, more astonished than delighted with this good faith, presently suspected either that his love was not so great as she had taken it to be, or that he had found her not so sweet as he had thought ; and had no consideration to his honour, long- suffering, and faithfulness in the keeping of his oath. This done she determined to make yet another trial of his love for her before she kept her promise. And to this intent she asked him to speak with a girl of her household, younger than herself and mighty pretty, and to hold love discourse with her, that those who saw him so often come to the house might think it was for the maid and not for the mistress. The young lord, well persuaded of being beloved even as he loved, altogether obeyed her commands, and constrained himself for love of her to make love to the girl. And she, seeing him of such pleasant speech and brave address, believed his lie more than another's truth, and loved him all as if she was verily beloved of him. And when her mistress saw that things were thus forward, and that all the same the gentleman ceased not to remind her of her promise, she granted him to come and see her an hour after midnight, and told him that she had tried so well his love and obedience towards her, that it was reasonable he should be rewarded for his long-suiFering. One cannot doubt of the joy of this faithful lover at hearing of this, and at the appointed hour he failed not to be present. But the lady, to try the strength of his love, said to the girl : " I am well advised of the love a certain lord bears you, and I think your passion for him is not less. And I have taken such pity on you two, that I am resolved to give you place and leisure to parley together at your ease." At this the maid was in such delight that she could not conceal her desire, saying she would not fail her. In obedience therefore to the lady she undressed 126 HEPTAMEKON. [Novel XVIII. herself and lay down all alone on a fine bed ; the lady leaving the door of the room open, and lighting it very brightly, so that the girl's beauty might the more be manifested. And feigning to go away she so shrewdly hid herself near the bed, that no one might see her. Her lover, thinking to find her there according to promise, at the appointed time entered into the room as softly as he was able ; and after that he had shut the door and doffed his vesture and fur slippers, he got into bed thinking to find there what he had desired. And he had no sooner stretched out his arms to embrace her whom he thought his mistress, than the poor girl, believing him entirely her own, threw her arms round his neck, and spoke to him with such loving -words and with so beautiful a face, that a holy hermit would have dropped his beads at the sight of her. But when as much by hearing as seeing he perceived who she was, love, which had sent him to bed at such a rate, no less quickly got him up again, when he found it was not she for whom he had borne so much. And wrathful as much with the mistress as with the maid, he said to her : " Not your folly, nor the maliciousness of her who has put you there, can make me other than I am. But do you labour to become an honest woman, for, by reason of me, you will never lose your good name." And thus saying he went forth from the room in a rage, and for a long time returned not to the place where his mistress dwelt. But Love, who is never devoid of hope, gave him good assurance that the greater the trials the better the enjoyment. The lady, having seen and heard the passages between him and the maid, was so delighted and astonished at the greatness and steadfastness of his love, that she wearied for the time of seeing him again, to ask his forgiveness for all the evils with which she had afflicted him. And as soon as she could find him she took such order with him that not only did he forget his sorrows overpast, but deemed them happy, inas- much as they were turned to the glory of his steadfastness and the perfect assurance of his love. And of this love from that time forth he tasted the fruition as he had desired, without hindrance or weariness. " I entreat you, ladies, find me a woman who has been so steadfast, so patient, so loyal in love as this man here. They who have felt such temptations, find those in the pictures of Novel XVIII.] DAY THE SECOND. 127 St. Anthony small by comparison ; for he who can be chaste and patient when he has the opportunity of enjoying a beautiful woman beloved of him, will be virtuous enough to overcome a legion of devils." " 'Tis pity," said Oisille, " that his suit was n6t done to a woman as good as himself, for then theirs would have been the most perfect and the most honourable love of which I have ever heard." " But, prithee," said Geburon, "which of these two trials is in your mind most difl&cult to bear ?" " It seems to me," said Parlamente, " that the last was the most difficult, for revenge is the strongest of all the temptations." Longarine said she thought the first was the most difiicult, for to keep his promise he had to overcome both love and himselfi " You talk well at your ease," said Simontault, "but we, who know how much it is worth, should give our opinions. And as for me I deem the man the first time to have been a dolt, and the second an ass ; for, trust me, while he kept his promise to his mistress, she was in worse case than he. This oath she only made him take to show herself more virtuous than she was, being assured the while that a love like his could not be bound, by command, oath, or anything else. But she wished to be won by heroical virtues, and so turn dishonour into honour. And the second time he was manifestly an ass for leaving her who loved him better than his mistress, and having also a good excuse in his great displeasiu-e." To this Dagoucin replied that he was of the contrary opinion, and he held him the first time for a man, steadfast, patient, and truthful ; and the second time loyal and perfect in his love." " How do we know," said Simontault, *'if he were not one of those the Decretals caWfrigidi et male- Jiciati. And if Hircan had wished to complete his praise he would have done well to tell us what manner of bedfellow he made when he got that he longed for, and we should be able to judge whether virtue or impotence was at the root of the matter." " You may be well persuaded," said Hircan, " that if I had been told this, I would have concealed it no more than the rest. But since I know the man and his complexion, I esteem him to have been led by the strength of his love, and by no means by impotence or coldness." " If it were as you say," said Siijiontault, " he ought to have broken his word. For though she, for such a small matter, had been angry, she would 128 HEPTAMERON. [Novel XIX. have easily been appeased." "Perchance," said Ennasuitte, " she would not have had it so." " And would it not have been an easy matter to have forced her," said SafFredent, " since she herself had offered battle ?" " By'r lady," said Nomerfide, " what manner of talk is this ? Is that tlie way to gain the favour of an honourable and virtuous woman ?" " It seems to me," said Saffiredent, " that one cannot do a woman one courts greater honour than to have her by force ; it is but your little miss that desires long prayers and entreaties Others there are to whom one must give many a present before they are won, and still others so foolish that scarcely by any means or craft is it possible to win them ; and as to them one has but to think of practical ways and means. But when a body has to do with a woman too wise for cozenage, and too good for words or presents, is it not reasonable to search out every way of gaining the victory over her ? And when it comes to your ears that a man has raped a woman, believe that the woman cut him oif from every other kind of hope, and think no less of the honest gentleman who for love has risked his life." Geburon, laughing, said : " I have seen places besieged and taken by storm, because it was impossible to bring the garrisons to a parley either by money or threats, and they say a place that is brought to parley is half won." " You believe," said Ennasuitte, " that all the love in the world is bottomed upon these follies ; but there have been they who have loved and for a long while continued in their love without a thought of the like." " If you know a history to that intent," said Hircan, " I give you my place for you to tell it," " I both know one," said Ennasuitte, " and most willingly will tell it." NOVEL XIX. A pitifiil case of two lovers who turn at last monk and nun. In the time of that Marquis of Mantua, who had for wife the sister of the Duke of Ferrara, there lived in the house of the marchioness a maiden called Pauline. And she was loved in such wise by a gentleman in the service of the marquis that all men were amazed at the greatness of his love, inasmuch as though of poor estate he was handsome, and should, through Novel XIX.] DAT THE SECOND. 129 the love his master bore him, have espoused some lady of wealth. But he, being assured that the greatest treasure in the world was Pauline, trusted to gain her for his own in marriage. The marchioness, wishing that by her countenance Pauline might make a more profitable match, looked with dis- favour on the scheme, often charging them not to speak to one another, and warning them that if they were wed they would be in all Italy the poorest couple and the most wretched. But to these counsels the young gentleman paid no heed, and Pauline, though she strove to conceal the love she bore him, yet none the less had him in her thoughts. And this fellow- ship of theirs lasted for a long while, their only hope being that time would bring them better fortune. But it chanced that war broke out, in which the young gentleman was taken prisoner, together with a Frenchman, whose love for a lady in his ovm land was as great as the other's love for one in Italy. And these, finding themselves partakers of the same fate, began to tell their secrets one to the other, the Frenchman confessing that his own heart was a fast prisoner, though he told him not the name of its prison-house. But since they were both in the following of the Marquis of Mantua, the Frenchman was well assured of the love his comrade bore to Pauline, and out of the friendship he had for him advised him to banish her from his thoughts. But this, the young Italian swore, lay not within his power, saying that if in recompense of his good service and captivity his lord would not give him the maid to wife, he would presently turn monk, and do suit and service to no master save God. This his comrade could not believe, discerning in him no devotion nor sign of devotion, except it were that which he bore to Pauline. At the end of nine months the French gentleman was enlarged from his captivity, and by his efforts procured likewise the freedom of his friend, using also his good offices with the marquis and marchioness in the matter of the marriage of Pauline. But from this the two lovers gained nothing save warnings of the poverty in which they would both have to live ; their parents moreover on both sides were against the match, and forbade him to speak to her any more, to the end that his great love might be overcome by absence and want of opportunity. And so this man, seeing that he was obliged to obey, prayed K 130 HEPTAMERON. [Novel XIX. of the marchioness to let him take leave of Pauline, and promised that after he had done so he would never speak to her again. This was granted him, and at the appointed time, being come into her presence, he spoke as follows : " Since, Pauline, it seems that heaven and earth are against us, not only in prohibiting us to wed, but what is worse, in disallowing us sight and speech of one another — an order which our lord and lady have laid so strictly upon us that they may truly boast of having broken two hearts with a single word, hereby showing mighty well that they neither have nor have had bowels of love nor compassion — I am well advised that their aim in this is to marry each of us honourably and to advantage, for they know not that contentment is the only true riches ; yet with so much misfortune and unhappiness have they affected me, that I can no. more heartily do them any service. I know also that if I had never spoken of marriage they would not have been so careful as to forbid us to speak together, but I promise you I would rather die than follow a less honourable love than that with which I have loved you, from whom I have won that which I would defend from all. Since then^ if I continued to see you, I could not restrain myself from speech ; and if I saw you not, my heart, unable to remain empty, would be filled with some awful despair ; I have determined, and this for some time, to enter the religious life, for though I know that salvation may be gained by all sorts and conditions of men, yet I would have more leisure in which I may contemplate the Divine Goodness and implore it to have pity upon the sins of my youth, and so to change my heart that it may love spiritual tilings no less than it has hitherto loved temporal things. And if by grace I obtain grace, my task shall be to pray without ceasing to God for you. And by that strong and loyal love which has been between us, I implore you to remember me in your prayers to our Lord, entreating Him to give me a resolution not to see you, as great as the delight I took in seeing you. Moreover, since throughout my whole life I have hoped to gain from you in marriage that which both honour and conscience allow, and have been satisfied with hope, now, since that is lost to me, and I shall never have from you that which a wife gives to her husband, this one thing I ask, that in bidding me farewell you will treat me as a brother and give me a kiss." Poor Pauline, Novel XIX.] DAY THE SECOND. 131 whose favours had always been few and fer between, perceiving the bitterness of his grief, and his honour in making so reason- able a request in all his great despair, without saying another word threw her arms around his neck and wept after such a grievous fashion that words, voice, and strength failed her, and she fell between his arms in a swoon. Whereupon her lover, overcome by pity, love, and grief, must needs do the like, and falling one one way, the other another, they lay for dead till one of Pauline's companions saw them and came to the rescue. Then Pauline, who had wished to conceal her love, was ashamed, because she had made manifest how strong it was, but yet her pity for the poor gentleman served as a good ex- cuse. For he, not able to endure the saying of that everlasting farewell, went forth from her presence and going unto his own house flung himself upon the bed., and passed the night in such pitiful complaining that his servants thought that he had lost his parents, and his friends, and whatsoever he had on earth. In the morning he commended himself to our Lord, and after he had divided amongst his servants what little worldly gear he possessed, and taken with him a small sum of money, he charged his people not to follow him, and departed by himself to the religious house of the Observance, to demand the cowl, being- well determined never to go from that house for the rest of his life. The warden, who had formerly known him, thought at first that he was either being laughed at or that he was in a dream, for in all that land there W3.s none who did less resemble a Grey Friar, since in him was found every honour and every virtue which one could desire in a perfect gentleman. Yet the warden, on hearing of his words, and beholding the streams of tears that flowed (for what cause he knew not) down his face, took him in and entreated him kindly. And soon after, marking his perseverance, he gave him the monastic dress, which having been received by this gentleman with great devotion, the thing was brought to the marquis and marchioness, who, greatly astonished, could scarce believe it possible. Pauline, to hide her love, concealed as well as might be the regret she felt for him, and in such wise that all men said that she had soon forgotten her loyal lover . and his devotion for her. And so were passed five or six months, and she gave no sign of the 132 HEPTAMEKON. [Novel XIX. grief that was in her soul. But it fell out that one day she was shown by some monks a song which her lover had made a short while after he had taken the cowl. As to the air 'tis an Italian one, and ordinary enough, but I have tried to English the words as nearly as I can, and this is the manner of it: but first the burthen : What will she say, when clad in sober guise Monasticall I pass before the eyes That were my all ? Alas, dear maid, when thou art all alone And tear on tear Shall rise for me, and many a bitter moan For our mishap ; wise thoughts may lead thee where The cloister is a walk for solitude, And high built walls shut out all tumult rude. What will she say, &c. What will they say, who our love-dream have broken And our estate : By whose decree our vows were left unspoken ? When by their hate They see a love more pure, a flame more holy. They shall repent, and kneeling lowly, Bewail with sobs and tears Our saddened years. What will she say, &c. But if they come and with a vain endeavour Do ask us to arise, And from this holy watch would fain dissever Our hearts and eyes. Then shall we say that till our days are ending, And to its Lord each soul is wending ; These walls that circle round Shall be our bound. What will she say, &c. And if they come, and say to us " Go marry And be you blithe and gay, Your lives are young, but Time will not long tany And hasteneth fast away," Then shall we say that all our love and duty Are His with whom is perfect beauty. Our marriage is above, For there is Love. ' What will she say, &c. Novel XIX.] DAY THE SECOND. 133 O mighty love, O passion and desire That bound the cord, Enflame within my heart a ceaseless fire To pray the Lord. All through the watches, patient without sorrow, Till Prime doth come of that to-moj row Which hath no twilight grey, But morn alway. What will she say, &c. Quit wealth, and all contentments of this life, Thy're but a cliain, Stronger than steel to forge us fast to strife, Our souls to bane. Quit then the flesh and all its giddy pleasure Mad without measure. What will she say, &c. Come then and don with me that holiness The Lord doth give; For though the robe 's ash-grey, yet none the less We thrive and live ; And like the phoenix shall one day aspire From out these ashes of our fire. What will she say, &c. And seeing our love showed pure, and had no stain To men before ; Much greater pi-aise we doubtless shall attain Since we adore In cloistered walls the Lord of Life and glory, Till when the end comes to our story Love that could never die Shall lift our souls on high. What will she say, &c. ' And when, being by 'herself in a side-chapel, she had carefully read through these verses, so plentifully did she weep that all the paper was wetted with her tears. And had it not been for the fear she was in of too evidently manifesting her affection, she would straightway have turned hermit, and looked her last on the face of mankind. But the prudence to which her mind was attempered made her for some time conceal her intent, and though she was steadfastly purposed to leave the world behind her, she feigned the very opposite of this, and so joyous was she become in company that she would hardly have been known for her former self. For five or six months she 134 HEPTAMEEON. [Novel XIX. kept this secret covered in her heart. But having one day gone with her mistress to the Church of the Observance to High Mass, she saw, as the celebrant, deacon, and sub-deacon came from the sacristy to the high altar, her poor lover, who had not yet completed the year of his noviciate, preceding them as server, carrying in his hands the two flagons covered with silk-cloth, and with eyes bent on to the ground. When Pauline saw him in this sad weed, that did but increase his grace and beauty, she was in such trouble and aifray that, simulating a rheum in the throat, she coughed so as to hide the blushes of her face. And her lover, who knew that sound better than his monastery chimes, turned not his head, but as he passed in front of her could not restrain his eyes from going the road they had so often gone before. But at that most piteous regard of his he was seized in such wise by the fire he thought to have extinguished, that striving to conceal it more than he was able, he fell full length before his mistress. Yet for the fear he had of the cause being knowij, he professed that in the place where he fell the floor was broken and uneven. And Pauline, perceiving that though his dress was changed his heart was the same as it had been, and likewise that such a time had gone by since he had become a monk that all men would deem, she had forgotten him, set herself to bring that to pass which she had desired — ^namely, to make their two lives as like one another in dress, estate, and manner of living as they had been aforetime when they abode in the same house under the same master and mistress. And since she had for more than four months before taken such order as was necessary previous to becoming a nun, she one morning entreated leave of the marchioness to hear mass at St. Claire's, which the marchioness, not knowing what was in her min^ freely granted. But as she passed the Grey Friars she asked the warden to let her see her lover, whom she called her kins- man, and when they had met in a side-chapel by themselves, Pauline thus spoke to him : " If my honour had allowed me to put on this dress as soon as you I would presently have done it, but now, since I have, by not doing so, silenced the slanders of those who are always more ready to think evil than good, I am determined to take upon myself this robe, estate, and life of yours without inquiring of what kind they are. For if you are Novel XIX.] DAY THE SECOND. 135 happy, I shall partake in your happiness, and if yf wise Pauline departed, and was received into the nunnery oi St. Claire, where she took the veil. But when my lady the marchioness heard all this matter, she was much amazed, and fared on the morrow to the convent, and endeavoured to turn Pauline from her purpose, who replied that she must rest content with having deprived her of her husband in the flesh, that man whom of all men she best loved, and not endeavour to sunder her from that spouse who is immortal and invisible, for it lay not within her power, nor that of any creature upon earth. Whereupon the marchioness, perceiving her intention was sincere, kissed her, and with a great grief left her. And for the rest of their days Pauline and her lover lived in such holiness and devotion, each one faithfully obeying the rules of the Order, that we cannot doubt that He whose law is Love said to them at the end of their lives, as to the Magdalen, "Your sins be forgiven you, for you have loved much." "You cannot deny, ladies, that the love of this man was greater than that of his mistress, nevertheless so well was he recompensed that I would all true lovers were in case like his." 136 HEPTAMERON. [Kovel XIX. " llieny". 'quoth Hircan, "there would be more foolish men ai#.iKiaidS'ithan there are now." " Call you those foolish," said 0fsi^ f wlio in their youth love with an honourable love, andiep4';4y>^Hiiing it all to God?" Hircan, with a laugh, rejA^h'.fflMlack choler and despair are worthy of praise, thJBn^^Wauline and her lover stand beyond compare." " ftljU-ifltotjBie," said Geburon, " that God draws us to him- seMroya»*|Lpf which seem evil at the first, but the end whereof is go