The Heptameron (Machen)/Novel 12

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, ​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 accomplishing 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 I, 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 ​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 master, 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 affairs to a conclusion, and together they appointed a day. Whether the Duke was ​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, ​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 much time to put an end to each one of them as we did to slay the Duke, the day will dawn upon our enterprise 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 friend, 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 ​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 gentleman 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; blinding 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 maintained 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 ingratitude to put to death him who had given this gentleman so many honours. The ladies said he was 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 ​passion than sound logic, affirming 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 unbelieving 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. Wherefore 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 Simontault, 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 I 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 ​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. Perchance 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 of my acquaintance, and all whose thoughts are open to me."