The Heptameron (Machen)/Novel 13

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 ​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 affair 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 complexion 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 ​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 Jerusalem, 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 ​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 husband 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 affairs 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:—

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 return. 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 ​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, and 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 ​learned the truth of the whole affair—namely, that a gentleman, 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 valiantly 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 from 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 ​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 office 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 to do to console her. At the end of some time the Court went to Normandy, 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 ​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​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."