The Heptameron (Machen)/Novel 15

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 notwithstanding 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 ​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 treatment, had so great pity on her that he was fain to essay somewhat 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 ​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 commands 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 ​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 commanded 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 ​had taken such speech in bad part; but she had fled away from his presence, as if she had done something worthy of punishment, and this alone made him think she loved the gentleman. Wherefore 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 been 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 unhappy woman on the face of the earth!" and so fell to relating ​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 herself into his arms, saying: "Since it must be so, bear this wretched body to its death!" 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 ​the treatment I have received at your hands, 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 such 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 his 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 conduct 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 law 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 ​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 of 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 handsomest 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 astonishment that he had nothing to say, except that the honour of a man and of a woman are not like to one another. But nevertheless, 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 remember 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, mistress, 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 ​matter that no man knew the truth of it. Only there was a rumour set about by a serving-man that he had found a gentleman with a lady in a stable under the room of the mistress of the household. At which the husband took so strong a suspicion 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 was 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 gentleman 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 pertained 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 there be any to say the contrary, I tell him he lies most villainously. As for me I know of nothing I have ​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, being 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 suspicion. 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 consolation 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 ​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 ​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 Ennasuitte 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."

​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."