The Heptameron (Machen)/Novel 20

In the country of the Dauphiné there lived a gentleman named my lord de Riant, being of the household of King Francis the First, and as pretty a man as one would wish to ​see. For a long time he was the lover of a widow lady, for whom he had such a love and reverence, and so great a fear of losing her favour, that he dared not ask for that he most desired. And he, perceiving himself to be a comely man and worthy of love, steadfastly believed that which she often swore to him—namely, that she loved him above all others, and that if she were constrained to do anything for a gentleman, it would be for him alone, who was the most perfect she had seen, praying him to be content with this honourable friendship, and not endeavour to go beyond it. And she assured him that if he was found endeavouring to gain more he would lose her altogether. The poor gentleman was not only content, but deemed himself very happy to have gained the heart of so virtuous a woman. It would be a long story if I were to tell you of their love passages, how oftentimes they were in company with one another, the journeys he made for the sake of seeing her. But to make an end, this poor martyr of so pleasant a fire, that the more it burns the more does one desire to be burned, always kept striving to increase his martyrdom. And one day the fantasy took him of going post haste to see her whom he loved more than himself and all other women in the world. So he, having come to her house, asked where she was, and was told she had hardly come back from evensong, and had gone into the warren to finish the Hours, He got off his horse and went straight to the warren, where he found her women, who told him that she was walking by herself in a long alley. At this his conceit at some great piece of fortune for himself was much increased; and as softly as might be, and not making the least noise, he searched for her every way, hoping above all to find her by herself. But when he was come to an arbour pleached of trees, as pleasant a place as one could wish for, he went into it on a sudden, as being most fain to see her whom he loved. And there, on his entering in, he found her lying upon the grass in the arms of a groom of her household, as ugly, filthy, and infamous a fellow as my lord de Riant was handsome, virtuous, and amiable. I will not undertake to tell you his wrath, but so great was it that it had power in a moment to put out that fire which had outlived so many years. And as full of rage as he had been of love, he said: "Mistress, much good may it do you! To-day, by my knowledge of your ​wickedness, I am healed and delivered from that continual grief, caused by the goodness I believed of you." And with no more farewell he returned quicker than he had come. The wretched woman made him no other reply than to put her hand before her face, since, though she could not cover her shame, she covered her eyes that they might not behold him, who, notwithstanding her deceit, saw through her quite clearly.

"Wherefore, ladies, I entreat you, if you have not the wish for a perfect love, do not simulate such a love for an honest man, and, for the sake of your vain boasting, do him dishonour; for the hypocrites shall receive due reward, and God loves those whose love is pure." "Truly," said Oisille, "you have kept us a fine piece for the end of the day. But if we had not all sworn to tell the truth, I would not believe that a woman of so high estate could be so wicked in body and soul, leaving an honest gentleman for a filthy groom." "Alas, mistress," said Hircan, "if you knew the difference between a gentleman who all his life has carried armour and been at the wars, and a full-fed servant who has not stirred from the place where he was born, you would find some excuse for this poor widow." "I will not believe, Hircan," said Oisille, "whatever you may say, that you can find any excuse for her." "It has been told to me," said Simontault, "that there are women who like to have hot gospellers to preach them virtue and chastity, and make for them the best cheer they can and the most secret, assuring them that, were it not for conscience and honour, they would grant them their desires. And these poor fools, when in company they speak of their ladies, swear that they can put their fingers into the fire without burning them, maintaining these women to be honourable, since they affirm they have thoroughly assayed their love. So getting honest gentlemen to sing their praises, they show themselves as they really are to those like to them, and chose men who would be afraid to speak of it, and if they spoke would not be believed, by reason of their low and vile estate." "This," said Longarine, "is an opinion I have before heard from jealous and suspicious men; but it is painting a chimera, for if it have so fallen out with one poor wretch, is that reason for our suspecting it of all?" "Verily," said Parlamente, "the more we enter into this discourse the more will my lords hold forth upon Simontault's ​text, and all at the expense of us women. Wherefore let us to evensong, and not be the cause of so much waiting as we were yesterday."

To this the company agreed, and as they were going Oisille said: "If each one of you should give thanks to God for that on this day he has told the truth, Saffredent should ask His forgiveness for having uttered so shameful a story against the ladies." "By my faith," answered Saffredent, "although I did but hear the tale, yet it is the very truth. But if I were to tell you the things I have seen with my own eyes, I should cause you to make more signs of the cross than are appointed for the consecration of churches." "It is full time for repentance, then," said Geburon, "since confession does but increase your sin." "Since you have such an opinion of women," said Parlamente, "they ought to deprive you of their company and honourable friendship." But he replied: "Certain women have so used your counsel in estranging me and taking away from me things just and honourable, that if I could say worse and do worse to all of them I would do so, and spare not, if haply they would be stirred up to avenge me on her who has done me this great wrong." At these words Parlamente put on her mask, and with the rest came into the church, where, though it was fully evensong-time, they found not so much as a single monk in the choir. And the reason of this was that the monks had heard how the company was wont to assemble in the meadow and there tell tales, and since they loved pleasure better than their prayers, they had all gone likewise to the meadow and hidden themselves in a ditch behind a thick hedge. And so good a listening had they given to the stories that they had not heard the monastery bell, and came in such haste that their breath well-nigh failed them as they began evensong. And when they were asked the reason why their chanting began late, and when it began was out of tune, they confessed the truth. So, seeing that they desired it, it was granted them that henceforth they should assist at these offices seated at their ease behind the hedge. Supper-time was spent merrily in uttering the things they had left unsaid in the meadow, and this lasted all through the evening, until Oisille entreated them to retire, that their wit might be the keener on the morrow after a good sleep, of which she said that an hour before ​midnight was better than three after. So parted the company, each one to his own room, and so came to an end the second day.